but yes i mean every word

melissanti  asked:

this whole agency thing is such a mess and being dealt with so badly - posting a screencap of Siv's post in a fb group and tagging skam fan pages? yikes. but some of the comments on that post are awful too; it's a disaster from every angle and I feel so bad for Henrik 💔

yes i can’t believe that they can’t handle with this situation like professionals. would it be that hard to say “we didn’t mean to say something homophobic, we are sorry if it hurt you” or something like that. and now they just use henrik’s mom words that they are not homophobes? just say something yourself. i’m really in shock that such an ignorant CEO runs this agency

dear person reading this:

  • your crooked teeth make your lovely smile extremely cute and endearing  (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧
  • your splotches of freckles? yeah, those are places where the galaxies whirling inside of you leaked out to radiance their brilliancy into the world
  • your thighs touch? that’s a GOOD thing. you’re getting proper nutrition! you have muscles! d o  n o t  b e  a s h a m e d!!!! also, thigh gaps are awesome too! anything related to thighs is awesome! all thighs are different because every person is different, and honestly, why does it matter what your thighs look like?? people who are bothered by thighs are weak tbh
  • “bingo arms”???? listen up: you only have bingo arms when you’re WINNING. otherwise why would you be yelling “bingo”?? thought so. you’re a winner – you can do anything you set your incredible mind to!
  • your hair is so unbelievably gorgeous and don’t you deny it. don’t forget to style it, dye it, try new shampoos with it, as long as you want to! your hair is your own, whether it be frizzled or dry or thick or thin – be proud of that, and remember that you can always change it up!
  • your eyes are not too small, or too big, or too wide apart, or too ugly. your eyes are your own mortal doorway into your soul, expressing your thoughts and emotions in dazzling swirls and hues for others to decipher. don’t be afraid to cry, don’t be disgusted by the crinkles at the corners when you smile, don’t hate on the small, microscopic blood vessels running through them. don’t lock your door out of needless shame!
  • scars!!! scars are so cool! they’re visual results from a chapter that makes up the story of your life! no matter where scars are, don’t be conscious of concealing them! ppl loVE scars! even the tiny lil ones! anyone who has a scar is automatically known as an ultimate badass sorry that’s the rule
  • same goes for stretch marks! those little ripples on your thighs, your hips, your waist, your belly? those mean that you’ve GROWN. your body has adapted frequently throughout your life, and leaves those little ripples as little hints of your amazing journey from babyhood to adulthood! (or maybe you’re just a mystical ocean god/goddess and those waves are symbols of your enormous power, onlookers should be on the lookout)
  • sorry, did you say you had a pig nose? do you even kNOW how cute piggies are you should be PROUD of your nose cAUSE U CUTE
  • long, thin nose? p l s. that just means you’re king/queen of everything. don’t deny it. you know how powerful you truly are
  • tummy rolls? everyone has them. seriously, no matter how thin a person may seem, tummy rolls are inevitable. you are not alone! tummy rolls rock! ROCK THOSE TUMMY ROLLS!
  • trust me, barely anyone see your feet anyways. besides, feet aren’t that bad – how do you think your hands would look if they walked everywhere over the earth’s rough terrain? feet are hella 
  • ears are so cool omg they’re like fingerprints, unique to you and you only! plus you can pierce them! repeatedly! how cool is that? ears are best
  • do nOT be anxious about flaunting your legs! wear that short skirt! wear those shorts! own that bikini! your legs are marvelous! ppl would kill for a pair of dandy lookin legs like yours! pale or tan, legs are glorious! L E G S
  • lips. lips. do you know how many magic tricks your lips are able to perform? the formation of words, the ability to smile or frown, the ability to express, to kiss, to wear makeup; lips are ethereal and exquisite in all forms!
  • #1 tip: your eyebrows are always on fleek  (▰˘◡˘▰)
  • and lastly: you are not dumb. you are not worthless. you are not a waste of space, an empty void, a meaningless shell. you are loved. you are worth everything. you are so incredibly intelligent, you are utterly unforgettable, and you are breathtaking in every single way.
  • next time you look in a mirror, blow yourself a kiss and don’t worry – you’ll kill it out there today. ♥
It’s hard to believe that I’ve found someone like you; someone who has saved me and changed me into a better person, a more lively one. This won’t be enough to thank you for everything you’ve given me, and there won’t be anything I can do in the future to make you see how perfect you are. And yes when I say perfect I mean perfect in every single way, including your flaws.
—  Poets Love Her
2

This scene probably doesn’t mean a whole lot to everyone but the struggle of deciding whether or not to use one or another restroom sticks with trans people. Yes, she’s struggling with which alien bathroom to use, it’s heavily hinted trans symbolism as well. At some point in time every trans person will consider which one they should use. While this is an alien bathroom the symbolism still sticks, especially after season 1 depicting Pidge as a trans girl through the words she uses. It’s all subtext, yes, it’s not “canon,” no, but I see Pidge as a trans girl new into her identity, surrounded by loving and caring friends who support her. Pidge is important and could really help normalize transness, there’s other characters with the same kinda symbolism that can help normalize transness, it’s whether or not that the writers want to give us canon proof or not.

2

Spotted at co-worker Kim Bryant’s house: a super classy reference bookcase, complete with dictionary podium. It’s just the kind of thing I imagine putting in my library room, if I could ever afford to have a library room. (Kim and her husband, Chris Willey, keep it in the hallway.)

This thing isn’t just for show: Chris says, “Every few days to look up a word I’ve seen somewhere (in a book or article) or one I’m thinking of but of which I’ve forgotten the meaning. … I highlight anything I look up.”

Is it better than using the Internet? “Yes! If for no other reason than it doesn’t have annoying ads all over it.” I can’t argue with that.

-Nicole

P.S. In case you’re wondering, the highlighted word in this photo is “demiurgic.”

Your hands are Really Nice- Jughead Jones

Pairing: Jughead x Reader

Description: (requested) Reader is too shy to tell Jughead about her feelings, so Veonica and Betty take matters in to their own hands (mostly Veronica)

Warnings: Swears, fluff so much fluff I couldn’t even deAL

————————————————————————————-


Being in love with your best friend isn’t easy. It feels taboo, like it’s wrong, and unhealthy. You’ll lay awake at ungodly hours of the night, wondering “How did this happen?” You’ll replay every moment of every waking minute you spent with them, wondering how in the world you ended up lying on your floor with an empty bowl of ramen beside your head and imagining what it would feel like to kiss them. You’ll catch yourself admiring the tiniest insignificant things about them, and every detail of their stupidly cute face, and every indent and curve and freckle on their body, and let me tell you, it sucks. Falling in love with your best friend isn’t easy, especially when your best friend is Jughead Jones.


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“Diving into this 700-page baby today! 😍😍 This stage (aka first pass pages) is one of my favorite parts of the publishing process, mostly because it’s the first time I get to actually see my manuscript transformed into how it will appear in the finished/printed book! (I still totally get chills when I finally glimpse the fancy title page!) This stage is the second-to-last time I’ll get to read through the manuscript, so I’m pretty much going over every page/sentence/word with a fine-toothed comb. Can’t wait for you guys to read it on May 2nd!! 📚🖊😁😁😁 #acowar #acourtofwingsandruin #acotar #thisbookisliterally700pagesonthebutton #longestbookyet ”

700 Pages. The. LONGEST. BOOK
YET! May cannot come sooner!!

  • Side note: The name of the first part of ACOWAR is “Princess of Carrion” and I recognised lmmediately, realising that it from ACOMAF. On page 586 of ACOMAF, it says “Yes, you see now, Princess of carrion”. This is what the cauldron says to Feyre when she touches it. I can’t help but feel like this means Feyre is going wield (or come to) a great, possibly the greatest, amount of power - with the Cauldron being so powerful and calling her that. 
    • Also, in ACOTAR, Amarantha mentions that Feyre is a name of one of the fae’s earliest dialects, which I think could, maybe, represent that she’s always had this power but just had to be made again. I also think, with the cauldron being as old as time, or whatever, that Feyre and it are linked and she could, possibly, harness its power.
  • BUT carrion means similar to or rotting flesh. I feel like this could link to “Unmade and made. Made and unmade”, maybe meaning that Feyre has been made and now her body is rotting (as she was dead) so shill will be unmade. But Lord do I hope that this is not the case and I’ve interpreted this in the wrong way. 
  • I could be completely off the mark here but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the cauldron called her this.
|| absolutely ||

{summary: there’s been no girl after me? is this true?}

you guys ready for this au where Peter is hot and popular and who’s also infamous for being a player? bECAUSE I SURE AS HELL AM.

im gonna make you readers thirst for more fuckboi!peter parker with this story 👅👅

tags [permanent + peter parker]: @ghostedwolf , @fandom-flash , @animexchocolate, @psychicwitchphilosopher , @pharaohkiller , @moonlight53 , @literatureandimmature, @daydr3ams-away, @wannabe-weasley , @mcusebstan , @tmrhollandkay , @pepcvina , @nekonerdxox , @lokigirl18 , @fangeekkk , @kylielo22 , @wavy-ley , @lghockey , @buckysendoftheline , @1022bridgetp , @potterjamesharry

**please don’t repost/plagiarize this story. Reblogs are fine**

warnings: explicit language & attempts at an attack

——

Peter Benjamin Parker, God, just hearing the name had the power to bring girls to their knees for him.

And you were no exception.

Keep reading

Nonbinary people who use binary pronouns are awesome. He/him/his nonbinary people are strong and good! She/her/hers nonbinary people are sweet and amazing! Just because you feel comfortable using these pronouns doesn’t mean you aren’t every bit nonbinary. They’re just pronouns, just like all the others. It’s not our fault if society genders words.

Promise.

Hii, so this is the fourth and final part of my break series. Thank you so much for your amazing messages and for reading it. I hope you like this part as well.❤

