hand spasms

marino-kun  asked:

Do you take prompt? What about Stiles having a secret crush on Derek but when saw him, taking care Scott's son, he fell in love.

I’m not much of a kid fic person, so this took me a while, but I tried. Hopefully it’s kind of what you were angling for!

*

“Do you think I’m ready for fatherhood?” Stiles asks, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. He’s not freaking out about this. He’s not.

Boyd says flatly, “Stilinski, you’re twenty-one years old. You’re supposed to know how to use a condom by now.“

Stiles’ hand spasms and he accidentally squirts a huge glob of ketchup on his mound of curly fries. Fuck. He has the ideal ketchup-to-curly-fry ratio down to a science, and this is not it. “No, absolutely not what I meant. It’s just. Did you know Derek had a kid?”

Boyd meditatively takes a bite of his burger. “No. But the nice thing about Derek is that he doesn’t go in for personal talk.”

Stiles shoots him a weird look. Of course Boyd would think that was nice. Stiles, though, has been trying to break down Derek’s walls even just a little bit for months now—sitting with him in class, sharing his notes, studying with him in the library and getting late-night waffles together afterwards, little by little pulling Derek out of his shell. He’d thought he was getting somewhere, but obviously not, not if Derek failed to mention this kid even existed.

Which he does. Stiles knows, because he can see him right now, over by Prof. Martin’s pool. Apparently his name is Jamie.

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Lily Evans, 1976

She reads it with the paper crumpling slightly in one fist, the other smushed against her cheek. She can feel her teeth against the inside, the cut of her cheekbone pressing hard to her third knuckle. It grounds her.

Thirty dead in one week. Four in Birmingham alone, where Tuney is still in Sixth Form, still takes the train every afternoon to get home. It’s a stroke of pure luck, chance, dulled and twisted fate, that Petunia hadn’t been one of the muggles found turned inside out in a disabled loo.

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anonymous asked:

can you write some lance with chronic pain? :3

Here you go! I hope you enjoy it!

At first, the pain was bearable; the idea that the aching would run its course and he would be back to normal soon created a sense of hope within the boy. As the weeks went by, however, his hope started to dwindle steadily. The constant shooting pain traveling down his back started creating a wall against him, making him unable to function properly. Although he had been living like this since being caught in the explosion at the beginning of their voyage to space a number of months ago, it was only recently that the other paladins began to notice the changes in their blue boy’s behaviour.

“Come on Lance, you can do this,” Shiro encouraged from the sideline with the rest of their team. They were sparring against the gladiators today, focusing on their hand to hand combat one on one. Lance carefully dodged the robots first few swipes of the staff, he was able to bring his bayard up to counter a few of the attacks. He went to dodge the next hit when his back seized up and he was unable to bend the way he wanted to. He caught the butt of the staff in the legs toppling him over and landed with a wheeze on the floor.

“End training sequence,” Shiro called after letting out a tired sigh. Lance pushed himself up and looked over at Shiro shame in his eyes. 

“Lance you’ve done this eight times today but the results are all the same, why are you improving?” He asked. Lance looked down at the ground and only looked up when Shiro turned away.

“We’re ending here for the day, rest up,” He announced to the room before sending one last disappointed stare Lance’s way. Lance could feel his throat closing up in guilt and he curled his shoulders into himself. He could hear the others leaving and looked up to see only Keith left.

“When are you going to take this seriously?” Keith spat. Lance winced and curled up further and looked at him wearily. “This isn’t a game, this is war,” 

“I know,” Lance tried to defend himself but was cut off.

“If you know, then you know not to treat training like a joke,” he said shortly before leaving the training deck. Lance could only stare after Keith, the guilt only building in his stomach. Another few weeks passed after the training incident and he could feel his mood decreasing every day; the happy, eager to please young man couldn’t keep the smile on his face, the pain causing him to become bitter and irritable to the others.

“Are you okay man?” Hunk asked one afternoon. He noticed that Lance was stirring around his food goo and had yet to consume one bite.

“Fine,” Lance bit out glaring down at the green gel in front of him. Hunk’s eyebrows furrowed in worry and he put down the bowl in his hand approaching his best friend.

“Are you sure, you’ve been acting really weird for a while now,” He added leaning on the counter between the two of them.

“I said I’m fine,” Lance practically growled stabbing his food with his spoon.

“Well, I’m just saying that if you need to talk to anyone, I’m he-”  Hunk started only to be cut off. 

“Would you shut up?! I said I’m fine!” Lance yelled at the shocked Hunk. “Stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong!” 

