i wash i could have gone

The signs as letters between Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West
  • Aries: "Do you really love me? Much? Passionately not reasonably?"
  • Taurus: "But I do adore you — every part of you from heel to hair. Never will you shake me off, try as you may."
  • Gemini: "I always have such need to merely talk to you. Even when I have nothing to talk about — with you I just seem to go right ahead and sort of invent it."
  • Cancer: "I wish I didn’t love you so much. No I don’t though; that’s not true. I am glad I do. I don’t know what to say to you except that it tore the heart out of my body saying goodbye to you."
  • Leo: "Yes, I am glad you miss me, even if it is ‘damned unpleasant.'"
  • Virgo: "You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defenses. And I really don’t resent it."
  • Libra: "The flowers have come and are adorable, dusky, tortured, passionate like you—"
  • Scorpio: "I wish you could live in my brain for a week. It is washed with the most violent waves of emotion."
  • Sagittarius: "You may have discovered entire new countries in your own soul."
  • Capricorn: "I find I get more and more disagreeably solitary; In fact I foresee the day when I shall have gone too far into myself that there will no longer be anything to be seen of me at all. Will you, please, remember to pull away the coverings from time to time?"
  • Aquarius: "I like the unreality of your mind; the whole thing is very splendid and voluptuous and absurd."
  • Pisces: "I suppose it is good for the soul to be hurt and perplexed perpetually. I know at least that I miss you damnably: that is a good fixed star."
From The Prompt List~ Three

Requested: Yes. Anon asks, “I think 4 and 6 would go good together, but if that’s too much, then 6. I’d like the pairing to be a female reader with Anti. Please and thank you :)”

Fandom: JackSepticEye

Pairing: Antisepticeye/Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: Cursing, Sad, Angst, Cruel Words, Mentions of Suicide?

A/N: The prompts are~ “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. That’s the problem.” and “Tell me to go and I will, but if you ask me to stay I’ll never leave you again.” … Enjoy!

Originally posted by secanzevids

   Anti had fucked up, he knew he had fucked up. He couldn’t take back what he had said. The argument was stupid, it was about Anti not cleaning his mess in the kitchen, and yet here they were… Anti was sitting against her bedroom door listening as (Y/N) sobbed into the bed sheets.

“I work for eight hours every day so that you and I can have a place to call home! All that I ask is that you help me keep it looking like a home!” (Y/N) shouted as she threw the dishes into the sink, cursing under her breath. Anti sat at the table, watching.

“Yeah? What’s another hour of work?” Anti said with a roll of his eyes. (Y/N) dropped the a dish onto the floor and it shattered around her, but she just turned to him with a fierce look in her eye.

“Really? You think that just because you’ve got power means that you can take my hospitality for granted? I’m tired, Anti. I don’t want to come home and have to clean up your mess.”

“Then don’t! I’m not Sean, do you expect me to comfort you? Do you expect me to give you a back rub and cuddle with you? That pathetic excuse of a human is gone. I thought you accepted that!”

“Don’t you dare speak about Sean that way, ever! Sean was my friend!” (Y/N) screamed chucking the soaking dishcloth at him. She hated talking about him, especially to Anti. And it wasn’t really Anti’s fault that Sean was gone. Sean accepted Anti, Sean had asked Anti to take over his life. (Y/N) knew this.

“You have feelings for me, don’t you? Humans are pathetic. I am not Sean, I could never love you. You’re pathe-” Anti was cut off by a sob, guilt immediately washing over him. He was an entity but that didn’t mean that his emotions were entirely shut off.

“How can you say that? How can you so effortlessly break someone,” (Y/N)’s voice lowered to a whisper, tears rolling silently down her face. “I accept you for who you are, I understand why you do the things you do, you’re a demon. You can’t feel anything, I know that, but you’ve talked about wanting to feel emotions. I just… I don’t understand why you act like a monster… “ (Y/N) choked back a sob and walked past Anti, going to her bedroom. Anti didn’t try to stop her but he followed her.

(Y/N) had stopped crying and it sounded like she was asleep, so Anti slipped through the door. She was curled up, clutching a pillow, and wrapped in a blanket. Anti sat at the head of the bed, moving so that he was leaning against the headboard and (Y/N)’s head was laying in his lap. He said and started running his fingers through her hair. After a few moments Anti heard a soft voice,

“I’m sorry… “ (Y/N) whispered, curling into a tighter ball. Anti’s movements stopped and (Y/N) nudged against his hands, like a cat. The entity let out a soft sigh and started again.

“You probably hate me… I’m sorry, too.” Anti winced unsure of his ‘apology’.

“I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. That’s the problem.” (Y/N) forced out, staring at the wall. Neither of them spoke for a while.

“Tell me to go and I will, but if you ask me to stay I’ll never leave you again.” Anti finally said, staring down at (Y/N). She looked up at him, leaning up to kiss his cheek. Anti chased her back down to the bed, pressing his lips against hers. After he pulled away she sighed, her cheeks a soft shade of pink.

“Please stay.”

It Wasn’t a Mistake

Summary: When Y/N turns a drunk Dean down, she regrets nothing seeing he never remembered what he said. But she finds herself in the same situation he was when she’s drugged up on medication for an injury. How will he react?