What the hell are you doing here?” she asked and was surprised herself at how cold her voice sounded.
Harry whirled around and stopped draping berries on the waffles he made, his eyes were wide with shock and his mouth agape. 
“I-I wanted to surprise you. I made breakfast and-” 
She interrupted him with a humorless laugh, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Surprise me? I think you’ve surprised me enough lately.” 
“What?” he asked with furrowed brows.
“I was surprised when I didn’t hear from you at all during the last two weeks, nothing to keep me updated. I was surprised when I texted you and didn’t get a reply. I was surprised when you didn’t let me know when you came home. I was surprised when you didn’t come home as soon as you left the airport.” 
Harry was standing there completely dumbfounded, suddenly feeling insecure about what he prepared for her. He had no idea what was going on, thought she would jump into his arms as soon as she saw him. He thought she would love the flowers he brought her and the breakfast he prepared. That wasn’t the case, apparently.
“You… I… What?” he asked again.
“I don’t know if I want to see you right now, Harry.”
“Baby, I literally have no idea what’s going on right now.”
He took a few steps in her direction but stopped when he caught her warning glare.
“Tell me what I’ve done wrong.” he pleaded.
He just wanted to hug her. His fingertips were aching to touch her, his lips yearning for hers.
“You ignored me. Completely.” she huffed.
“But I thought that was the purpose of this break? To get away from each other and not talk for a while?”
“But not like that! You know how fucking worried I am every single time you’re in New York! This city is absolutely crazy and so many disgusting things happened to you there already. And this time as well! You don’t even know how goddamn worried I was, it would have been nice to let me know you were okay. And then I texted you after your performance and you didn’t reply! I waited days for you to just text a ‘thanks’ back, but you ignored it. And it hurt.” her last words were a small whimper, her bottom lip wobbling.
“Oh, darling.” Harry sighed.
He carefully got closer to her and when he was sure she wouldn’t push him away he wrapped his arms tightly around her shaking form and pressed her to his chest. Her arms slung around his waist and her hands fisted the material of his white shirt.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. So sorry.” Harry whispered against the top of her head and pressed countless kisses against her hair.
“It h-hurt so much.” she sobbed against his chest and his heart broke, he could feel it.
He sighed again and pulled her closer if that was even possible.
When she calmed down a bit and the sobs subsided he took hold of the backs of her thighs and lifted her up to sit her down on the kitchen table. He moved a chair so he could sit in front of her and took her hands gently in his.
“I didn’t mean to ignore you. After we saw each other at Gemma’s I didn’t know what to do or how to act. I didn’t want to leave and I certainly didn’t want to go back to complete silence between us. And then you called and told me what happened with that son of a bitch and even though I told you everything was okay it hurt so bad. The thought that he touched you and that I wasn’t the last person you kissed killed me. And maybe I was a bit mad so I didn’t keep you updated. But I never got any texts from you.”
“You told me you weren’t mad.”
“I know, and I wasn’t. Not at you. But I kinda took it out on you. And I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you feel bad for lying to me?” she asked after a moment and yanked her hands away from his.
“W-What?”
“Of course you’ve gotten my texts! I texted you right after the show was over! And my phone said you got it.”
“I swear to god baby, I never got a text from you. ”
“Show me your phone.” she demanded.
At first he wanted to protest because he didn’t know what would happen if he really got her text and ignored it. But he knew he couldn’t deny her now, she’d think he was hiding something. So he fished for his phone in his jeans pocket and handed it to her. She typed in his password and he saw the relief on her face when it still was the same code. The day they got together.
It took her a few second to open up his messages and scroll through them until she found her texts and then it was obvious why he didn’t text back. There were at least hundred people he texted back and another seventy he didn’t even open, at the very bottom hers.
“Oh.” she breathed.
“Hm?”
She sighed and showed him his phone. He closed his eyes briefly and took the phone away from her to place it on the table.
“So many people texted me, love. I didn’t check my phone until the morning after and then I had around 200 messages, I’m sorry I didn’t see yours.”
“No, s'okay.”
“It isn’t, should have checked if you texted me or not but I was scared you didn’t watch it.”
“Of course I did. Stayed up until morning for you.” she smiled softly.
“And I appreciate that. And I love that you were the very first person who texted me, really means a lot to me.”
This time it was her who reached out to touch him, her fingers threading through his.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was okay after the little incident with those girls.”
“Were you?” she asked and the concern was clear in her voice.
“Okay, I mean.”
He hesitated for a moment before he nodded.
“Was a bit scary but I had bodyguards with me and they didn’t do anything bad, only wanted pictures.”
“But it wasn’t okay. I can’t understand how they could treat you like that, like you were an object and they had the right to get a picture with you.” she shook her head.
“It’s over now, yeah? Don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”
She nodded and gave his hand a squeeze to which he replied with a soft kiss to her knuckles.
“I’m also sorry I didn’t let you know when I came home but I was scared they found out my flight information and the airport would be crowded. Didn’t want you to get into danger for me. And I didn’t come home straight away because it was midnight when I left the airport and I didn’t want to wake you so I thought I’d come over in the morning and make you breakfast.” he smiled softly and her heart was melting for him.
This time she lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed each knuckle.
“Thank you. I really appreciate you looking out for me like that.”
“Always, my love.”
“Can we have breakfast now? I’m starving.”
Harry laughed and nodded, making her sit down on a chair and serving her the food he prepared.

They talked about anything and everything while eating, just not about the important things. It was like they were both tiptoeing around the one subject that kept them up at night for the last few weeks.
At some point it was impossible to ignore it though. They cleaned the table and put away the dirty dishes and were now sitting across from each other at the table again. This situation was unfortunately familiar, this was how this all started.
“So I guess we have to talk, yeah?” Harry asked nervously with a shaky voice and eyes that didn’t dare find hers.
“Yeah.” Y/N breathed.
“I’ll start, okay?”
She nodded and took a deep breath, trying to brace herself for what was about to come.
“Before we took this break so many things went wrong. We didn’t talk to each other and when we did we were yelling. I don’t know where it all went wrong and I don’t know how I could let it get that far. I always swore to myself to never hurt you and to love you every second of every day and I never stopped loving you. Not for a single second. But I hurt you. I hurt you over and over again. And I don’t think I can forgive myself for that.”
Tears were streaming down his face and dripping down onto his thighs. The shakiness of his voice interrupted him every few seconds.
Y/N gasped at his last words, the fear that she tried to push away came back full force. He couldn’t forgive himself?
“What do you mean by that?”
He took a deep breath and reached out for her hands.
“I don’t know if it would be fair to you if we keep going and forget about all that’s happened. I broke your heart, love. How is this going to work when I’ve broken your heart?”
“We won’t forget about it, Harry. Yes, you’ve hurt me with what you’ve said but I hurt you as well, don’t try to deny that. I broke your heart when I suggested the break, and I broke your heart when I told you about Tim. We both are hurt and maybe it’s not fair to each other when we keep going but do you want to break up? Because I don’t.”
“Of course not.” he shook his head.
“Great.” she said relieved.
Harry laughed softly and stroked over her knuckles with his thumb.
“C'mere.” he whispered and tugged on her hand softly.
She hesitantly stood up from her chair and walked over to him where she sat down on his lap, her knees against his hips. Harry wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer.
“Do you think we can fix this?” she asked after a moment.
“I mean… It’s gonna be hard but I’m sure we’ll get through this. We love each other, right?”
“Yes.” she nodded.
“Then we can do it.” he smiled at her lovingly.
She leaned against him so her head was right at the place where his neck met his shoulder, her favorite place. She wrapped her arms around his waist and breathed him in. He did the same, he pulled her even tighter against him and nuzzled her hair with his nose.
“This break was a nightmare.” she sighed.
“God, yes. It was hell.” he agreed.
“Do you think it helped us?”
“A bit, I think.” he said and pressed a kiss against her head.
“I think we were able to think everything through and realize what’s important.”
“Yeah.” she nodded against his shoulder.
“Missed you like crazy, even though you’ve been an ass before.”
He chuckled lowly and squeezed her lightly.
“Missed you even though you’ve been a pain in the ass.”
She pulled back to look at him and grinned. Harry moved one hand to cup her cheek and stroke her skin with his thumb. Her eyes fluttered close at the contact and her breathing stopped for a second.
“Haven’t kissed me hello yet.” he whispered so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.
Her eyes opened again and now they looked a bit glassy and droopy, his touch did that to her.
She leaned in and waited until he did the same, meeting each other in the middle. Their lips brushed against each other’s and Harry watched how her eyes closed. He pulled her face closer until their lips were pressed together in a gentle kiss that made them both sigh against each other. Y/N was almost overwhelmed at how close she was to him, she could feel his breath against her skin and the only thing she felt and smelled was him.
The kiss wasn’t urgent or fast, it was loving and slow and filled with every emotion they felt towards each other. When they parted she didn’t have enough yet, her lips searched his immediately again and she kissed them countless times.
“God, I missed being close to you.” he breathed when they’ve finally parted, both gasping for air.
“Harry?”
“Yes, my love?”
“Take me to bed.”
Harry removed his hands from her face and she watched how his eyes widened with shock and his lips parted in surprise.
“Love, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
Her face fell immediately and tears welled up in her eyes. She sniffed and tried to get off his lap but Harry stopped her by grabbing her wrists.
“Hey, no. You understood that wrong. I just mean that we’ve just made up and I don’t know if sex is such a good idea for us now.”
“Make up sex? Harry, I missed you so much and now that I’ve finally got you back I just want to be as close to you as possible. Please.” she almost begged.
Harry stared at her for a moment and he had to admit he wanted her too. He sighed and nodded. He made her arms wrap around his neck, grabbed the backs of her thighs and stood up with her. He carried her to their bedroom, where he hasn’t been for a whole month.
He gently lied her down on the bed and just admired her for a moment. His fingertips stroked over her soft skin, fist her forehead then her nose and then over her lips.
“Make love to me.” she whispered softly and pressed a kiss to his fingertip.
His eyes snapped to hers and they immediately softened when he saw the tears in her eyes. He leaned down and kissed her lips, taking his time with every stroke of his tongue.

Harry took his time with everything, he undressed her so slowly she was almost getting impatient. Every kiss to her skin lasted longer than normal, every touch feeling more intense and making her shiver.
She took her time as well, kissing every inch of his body and making him writhe and moan underneath her.
When they were both finally naked they didn’t waste anymore time with foreplay, Harry connected them with one thrust of his hips. It was a shock to her at first and she gasped but she got used to his size very quickly.
They kept kissing and whispering sweet ‘I love you’s the whole time. At one point Harry took hold of one of her hands and threaded his fingers through hers. His other hand wandered over her back to her thigh, where he made her leg bent up and her knee touch her breast so he could reach deeper.
It didn’t take them long to reach their peak, both grinding against each other and moaning how close they were and when it finally happened it was overwhelming. They came together, at the same time and with such force that they both couldn’t help but moan out loud.

When they caught their breath again and came down from their highs they were lying so close that every inch of their bodies were touching. Harry kept on stroking her back, making her shiver every once in a while. Y/N pressed countless kisses against his chest, loving the way his muscles tensed every time.

“I was thinking…” Harry whispered after a while.
“Hm?”
“We should go away together. For a few days.”
Y/N lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him, her lips stretched with a smile.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Something private. A place where we feel at home.” he grinned mischievously.
“Your mums?” she gasped excited.
“Mhm.” he hummed with a big smile taking over his features.
“Yes. Hundred times yes.” she giggled.
“I know you love it there. And Holmes Chapel is a very special place for us, isn’t it?”
His hand reached up to stroke her hair away from her face and his fingertips traced her smiling lips.
“It’s so special, Harry.” she whispered.
And it was true. Even though it wasn’t her home it became her second home over the last few years. They spent a lot of time there, especially in the beginning of their relationship. The first ‘I love you’ was shared there. It got really serious between them when they’ve first been there. It’s their happy place. The place where they feel the closest.
“Already told mum we would come over, she’s so looking forward to seeing you. She missed you. Think she missed you more than me.” he fake pouted.
She giggled softly before her face fell and her brows furrowed lightly.
“Does she know what happened between us?”
“Yes.” he sighed and cupped her cheek in his hand.
“Had to tell her, didn’t I? Was screaming at me when I finished, told me to fix it and not come home until we made up.”
She breathed a soft laugh and shook her head.
“That so sounds like your mum.”
“She’s not mad at you in any way. Nothing to worry about.” he reassured her.
“S'good. Was a bit scared. I’m still scared to be honest.”
“About what?” he asked in a whisper. She sat up completely, pulling the sheets with her so she could cover herself up. Harry sat up as well, his face showing concern.
“It’s just… As you said, is it fair to each other when we keep going?”
Harry searched her face, looking for any other emotion than the pure insecurity that her features showed.
“You said you don’t want to break up.”
“I know and I don’t. I’m just scared that we won’t be able to forget what happened and then we start to resent each other.”
“Baby…” Harry sighed and pulled her to him.
He hugged her around her shoulders and pressed countless kisses to the top of her head.
“It’s going to be hard to fight through this and forgive each other but I know we’ll make it. What we have is so special and unique. We’re so close and we love each other so much. We will get through this and in the end we’ll be even stronger, okay? We just have to work on our issues and then everything will be fine.”
A sigh left her lips and she slowly wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Can you promise me something?” she asked.
“Anything.”
“Don’t let me go.”
Harry knew she meant right now and the future. And he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let go of the tight grip he had on her now and he won’t let go of her in the future.