“Fine,” Hunk frowned angrily. “You don’t need to be so rude about it,” He walked out of the kitchen without a second glance. Lance looked at the door for a few minutes before putting his head in his hands.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” He whispered to himself trying to ignore the throbbing in his back. His head pounded as well, the lack of sleep catching up to him. He would roll around for hours trying to find a comfortable position to rest in. He mourned the relationship he had with his teammates; his recent behaviour had driven them away from him and he doubted that he would be able to regain their trust and loyalty back so easily. He could see Shiro disappointed shake of the head, Keith and Allura’s angry scowls after all his failed training attempts, and Hunk and Pidge’s annoyed glares after he treated them so unkindly over the past few days. He slunk back to his room, praying that he would be able to get a decent amount of sleep for their mission tomorrow. He curled up underneath his blanket, trying to ignore the sensations of pain.

Although the mission was simple; it was imperative that everything goes off without a hitch. The information stored in this outpost would lead the team to even more Galra prisons, that could potentially house Sam Holt. Lance laid on his stomach in the rafters above his teammates; Pidge who was hacking through the system and the others who were protecting her. He shot anything who got close enough to damage the machine. A Galra soldier was sneaking up beside the machine, Lance chuckled at the easy shot and lined them up with the crosshairs. As he went to squeeze the trigger, spasms started traveling down his back making him freeze. His teeth ground together and his eyes rolled into the back of his head at the pain paralyzing him. He missed the Galra smashing the machine thwarting Pidge’s progress, she pulled the drive out of the computer and joined in on the fight. Lance blinked back tears as he came back to the real world, noticing the trouble his friends were in he started laying down cover fire. They fought through back to the lions and took off back to the Castle. Lance gritting his teeth the whole way; his back felt like it was on fire, the spasms weren’t completely gone and it took all he had not to shout out loud. He slowly walked out of Blue and was immediately crowded by the others.

“What the hell Lance!?” Keith shouted. “You had one job!”
Lance shrunk back, the guilt in his stomach coming back full force.

“I-I,” he stuttered out.

“No excuses this time Lance,” Shiro said sternly. Lance’s mouth opened and closed uselessly as he glanced from one paladin to the other. A shout came from across the hanger where Pidge sat on her computer; she sprinted across to join the group.

“We got no data!” She yelled in his face. “All that work for nothing!” Lance’s eyes widened and he tried to explain himself over the sound of everyone else’s accusations. The stress from the past pain filled months caught up with him. The exhaustion of sleepless nights, and the helplessness he felt paired with the guilt building up from every failed training exercise and mission boiled over. A shudder wracked up his frame and his lip began trembling as he pulled it into his teeth. A sob escaped him as tears began to flow over his cheeks, he clutched his sides in his hands as the spasms continued. The paladins quieted and they watched the blue paladin break down in front of them in confusion.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” He hiccuped. “M-my back just h-h-hurts so bad,” he explained. Shiro immediately stepped forwards worry on his face.

“What? Did you get hurt during the mission?” He asked. Lance shook his head no and tried to explain.

“S-since the explosion, i-it hurts a-all the t-time,” he sobbed. “I c-can’t sleep, I-I can’t eat,” he walked forward into Shiro’s chest with a sob.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Or Coran?” He asked eyebrows furrowed in worry for the teenager.

“I didn’t k-know if i-it was that im-important,” Lance admitted. Shiro bit his bottom lip between his teeth, as tears filmed over his eyes. His teammate, his friend, had been in pain since they arrived in space and didn’t feel that it was important enough to ask for help. He gently hugged the paladin further into his chest. He could feel how bad Lance was trembling and felt his heart squeeze in sympathy. He picked the paladin up in his arms and started carrying him towards the quarters, the other paladins quietly following behind them.

“Rest up Lance, we can fix this,” Shiro said quietly. Lance could feel his eyelids growing heavy the further Shiro carried him from the hanger. The first signs of comfort for months, walking protectively around him.


Part 2

Humans are Dangerous

So I was thinking about this whole aliens thing, and i remembered a post about aliens not being able to throw, and are very surprised at how a human could throw a wad paper into the trash can. I’m sorry its not linked, I couldn’t find it.

Anyways. I was thinking, maybe aliens cant aim? Just like, everything they do is in close contact, fighting, playing sports, exercising, whatever aliens do. Whenever they fight, the aliens with canons that actually hit their opponents are thought to be some amazing super race.