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, swearing, talk of blood, injury, high of medication, fluff, smut

Word Count; 3,956

Request:  Could you do a fic where the reader initially turns dean down but is on meds for an injury & is all dopey & tells dean she loves him & tries to kiss him & he pushes her off so not to take advantage but he’s really happy & the next day she’s totally embarrassed & tells dean to forget it for the usual angsty reasons, but Sam tells her how excited dean was & then smut? Absolutely love all ur fics, you’re amazing! No pressure whatsoever to write this if u don’t like it or ur too busy etc. :) -Anonymous 

A/N: This is my submission to @buckysmetallicstump Disney Quote Challenge. Mine was 20. Ladies don’t start fights, they finish them. This is not beta read as I just finished this today. I hope y’all enjoy feedback is welcomed as always!

Originally posted by spn-fandoms



Sitting in a booth in the back of the dive bar you watched Sam and Dean playing pool. Well it was more on the lines hustling pool rather than actually playing. They both had a beer in their hands as the watched the drunk bikers try to play. Sam had assured you that this would be their last round, but if they kept their winning streak up they would be there much longer. So until they were ready to go, you were going to sit back and drink your pina-colada until they were ready to go.

Minutes turned into another hour and you were getting pretty tired of waiting. While lost in your own world Dean snuck up behind you and grabbed both your shoulder. You immediately went reaching for the pistol hidden in your jacket, but stopped as soon as Dean sat across from you. His cheeks were flushed as he laughed taking another sip out of his beer.

Keep reading

Self Care Day Print Outs!

Howdy there, Rad Rhino-diles and Cool Croco-ceroses!

Sometimes I say to myself “I’m taking a Self Care Day!” Maybe you call it a mental health day. Whatever - the point is, I often take one, but then I pretty much don’t do anything that will actually recharge me for the next day and all the days after!

So, here’s a thing I came up with! It’s a prototype, but I invite you to test it, reinvent it, come up with your own ideas and send me feedback. At the very least, I’ll be making another, SLIGHTLY AGGRESSIVER version and posting it here soon. Might do one in colour too.

So, if you’re gonna take a self care day, here’s a little sheet you can fill in, just to be sure you’re taking real good care of yourself. It’s got ways to mark off the important self care goals, and places to write down how you’re gonna take care of you!

The goals you can put might be life stuff like “wash dishes” but you could also put “read that book” or “watch that movie”. Maybe “make an appointment to see the doctor about my depression”.

And where it gives you the space to do something other than shower - maybe you can give yourself a dry shower (when I’m really sick, I use those wet baby wipes to scrub off the bad smell!) or you could just wash your face and change your clothes. (Or have a really nice bath!) I know sometimes it can be exhausting taking care of you, so it’s good to have some options!

Even if you’re taking a whole Self Care Week, or everything’s just gone to shit, I’m hoping keeping track of yourself might help.

If you use it, let me know how it works for you! I know it works for me, but I’m the only Me in the world, so I would love your feedback!

- The Slightly Aggressive Affirmer

Check it out, under the cut!

Keep reading

8

“I come to you with an olive branch. You may know me. You certainly know of my creator… I am David, son of the late Peter Weyland, your company’s founder. Following his vision, I’ve gone to the far edges of space. And with the aid of Dr. Elizabeth Shaw, I found a rotting paradise. I washed this world clean as a gift to her. We could have built anew; a second Eden. But she refused.”

Frost (Chapter Twelve)

Thor gets mad at his advisors, he and Tony talk about being with Loki. Things are sweet and ridiculous.
NOTE: I LOVE the idea of polyamorous relationships being described as “perfect love”, and I had to use google translate to figure out how to say it in Icelandic  and I’m honestly not sure if it’s the right words or not, but that’s what google said. So if someone who speaks the language can correct me, or let me know if I am using it in an okay way, please do lol.

I think you guys will love this chapter. Let me know what you think!

ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS HERE!

Enjoy :)
**************

“How can you let him run around, doing as he pleases?”

“Spending his days locked away in private luncheons with the Trickster.”

“It is bad enough you have allowed Loki to walk free after all he has done, but to allow Sir Anthony to cavort with him–”

The council members were all speaking at once, overlapping complaints about Tony’s behavior the last two days, about how Loki had traipsed around the grounds as if he had a right to be there, demanding that Thor control his mate and instruct him as to the acceptable way to behave.

“They spent the entire day together! Had servants running to bring them food!”

“How can you allow Loki to have his hands on your Chosen Love?”

“Are you not outraged by their blatant disrespect for you?”

Thor had been home for all of five minutes, barely off his horse and through the doors of the castle before the council members had pulled him into the chambers and proceeded to yell and stomp about everything Tony and Loki had been doing in his absence.

“Forgive us, Our King, for bringing up such distasteful subjects, but Sir Anthony spent both nights in Loki’s chambers.”

“Both nights! And when a servant came to light a fire in the chambers, he saw them entwined on the bed. Naked!”

“Perhaps you should have learned of this mortals character before choosing him as your hjartslattur.”

Thor’s eyes widened at that.

Surely I misheard you.” He said coldly. “Are you suggesting my Anthony is not my true mate? That I have chosen in error?”

Unfortunately, the council member did not hear the danger in his King’s voice, nor did he hear the roll of thunder outside the castle, and opened his mouth to speak again.

“We are simply saying perhaps you chose hastily. There has not been an official joining ceremony, you are still able to nullify any sort of–”

Thor’s fist came down on the desk with a crack and the room went deadly silent.

First.” Thor stood to his full height, both hands planted on the desk. “You are members of my council. It is your job to suggest courses of action. The next time one of you assumes to demand that I do anything, will be the last time those words leave your mouth.”

Thunder rolled again, filling the room this time and Thor’s blue eyes flashed in anger.