•••


“Babe! Are you ready?” Harry yelled from downstairs.
“Just a second.” she shouted back from their bedroom.
She came running down the stairs a few moments later, tripping over her own feet on the last few steps and she would have fallen down if Harry hadn’t caught her.
“Careful, darling.”
She grinned at him and grabbed onto his shoulders.
“Alright, so I think I have everything. I have my phone, the charger, makeup, clothes, shampoo, toothbru-”
Harry interrupted her with a hard kiss that made her shriek against him. He’s done that a lot over the past few days, at least ten times that day.
“Sorry, couldn’t stop myself.” he smirked.
“I swear you’ll kill me these days.” she breathed.
Harry chuckled and grabbed her hand.
“C'mon now. Don’t want to keep my mum waiting.”
He tugged on her hand gently and lead her out of the house, opening the car door for her and letting her get inside.

Y/N would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous during the drive. It felt like the first time they made their way to Cheshire, and she was practically shaking with nerves. She was scared that Harry’s mum wouldn’t be that relaxed about all this. Of course, it was none of her business but still. She was scared of too many questions because she knew that could make them doubt everything again.
Harry noticed her nerves, she was constantly squirming in her seat and never sitting still for longer than a minute.
“Baby, I told you there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I can’t help it.” Y/N sighed.
“Darling, my mum loves you. Always has and always will.”
“And that’s exactly what I’m scared about! What if she changed her mind about me? Anne is so important to me, Harry. I don’t think I could take it if she didn’t like me anymore.”
“Sweetheart…” Harry breathed and grabbed her hand.
“My mum could never think any less of you. You’re like a second daughter to her. She loves you.”
And with a squeeze to her hand he signaled for her to drop the subject.



It took another few hours until they finally parked in front of the house which looked more like home than the house they shared in London.
As soon as they slammed the car doors shut the front door opened and Anne came running down the stairs.
“Oh, you’re here!”
She wrapped Y/N in a tight hug, almost crashing her but she didn’t mind one bit.
“I haven’t seen you in so long, darling. Oh goodness, I’ve missed you.” she almost cried, her arms constantly rubbing over Y/N’s back.“
“I missed you too.”
Anne pulled back from their embrace with a wide smile and tears brimming her eyes. Her hands cupped her cheeks and wiped at Y/N’s cheeks where tears were streaming down.
“Everything’s going to be alright, okay?” Anne whispered so lowly only Y/N could here.
She nodded as response and smiled warmly at Anne.
“Great to see you too, mother. I missed you a whole lot too… mother.” Harry said dramatically with as much sarcasm as he could muster up.
Anne laughed softly and made her way over to her son. She hugged him as tight as possible without hurting him.
“Don’t call me mother, sounds terrible.”
Harry chuckled and squeezed her tightly.
“Missed you, mum.”
“I missed you too, baby.”
Robin came out then, confused as to why they weren’t coming inside but the sight explained it all.
“Hello, love.” he spoke gently and engulfed Y/N in a tight hug.
“Hi, Robin.” she greeted him.
“You okay?” he asked when he pulled back and saw the tear stains.
“Yeah.” she nodded and smiled softly.
Robin squeezed her shoulders before he let go of her and looked at Harry.
“Hi, idiot.” he said jokingly.
“Hello, Robin.” Harry chuckled.


They brought their bags inside, putting them down in Harry’s childhood bedroom. Y/N felt nostalgia hitting her as soon as she opened the door. The bed where he said ‘I love you’ for the fist time. The smell that never seemed to leave this room and made her feel so at home because it was his smell.
“Everything okay, love?” Harry asked her when she wouldn’t move and stood there as if lightning struck her.
“Y-Yeah.”
“Hey…” he said softly and turned her around, lacing his fingers through hers and lifting his free hand to her cheek to make her look at him.
“What’s going on?” he pressed.
She shook her head and diverted her eyes to the floor.
“Darling.” he whispered and lifted her head with two fingers underneath her chin.
“It’s just… Every time we’ve been here we’ve been so incredibly happy. There’s no other place where I feel this close to you. What if that is gone?”
Harry searched her eyes and saw the worry and trouble in them.
“Nothing’s gone, baby. It might take a bit of time to come back but this is still our happy place. You have to stop doubting everything. Just have trust in us. In our love.”
She gazed into his eyes for a few more moments and then nodded. He was right. Of course he was.
“Okay.”
Harry pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her nose and then to her lips. Over and over again he covered her mouth with his, letting his lips stroke over hers.
“Mum probably wonders what we’re doing.” he said after they spent minutes like that.
“Probably.” Y/N agreed.
“C'mon. Let’s go downstairs.”


The day they spent with Anne and Robin was paradise. They cooked together, played scrabble and talked about anything and everything. But her favorite part was probably when they went for a walk and Harry wrapped his arm so tightly around her waist they were almost tripping over each other’s feet. They were walking in front of Anne and Robin but they didn’t care that they showed more PDA than ever before in front of them.
They had fun. Just like every time, Harry showed her the bakery he worked at with his standard words: ‘you’re dating a baker, love’. Just like every time, he showed her his old school. And just like every time, he showed her the tree where he had his first kiss at and just like every time, he teased her about the tiny bit of jealously that creeped over her face at the thought of him kissing another girl.
It was like the old days. They were happy and carefree and… close.


The evening was almost intimate. But not in a naughty way, no. In the most innocent way ever.
They were all sitting in front of the tv, Y/N and Harry snuggled together so close underneath a warm blanket. Harry had both arms wrapped around her body, one around her shoulders and one around her waist, his fingers stroking her over the hoodie she stole from him. Her face was pressed into the place where his neck met his shoulder and her legs were in between his.
Closer wasn’t possible.
And the best thing was that it also felt like they couldn’t get any closer emotionally.


•••


“Babe!”
“Baaaabeee!”
“BAAABYYYYY!”
His voice cracked and broke at the end, his giggle reaching her ears.
He wasn’t beside of her for sure or else she would be deaf because of the volume of his voice. She pouted when she felt the cold sheets beside her, no trace of him but his smell. She stood up and grabbed the hoodie he’s been wearing the day before, smiling when she caught a whiff of his cologne.
She jogged down the stairs into the kitchen where he was standing in a pair of gym short and a white shirt that’s been washed so many times that it was see-through and had countless tiny holes.
“What the hell do you want?” she asked with as much annoyance she could muster up but her wide smile gave her away.
“Good morning to you too, sleepyhead.” Harry grinned cheekily at her and stopped whatever kind of fruit he was cutting and made his way to her and hugged her to his chest.
“Missed you in bed.” she whispered as quietly to him as possible so Anne who was sitting at the table and watching them with a adoring smile didn’t hear.
“M'sorry, darling. Wanted to prepare a nice breakfast for you.” she smiled and pulled back with a kiss to her cheek.
“Wanted to wake you up with coffee in bed but the waffles are ready so I had to get you down here as fast as possible.” he chuckled.
“I told him it wouldn’t be the nicest way to wake you up with yelling but you know him.” Anne winked.
“Oi.” Harry frowned at his mum.
Y/N giggled and walked over to Anne, squeezing her hand as greeting.
“Good morning.”
“Morning, you slept well?” Anne asked her.
“Yep, very well.” she nodded and caught Harry smiling softly.
“Robin is already gone for work?”
“Yes, had to leave at eight.” Anne nodded.
“Mhh.” Y/N hummed and sat down across from Anne.


The breakfast Harry prepared was fabulous. She knew Harry was a great cook but she was surprised every time.
Afterwards he took her out to the fields even though she protested because she knew his hay fever would act up but he insisted.
They sat in the middle of a field on a blanket, their bodies wrapped up in blankets as well and cuddled up against each other.
“Do you remember the first time you stayed at my place?” Harry asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
“Of course I do.” she replied.
“I was so goddamn nervous.” he admitted.
“Yeah?” she asked and lifted her head from his chest to look at him.
“God yes. But a good kind of nervous. The thought of spendings so much time with you made me so happy. And when you said you wanted to sleep in one bed with me… God, baby.”
Y/N chuckled quietly but didn’t say a word, she wanted him to go on.
“I was so incredibly happy when you let me hold you. And then when I woke up in the morning and you were right there beside me, so close I was so overwhelmed with… love, I guess.”
“Love?” she asked almost incredulously.
“Yes. I fell in love with you that morning. I watched you for at least an hour. At one point you reached out for me and cuddled yourself close to me and I knew then that I would never want to wake up without you again.”
She stared into his eyes for a few moments before she cleared her throat.
“Do you remember how you came in the bathroom when I was getting ready?” she asked him.
“That morning?” he asked.
“Yes.” she nodded.
“I was about to put on lipstick and you whined that I couldn’t kiss you then, so you took it from me and kissed the living hell out of me.”
Harry laughed at her choice of words and nodded at the memory.
“I think I fell in love with you in that moment.”
“Why?” he whispered.
“It was so easy with you. There was nothing I had to worry about, nothing to be nervous about. You made me feel comfortable in that short amount of time and I never felt like that before.”
He stroked a strand of her hair behind her ear and gazed deep into her eyes. He leaned up then, closing the distance between their lips and watching how her eyes fluttered close as soon as his lips brushed hers.
“I love when you do that.” he told her in a whisper.
“What?”
“The way your eyes flutter close when I kiss you. You don’t just do that because that’s how it’s supposed to be, you do it because you can’t help it.”
She blushed at his words and how true they were, she really couldn’t help it. Harry smiled and leaned in again to connect their lips and again he watched how her eyes closed.
“Love it.” he whispered.
She blushed again and looked down, she always got a bit nervous when he said such things. She laced her fingers through his and lifted them to her mouth to kiss his knuckles.
Like always he was wearing his rings and even though she loved them because the were just so Harry and pretty, she enjoyed holding his hand bare and ringless. It was more intimate and closer.
She removed the gold band from his finger and dropped it to the blanket underneath them before she intertwined their hands again. Harry removed his hand from hers after a second though to grab his ring and Y/N almost thought she upset him by slipping it off his finger but he took her hand and put the ring on her ring finger.
Y/N gasped softly at the gesture, it felt so intimate and personal it took her breath away. And she had to admit she loved the thought of Harry putting a ring on her finger one day.
Harry kissed the ring on her finger and looked up at her with a soft smile.
“One day I’ll put another ring on that finger.”
“Promise?” she asked in a whisper.
“I promise.”

anonymous asked:

Can you do a blurb where Gemma and Anne don't like Harry's girlfriend and think she's using him for money. Harry doesn't know and then finds out and is really upset about it

“’ello?”

“Harry, how many times do I have to tell you?”

“That I’m the fittest bloke you’ve ever laid eyes on?” She could hear the smirk through the speaker of her phone, knowing that he knew damn well what she was talking about. “As many times as you want.”

“You know what I’m talking about.” She wasn’t angry, per se- just overwhelmed, for lack of better words, at how much he spoiled her. “Just because I remarked how nice a bracelet was last week doesn’t mean I wanted it.” She sighed, the sparkle of the diamond on said bracelet catching the sun from where she had it laid on the kitchen table in front of her. “And if I did happen to want it, I could buy it for myself.”