And then, humans come in. These bags of flesh who dont seem to be able to survive the conditions of their homeland. And then one casually throws a wad of paper into a bin a good 30 feet away. Of course, the aliens thought it was luck, that the humans hand just spasmed, and everyone was fine with that explanation.

Until humans joined into some war. Suddenly, no one was safe. Humans can be immense distances from their target and still hit. Ships with canons aren’t viewed as a bounty that no one else has, rather, a ship without one is useless; a resort ship.

Humans bring sports that involve aim, like basketball, football, soccer, badminton, tennis, practically everything! Archery and shooting ranges are fun spots to test your accuracy, available to the country! Even the games their children play, throwing water ballons, frisbees, the carnival games for gods sake!

And this is what causes the fear for aliens when they are in an area humans may are, or have, been. Humans can kill them out of their eyesight, untraceable.

Aim, such a small thing, aim, caused aliens to want humans when fighiting, would do anything for them, the humans becoming tyrants, the universe their tyranny, without even knowing, as humans are completely oblivious to everything.

Sorry for the run on sentences, I ramble a lot.

anonymous asked:

i always thought it was odd that people in the empire did not believe in the force when they had its strongest conduit walking around all casual like? i mean drinking coffee with a nuclear bomb right next to you and you're like nah he's harmless?

I have thought about this, and my thoughts are:

Every Imperial officer, intelligence agent, senator, praetorian guard, and general has mastered the delicate art of holding two contradictory ideas in their mind and believing both. “There is no such thing as Jedi,” Governor Tarkin thinks, when the holorail loudhailer chimes Jedi Temple, all passengers disembark for Jedi Temple. (Obviously the loudhailer means the Imperial palace. Stupid droid.) “The Jedi Order never existed, I never fought alongside any Knights. They are a myth.”

“The Force is a religious relic,” Lieutenant-Commander Rovastian mutters, stepping over the body of his Admiral, still twitching and clawing at its throat. Lord Vader gives a low, menacing laugh, and then the Admiral is silent and still on the floor. His hands are clutched in a horrible, twisting parody—Rovastian saw the Admiral play the Coruscanti dulcimer once, graceful and assured, and now he lies there frozen in a spasm, hands curved into claws. 

Still, Rovastian turns to the console. Takes up his duty. “The Force has no power over those who do not believe in its myth.”

“We are in a more enlightened age,” Analyst Eritt thinks when they forward her a link to the estimated Death Star losses, in credits per cubed meter of destruction. One shot, an impossible shot, and still—“There is no room for magic here.”

“No sentient creature can achieve Oneness with the Force,” VK-2103 huffs, even though they heard a tale the night before—a wandering storyteller talked the Guardians of Jedha, who stood to the last man, and fought back the Empire. A kind of grace can be found in death, the storyteller said. “There is no Force,” Veeks breathes, leaning their forehead against the durasteel. Wills themselves to believe it. “All things return to dust when they die.”

“This is all there is,” Filorian says, even as she paints the flame of the Rebellion on the belly of her ship. She heard that Han Solo shirked his debts to Jabba and ran off with a rebel princess, and if he can do it so can the rest of them. (Filorian’s wife comes up behind her, wraps her arms around her midsection. May the Force be with you, she says. Shut up, Filorian groans, but lets herself be kissed anyway.)

“This is all there was,” Mon Mothma says. She was never particularly religious before and had no intention of becoming so—even when circumstance drove her out of her senatorial seat and into the arms of the Rebellion. But the men she claims to order into battle say, ‘may the force be with you’ so she answers. She believes, has always believed. Anything to bring them—

“This is all there will ever be,” Luke Skywalker says, and he hefts his lightsaber high.

anonymous asked:

Hey so i read one of your works on Ao3 and it was super adorable and i loved it, it was about stiles and derek sharing a broom closet of an apartment in nyc and cuddling thier way through their issues with eachother and then you wrote a hashtag epilogue, and i can't stop thinking about how much i wanted the epilogue to be another story so i figured i'd ask, my names scarletwaters on Ao3, ok bye and thank you if you decide to write it :)

little spoon

I had given absolutely ZERO thought to writing a sequel to this, and then I read your message and the ideas started flooding in. Go figure.

also on ao3

*

Being Derek’s boyfriend goes surprisingly well for a whole year. They move out of the tiny “apartment” into a slightly less tiny apartment. They continue to spoon; they become spooning masters; they are the gods of spooning. Stiles gets the best sleep of his life, and so does Derek. The non-sleeping aspect of the whole dating thing takes a bit more time to iron out, sure, but they get there. Slowly but surely, they figure out how to hold hands on the couch while watching Netflix without getting weird about it. They figure out, to their mutual relief, that endearments weird them both out, but there are other little things they both like even if they’d never admit it on pain of death, such as forehead kisses. They figure out how to do the whole shower sex thing without serious injury. Stiles also finds out Derek is awesome at cooking, when he can be assed to do it. Stiles figures out a lot of very creative ways to motivate him.  