Second. You will refer to Loki as Prince and nothing less. I have chosen to forgive my brother, to welcome him home and anyone who disrespects or disagrees with my decision will remove themselves. This attitude that he is somehow less because of his mistakes will cease now. He is my brother, the Prince of Asgard and a god in his own right and you will treat him with respect or I will have something to say about it.”

Third.” Thor continued, his voice low and furious. “You are to never treat my Beloved as if he is any less than I. He is my Chosen Love, my hjartslattur, the very source of the storms I call from the skies and if you dare to suggest that he is in error, is tarnishing this family and our bond, or needs to change to better fit your idea of acceptable– I will call my Lightning and unleash it on you.”

Thor folded his arms, standing tall and terrible. “You all know the stories, the myths of the hjartslattur Loki and I will share and yet you persist in running to me anytime they are in a room alone. It is not your right to interfere in my personal affairs, and my love Anthony, our hjartslattur bond and my brother Loki all fall within that realm.”

“You will cease this inquisition, and the next of you who comes running to sully the name of my love or the Prince will face my wrath.”

Thor glared at them, a boom of thunder shaking the very floor.

“Have I made myself entirely and perfectly understandable?”

“My Lord.”
“Our King.”
“Forgive us.”
“Your Pardon, of course.”
“A thousand apologies.”

The councilmen were bowing as low as they could, apologizing frantically as they backed out of the room, and Thor remained standing, glaring, until the door had closed behind them.

And then he ran a hand down his face and laughed, because of course Tony and Loki had flaunted their bond in front of anyone who would look. Of course a servant had caught them naked in bed. That sounded exactly like something his perfect infuriating love and Trickster brother would do.

He laughed again, then stripped out of his riding clothes until he was just in a fitted shirt and pants, and took off to find his two favorite people.

Keep reading

Your James Buchanan Barnes

Title: Your James Buchanan Barnes

Pairing: Bucky x Reader 

Genre: Fluff 

Summary: Bucky wouldn’t show his jealousy. But how long could he really last?


Bucky is a possessive man. Not that he’d admit it up front to anyone. Back in the 40s, he was this suave ladies man that could have had any dame he wanted, no questions asked.

James Buchanan Barnes couldn’t possibly show the world how much his heart screamed and how hard his fists clenched at the sight of his doll rolling her head back in laughter as this greasy hair, grubby-hands S.H.I.E.L.D recruit blurts out yet another one of those jokes Bucky couldn’t help roll his eyes at.

He let out a grunt, much louder than he normally would have. Seeing (Y/N)’s eyes light up as she sees him standing by the doorway, Bucky couldn’t help the smile creeping onto his face.

“Doll, do you want to head out for lunch?” Bucky asked, trying hard to look nonchalant at the recruit’s arm that was placed just a little too close to (Y/N)’s warm ones on the lab’s desk.

“I’m sorry Bucky. I’ve got to finish up here and get these mission reports to Agent Hill before she leaves for the day.” came (Y/N)’s reply, her eyes downcast, lips pushed into a small pout.

Seeing her expression, Bucky’s furrowed eyebrows relaxed, only to knit back together once more as he spots the recruit blatantly staring at his doll’s lips. That god-damn recruit even had the nerve to lick his own lips. You’ve got to be joking.

Bucky took a long stride and was just about to give the recruit a piece of his mind when he hears Steve walking into the lab, calling out to him.

“Hey Buck, head to the gym with me?” Steve asked, eyes glued to his phone in his hand, his other hand rubbing the back of his neck, looking slightly exasperated at what was on the screen.

He let out another short grunt to show his agreement, his pride getting the best of him. He couldn’t possibly show his best friend just how jealous he got over a dame. I mean, he is James Buchanan Barnes, the all-around ladies man.


The second time that ugly feeling of possession crept up his heart was when (Y/N) was lounging in the entertainment room. Her hair in a messy bun atop her head, body wrapped in a fluffy blanket and a thick book perched on her lap. She was quite engrossed in the novel, failing to notice when Bucky walked in.

Bucky leaned on a wall, an endearing smile on his face as he took in the sight. A small gasp escaped (Y/N) when she hit a particularly exciting part of the plot, causing Bucky to let out a soft laughter.

(Y/N) turned her head to where Bucky was and as their eyes met she squealed and attempted to untangle herself from the blanket.

“Bucky! You’re back! I missed you so much! No more week long missions for you sergeant!” (Y/N) said as she leaped in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist; finally free from the blanket.

He tightened his hold on her and buried his face into her hair and replied, “I missed you too doll. No more week long missions without you, I promise.” his deep voice muffled.

After a short while, (Y/N) released her hold on Bucky and grabbed his hand to lead him to the kitchen.

“Bucks I made you a plum pie! Actually… I may have made about ten. I mean I know its too much but I just couldn’t fall asleep without you next to me, I had to do something to keep myself distracted! I’ve cleaned every inch of our room, redecorated it and even rearranged all your Henleys by color…” (Y/N) explained, her voice getting softer by the second, a pink tint on her cheeks.

A rush of affection came to Bucky as he hears that she has missed him just as much as he missed her. He was about to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her in when he finally took notice of the oversized sweater she was wearing.

“Is that… is that Vision’s sweater?” Bucky asked, brows knitted, voice lower than (Y/N) was used to.

“Uhh, well yeah. I mean…” (Y/N)’s reply was cut short when Thor bolted into the kitchen, voice booming.

“Ah! Lady (Y/N)! Just who I was searching for! Could you make me some of those pop tarts we’ve had this morning? Just about six will do. I’m feeling a little peckish.” Thor asked, a casual arm draped on her shoulder.