“Know you could.” He didn’t sound the slightest bit phased because she put up an argument every time. “Just wanted to spoil my girl,‘s that really such a crime?”

“Yes.” She was quick to answer. “I don’t want you thinking I’m only here for the gifts and the money.”

“I know you’re not.” He shook his head, despite knowing she couldn’t possibly see him. “But it’s my way of showing you how much you mean to me.”

Admittedly, it warmed her heart how much thought and love was behind each and every gift, none of them were ever just a splurge of money because he felt like he had to buy her over.

“And I’m really thankful, but I honestly don’t need gifts to see that you’re genuine about us.” Her voice was much softer now. “Just- promise me you’ll stop spending your money on me all the time? I really do appreciate it but it would make me much happier to see you spend it on one of your ridiculously expensive scarves or something.”

“A’right I promise.” He sighed jokingly, as if she was asking a lot off him. “I hope you know I’m only going to go crazy on your birthday and at Christmas, though.”

“I guess I can live with that.” She reasoned and he chuckled.

He was one of only a few others sitting in the departures lounge of the airport and he was thankful for his own space in the corner, happier to bicker with his girlfriend than to make small talk with anyone else. After speaking for a little while longer, the voice on the speaker announced his flight, notifying him that there was only five minutes until the gates closed.

“I’ve got to go love but I’ll see you later on.” He stood up, throwing his carry on over his shoulder and making his way towards his gate.

“Ok, call me when you land safe.”

“Will do.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

//

On her way to the airport, (y/n) decided she could kill a bit of time by calling in with Gemma as it would beat sitting on an uncomfortable metal bench for god knows how long until Harry’s flight came in. She also figured she could pick up his charger that he mentioned leaving there last week.

Having only been with Harry for just under 10 months, she had met Anne and Robin four times, Gemma three and Des just once. There was the whole formal ‘meet the parents’ meal a few months in and, afterwards, it was a rare occasion that she was able to travel with Harry to see them on his time off- she did have her own work commitments after all.

Despite that, she wasn’t entirely nervous about meeting with Gemma again; she seemed easy enough to talk to when Harry was present so she was sure going solo wouldn’t make a huge difference. After pulling up to the apartment block and being allowed to walk on ahead through by the security guard who had come to know who she was, she made it up to the fourth floor in a matter of minutes and gave a light knock on the oak-wood door.

“Hi!” She greeted the female clone of her boyfriend as soon as the door opened. “I was on my way to the airport to get Harry but figured I may as well drop in to say hello and pick up his charger for him.”

“Couldn’t he have done that once he landed?” She tried to ignore the bitter tone to her voice, deciding instead to laugh it off.

“He’s usually too tired to function after a long flight.” She laughed.

“I know.” She gave her a pointed look. “He’s been my brother longer than he’s been your boyfriend, y’know.”

This time, she decided to stay silent and chose not to address the bitterness in her voice. Without any further word, Gemma trudged back through her flat. Not knowing if she was welcome to follow or not, (y/n) hovered awkwardly by the doorway before deciding to just follow her anyway.

She could hear her talking to someone in the kitchen, but couldn’t make out – and didn’t really have an interest in- what they were saying.

“Hi, Anne.” She gave her a warm smile once realising who the voice belonged to on her arrival to the kitchen. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

“Thanks.” She gave her a tight lipped smile, not bothering to maintain any eye contact.

“I’ll just get that charger then-“

“New bracelet?” Anne nodded to the diamond link on her arm; the brand new one that had only arrived from Harry mere hours ago.

“Oh.” She looked down at it. “Yeah.”

“How’d you afford that?” The harshness in Gemma’s voice was painfully obvious now and (y/n) didn’t miss how her mother winced slightly at the tone she had certainly not been brought up to use, but she didn’t bother reprimanding her.

“Harry got it for me.”

“Of course he did.” She laughed a dry, bitter laugh. “Just like everything else you own.”

She was taken aback to say the least and couldn’t find any words to answer with, because what exactly could she answer with?

“What she means is that you seem to be getting an awful lot off Harry lately.” Anne tried to ease the awkward atmosphere in the room but didn’t back down on defending her son from someone she thought was taking advantage of him.

“I don’t-“

“I mean, if it’s not him taking you out everywhere and paying the bill every time, it’s you getting these expensive gifts off him.”

“I don’t ask him to.” She was making a poor effort at defending herself against the two strongly opinionated women, sounding nothing short of timid and nervous. “I don’t like when he buys me things all the time.”

“Sure you don’t.” Gemma rolled her eyes. “Listen, Harry’s an adult and neither of us two can tell him who or what he spends his hard earned money on. But we just wanted to make it clear that we can see you for exactly the way you are and we’ll never accept someone into the family who takes advantage of him.”

“Gem-“

“No, Mum.” She snapped. “You said it yourself. Harry only thinks he’s in love and she’s taking advantage of that.”

She looked to Anne for confirmation that she hadn’t said such a thing after being so nice when Harry was there, but when her head stayed bowed down, eyes focused on the table, she took a deep breath and stuttered out a quiet “I’m sorry.” Before bolting to her car where she would be able to let out the hurt she was feeling.

//

Landed safe. Just getting my bags xx

In the café x

“Boo.” (y/n) jumped, startled from where she was in deep thought and didn’t have to fake the smile on her face when the familiar feeling of her boyfriend’s arms were engulfing her. “Well, somebody certainly missed me.” He laughed, placing a kiss on her forehead.

“I did.” She mumbled into his shirt.

“C’mon, let’s get home, yeah?” He suggested.

“Do you want a coffee before we go?” She asked, pulling a note from her purse that would cover the price of a coffee each.

“I’d love one, actually.” She stopped him when his hand went to the pocket of his jeans where he kept loose change.

“I’ll get it.”

“Love, ‘s only a coffee.” He smirked. “Am I not even allowed to treat you to that now?”

“Not when I’m fully capable of buying it myself Harry!” Her volume had increased slightly, but not to the point where she was drawing any unwanted attention to them. “I do have a job, you know.”

“I’m aware.” He spoke slowly, trying to read her expression.

“And could you please take this,” She pulled the bracelet off her wrist. “back? I’m sick of you throwing away all your hard earned money on me.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to stay right where she was until he figured out what the hell was going on in her head. “What’s this all about? Where did you take this notion?”

“I’m not taking advantage of you.”

“No one said you were, poppet.”

Everyone says I am!”

“Well I don’t care what everyone says,” He shrugged. “I know you’re not.”

“You only-“ She took a shuddering breath in. “You only think you love me.” His face fell at her statement. “And I’m taking advantage of that.”

“No this isn’t-“ He shook his head. “This isn’t you. Is this the fans? I’ve told you not to look at what they’re saying.”

“No, it’s not the fans.”

“Who, then?”

She didn’t want to tell him; didn’t want to be the reason for a possible argument with his mother and sister. But the desperate look on his face made her want to take away all his worries.

“It doesn’t-“

“Who, (y/n)?” He was more stern now.

“Your mum and Gemma just pointed out a few things.” She swallowed. “I don’t blame them for thinking how they did.” He looked confused, angry and hurt that two of the people he cared most about were saying such things about one of the other people he cared deeply for. “It could be true-“

“It’s bullshit.” He asserted. “Complete and utter bullshit.”

“Harry-“

“Let’s go home.”

//

Much later that night, Harry crawled into bed after having a shower and could tell by how his girlfriend was breathing that she wasn’t asleep, but was still facing away from him. He decided to give her space but laid one hand on her hip, tracing mindless little patterns.

“I called mum earlier.” She didn’t respond with words but he seen how her shoulders tensed up. “I made sure she knew how wrong that was of them to say such things about you.” Still no response. “She just worries sometimes but I’ll not let them speak to you like that again.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Her voice was cracked with the emotion that had built up inside her all day.

“It’s because I love you.” He placed a kiss on her shoulder blade. “And I know I do.”

There are two aspects of this Lost Special conspiracy everyone needs to be aware of.

Claiming “BBC Sherlock is attempting to make television history by recreating Doyle’s social phenomenon that surrounded The Final Problem of 1893 on an international scale” isn’t that wild of a conspiracy theory. The evidence for this is overwhelming. You could have good, logical debates with skeptics over this exact concept. This is where I put most of my effort – I care more about predicting how the episode and marketing spectacle may go than I do anything else.

However.

Claiming “Derren Brown wrote episodes of Sherlock in order to turn viewers gay”, “Apple Tree Yard isn’t a real show”, “Sherlock North is a fake perpetuated by the BBC”, and other bizarre theories we shuffle around on this site are what give people the ammunition they need to call us out as lunatics.

Rumors and misinformation spread like wildfire on this site. Metas I’ve written incorrectly that I believed to be true at the time blow up with thousands of notes but when I write later to correct the flawed logic, those posts get ignored.

People who point out that conspiracy theorists allow incorrect ideas to get out of hand are absolutely right. Everyone is responsible for the content they allow on their blog, and that goes for those who reblog others’ ideas, too.

Offended by people claiming conspiracy bloggers have a mob mentality toward illogical and chaotic ideas? Then stop doing it or own up to it. But to pretend we don’t do this is to turn a blind eye to everything that goes on here in this corner of the Fandom. We absolutely do have a mob mentality.

“Conspiracy” is not a holy word. Any conspiracy, whether true or not, requires that you believe fact is fiction, and therefore fiction is fact. This is true everywhere, for every conspiracy, ever. People who believe in a conspiracy and share their ideas means they attempt to persuade others to question their reality and sanity. This is gaslighting. It is what conspiracy theorists do. It is the nature of the beast. Do i do this? Yes. We all do. To pretend we don’t is, again, to not understand the definition of “conspiracy”.

I’ve been compared to a cult leader many times on this site. And you know what? It’s pretty accurate. That’s why i like to post wake-up calls like this. Educate yourselves. Watch what you reblog. Thick critically when others can’t.

I may be toxic, cruel, and overzealous in the eyes of some people on this site, but I am certainly not delusional.

anonymous asked:

After Claire reveals the truth to Jamie about who she really is, he replays the day they met in his mind to see it from a new perspective.

Hail Mary

Premise: What if Jamie and Claire had 1) been more openly affectionate, and 2) not *had* to get married?

Part I  Part II  Part III Part IV Part V 



Part VI 

He couldn’t get enough air. 

No, he wasn’t just suffocating. He was being suffocated, being pressed downward, screaming, but with no one to hear, no mercy from those cruel hands pinning him down. He struggled against them, struggled against the evil and the darkness of —

And then he was free and Jamie roared upward, lunging for his attacker’s throat. 

He came awake in mid-air, the cold air hitting his bare legs, reality still swirling and shifting in the darkness as he flung the intruder flat on the bed, pinning THEM, choking them with— 

“Ja—MIE—” came a strangled female voice, throat muscles working desperately beneath his hands. “—s’—ME!”

CLAIRE.

He leapt backward off her and off the bed so violently that he staggered and would have toppled onto his backside if he hadn’t caught onto the tall dresser. He steadied himself and his mind, though both were reeling: 

Leoch 

His chamber 

Dead of night 

Claire Beauchamp 

on his bed

She had sat up, and in the dim, flickering light, Jamie could see that she was clad only in her shift, a flimsy shawl underneath her on the bed. 