All in all, awesome.

Then…. well, then It happens.

It’s been about a year and three months when, one day, Stiles happens to see Derek coming out of a jewelry store.

He wasn’t following Derek or anything, he wants the record to be very clear on that; it’s just, they were going to meet up at the Chinese restaurant on the corner for dinner, and Stiles got there early. Usually Stiles doesn’t arrive early anywhere ever, but this time one of his classes got canceled at the last minute and he suddenly had all this spare time, and so he went ahead and snagged them a table at the restaurant.

That’s where he is when it happens, just people-watching out the window and contemplatively sipping his oolong. That’s when the door to the jewelry store across the street opens and Derek comes out, head down, busy tucking a suspicious little black box into his inner jacket pocket, and Stiles spits out his tea all over the table because what the fuck.

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Have u ever had the kind of week where it becomes increasingly clear that your only option is filling a squirty bottle with holy water and screaming STOP THAT SHIT as you spray it all around u?

didn’t think i could do it, but i just finished applying a ridiculous amount of crystals to my nails 😇 i’ll take a pic once my topcoat dries, but they’re ridiculous 😂 it took me 4evr, but i’m surprised i even got them done bc i always thought it was impossible since i rly bad tremors and spasms in my hands. i’m so happy that i actually did this omg 😃💅

Tea Lady | Tom Holland

Originally posted by darlingriezmann

Word Count: 659

Warnings: fluff and Tom being a little shit like always.

Request:  requested by @perfectlyspookycheesecake

Hi! I love your imagines I’ve read all of them 😂 I was wondering if you could an imagine Tom Holland x reader and they are dating but she gets hurt once while hanging around set (I’m very clumsy😂) and they talk about it in interviews and idk I’m in need of fluff so you can interpret this in any way! Thank you ❤️❤️❤️

Author’s Note: I know alot of you are waiting on your requests and I’m working on them but I have alot of them coming in at the moment and I also have to go by the order people requested in even if they are from my tumblr account or my quotev account, hope you enjoy this imagine xo


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Something to Get Up For

Summary: The panicked, heart racing moments following Neil’s abduction to Baltimore, as told by a deteriorating Andrew. (Neil/Andrew)

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: swearing! mentions of abuse! scars! like. it’s tfc honestly >_>

A/N: I know this has been beautifully fleshed out before, but I couldn’t get it out of my head, and I am as obsessed as I am stymied with the workings of Andrew’s mind.

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Just Another Word I Never Learned to Pronounce

am i late as usual? fuck yeah i am

Benefit of the Doubt caused far more suffering than I anticipated, so here, have some post-angst fluff for your wounds. XD (Bonus points to whoever gets the song reference before clicking this. ;P) 

(With a small surprise cameo from @jd-illustrates lmao i’M SORRY, UR ASK WAS JUST TOO PERFECT FOR THIS)

i am totally the king of awkwardly placed time skips

Previous works in chronological order:  Hired, Lovestarved, Trial & Trust, Deeper Than Skin, A Small Solace, In Sickness and in Health, Benefit of the Doubt

————————–

“I love you.”

It was a phrase Black Hat had started hearing often from Flug. Admittedly, it took a lot of getting used to.

Love. He’d always thought of it as such a revolting concept. Yet, he’d feel something strange whenever the doctor said it to him. Something… pleasant.

Even more shockingly, he found he had a desire to say it back. Gross.

……… But still though. How is he to do that?

Every time he’s tried to even say it, he gags on his own words. Ugh, it’s so stupid. Flug must think it’s ridiculous, trying to return a phrase so simple only to back out every time after choking on just the damn “L”.

No, it is ridiculous. Black Hat won’t let some– some dumb word get the best of him!

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Paper Hearts (Part 6)

Originally posted by tbhobi

Genre: Angst/fluff

♡ Pairing: Reader x Jungkook

♡ Length: 3.2k

♡ Summary: It has been nearly a year since you started writing anonymous letters to Jungkook, giving him words of encouragement behind the thin mask of a paper. He never considered you as a possible suspect behind these letters, because you were nothing more than a best friend. And you couldn’t put all the blame on him either, after all, you were too afraid to confess in fear of tarnishing your precious friendship.