“Oh wait! Is that a pie I see? I wouldn’t want to trouble you in that case Lady (Y/N)! I’ll just have some pie instead! Looks wonderful!” Thor continued, taking a slice of pie and setting it on a plate.

He then took the rest of the pie away with him, giving (Y/N) a loud thank you, leaving Bucky, (Y/N) and the one slice of pie in the kitchen.

If Bucky’s anger was mid-level earlier, it just got through the roof after Thor’s little pie-stealing stunt.

That block of wood of a God just had his arms on his doll’s shoulders, his face was barely an inch away from his doll’s face AND he took away the pie that his doll has made for him. He might have nine more whole pies but his doll made him ten and ten pies is what he shall have.

Bucky was just about to open his mouth to show her his discontent, he even prepared to pout for added effect. But just then, Nat sauntered into the kitchen greeting them both.

“Hey, Bucky! Hey (Y/N)! I’m just going to make myself a snack. Please just continue whatever it was earlier. I’ll make myself scarce.” she informed them, smirk evident on her face as her gaze fell on Bucky’s possessive form.

Once again, Bucky lost all the courage he’s gathered to show (Y/N) she belonged to him, with him. I mean which charming 40s sergeant would tell a dame that he didn’t like seeing her in someone else’s shirt. Not Bucky that’s for sure.


But the jealousy and possessiveness only got increasingly worse. Bucky even growled at a puppy that rubbed itself on (Y/N) feet.

Back in the compound, Bucky threw himself carelessly on the couch and he covered his face with his hands and let out a loud groan of frustration. (Y/N) sat on the couch and lifted Bucky’s feet up, placing it on her lap. She looked to the frustrated man, her face filled with concern and nervousness.

Bucky took his hands off his face and took in (Y/N)’s worried gaze. With new found confidence, he reached over and grabbed her hands, his metal arm curled around her waist as he hoisted her up, gently placing her on his lap.

Leaning his forehead on hers, he looked into her eyes and started, “Doll. Sweetheart, I just… I know this might sound ridiculously petty to you but… I’ve got to get it out of my system alright? Just… just promise me you won’t hate me okay?”, he took a deep breath and continued, “I’ve been jealous, okay? It’s just all these men hovering over you and I’m just this guy that somehow got lucky and got you as a girlfriend. I… I really don’t like how they lo-“.

You cut off his rambling with a peck on his lips and said, “Bucky, I’m sorry I made you feel so awful. I… I don’t notice people hitting on me because most of my waking moments are spent thinking about you. And I don’t mind people taking pies I’ve baked you because I know I’ll spend my whole life with you and I could bake you all the pies you want. Also… Vision’s sweater? That’s… that’s because the whole week when you were gone I wore your sweaters all day. I knew you were due to be back home so I threw all your sweaters that I’ve worn into the wash, hoping it’ll be washed and dried for you when you returned. I.. I didn’t want you to laugh at how childish I seem. I’m a grown woman that wears her boyfriend’s shirts all day because she misses him too much…”.

Both of your faces were flushed but at ease. It felt good to have shared with each other the feelings you were both trying to hide.

Deciding in that moment, Bucky lifted (Y/N) up and carried her to where the Avengers were. He strode into the room with her in his arms, all his teammates’ eyes were on him.

“Let me get this straight, guys. Don’t ever stare at (Y/N) like she’s a piece of meat. Don’t stare at her period. No lingering gazes. No wrapping your arms around her shoulders. Stop making her heat up your pop tarts or make you snacks and don’t ever go near the food she makes me.” Bucky listed out, voice serious and laced with determination.

The lot of superheroes had looks of shock and confusion etched on their faces, minds trying to process what just happened.

Finally letting out his piece, Bucky turned around and headed to his bedroom, (Y/N) still in his arms, her face a deep shade of red, buried into his shoulder. 

Bucky finally understood he was not James Buchanan Barnes of the 40s, suave ladies man. He was not the charismatic and witty James Buchanan Barnes. He was (Y/N)’s James Buchanan Barnes, a possessive man with the world’s best dame in his arms.


Some feedback would be great! Thank you! 

Tagging: @itsanerdlife 

@callamint, @klaus-is-king, @dryerpet (Thank you for leaving comments on my previous piece. It meant alot to me. ps, let me know if you don’t want to be tagged. No hard feelings!)

@buckysmusculararm (a fluff piece for you to balance the angst from my previous piece! ps, if you wouldn’t want to be tagged let me know) 

Drink Up

gif is not mine

Title: Drink Up

Pairing: Benny x Reader

Word Count: 1,385

Warnings: fluff, there’s a bit of fang kink thing going on.

A/N: I may have had this idea and so I wrote it and I was super impatient and wanted to push it to today, which is Monday where I am! So I hope you all enjoy this! Feedback is welcomed and appreciated! I love you all so much! <3 <3

There weren’t many instances where Benny came on hunts with you.  He usually didn’t get involved when you had a hunt to go on.  Yet he insisted that he go on this one with you.  You had to admit, you liked having Benny by your side.  According to Dean you and Benny were a “power couple”.

You promised Benny you would stay in the truck before he gave the all clear.  You expected Benny to be done with the vampire’s nest already.  He was great when it came to protecting you.  However, you were done waiting for Benny to come back.  You were worried that something had happened to him.

You hopped out of Benny’s truck, pulling out your machete.  You were ready to hurt anyone who would dare stop you from getting to your beloved vampire.  “Benny,” you called out.

“[Y/N],” you heard a faint voice say.