His heart thundered—melted— to see her; to see how lovely she was; to feel how deeply she roused him; to be hit with the aching of how much he wished to touch her—take her in his arms and tell her how much—how deeply, painfully—he’d missed her these last three weeks—

But the ice around his heart solidified again almost instantly, the ice that had kept him sane for those three weeks; the ice that would continue to keep him alive as long as he was forced to see her around Castle Leoch, until he could get himself away to Lallybroch, away from her. 

And yet despite everything, that very ice shuddered to see the fear in her golden eyes, her hands clutched at her throatDespite everything she’d done and said, his heart contracted with panic. His voice came out urgent and strangled. “Have I hurt ye, Mistress?” 

She dropped her hands at once and shook her head quickly. “No, just startled. I’m not hurt, Jamie,” she said more firmly, seeing him unconvinced, searching her skin for marks. “I promise. I’m alright.” 

“Aye, well…I’m glad of it. I’m—I beg your pardon for—” he made a vague gesture toward the bed. “Ye took me unawares from my dream, and—I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she repeated, giving him a weak smile. “No harm done.” 

He nodded, but the ice was firmly back in pace. “Tis time for ye to take your leave, Mistress Beauchamp.”

“No.” 

He shouldn’t have been surprised, not in the slightest.

“Mistress, ‘tis the middle of the night.  D’ye have any idea what they’d say if ye were found in my—” He took a step toward her. “Your reputation would be ruined.”

Her expression was hard, yet still somehow flippant in that damnable way of hers as she shrugged, “Don’t have a very good reputation to uphold, anyhow.” 

“Dinna be joking about,” he snapped, holding out his hand. “Come. NOW.”  

 “I’m not leaving. And before you threaten to carry me out yourself—” she said loudly, JUST as he’d been opening his mouth to do just that, “—know that if you so much as try, I’LL scream at the top of my lungs and see who comes running. I don’t give a rat’s arse about my reputation, and I’M willing to let the chips fall as they may. Do you want me to do that?” 

Damn her. DAMN her. 

No.” 

“Well then,” she said, raising her eyebrows, “look’s like I’m staying.” 

Defeated and all the more angry for it, he threw his hands up in the air. “What in God’s were ye doing creeping about touching me in the night, anyway?”

She glared at him. “To talk to you, of course.”

Talk?” He rubbed his hands backward through his hair to keep from throttling her in earnest. “Have ye no scruples, woman? Christ, there are proper times and places for—”

“Oh, there ARE, are there? DO be a dear and tell me when and where those might be, won’t you?” She made a sound of deep derision and crossed her arms sharply, apparently as angry and barely-restrained as he. “Jamie, you’ve spent THREE BLOODY WEEKS ignoring me—what else was I supposed to DO??”

*Avoiding* you, mo nighean donn; not ignoring you.

But avoid her, he had, and quite effectively, at that. Colum’s explicit instructions had been that she was not to leave the castle walls, nor had she, else she certainly would have come to find him at the stables, where he had spent every possible moment, save sleeping and mealtimes, though he’d contrived to eat at odd hours. She had tried half a dozen times to approach him, in the corridors, in the great hall, in the courtyards, but he’d said no more than a cool, “Mistress,” of acknowledgment as he took his leave.

Avoided, aye; never ignored. He had been as aware of her as of the daylight, her presence and absence fundamentally guiding his thoughts and activities. She was his light, whether he willed it or no. 

“What else was I supposed to DO, Jamie?” she was repeating, now standing just a few feet from him, moving with him as he stepped to and fro away from her, to MAKE him look at her.

He did look at her, hard. “Leave me be. That’s what.” Just go away. Go away from this Castle and rid me of the torment of having you near.

Jamie!” Frustration and desperation were battling for dominance in her wearied voice. “We HAVE to talk!”

“We dinna have to do any such thing. And, by all the saints,” he exclaimed, gesturing wildly at her body, desperate for anything to throw her off the scent, “even if we did, did ye have to come practically naked?? You’re in naught but your—” (thin-as-an-April-breeze) “—SHIFT and I’m—” 

He could feel the draft from the window sneaking up his legs, caressing every inch of bare flesh under his shirt, and his face burned

“—I’m not presentable.”

She didn’t budge an inch. “Put some damed clothes on, then.”  

When he didn’t immediately make a move, she rolled her eyes, turned, and walked to the bed, snatching up her shawl and jerking it around her shoulders and pulling it around her. 

Breasts now covered, she raised a defiant eyebrow.  He glared at her, but finally decided that even if he should risk her threats and carry her bodily into the hall and bolt the door behind, best to do so with breeks on. He threw open the trunk at the foot of the bed and rummaged until he found a pair, turning from her as he laced them.

“Can we talk now?” she said, as he turned back to face her.

In contrast to her evident amusement, his own voice was low and nasty. “Go ahead.”

She blinked and dropped her eyes to her crossed arms. 

A dhia, how he despised himself in that moment—he wasn’t the kind of man that spoke this way to women, not least of all to a woman that he—but Jamie simply couldn’t shake the anger and hurt that coursed through him at the sight of her. She didn’t want him for a husband—fine; but could she not just stay away? Go away. Just go away. 

When she spoke, she met his eye straight-on, quiet, but determined. “Thank you. For helping me talk my way out from under Colum and Dougal,” her eyes were shining with sincerity. “I truly couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You’re welcome. Anything else, Mistress?” He gestured toward the door.

She threw up her hands. “Jamie, for heaven’s sake will please just hold your goddamn horses and give me a chance, here? I’ve got things I need to ask you!”

He bowed his head. Stop being a child, Fraser.

“What is it ye wish to know, mistress?”

She heaved a breath and let it out, preparing herself, shivering. He strode to the fire and stoked it, to give them both a moment for it. The light danced on her face as he turned back to her, her face strained and urgent with her questions.  “Why did you help me with your uncles? After all I—You didn’t have to tell them anything. You had every reason to just leave me to my own fate. Why?”

He shrugged, uncomfortable, still fingering the poker. “Didna wish to see ye come to harm.”

“Harm?” That genuinely startled her. “You think they would have….ordered me tortured, you mean?”

“Perhaps not Colum….” He chose his words carefully. “But ye have—not the faintest idea of the—the depth of the hatred Dougal bears the English, even more than most Scots. If he truly believed ye to be passing on dangerous information…” 

He shrugged again. He had no doubt that she would have come to some form of harm, whether at the hands of the MacKenzies or the English, had he not interceded. No matter how deeply she had hurt him, he didn’t wish to see any ill befall her. Not ever.

“And do they truly believe you?”

“Aye, they do.”

She nodded slowly, then suddenly dropped her eyes and began fingering the hem of her shawl. “The ‘allegiances’ you spoke of…Was that…” Christ, she was squirming like a worm on a hook, “were you talking about Laoghaire?”

He snorted. “Certainly NOT.” The look on her face made him realize too late that infatuation with Miss MacKenzie would have been a perfect ruse to hide behind; but then again, Miss Beauchamp always had a knack with catching him off guard. Without waiting for her to press, he grudgingly added, “It was my allegiance to Colum of which I spoke. That’s why he took it to heart as he did”

“To Colum?” 

He couldn’t shake the glow that had lit the ice around his heart when her face had lightened instantly at his disavowal of Laoghaire MacKenzie. 

He cleared his throat, squeezing the poker. “Colum wishes that I should succeed him as clan chieftain, someday.”

“Oh! Oh, that’s—Jamie, that’s wonderful!” She looked genuinely delighted and impressed. “Such a great honor.”

“Perhaps, though it’s a honor I dream not of.” 

“No?”

“I’ve no intention of leading the clan, at least not until after Dougal’s tried his hand at it. He’d skin me alive for taking ‘his’ position, and I’ve no desire to start a clan war. The easiest way is for me to remove myself. Colum doesna ken that, yet, though.” 

“But how does—? What does that have to do with…?” 

“My taking a Sassenach wife—” the word cut his throat like glass, “—would have negated my eligibility for clan leadership outright.”

She dropped her eyes. “I see.”

Aye, I would have done it in a heartbeat, mo ghraidh.

He cleared his throat again. “And so, while Colum and Dougal dinna yet trust that you’ve no other motive for being amongst us, same as before, they do believe my tale about why ye fled.”

Why she fled.

“I had a LIFE, and I’m far past due to return to it!”

“I don’t need your ‘protection,’ Mr. McTavish.”

And still, most cutting of all, the coldness in those golden eyes as she had said: “You were mistaken.”

“I don’t expect your forgiveness,” she was saying, still facing him boldly, though he could see her twisting the fabric of her shawl again, faster and harder. “I don’t even expect you to speak to me again after this. And I’ll go, tomorrow, if that’s what you want.” 

Christ, she meant it. she would leave. 

Aye, Sassenach, just go. 

“I’ll tell your uncles to hand me over to the English and be done with it. It doesn’t bloody matter anymore.” 

Dinna leave me. 

He thickened the ice around his heart. 

“But—” A deep breath, and then her voice was softer. I can’t go another day without saying...I’m so sorry, Jamie.”

The depth of feeling in her voice was powerful enough to catch the breath in his throat… but the ice was powerful too. He only managed a quiet, hard, “What for?”

“For acting the way I did, the night I left. I was…” She paused, shaking her head, “—vicious….and you didn’t deserve that. Not at all. You are—were… are my friend, and I had no cause to treat you in such a fashion.” She took another deep, ragged breath. “The thing is—”

“Let’s just leave it be, aye?”Jamie didn’t think he could bear this. He moved from the fireplace to the window on the far side of the bed, quickly, that she might not see his face. “I accept your apology. There’s no point discussing it further, Mistress.”

“No point?” she whispered from behind him.

His anger flared and he had to grit his teeth. “Ye told me in no uncertain terms, that night, what your feelings were, Claire. Whether or not ye should have been nicer about it is truly neither here nor—”

“But Jamie—” He could hear her moving closer to him, her voice now with an edge of eager desperation. “—I had good reason to leave, I swear it, but—the most important thing you have to hear is—” Her voice was tremulous with emotion. “— you weren’t mistaken—and I came back for you.” Her hand came to rest softly on his arm.

“Jesus, Claire, can ye no’ hear yourself?” He threw off her touch and twisted to face her, hating the rage and scorn coursing through him, but feeling utterly powerless to halt its path. “So, your grand plans of returning to your old life came to naught, and ye came crawling back to Leoch because ye imagined I would be better than nothing, aye?” 

“Jamie,” she whispered, horrified, “it isn’t like that.”

“Oh, no?”

“No, you bastard!” she hissed, on the brink of tears, following behind him as he stormed back to the hearth. “it BLOODY isn’t!”

“Tell me, then, Claire,” he demanded, keeping his voice low. He’d come to stand behind the big armchair—to put some goddamn space between them— and he gripped the back of it hard with both hands to ground himself, “where did ye go?”

Silence. Fear in her whisky eyes. He could see the lie forming, see her closing against him in that glass face. 

“Ye left with haste and wi’ a purpose,” he pressed. “Why?”

Her eyes were down. Her head was shaking hard, fast. “I—I can’t tell you why.”

“You could.” 

“I CAN’T!” 

He nodded, shaking all over. “Then why on EARTH should I trust your word?”

She looked up with glassy eyes.

WHY?” he repeated, more angrily, more pained with every choking syllable “When ye sleep in my arms, hold me wi’ your head on my chest of a morning and then shun me twice to my face before the next sunrise? When your face and your body told me one thing, and then your words another?” His hands were fists, quaking with fury and pain. “When ye STILL willna tell me where it is ye came from or where it is ye went? Why should I believe a word you say, Claire?” 