Part 1 ♡ Part 2  ♡ Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6  Part 7

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Hey guys! I’ve gotten a lot of new followers lately, so I thought I’d do a little summary of what’s been going on my blog so far this year to update you all.

I’ve been unusually prolific, so I’ve got a lot of new Sterek fics up, including some old WIPs I updated this year.

So, without further ado, here’s the masterpost, as of early May 2017. Happy reading!! And let me know if you think a post like this for my older fics would be helpful as well.

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Hail Mary, Part VII

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

Part I  Part II  Part III Part IV Part V Part VI


Hail Mary: Part VII

“No, no, no, wait, hold—HOLD ON—” I wheezed, laughing so hard I could feel tears forming. “I WILL get this right, damn it!”

I could feel him shaking with laughter (his AND mine) his head bobbing like a cork on my lap. “Sixth time’ll do it, aye?” 

“FIFTH, you ginger arse!”

We were heaped on a pallet of old blankets and feather mattresses in a garrett alcove high in the castle eaves, the kind of place where odds and ends tended to get thrown and then forgotten; the kind of place two lovers could easily be forgotten, too.

Lovers. I still couldn’t believe it, any of it: the pain and aching of the weeks of silence between us; then that furious night in his room—the fury of his pain, the agony and release of my revelations, the exquisite joy of taking him into my arms and knowing all was well. This man, strong and kind, gentle and deadly in one, still loved me, and he wanted to spend his life with me. I ached now from happiness, from the unreasonable perfection of the life that I’d been granted; ached with happiness that there was now utter truth between us, nothing held back. Not even silliness.

“Alright, ALRIGHT, here goes.” I took a deep breath, my lips still quivering with laugher, and looked him in the eye, ticking off each word on my fingers. “JAMES….”

“Aye,” he grinned, blue eyes sparkling, “ye’ve got that one well down.”  

I stuck out my tongue at him before continuing intently. “James…ALEXANDER…” Here’s the tricky one. “M—Mmmmmm—?” I screwed up my face, raising my eyebrows as I said slowly, “Mmmm….acccK—?”

He grinned and gave the tiniest shake of his head

“—K-ALLLLLCOLM MACKENZIE FRASER!!” I finished in a slur of triumph.

“Well done, lass,” he laughed and turned on his side toward me, his cheek on my thigh. “Now ye ken who I am, we can be marrit!”

I did know who he was, no matter what name he went by. And if I’d been a little hazy on trivial details before, we had spent the last hour learning each others’ histories and families. Still, it was certainly good to know the true name of my husband-to-be. I smoothed his cinnamon curls back from his face, reciting more softly. “James….Alexander… Malcolm….MacKenzie….Fraser.” He had his eyes closed, following my touch with small, contented hums. “It’s a beautiful name, Jamie.”

He smiled. “Common enough, but it’s served me well, thusfar.”

“Fraser,” I repeated. “Claire Fraser.”

He opened his eyes, such feeling and joy written there. “Now, that is a beautiful name.”

“I rather like it too. Though, you know, in my own time, some women are starting to keep their own last names after they marry.”

He blinked. “Is….If that’s what ye wish—”

“No, no,” I said quickly, squeezing his shoulder with a laugh. “I don’t. I want to share a name with you.”

He smiled, that sweet, sleepy, boyish smile. “Then I shall count it a gift. A gift from my beloved, who is, herself, the greatest gift of my life.”

Bloody charmer. And the remarkable thing was, he meant it. “Do you wish to know more about it?” 

“More about what, Sassenach?” 

“My time. Where I come from” 

He straightened a bit at that. “Aye, I do. What it’s like, what’s changed, what hasn’t.” 

“Anything you wish to know, Jamie, you have only to ask.” 

He nodded. “In time,” he said simply, stroking me gently. “I’m curious to learn from ye; but we’ve a lifetime for it, aye?” 

I bent down to kiss him. “Yes. Yes, we do.” 

We sat in silence for a long, peaceful time, the weight of him warm on my lap and legs. We did have a lifetime for talking, and yet so little time now. We’d had scarcely two hours alone, in fact, in the day and a half since I’d crept shamelessly into his chamber. My restriction to the castle walls and Jamie’s duties at the stables had left us with few opportunities to see one another without rousing suspicion, and that was paramount. We had to tread carefully until Jamie had the chance to speak with Colum, to give an explanation of how the apparent ice between us had transformed so swiftly into betrothal. No small task, that, and Colum had been detained in meetings with the visiting Grant delegation all of the previous day. 