Keep reading

Smoke. [Bucky x reader]

Request: Hey! Absolutely love you and was wondering if I could get a request based of these prompts? “She’s got tangled hair and cigarettes” “I like the look of your face when you’re yapping on about him” “I don’t wanna be your friend I wanna kiss your neck” “When I see your pyjamas I can’t stop smiling at you” Bucky X reader if you don’t mind xx

Warnings: slight angst, drinking, drunk reader, smoking (duh), one or two swear words.

A/N: my first dedication goes out to the beautiful @minervaem without whom I would not own thousandsof goats 
Also to @buckyywiththegoodhair because Nicole is a sweetheart and offers some of the best advice, and @just-some-drabbles for putting up with me and just reassuring my lame self generally 
Thank you to the all three of you for generally being awesome ahhhh i don’t know how to talk or dedicate stuff to people help

here’s my masterlist 


Originally posted by jlstreck

He often found solace in the wisps of smoke floating to the ceiling. The fashion in which it danced gracefully through the air, weaving its way down your lungs as you drew in a deep breath, inhaling greedily in the temporary high it gave you.

His eyes observed the rough tangles of your hair that carelessly cascaded down your curved back. Your fingers enclosed around a cigarette, eyes closed gently while the city continued on in the merciless manner it always did.

Your conversations were something he’d like to equate to smoke as well. It gave him peace in the restlessness, adrenaline in the pure form of adoration.

As your fingers outstretched to slowly offer him the small half burnt roll of tobacco, he made sure to notice how your mouth emerged in an imperfect circle, the exhaust falling over your lips like the remains of what used to be a powerful waterfall, now reduced to the calm flow of water from the edge of a cliff.

“Fuck him,” your voice declared sturdily, artificial tranquility seeping through your words. 

Bucky chuckled deeply, raising the cigar to his mouth, trying to push away the aching sense of happiness he achieves with those few words.

“You’re laughing now, but I’ll eventually find someone who’s good to me,” you objected, a smile taking over your face. “And you won’t be laughing then.”

Bucky elected that appropriate moment to hastily take a wind of smoke, delaying the time for his reaction.

The twinkling lights of the offices which had just been illuminated glimmered in both your irises, occasionally being disrupted by the blinking of your eyelids as the breeze blew over your heads in a flurry. 

The soft blaring noises of the cars brought him happiness as they drove, full of life, through the busy streets of New York, distracting him from the harsh real life he found himself living. He let the sounds of other people’s lives calm him down, keep him grounded. 

“God, he’s such a loser.” You snapped him out of the daze he so often found himself in when he was in the familiar setting.

He tilted his head to look at you, eyes trained on the bottle which had made its way to your hands. The second bottle shared between you two this evening.

You took a swig of the liquid, each drop assisting in forgetting everything, forgetting him.

He who was not the first of many, who had so recklessly played with everything you were sure of, everything you stood for and tore you down.

“He truly is.” Bucky nodded along with you, wanting nothing more than to clasp your hands in his and pull you through the heartbreak you so desperately tried to mask.

“But he’s a funny guy. He makes me laugh, and he doesn’t listen to me that often, but when he does, he understands. He took me to one small part of Central Park once. That was nice.” You had a smile on your face and Bucky couldn’t bring himself to hate that fellow for that particular reason. Because in the end, he did make you happy, even if it was for the shortest of time. 

“I like the look on your face when you’re yapping on about him,“ he admitted to himself but kept from you, seeing a small twinkle in your eyes which he was sure was only for the moment.

You were intoxicated, and intoxicating both. He found himself wanting to have more of you to himself, to get drunk off of the feeling of your skin contrasting his, your fingers intwined with his, but was too late in realising it.

“To be honest, he’s kind of a jerk. And he’s not a nice person. He’s trouble for me, but he still gives me a thrill, I think. I guess I like the thrill, not the relationship,” you said thoughtfully- drunk, but thoughtfully-, evoking a sense of admiration in Bucky.

“But I still love him, you know?” You sighed, gulping another bit of the magical substance which to you, seemed to drive away negative thoughts from your mind. “Which is stupid, because he doesn’t deserve me. He probably deserves a nice punch in the nose for cheating on me, but not me. He doesn’t deserve-”

Your voice cracked, sending thuds of agony to Bucky as he shifted closer to you almost automatically, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, hoping that the sad look in your eyes as you looked to the horizon would disappear.

“Don’t allow him to make you question yourself. You are worth so much more than him,” he said, almost commanded, watching as the bottle made its way to your mouth again. But he just let you do it. “If he can’t see the kindness in your heart that makes me- us love you, or the excitement in your eyes when you see something you love, then he isn’t worth keeping around.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked down at your folded knees, trying to process what he said.

It was silent, and he could almost feel the gears turning in your brain, the very same that induced the thoughts that you had or the ideas you spoke of.

“You said ‘me’.” Your voice was confused, accusatory.

“What?” Bucky asked, lost.

“You said ‘me’, but changed it to ‘us’. You said you love me, but then you changed it.” If you weren’t drunk off your ass, maybe you would have kept it to yourself. It wasn’t the first time Bucky was so careless with his words.

“You caught me.” He shrugged, earlier upset but now thanking the fact that this would have slipped your mind by the next morning.

“You love me?” you asked almost innocently.

“Of course I do. I’ve told you before.”

“I don’t remember,” you murmured, shifting to look at him.

His serene eyes told you nothing that you wanted to know, showing you none of the pain swimming underneath in his mind.

“You won’t remember this either.” He sighed, and you did the same, making him quirk an eyebrow at you and smile.