Silence. 

“TELL ME!!”

“You shouldn’t.” 

Her sudden quiet startled him and he searched her face. No longer angry and defensive, no longer controlled. He watched it fall, moment by moment, into a blank of despair.  She continued her descent, apparently helpless to stop it, and sank down onto the trunk at the foot of his bed. “You shouldn’t—you have no reason to believe me.” She released a gasping sob and buried her face in her hands. 

A long silence, punctuated only by the heart wrenching sounds of her sudden brokenness. 

Heart-wrenching. His heart was wrenching apart to see her in pain. 

He tried to be indifferent, to see in this another charade; but after a long moment, he couldn’t help but speak, to reach out to her. “Claire?”

She gave no answer, only wept harder and shook her head back and forth.

Another minute. 

“Why d’ye say I shouldna believe ye, Claire?”

Silence. 

Gently. “Why?” 

Why, mo nighean donn

“Because—” Heaving breaths. Crying. “If I told you the—truth, Jamie—the real, actual truth,” she sobbed still harder into her hands, her voice a strangled wheeze, “You’d never believe me…you’d think me completely—completely mad…”

Would he? Could he ever believe this marvel of an individual to be out of her mind? A lunatic? No. That simply couldn’t be. Whatever it was that she’d concealed, whatever it was she didn’t want to tell him, needed to tell him—it was truth. 

Slowly, he moved from behind the chair, slowly settled beside her on the trunk. 

She exhaled, moved and overcome. “Jamie….”

He couldn’t touch her, wasn’t sure what he would do if he touched her; but he was glad that she knew he was  near. She was right, after all: whatever else passed between them, she was his friend. “I’m here. Tell me….lass.”

Lass. 

It was the first time he had called her anything close to an endearment since she’d returned to Leoch—no, since the night she left—and the saying of it—Christ, it sent a bolt of blazing lightning into the ice around his heart. 

My lass

The crack was deep, deep enough so as not to be repaired, smoldering, spreading.  

My own lass. 

“The woman of Balnain.”

“The—what?”  She had blurted it with no preamble, and he yanked himself back from the melting of his heart to try to understand. “The—Welshman’s song? What of it?”

“I am the woman of Balnain.”

He gobbled for a moment, looking sidelong at her. “Well, the—the words actually translate more to ‘I am the wife of the laird of Bal—”

She shook her head, eyes squeezed tight. “No. No, that’s not what I mean.” 

“I…dinna understand.” 

“I. AM. her.” she whispered, looking up at the ceiling and blinking hard.  “I, Claire Beauchamp, AM the woman of Balnain.”

The room seemed to crystallize and go silent. Even the fire was muted out, a faint humming in the distance. 

“The truth…Jamie….The truth is that I am not of this time.” She was still shaking with sobs but was nonetheless speaking with an intensity that he’d never heard from her, not ever before.  “I woke up one morning in the year nineteen hundred and forty-five…and I landed in seventeen forty-three.” She could barely get the words out. “I woke up in Inverness and went searching for a flower I’d seen on the hill of standing stones…” 

She recited the eerie song, her voice—God, her voice—

“I stood upon the hill, and wind did rise….
I placed my hands upon the tallest stone
and travelled to a far, distant land,

….but Jamie….it wasn’t a ‘distant land.’ It was a distant time. The eighteenth century.”

He was gaping at her. She gave another desperate sob, her eyes boring into him, despairing. “That’s the truth, Jamie; The truth of where I came from. I—traveled—back—traveled here—in time.” 

Nineteen hundred…and forty….

Back… 

in time….? 

There were tales, of course—folk being stolen away by the fairies and being taken to times not their own—

—but as an educated man, he’d always—surely those were only—

But with a jolt akin to being kicked by a great beast, all of it flooded into his mind at once, bowling him over: 

The strange shift she had worn

Her lack of friends and relations

Her inability to account for her background, her intentions among us

The way she had asked for the town, that night we’d found her—a town that must have been visible, two hundred years hence

The way even the most common words and customs seemed foreign to her

The daft words she herself had used

The way this remarkable woman had fallen into his life….

The way this woman like no other he’d ever encountered in his lifetime…

“I was born in nineteenth hundred and eighteen,” she was saying intently, breaking apart, “I was born two hundred years from now.” She make a desperate sound at his silence—anger—fear—tragedy. “Jamie, do you hear me?”

But Jamie heard her words as though from under water; silently reciting the rest of the Welshman’s song

But one day, I saw the moon come out
and the wind rose once more,
so I touched the stones
and travelled back to my own land
and took up again with—

“You’ve been trying to get back to him,” he moaned, the horror and the grief of it washing over him in a landslide, “’the man ye left behind.’

She gasped, then gaped at him, utterly dumbstruck. She couldn’t speak for a long time. Nor could he; could only hear the wailing of his heart. 

When she did finally find her voice, it was strangled and tear-choked. “You—believe me??”

“Aye,” he said at once, his own voice far from strong, but confident in that, at least. “I do believe ye, Sassenach.”

Beyond the memories, all the evidence of her otherness running through his mind like a vision, he could see it in her eyes; he could see it in the slant of her shoulders, broken, but no longer on guard, no longer holding back; he could see it across her glass face, finally free of secrets and lies. Finally free. Aye, he believed her…

…and the truth broke his heart all over again, into more pieces—millions more—than they’d been before. She was married. She wasn’t free to give her heart—Nor had she been; not from the first moment he’d laid eyes upon her. Claire Beauchamp was another man’s wife. 

“Forgive me, lass,” he murmured, rising and going to the fire, trying to keep his voice from breaking, to keep from showing her his despair. He understood, now; understood why she had acted the way she had, but the pain was too great. He had only enough strength left to appear strong. “Stay here for the night—I’ll find another bed.” 

“Forgive?” came her voice behind him, truly bewildered. “Whatever for?”

He had tears in his eyes and he blinked them away fiercely, gritting his teeth. “I canna even bear to think of the—the fool I made of myself in your eyes back wi’ the rent party. Proposing marriage, professing love, when ye already had—”

“No!” she said, jumping to her feet and wiping her own tears away, hard. “Jamie, no, please—that’s what I’m trying to tell you—you weren’t a fool.” 

She came close to stand beside him, and after a long pause, she took his hand. “Jamie…..you… weren’t mistaken.”

He wasn’t—? He hadn’t been—?

He couldn’t shake off her touch. Couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t even move at all from the inrush of feeling and hope and—

“I felt—just the same as you, Jamie—” she said, carefully but firmly through her tears and emotion. “—from the—God, the first time you held me here at Leoch,—From then onwards, I felt what it was between us.”

A Dhia, just slay me now, lass. Kill me here and let my heart be gone, rather than this torture. He felt like a boy, so eager for her love, and so frightened to hope for it.

“That’s why I left that night—” She was squeezing his hand so hard it hurt, and was staring up at him, her eyes unblinking and spilling with tears. Jamie was staring into the fire, trying to keep control of himself, but she wouldn’t look away. “—because I cared for you too and I felt—” She gave a wracking sob, “—so ashamed because it was like he—my husband—like Frank never—even existed to me—” 

She cares for me. 

She cared for me all along. 

“—And so when you—when you said those things—poured out your heart to me, and I—wanted to pour mine out to you—and I had to get away—and I ran—”

He was squeezing her hand to keep from flying apart. 

She ran because she felt she must 

She cares for me. 

“—and I was praying the whole time I rode it would have been a dream—that I would touch the stones and wake up, but it wasn’t a dream—you were real—and what I felt for you was real—”

—Jesus—

“—but I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d come back—”

She ran because of duty .

Her hand in his shook. His hand in hers shook. 

Claire cares for me, too.

“—then I got to the stones and I—couldn’t get through—” She was sobbing, harder than she had yet sobbed in his presence, panic and weariness overtaking her such that she swayed next to him. “—I couldn’t get back—was pounding on that stone for hours—hours—but I—I couldn’t get—couldn’t—”

“Oh, lass—” And before he could stop himself, he was clutching her tight against him, comforting her, holding her, trying to shield her from the sobs that wracked her body.  “I’m so sorry…Claire, I’m so sorry…”

God, and he was, too. The pain and turmoil she’d undergone, that had been tearing her apart with no one to help keep her sane; no one to keep her from being alone. He held her, forcing himself to think only of her. “It’s alright….shhhh, it’s alright… Christ, I’m so sorry.” 

She pressed her cheek hard into his chest. “Jamie, I was so ashamed.” 

“Ashamed? Lass, you’ve nothing to be—”

She pushed back from him and staggered away toward the fire,  just far enough to look him in the eye,. “Because I was relieved—Jamie— I was RELIEVED that I couldn’t go back to him—” She raised her hands aimlessly to the level of her eyes, watching them quake. “—RELIEVED—and I think part of me will be ashamed of that all my life—But I don’t care.”

Jamie didn’t say a word, just let his eyes cling to the sight of her face, open and breaking along with his. ‘Breaking,’—no, he was being utterly torn apart by the gathering of joy and hope, the banishing of the anger and pain. His heart was a gushing torrent, now—the skeleton of the ice wall still standing, but with the current clearly visible beneath, roaring to be free. 

“The fact is that I was relieved. Relieved that I could come back to you.” 

She cares for me 

She left from duty. 

She came back. 

She—

“Jamie….?” she begged, repeating the word like a prayer of supplication. “Jamie…..?”

“Aye?” he croaked.

“Jamie, I’m so sorry—I hate what I did to you— the look on your face when I denied you and—shamed and—wounded you—it killed me—”

“Dinna spare a thought for it,” he started to say, but she quieted him, begging to be allowed to speak uninterrupted.

“—And I can’t bear how this will seem—Like it does seem,” she amended. “You said it yourself: my plans fell through and I’ve come crawling back to you. But that isn’t true.” She took a deep breath and her eyes spoke true to him as she said, strong and clearly even through the gasping and the tears: “I love you, Jamie.”

The ice wall shattered. 

She loves me. 

She loves me. 

SHE LOVES ME. 

“I love you—” she was saying, over and over crying, laughing as the joy of it rushed through her,”—and I care for you—and I respect you, and—” She reached a hand toward his face. “— and I want to marry you.” 

Before he could reach back to her, she was kneeling before him, taking his hand, bowing her forehead over it. “I haven’t anything—I’m no one, in your world— but all I have, and all I will ever have, they’re yours—if you’ll still have me.”

Later, he never would quite recall the exact moment when he moved; the thoughts that went through his head at seeing Claire before him, asking him to share her life. All he could recall was the feeling of her in his arms, the burning in his heart as he crushed her to him; the way he could barely speak the most important words of his life: 

“Yes, mo chridhe—All my life, yes.”

And then he was kissing her. He was kissing her and kissing her and kissing her and feeling her pressed against him. Feeling her kissing him back, the joy and relief in her tears. Sinking back into the armchair, letting her straddle him, holding her and kissing her and drinking her into him.

The rasp of her voice as she clutched his face and groaned into his mouth. “I want to stay with you. I need to be beside you tonight.”

The agony of forcing himself to slow, to still. “No, lass, ye must go now,” he whispered, though his traitorous body kissed her deeper and pulled her closer. “Else I’ll have ye here…now…..”