And so, we’d been discreet: a stolen moment in an alcove, here; a shared glance across the great hall, there; Jamie’s lips on mine, his hands cupping my face as he bade me goodnight at my chamber door with a husky, “Goodnight, mo chridhe;” this blissful hour of solitude in lieu of the noon meal, an hour with Jamie (Murtagh standing sentinel at the end of the corridor, Lord bless him). Even a moment with Jamie was beautiful, like….like…Yes: like he was my first love—the passion, the sweetness; the inability to keep from grinning foolishly whenever I was with him. 

“Christ, this is NOT proper,” Jamie said suddenly, loosening his grip and making me just as unexpectedly aware that his arms had been around my waist, his hands gently cupping my arse, his face mere inches away from my nether parts.

“Proper-SHMOPPER,” I shrugged, bending down to kiss his temple. “And it’s fairly damn proper from my point of view, since you insist on keeping me an honest woman.” 

Because the ‘passion’ we’d shared in our hour together, despite my best efforts to have my way with my new fiancé, was all of the fully-clothed variety.

“Believe, you me, Sassenach, I want ye…” He sighed and his hands spasmed as though to grab onto something. “Want ye so badly I have to catch my breath from it, sometimes… ”

“If it’s what you wish, darling, so be it. It’s rather sweet, actually—Just as long as it’s not stemming from some fool notion about my virtue.” I gave him a wry grin. “I was married before, so I’m no more a blushing virgin than you are!”

“Aye, well….” He gave a sharp cough and shifted to sit upright against the opposite wall of our alcove. He had a strange expression on his face. 

I stretched and rested my back against my own wall, my legs parallel to his. I gently touched his foot. “What’s the matter, Jamie?”

“This is truly what ye want, Sassenach, aye? To be wed to me?”

“Yes,” I said at once, squeezing his leg. “You’re what I want.“ I ran back through my words for an explanation. “And I’m sorry I alluded to Frank, I just—”

He shook his head. “Dinna ever apologize for that. It’s part of ye.” 

But it was clear enough that mention of it had brought a shadow over his heart. 

“I love you.” I tried to meet his lowered gaze. Did he still doubt. “Do you believe me?

“Aye,” he said at once, giving a genuine but troubled smile. “There is a truth and a trust between us now. I believe it. And I love you too, mo nighean donn. It’s only…” 

I supposed if he could believe I came from the future, he could believe what he’d so vividly felt between us on the road. Still… “What’s troubling you, Jamie?” 

“I just wish to say that I’m sorry, about Frank. That ye couldna—that the way back to him was barred.”

I wanted to make it into a joke, but couldn’t. “I can’t see why you should be sorry, to be perfectly honest.”

“Frank wasna cruel to ye, aye? He was—is a good man?”

“Yes. A very good man.”

“And ye loved him.”

“I did. I—do, still—in—in a way—”

“Aye, I suppose ye must. And that’s why I’m sorry, in a way, because it’s still a loss for ye, one that ye must bear.” 

I nodded, a lump in my throat. He was right: no matter how quickly or wholeheartedly I’d decided to come back to Jamie, Frank would always haunt me, in some way. I hoped he could start over—that I wouldn’t haunt him

“If ye find ye ever—need to talk about him,” Jamie was saying, his brows furrowed so sweetly in concern, “dinna hesitate, aye?”

“That’s very gallant of you,” I laughed, a little hoarsely as I swallowed. 

“Well,” he laughed, gleaming with that lively energy I adored so greatly, “mind, ‘tis easy for me be magnanimous, seeing as how the man willna be born for two hundred years.” He sighed and looked me in the eye. “But suffice it to say, for the love between you and me, I couldna go further wi’out saying that I understand this is all verra complicated. I wish us to be…partners, to share our hearts wi’ one another, as my parents did. So, just know that whatever it is ye might be feeling is alright—and I shall do my best to understand—and help, if I might.”

“I almost wish that the stones had worked.” 

It was out of my mouth before I truly considered it, and I saw a ripple of pain pass through him before he marshaled himself with a gruff, “Why’s that?”

“So that I could have chosen you,” I said frankly.  He smiled in relief, a genuine, broad, glowing smile, but I went on. “If I could have felt that the stones would have worked, and stopped myself, thought of you and truly chosen you…Lord, I don’t know. Perhaps my guilt over Frank would have been greater, but I can’t bear the thought of you, now, thinking you were…. second choice.”