“Why don’t you ever say it to me then? I always thought you saw me as a friend.” He turned away from you again, looking back at the setting sun. He’s had this conversation too many times for him to want to repeat the same answer.

“I don’t wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your neck,” he sang softly instead, quoting the song he had been listening to on repeat for a week, his gaze focusing on the skyline. 

“Your lips pressed to my neck. I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.” You half-sang, half-giggled, seemingly forgetting about whatever had just been said, instead focusing on a different song.

His fingers tightened ceremoniously around your shoulders in an attempt to make sure you wouldn’t slip and fall off the edge where you both had resided. 

“Can I say something to you?” you asked, pausing momentarily to look at him.

He gave a small hum as an answer, and you took it as a yes, leaning in to whisper into his ears.

A slight chill ran down his spine as your lips ghosted over his earlobe, making him gulp nervously and force a straight face. If this was going anywhere where he wished it would go, he would have no clue how to react.

“You know,” you began sultrily, not helping his state, “when I see your pyjamas I can’t stop smiling at you. I like you in them.

Bucky stared blankly ahead, taking a moment to register what exactly you had just said. 

“Okay, come on sweetheart. I think that’s enough for today.” He spun around, trying his best to keep his voice from cracking, to hop off the ledge whilst ignoring your cries of protest.

His rough hands held yours securely as he helped you down, throwing your one arm around him to help you stagger along.

“Bucky just because I kind of love him doesn’t mean that I love him more than you,” you whispered, sighing soon after.

All he could do was smile sadly as you continued walking, the sun have gone down already, trailing with it all the words he could have confessed and feelings he could have acted upon.

In the end, all your conversations and gestures would be washed away in the morning along with the liquor because as he said, your conversations were like smoke.

And smoke was only vivacious for a brief period before it dissipated into the atmosphere, leaving no trace of even being there.



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sweep me up off my feet
just for a moment as your arms guide me
across the floor
you are an easy dancing partner
with clever feet traveling through space
and here I am with you
seeming just as graceful of a dancer as you
 
as your voice trickles through my bones
I beg this time for something sad
sorrowful and full of heartbreak
I know it isn’t good and I know I should refrain
but beg I do and you indulge
with a tune of storm clouds and washed out blues
and we sway and sway and sway
until the sky cries and the stars come out for comfort
 
as the loss eases I crave something fast
your voice picks up and brings me a tune
that scampers along the back of my neck
and we are moving
with energy now that could rival a star
moving to the beat together
a smile wrapped across your face
 
I cling to you
the night is gone
I cling to you
wrapping your tunes across my skin
to wear through the cold
often I fear I have nothing at all
but you are here
I cling to you
and we dance together through the dawn
— 

Miriam K, music is my dancing partner

@imfinesothankyou requested: “the feeling music gives you”

anonymous asked:

Will we get a Hail Mary update soon?? Claire need to get back to Jamie and set things right!! :-)

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

It was eight days later that I rode into the courtyard of Castle Leoch, just as dawn was breaking.  

I could have gotten there sooner, certainly, but I had kept off the main roads to the greatest extent possible, taking no chances of falling into the hands of strangers. I’d had quite enough of that, thank you very much, and while my stint with one highland clan had turned out rather well on the whole, I had no desire to try my luck with another, let alone the English army. 

And, despite the danger and the fatigue of the journey, my heart had been light and ready to burst for all eight of those days.

…’Rather well’…

Understatement to the extreme.

It had brought me Jamie.

As foolish and romantic a notion as it perhaps was, I had found myself many times on that hopeful, frantic journey wondering….was it fate that I had come through the stones? That I hadn’t been able to get back to Frank?  Had some bizarre destiny planted the fascination with wildflowers in my mind that morning so that I could be brought to Jamie, and him to me? Or had it all been mere luck? Could chance alone truly have resulted in this wonder? Could I honestly believe that mere odds should have allowed two people— so exquisitely attuned to one another, and yet separated by centuries and custom and country—to find one another in a dangerous, lonely universe?

But even as I had wondered endlessly in the long hours and days and nights on the Highland tracks, I knew it didn’t matter; made no true difference why or how by what means I had found myself in this place, this time. What mattered was the burning in my chest as I swung down from the horse; the need of him singing out from my heart; that he was the only thing my bleary eyes sought among the dozens of faces that gaped staring—glaring—at me from around the mist-laden courtyard.

“Mary, Michael, and Bride–CLAIRE!”

It was not Jamie but Mrs. Fitz barreling toward me from the kitchen dooryard, eyes wide…and wary.  

So, my suspicions had been right, then— the rent party had come directly back to Leoch. Part of me had hoped against hope that they would have continued further north, upon the secondary loop that Ned had pointed out to me that night upon the map. If they had, I would have arrived well before them—giving me precious, valuable time to convince Colum of the perfectly logical (and fictitious) explanation for how I had been so tragically and unexpectedly abducted from Ned and Murtagh and the rest and then escaped. It would have worked, I thought; as long as Jamie kept his silence. Would he?

I care for you, Claire.

My mind snapped back into awareness, back to the cold, stark realities of the present. I hadn’t arrived first, and thus the entire castle knew of my desertion.

Nonetheless, Mrs. Fitz had genuine affection in her voice as she clasped me hard to her bread-and-herb-scented bosom. “Oh, m’dear,” she said, sniffing, and voice tremulous with emotion, “they said—Och, child, they said such terrible things—!“

I returned the embrace, feeling affection flood my heart, even in the same moment as fear and dead-panic. “What—what have they said about me, Mrs. Fitz?”