“Have me,” she moaned, bringing his hand up to her breast—Jesus Christ, the nipple was hard, shockingly firm even through her shift, and she groaned so exquisitely as he ran his thumb round and around it, as she moved her hips against him with shocking urgency. “—Have me—Jamie, please—”

He felt those words strike directly down into his cock and he thought he would die of wanting her, but he managed a soft laugh and pulled away. She gave a growl of urgent protest, of need, and he felt the same rip through his own body at remaining separated from her another moment…but he forced himself to take her face in his hands. “Ye must go. Because as much as I want to be inside ye right now—you’re so much more to me than that, mo chridhe.”

He kissed her, slowly and gently. Kissed the tears on her cheeks. Felt her kiss his as her fingers ran across his face, his hair, claiming him as she settled, quieted to a slow burning, her forehead against his. “What does it mean?” she whispered, her hair falling ‘round them. “Mo…cree?”

Mo chridhe. My heart.” He leaned his forehead against hers; the tip of his nose against hers. “It means, my heart.”

She took his face, then, her words strong and sure. “You’re more to me than that to me, too; than anything else, anyone else… mo chridhe, Jamie.


[to be continued]

lydialovebad  asked:

Do you know what I would really like? An AU where everything is the same but Marinette is a boy (Marin?) and there is a really fluffy marichat scene ♥^♥ I would die for see something like that!!! What do you think?

*grabs tablet and imediately draws about it proving how much trash i am*

so like i thought some ideas for this, if that’s alright, and well:

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

What proof do we have that Eris is abusive, other than that characters have said he is? Most held a similar opinion of Rhys, what's the difference? That we have a first person narrator who is privy to the backstory of one but not the other? I'm not trying to be aggressive but I want to know your thoughts. I thought showing was more important than telling in storytelling.

Okay then, like, what ‘proof’ have we got for literally 90% of the things in this series???? Feyre is a 19 year old human girl in a world full of immortal fae. You want an eye witness account for everything in this thing, do you?

 How do I know the war happened the way they said it did? Feyre never saw it, she’s only had characters tell her about it. How do I know Rhys actually hated what he did with Amarantha and didn’t just swap sides right at the end? How do I know Rhys’ dad sucked but his mother was a good person, I’ve only heard him tell me about her, I’ve seen it. How do I know Tamlin’s brothers were awful? Never seen them either. How do I know Beron is really that awful either, I mean maybe he’s wearing a mask too and all the characters are just wrong. How do I know Mor is queer? I’ve never seen her with a girl before, I just have her word for it, maybe she lied. How do I know literally anything in this entire series because WE GET TOLD MOST THINGS NOT SHOWN THEM. 

This is what happens when you have a limited first person pov. The character HAS to get told things in order to tell us things like ???? A little bit of common sense please, do you want me to like, historically fact check Prythian for everything that Feyre tells us about it??? 

And tbh SJM has a pretty crappy habit of doing the whole ‘telling over showing’ thing anyway. See: the entirety of the Throne of Glass series, Mor’s powers in ACOTAR (she’s awesome, really, we promise, we just haven’t actually SEEN her do anything), the assertions that Rhys and co are ~the most powerful ever~ have I actually SEEN that? Can I actually see that? No.  Do I really question these things? No. Because I understand that this is the only way I can actually get some information out of this story and if I only went with what I ‘saw’ and disbelieved everything else I’d have literally nothing?? 

And when it comes to the whole Eris thing, like, dude, it’s not just a couple of characters who’ve said he’s abysmal it’s like, wait let me make a list: 

Tamlin: “His father had her put down. Executed, in front of Lucien, as his two eldest brothers held him and made him watch.” That would be Eris. So at best you’ve got conflicting statements here. 

Lucien: “Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.M, yes, Eris, HIS OWN BROTHER. If anyone was going to know Eris was ~not a bad person~ it’d be Lucien. Lucien who lived in that court. Who knew him. Who Eris apparently cared enough to protect/save, according to him. Eris who apparently cares so much about his mother (as we have seen Lucien does SEEN that is SEEN with our own two eyes) Why the hell would Lucien not know Eris was ‘wearing a mask’. Or maybe…Eris really does suck. 

Rhys: “Eris refused to marry her. Said she’d been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he’d now sooner fuck a sow. […]Rhys said with soft wrath, “Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods.” Idgaf how he tries to spin it later, this is what happened.  

Cassian: “You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.” 

Amren: “Your whole family is despicable,” Amren said to Lucien.

Mor: At Mor, whose face went white with dread. […]Or at Eris, heir to the Autumn Court, as he strolled into the room. 

[…] 

And I had the terrible sense that Mor had gone somewhere far, far away as Eris set down his goblet and said, “You look well, Mor.”

The sight of him triggers actual real panic attacks and flashbacks that we can literally see from Feyre’s POV. Five hundred years after the fact and Mor is still traumatised enough by what he did to her to react like this even after all that time. 

Then we have Feyre’s POV herself. Through her we’ve seen Eris laughing alongside his other brothers as Lucien was tortured and nearly killed. 

“I don’t suppose your handsome brothers know, Lucien,” she purred.

“If we did, Lady, we would be the first to tell you,” said the tallest. He was lean, well dressed, every inch of him a court-trained bastard. Probably the eldest, given the way even the ones who looked like born warriors stared at him with deference and calculation—and fear.

 Ah, yes, that would be Eris actively promising help to Amarantha in order to damn Feyre and continue her reign. Then there’s the way Eris hunts down Lucien and Feyre in the Winter Court, actively harms them both. So that’s like…Basically every single main character in this book who’s told you Eris sucks. 

What’s the basis for believing that he doesn’t, out of interest? I mean what ‘evidence’ do you have that he is actually wearing a mask, what do you have that’s so strong it goes against the testimony of multiple characters? Oh I know! You have Eris’ word for it and that’s it. Wow. So unbiased. So convincing. Eris tells us he’s not really a bad guy and that outweighs the half a dozen people who tells us he is! That’s just. Damn. What logic. Can’t argue with that. 

Also, like, I’m sorry, but Rhys’ arc was done properly, Rhys’ redemption wasn’t a retcon it was a followed-through on plan. There were hints UtM that Rhys was not as black as he was painted (He killed the Summer Court faerie outright rather than leaving him to suffer, he repeatedly came to visit Feyre in her cell when no-one else would, he was honest with Feyre about the treatment he received at Amarantha’s hands (a vulnerability on his part), he told her why he was making her dance every night as well as the steps he put in place to protect her, he sent music to her and saved her life, he saved her life and Tamlin’s with the kiss (which Feyre is aware of), he tried to save Feyre’s life while Amarantha was torturing her) 

Rhys was a complex, morally grey character UtM and it’s possible to show a different side to him and a ‘mask’ because there were always hints of him wearing one. What if Ianthe told Feyre she was actually a secret agent working for Prythian but she was forced to act the way she did to keep her cover? What if Amarantha said she’d only dominated Prythian that way to save it from something worse and she too was wearing a mask and working for the greater good? What if Hybern said there was a bigger threat facing them and he had an ulterior motive to this war (and also, I mean, how do you really know Hybern is that awful, we’ve only ever had people tell us about him, maybe he’s misunderstood too!!!!)  @valamerys wrote this out far better than I could in this post, read it too. 

My thoughts are pretty simple, tbh: SJM decided to “”””””redeem”””””” Eris, likely to have him set-up to take over Autumn, now Lucien isn’t an option for that before what with the whole dramatic lost son of Day thing and she did a crap job of it. Like this isn’t some grand morality based character debate that’s going on here, SJM just handled this poorly. In order to make him seem not so bad she had to undo all of the canon that she’d set in place before hand and offer ‘alternative’ explanations for what happened that we’ve never heard about. 

If she planned this all beforehand, if Eris was always wearing a mask why weren’t there hints of it before? Why didn’t she have Tamlin tell Feyre he got an anonymous tip-off the day he saved Lucien’s life from his brothers (which is what Eris claimed). Why wouldn’t Lucien defend him a little, say at least he cared about their mother/was sometimes kinder to him than the others? Why wouldn’t Rhys say that in the arranged marriage that petrified Mor, Eris was as unwilling as she was, that he argued against it? (Eris would have gone through with this marriage regardless of what it did to Mor if she hadn’t slept with Cassian) Why wouldn’t Eris stay quiet UtM or not show up to watch Lucien’s torture (which he does repeatedly)? Why, why, why, why, why would SJM not do something to show us that there might be more to Eris? Unless this was just a sloppy, last minute retcon to redeem a gross, abusive character who still to do this day petrifies his victim? 

Like, if you consider showing to be of more importance than telling in stories….You’ve picked a mighty weird hill to die on here with Eris. Because this is literally the worst example of telling not showing in this entire series. There is no basis for anything that happens with Eris’ character in ACOWAR and the only thing we have stacked against the evidence of two and a half books is what Eris says and how he personally spins the story like ????

 Idk dude, we can have a convoluted, let’s bend over backwards to redeem this guy and show he was misunderstood and has been wearing a mask so convincing it’s never ever ever cracked even once this entire time, to anyone! Even people who’ve known him for centuries….Or we go with the simpler: SJM really didn’t plan or execute this story very well at all. Which seems more reasonable?  

To the heartbroken

I want you to know that although you feel empty, and cold and lost, that there are a lot of people who love and care for you. People who want to make sure you’re okay. Friends who want to try and lift your spirit in any way they can. Family members who want to help you through this painful time. Online friends who want to help.

You are wonderful and whole. Just as you are. And I know that me saying this won’t fill that hole in your heart or the punch you feel in your stomach. But it’s all true. Every word of it.

I know you feel lost and alone. I know there are times at night, or when you wake up in the morning, or when you’re driving somewhere, when all you can think about is the pain you are experiencing.

But you will live through this pain, and you will grow from it. No, it’s not easy. Yes, it does hurt. And yes, it is very real. But that doesn’t mean you won’t get through this.

Reach out to your loved ones - your friends, your family, the people who care about you. I know the love you feel from them isn’t the love that you are missing right now but it will help you in the long run. And I assure you, they love you just as much, if not more, than the person you’re thinking about right now.

Heartbreak can be absolutely crushing. But you don’t have to suffer alone and in silence. Let your emotions out. Let your tears fall. And feel yourself grow through the pain.

You’ll get there eventually. I promise you.

somebody else // stiles stilinski pt. 5

Summary: Stiles broke her heart and now she can never look at him the same. They remained friends, but she can’t exactly find it in herself to truly forgive Stiles and he doesn’t know how to accept her new relationship with the one person he can’t stand. Overtime, they both eventually got over each other… or have they? 

Requested: no, collab with @minhosmeanhoe 

Warning: yes, mature language & themes

Inspired by this song

Masterlist 

Nothing had ever compared to the emptiness she felt inside. She was absolutely sure that she felt her heart break at his harsh words. Her throat felt permanently closed and she felt like she couldn’t breath. It felt like there was a rock in her stomach where there were once butterflies.

Regret washed over her as she replayed the heart wrenching moment over and over again. How could she have been so foolish? What did she think would happen? A small part of her hoped that once they kissed and her lips returned to their familiar home that things could go back to normal. How could she have been so naive? Nothing was ever going to go back to normal because there never was a normal.

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When We Collide (Part 14)

Pairing: Assistant!Y/N/CEO!Luke

Rating: NC-17

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

Summary: He is the definition of high class smart ass, swimming in Dom Pierre Pérignon champagne and has never seen the shadow of poverty. She is underprivileged, lives in a messy dorm room on sale and struggles working as an assistant after being thrown out of college. But how will they collide when Luke makes Y/N pregnant after a drunkenly one night stand?