He beckoned to me. “Come here to me, mo chridhe.”

I crawled over until I was sitting curled sideways on his lap, the two of us heaped together in the sunlit window. He laid a warm palm on the side of my cheek and gently stroked my hair back from my face, murmuring into the top of my head. “Even if I was second choice,” he said firmly, “t’was a second choice because of your duty, and that’s no shame to you or to me. If I’d known the truth, I’d have taken ye there to the stones myself; no matter how painful it would have been to deliver ye back to the arms of another man.”

“You…really would have done that?”

Aye. Couldna have done otherwise. Ye had to try. It was your duty, and ye discharged it. And now, your conscience can be clear, as can mine.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, feeling the trickles of absolution flowing over me. I wrapped my arms around his waist and soaked him in; his scent, his warmth, the cadence of his voice. “We’re lucky. We’re so very lucky,” I whispered.

“We’re blessed.”

A sun-soaked eternity later, he gave my back two quick taps and made to rise.

“Oh, don’t go,” I moaned playfully, wrapping my arms tighter around his neck. “I’m so COLD.“ I made a dramatic pout that would have impressed any Hollywood director. “Stay and keep me warm, Mr. MacTavish!”

He snorted, laughing fondly, remembering. “You’re blazing as a wee coal, Sassenach,” he said, extricating himself only to lean overtop me, pressing me gently back into the nest of blankets. “But as much as I’d love to stay and let ye light me up a bit, I’ll be late if I dinna leave now. ‘Tis an important meeting, aye?”

It bloody well was. “Are you nervous?”

“Of marrying you?” he asked with a grin, nipping my neck.” Aye, terrified, feisty wee beastie.”

“No, not me,” I laughed, though the anxiety gripped my gut. “Of your talk with Colum.”

“Oh aye, a bit. He willna be best pleased at my choice—” He ran the back of his hand down my cheek. “But surely it canna come as a complete shock to him that taking over the clan hasna been my ambition, particularly wi’ Dougal looming large so near at hand.”

“So, you think he’ll give us his blessing?”

“I have my hopes set on cold acquiescence, myself,” Jamie said, frankly. “If he puts up a skelloch, my argument is that wi’ the Sassenach spy in my bed, I can more easily keep my eye on her; keep her from doing anything too treacherous.”

“Treacherous? Heavens, no.” I rose with him and kissed him chastely, then cupped him in a way that was anything BUT chaste, relishing his moaning gasp. “Wicked? Oh, most certainly.”


“Thank you for meeting wi’ me, uncle.”

The Laird of Clan MacKenzie was resplendent, as usual, in his furs and frock coat. In addition, though, his manner this afternoon was uncharacteristically bright, his eyes twinkling and a smile playing at his mouth from across the broad desk. “So, nephew: I assume you’re here to ask permission to return to your estate.”

“How did ye ken that, uncle?” Aye, and that was part of it, was it not ? Jamie was free. He could go home. To Jenny. To Lallybroch. Aye, and he would. Just not alone.

“It’s been clear enough from your manner these last few weeks that you could no longer be happy at Leoch wi’ Mistress Beauchamp about.” 

Jamie flinched at her name, but Colum didn’t seem to notice, steepling his fingers and looking on with seemingly kind approbation.  

“Well, uncle, she isna so—”

“It was good of ye to come to the lady’s aid, lad,” Colum said gently, “Has she been pestering ye?”

“No,” he said emphatically, “Not at all, though I thank you for your concern, uncle.” The time has come, Fraser.  “The thing is—”

Colum held up a hand. “Ye dinna need to play so near the chest, lad. I ken it’s been hard, and it would be better on ye were she to be gone.” He beamed. “And I’m happy to say I’ve a solution.”

Jamie’s wame clenched.  A solution? Involving Claire? 

Colum gestured to a servant in the corner, who came forward with a decanter of whisky. To Jamie’s astonishment, Colum was heaving himself out of the chair and hobbling to come around the desk and stand beside him. 

He rose and held out staying hands. “Uncle, sit, please, ye dinna have to—”

“Nonsense, it’s an important occasion, lad.” The laird took a glass from the tray and handed one to Jamie. The noble kinsman raised the whisky and sighed in a wide, proud way. “A toast: to my dear sister’s son and his wife-to-be.” He drank. 

Jamie followed suit, for no other reason than to hide the shock that must be visible on his face. WIFE-TO-BE?? How did he know?? 