Forewarned is forearmed, after all. 

She pulled back to stare searchingly up into my face, whispering each word so as not to be overheard by the many watchful onlookers. “That ye’re an English spy—and that ye made off in the night wi’ no warning—and that ye came among us tae do the Mackenzie harm wi’ the knowledge ye’ve gleaned in our midst…”

Well, all things considered, I suppose I couldn’t expect fairer than that. I’d carefully formulated my story, rehearsed the details forward and back—all I could do was pray that Colum would buy it. And that I could talk to Jamie at the first possible moment.  

“I’m not a spy, Mrs. Fitz,” I said, as confidently and reassuringly as I could, bending to kiss her warmly on the cheek. “I can assure you, it’s all a dreadful misunderstanding.”

Lord knew I was not a grand actress, but Mrs. Fitz gave an enormous exhale of relief, looked both flustered and pleased as she took both my hands in hers. “I didna wish tae believe it of ye, m’dear—Such treacherous behavior, I couldna—No, I DIDNA myself believe it, child, but Dougal said–”

“I understand perfectly, Mrs Fitz, truly I do. I promise that I’ll explain the truth as soon as possible to Colum—I mean the laird. In the meantime,” I was literally swaying where I stood, “might I—trouble you for some food?—and perhaps a basin of water to wash? Before I attract more attention?”

The water would be pleasant, but it was food that I needed desperately. The bannocks I had filched from camp were long gone when I reached Craigh na Dun. Having no skill as a hunter, I had had to make do with what roots and berries and other edibles I could forage along the roadside. I had made it to Leoch on stubbornness and hope alone; but the reality was that I was very close to spent from hunger, and was having trouble keeping my legs and my vision aright.  

“Of course, of course!” Mrs Fitz said, already guiding me toward the kitchens. “Sweet child, starved and half-frozen.” She stopped sharply as we reached the doorway, looking apologetic. “Of course, I will have tae send word tae Himself at once that ye’ve arrived, Claire….given….weel….”

Given that I was still a presumed English spy who had just sauntered back into MacKenzie Clan HQ.

“Of course, Mrs. Fitz,” I said gently, “it’s the right thing to do.”

While she commissioned the boy known as Young Alec to take the message to the laird’s cambers and deliver my few belongings up to a spare chamber, my eyes swung once more around and around the courtyard. No Jamie.

Ten minutes was all I needed—ten minutes to explain how wrong I’d been to run; that everything I’d spat at him that night had been a dreadful, vicious lie; that I missed him; that I wanted him; that I wanted to stay. And failing that, even one minute just to be in his arms; to lay my head against his chest and feel his arms pulling me safe and warm against him. One minute just to hold him, and tell him with the gentle softness of my touch, with my eyes, that he hadn’t misjudged my affections; that he hadn’t been…’mistaken.’

Come find me, Jamie, I prayed upward into the walls of Leoch. Find me. Let me tell you what’s in my heart. What was there all along.

I followed Mrs. Fitz inside and down the familiar corridors to the kitchens. She ushered me—ignoring the stares and whispers from the kitchen staff—into a small room behind the kitchen hearth that I had never noticed before. Less than a minute later, I was gulping a mug of thick beef broth (“Drink slowly, m’dear, ye dinna want griping  in yer wame, aye?”), while she and a teenage girl drew me a warm bath in a small wooden tub before the fire. While I had protested that cold water was perfectly sufficient, the warmth of it and the sweet scent of the chamomile soap were together as comforting and bracing as brandy to my weary body. She helped me wash and rinse my hair, then wrapped me thick towels with a second mug of broth as she conjured a clean gown, shift, and stays for me, and then helped me herself to dress.

She sat with me by the fire as I inhaled porridge with honey and a small loaf with soft cheese. Her manner was still kind and sympathetic, but her eyes remained sharp and leery.

“I willna hide from ye, Claire, that the laird is no’ likely tae speak your name with kindness. Dougal was cursing ye roundly tae anyone that would listen—Old Mr. Gowan has scarcely ceased wi’ shaking his head and bemoaning yer actions— and wee Jamie, weel, he’s barely spoken, hasn’t he?”

That jolted my heart into a frenzy. “Has he?” I said lightly, not meeting her eye.

“Jamie? Och, aye,” she said, nodding gravely. “He must ha’ been sore affected by it. I suppose ‘tis only right, wi’ his loyalty to his uncles, ken? But my Laoghaire— she was sae glad tae see him return (she carries quite the torch for him, ye see)—but he’s been silent and lifeless as a stone these past days—Has scarcely given her as much as a ‘Good day.’”

Perversely, that made my heart leap. He doesn’t want Laoghaire, not even for comfort. He doesn’t want just any woman. He wants…

“Begging your pardon, Mrs. Fitz.” Young Alec’s head appeared around the door. “The Mackenzie requests Mistress Beauchamp’s presence in his study at her earliest convenience.”

I didn’t have the balls to ask Mrs. Fitz for a heaping four-finger glass of whisky, but Jesus H. CHRIST how I needed one.

‘Her earliest convenience.’ Which was to say, immediately. Which was to say my fate was to be decided at once. Which meant that if it were the laird’s pleasure, I would be expelled from the castle before I’d had the chance to even lay eyes on Jamie. Which meant—

Dammit. God bloody fucking dammit.


“Will ye do me the honor of sitting with me a time, Mistress Beauchamp?”

I sat in the proffered armchair across the broad desk from Colum MacKenzie. The laird of Castle Leoch was—outwardly, at least— as serene as ever, his appearance decorous and tidy, despite the earliness of the hour. Despite my earlier need for a stiff drink, I couldn’t bring myself to touch the glass he’d had a servant bring me.