When We Collide on Wattpad

“Cutest couple in Hollywood? My ass!” You commented loudly and looked down at the magazine in your hands, you wondered why you had even decided to invest money in it in the first place.

Your feet were resting on top of your desk while the icon of Tetris was still on your computer screen, but it was paused and your full attention was on the large front page in front of you.

“It’s all just a freaking joke.” You leaned over to grab your mug to take a sip of your almost cold tea, it had been standing there for too long and definitely not helping on your angry mood.

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Because I have a lot of opinions, strong opinions about this I gotta say something about Heathers I think is super important.
The relationship between JD and Veronica is super toxic, yes, but it’s not inherently abusive.
Abuse is a strong word and tumblr likes to throw it into every other sentence.
Not really realizing what it actually means.

Relationships can be toxic without being abusive
But abusive relationships are always toxic.

You see, I’m not gonna excuse JD’s behavior .
He’s killed three people (Yes, I’m including Heather in here) and tried to kill an entire school. He’s clearly mentally ill and got a very twisted world view.
As Veronica says they “convinced him life is war”.

But JD whilst being super toxic for Veronica, isn’t abusing her, not in the musical at least.

He seems to really love her, worship her as his goddess and put her above everything.
He is willed and does die for her.
He always only wants what he thinks is best for Veronica, despite that being morally wrong and one track minded.

What makes an relationship abusive is that the abuser actually does so on purpose. Either wanting to harm the victim , not caring for the victim or simply thinking they have to hurt they victim for whatever reason.
They are to a certain degree aware of what pain they cause to their victim and still continue doing so.
That’s what makes it abuse.

Now people can be abusive without being actively aware of this but even then their thoughts involve things like ‘hurting the victim because that’s the best for them’
They know to a point that they’re hurting their victim.

JD doesn’t realize what he is doing hurts Veronica. He does realize he is killing people, but he just doesn’t care much about them and thinks it’s the same for Veronica.
He’s truly heartbroken when he thinks she died and only wants to continue his plan as revenge for her death.
He is not aware at all that he’s the reason for her pain and only sees the school’s and student’s mistakes.
He truly believes that he’s helping Veronica.

That’s why in my opinion their relationship isn’t abusive, just very toxic.
Under other circumstances they might would be able to have a healthy relationship and Veronica might even be able to help JD with his problems.

However to end this, this is only my opinion and you’re allowed to disagree with me.
If you think JD knew he was hurting Veronica and was abusive then that’s okay!
I hope you can respect my take on their relationship too.

anonymous asked:

OMG I LOVE THE VIETNAM AU. Finally, the reunion! So wonderfully written. But hold the phone WHAT happened to Jamie and why does he look like that and how is Claire gonna heal him? *sigh*

Vietnam AU

“Stuffed cabbage, Claire?”

 

Claire turned to her left, meeting the kind brown eyes of Ian Murray – Jamie’s best friend and brother-in-law.

 

“Sure – is it grown here on the farm as well?”

 

Ian served her a good-sized helping. Jenny – at her right – poured a bit more wine into the tall glass by her plate.

 

“Most of the simple vegetables come straight from the kailyard – always have, as long as we can remember. Nothing is as fresh to us. Or as rewarding.”

 

Claire took a tentative bite, keeping her eyes firmly on the gorgeous old dinner plate – clearly used only for special occasions – as Jamie’s foot silently nudged hers beneath the table.

 

Somewhere around three that afternoon, Ian had hobbled down to the barn – he had lost his leg in a childhood car accident, Jamie later explained – finding a doubly rare sight. Jamie Fraser was idle – and Jamie Fraser was in the company of a woman.

 

That he had somehow, sometime told Jenny and Ian who she was had been clear – but just exactly what they knew about her was not. She had helped Jenny and the kind housekeeper Mrs. Crook prepare dinner – over Jenny’s protests that a guest should rest – seeking the opportunity to quietly introduce herself to Jamie’s sister, and needing the time away from him to just reflect on her whirlwind day. She had had months – years – to prepare. He had had no notice, and yet had taken it all in so gracefully.

 

Had pledged himself to her, fully. Unequivocally.

 

Would she do the same for him?

 

She’d immediately accepted his offer of a place to stay for the night. Jamie had proudly shown her to one of the beautifully apportioned rooms on the second floor of the Big House – Lallybroch – sharing incredible stories of the many Frasers whose blood and sweat had been poured into the very stones and floorboards of the house since before the Revolution.

 

Light streamed through the windows of the room that was to be Claire’s – the hand-carved bed covered in a worn but exquisite blue bedspread that had been quilted by Jamie’s grandmother MacKenzie; two plush armchairs of a 1940s vintage cozily angled before a small fireplace; on the wall above the bed, a vibrant watercolor of the Big House amid the glowing orange leaves of autumn.

 

“There should be some spare clothes in the bureau,” Jamie remarked softly, remaining just inside the doorway as Claire quietly acquainted herself with the room. “And my Mam painted that when I was small. We have her drawings and paintings up all over the house.”

 

From her position at the window, admiring the kitchen garden and small orchard of fruit trees clustered near the old outhouse, Claire turned to smile at him. “Do you paint?”

 

He shrugged. “I’ve tried. But Jenny has the real talent for it – some of her pieces are downstairs.” He paused, licking his lips. “Well then. I’ll be down in the study with Ian. Have some orders to straighten out for tomorrow. Will – ”

 

“I’ll be all right,” she reassured him. “Thank you, Jamie. Truly.”

 

His smile – small, glowing – was absolutely beautiful. “Thank *you*, Claire.” Then he turned and disappeared down the hall.

 

“The apples in that pie you helped me with come right from the orchard – great-grandmother Fraser planted them, right after the War Between The States,” Jenny continued. Claire snapped back to the present as the toe of Jamie’s boot curled around the back of her shin.

 

“I’m normally not much help in the kitchen, but you’ve all been so incredibly warm and generous – ”

 

“Nonsense,” Ian insisted, tearing up a piece of Mrs. Crook’s thick homemade oat bread – a bannock, Jamie had called it – for his three-year-old son – Jamie’s namesake holding court at the worn but homely kitchen table between his father and uncle. “You’ve made Jamie smile again. Lord knows that’s been a rare sight since he returned from ‘Nam.”

 

Jamie withdrew his foot – and Claire looked across the half-empty portions of roasted pork and Brussel sprouts and corn bread. Meeting his intense blue gaze. Hoping her eyes could convey everything her voice could not.

 

 

Apple pie and whisky before the fire in the sitting room – lined floor to ceiling with books dating from the 18th century all the way up to shiny new editions of Slaughterhouse-Five and In Cold Blood. Comfortable silence between them when Jenny and Ian departed to tuck the children into bed. And then when Claire had yawned for the fifth time, Jamie rose, banked the fire, and helped her rise from the couch. Then gently led her upstairs to the room that would be hers for as long as she wished. Holding her hand the entire time.

 

They paused in the doorway.

 

“Will you be warm enough? There are extra blankets in the hallway closet – ”

 

Claire rested her hands on his solid shoulders. “I’ll be just fine. I’m not fragile, you know.”

 

He settled his hands on her hips, eyes creasing with happiness in the dim light of the hallway. The silence of the house buzzed in their ears.

 

“I know you aren’t,” he breathed.

 

Then drew her close – holding her. Enveloping her. Feeling her melt against him – her heart thrum in time with his.

 

After a long while she pushed back, kissed the corner of his mouth, and quietly slid out of his arms.

 

“I’ll be right here, down the hall,” he whispered. Eyes dark.

 

She blew him a teasing kiss, then quietly swung the heavy oak door shut.

 

On both sides of the door, Jamie and Claire rested their foreheads against the wood. And sighed.

 

 

Despite her exhaustion, Claire slept fitfully. Tossing and turning on the heavenly soft mattress and under the almost sinfully warm quilt. So many images flashing through her mind – the bullet-scarred palm tree on the helicopter pad at Chu Lai; the faded anchor tattooed on the forearm of her anatomy instructor; the checked shirt Uncle Lamb loved to wear when presenting his latest findings to a group of his peers. The graceful, invisible shapes Jamie had traced with his hands as he shared stories about himself and his Fraser forebears – helping her learn about all the gifts he would give her.

 

Did she belong here? Could she belong here – the lady of this great house? Sharing such a well-respected name? Enjoying dinner every night in the rustic kitchen built two centuries ago, surrounded by so many Frasers, alive and dead? Quietly at peace here on the ridge which Frasers had called home for longer than Beauchamps had been in America?

 

No.

 

Yes.

 

Perhaps.

 

The house groaned and settled around her – easing into sleep.

 

Except the shuffle of steps in the hallway. Pausing outside her room, then continuing down the stairs.

 

At least she wasn’t the only restless person tonight. Jenny, perhaps? Maggie was still nursing – perhaps just another late-night feed?

 

Claire wrapped the tartan blanket – Fraser colors, Jamie had told her – from the foot of the bed around her shoulders, draped over the App State t-shirt and flannel pants that had been neatly folded in the bottom drawer of the bureau, gently pushed open the door, and stepped downstairs.

 

Only one room to visit at this time of night – the parlor, where books and the warmth of the fire could lull even the most restless to sleep.

 

But it wasn’t Jenny who sought solace, deep in the night.

 

Jamie stood after adding a fresh log to the fire, rubbing his face with his hands, clad in an olive-green Army-issued t-shirt and worn white long johns.

 

Claire must have made a sound – for his head snapped up, startled.

 

“Can’t sleep?”

 

His wide, sweet mouth twisted in a wry smile. “You could say that. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in three years.”

 

Claire blinked harshly in shock. “You mean – ”

 

“Yes – since Chu Lai. I – well.” He swallowed, grasping for words. “I re-live all of it every night.”

 

She crossed the room to stand in front of him. Rested a tentative hand on his elbow. “Tell me?”

 

He did. Terrible storied of men blown to pieces. Villages burned. Dead livestock floating face-down in rice paddies. The faces of men he couldn’t save. Memories of pain, and anguish, and isolation.

 

“And the worst one –” his voice broke.

 

At this point they had curled up together at the corner of the couch, her legs tucked against his, sharing the warmth of the plaid. She squeezed his clammy hand. Encouraging.

 

“The worst one is when the VC attack Chu Lai – and I can’t find you, Claire. I can’t protect you. And then I’m scrambling down the hallway and they’re firing at me and I trip over your body.”

 

He wouldn’t look at her – preferring to stare into the hypnotic flames.

 

She wiped the tears from his eyes. Stunned.

 

“Have you ever told this to anyone?” Her fingers twined in his hair, damp with sweat. Bringing his face to rest in the curve of her neck.

 

All he could do was shake his head. Breathing hard. Burrowing closer to her.

 

“Nobody here understands. I’m a war hero. The owner of this estate. I’m not supposed to be scared. I’m not supposed to have a back twisted with scars. I’m not supposed to be terrified of going to sleep every night.”

 

Claire eased onto his lap. “Shh,” she soothed. “I’m here. Just let go, Jamie.”

 

He inhaled deeply. Shakily.

 

“Let go,” she repeated. “I understand. I’m here. You don’t have to pretend.”

 

A beat.

 

Then –

 

“I love you.”

 

His awed, red-rimmed eyes lifted to meet hers. Smiling through the tears.

 

Then her lips found his – and they clung to each other in desperation and joy.