Colum, in another surprise, seemed pleased by Jamie’s stunned silence. “Och, so ye did piece it together, then?” He roared with laughter and inclined his head with a fierce pride. “That’s why you’re fit to lead this clan, lad. Clever and cunning, and it does ye much credit. Slainte.”

His uncle drank again, but it was Jamie’s head reeling. Had someone overheard him and Claire in the last day and a half and reported back to the laird? Was this kind, approving performance naught but a game? Was Jamie about to be castigated for having the audicity to suggest wedding the sassenach?

And yet the laird seemed so genuine in his congratulations. He positively glowed as he set his glass back on the tray and clapped Jamie on the arm. “Now, you’ll see soon enough for yourself that Edina is a fine lady, if a wee bit—”

“Who?” Jamie blurted, though the realization was already plummeting down upon him. 

“Edina Grant, your—” And like a stormcloud over the sun, Colum’s expression darkened to a deadly, steely grey. He all but growled it: “Your betrothed.”


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anonymous asked:

First off love your writing on AO3! I know you occasionally take prompts -Just heard the Ed Sheeran song Perfect and I think it would be great inspiration for a bellarke reunion fic if you're interested. Either way- have a great week!

First off thank you bc that’s very kind of you! Secondly, nobody @ me i know this is not even remotely plausible for how s5 will go I AM AWARE but i’m going to do what i want


“Stay sharp,” Bellamy mutters, wishing he had a rifle in his hands.

Murphy snorts, a sound that makes everyone else flinch. 

“Less than ten hours on the ground and he’s already picked up his favorite catchphrase.”

Bellamy shoots him a look, more for the volume than the teasing.

“I guess that means we’re really back,” Harper agrees, giving the others a grin.

A chorus of whoops interrupts whatever clever retort sits poised on the tip of Raven’s tongue. They’d been making good time, moving through the sparse forest in the general direction they thought the bunker might lie, and getting pretty close over the course of the day. To their surprise, not long after nightfall, the raucous sounds of a party had begun to reach their ears. Sounds Bellamy hasn’t heard since that first week on earth, when the delinquents at the dropship had done… well, whatever the hell they wanted.

Octavia, he’d thought instantly, and then every long-buried instinct from six years ago rebelled against the thought. It would be too simple for him to get to reunite with his sister on his first day back on earth. He can’t trust it, not when easy is a concept life on the ground is unfamiliar with.

Of course they were going to check it out, but he wasn’t getting his hopes up. If it is O, he’ll be overwhelmingly glad. If it’s not, he’ll maybe have avoided being devastated. Or so he tells himself.

A drum pounds low and steady, rattling their bones as they draw closer to the source of the noise. Music. Who would have thought? He half expects it to be something he recognizes, rigged up by an ex-Arker, but it doesn’t seem to be a recording. One rhythm blends into another, different tones and timbres nearly, but not quite, drowning out the chatter of a crowd, delighted exclamations and unbridled laughter.

“Not exactly hiding, are they?” Echo whispers. Bellamy would admonish her for making noise, but they’re close enough now that the sound of drums gives them cover.

“Who else would be around to hear them?” Emori points out. “Until a few hours ago, they were literally the only people alive in this part of the earth.”

“So let’s go meet the neighbors,” says Bellamy, crossing the rest of the distance toward the noise and flickering firelight until he can see the clearing through a gap in the trees.

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High Society, 3.1k, loki/grandmaster, victorian-ish au based on this headcanon post, there’s porn in it and I’m not sorry

also I changed “en dwi gast” to “andrew gast” because “en dwi gast” it not an appropriate name in this setting at all, loki and thor can at least sort of slide


Loki did not want to be here.

He might not know what the game was, yet, but he was certain there was one. It was right there in his name - the name he’d given himself, not the one that’d been written on the perfectly designed invitation. Well, perfectly. His mother had looked at it and called it, politely, a little garish, which it was, but the kind of garish that caught and held the eye. Brash, impolite, overwhelming.

All the dangerous things that had pulled Loki in.

He wasn’t quite enough of an egoist to think that the man had come here for him. Lord Andrew Gast surely had other motivations to return to what was, apparently, an ancestral estate. But the invitation…that, he thought, was for him, even if Gast had made a point of almost entirely ignoring Loki thus far except for a brief wink during the perfunctory greetings, as though they shared some scandalous secret.

Loki supposed they did. Rather a lot. Most of them had to do with he himself, though, which made them quite a bit less thrilling. Plenty of people thought they knew a lot about him, and Loki liked it that way; Gast knew too much.

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