He sat there surveying me, that quiet, wry smile playing at his lips. I lowered my eyes and waited, looking awkwardly around the room by way of distraction from the tension in the room. The laird’s study was just the same: luxuriously crammed with its beautiful furnishings befitting the MacKenzie’s station and wealth. His birds cheeped and chirruped eagerly, apparently not at all sensible of the tension pervading the room.

“Déja vu,” Colum said at last.

“What? I mean—“ I stammered, trying to recover from his startlingly calm non-sequitur. “I beg your pardon, my laird?”

“Déja vu. It’s French,” Colum said evenly, eyes twinkling. “It means, ’already seen.’ But surely—“ he said, gracefully arcing an eyebrow, “you, having family in France, would know that?”

I returned his level gaze with one of my own, though I smiled sweetly. “I do apologize, my laird, I simply was taken off-guard. Yes, I do know what the word means.”

“Aye, verra good…excellent.” He nodded sagely, lacing his fingers together on the tabletop, not breaking eye contact. “Then you’ll perhaps know, too, why I should be experiencing such a phenomenon at this moment….”

I knew precisely what he was getting at, but I feigned polite ignorance, waiting for him to continue, to make the first move. 

He did. “You…in my study…playing the harmless ingénue…after appearing on clan lands under highly suspicious circumstances.” He raised his eyebrows. “It does seem—to ring a certain bell, does it not?”

My heart was racing with adrenaline, but I smiled a smile of simple regret and opened my mouth to speak—I had rehearsed this all the way from Craigh na Dun, after all—but a pounding on the door made me all but jump out of my skin. 

“Enter,” Colum said, not seeming in the least bit surprised by the interruption. I regained my composure and remained facing forward. 

There came the squeal of hinges and the unmistakable snort behind me. “So it’s true then,” Dougal MacKenzie’s voice said said, low and hissing, “the prodigal wench has returned.”

My mind was a constant stream of all the curses I’d ever learned, in every tongue, and I’d played with street urchins in countless countries.It shouldn’t have surprised me, now that I came to think of it—Dougal was Colum’s right-hand, after all, and I had officially been in his charge when I’d made my escape— but it did. I had prepared for Colum, for his savage cunning masked in level-headed civility; I was equipped for that: for the turn of phrase and the traps of language and logic. But Dougal was another matter entirely—I couldn’t trust myself to remain calm and collected in the face of his pugnacious and irreverent manner. But I had to bloody do it, prepared or no. 

I didn’t bother to turn around, just said simply, “I’m not a wench, Mr. MacKenzie. And yes, I have returned.” This exchange was too important to let him raise my ire. 

“Prodigal liar, then,” he said, appearing to my left and coming to stand next to his brother, arms crossed and eyes blazing as he glared down at me. “Conspirator. Agent.”

My gaze was still cool, my voice still polite, but I could feel the shards of glass in it, dangerous to both of us. “I swear to you, Mr. Mackenzie: I’m none of those things.”

He laughed, cruelly and vicious, bending at the waist to put his face mere inches from mine. “Ye expect us to just believe the mere word of a lying, filthy wh–”

Will ye tell us, Mistress Beauchamp,” Colum said, his sharp tone a silent warning which Dougal must have comprehended at once, for he stepped back from me, and came to stand at Colum’s right hand, his own hand resting on his dirk handle.

Colum continued. “Will ye tell us what it was, exactly, that made ye suddenly choose to leave the rent party….and just as suddenly return?”

I took a deep breath, ready. “You will certainly recall, my laird, that since my—“ (Filthy, barbarous abduction). “—Arrival— with the Clan MacKenzie, so shortly after the death of my husband, it has been my desire to reach Inverness.”

The laird nodded. 

“It was my intention to join with friends there in hopes of beginning a new life among those I trusted. It was to them that I went the night I departed from the rent party. My longing for familiar faces had grown so strong, that I could no longer bear to wait. That is why I left. The simple desire to be among friends once more.” 

Dougal made a sound of deep derision, but Colum only nodded. “Would ye be so kind as to share with us their names?”

“Reverend Reginald Wakefield and his wife, Catherine, both old friends of my departed parents. I was a child, the last time I met with them, but there was no doubt in my mind that they would receive me. However–” I heaved a deep breath, pleased to feel a lump in my throat that lent emotion to my voice as I revealed the ‘sad’ news. “Upon arriving in Inverness, I learned that the Wakefields had taken ship for the Indies three years ago, to begin a Presbyterian mission on the island of—”

“How daft do ye think we are, woman?” Dougal growled, with a gesture so violent I shrunk back instinctively into my chair. “Ye dinna have friends in Inverness and ye NEVER did. Else you’d have written to them upon your first arrival here.”

I straightened once more and did my best to appear innocently perplexed. “What makes you think I didn’t write to them, Mr. Mackenzie?”

“Because—“ Colum interjected, his calm—earlier, such an asset to my nerves— now terrifying. Not a hand of clemency: a razor-thin knife,“—I make it my business to be aware of all correspondence in and out of the castle. Oh, not necessarily the contents,” he said, seeing the shock and disapproval on my face, “just who is writing to whom while enjoying my hospitality—as is my right as laird.” He folded his hands. “And there has been no letter to or from a Claire Beauchamp at any point since you arrived on MacKenzie lands.” 

I opened my mouth, but he cut me off with a soft, “—And if ye did manage to communicate with them… it does make one wonder…” He gave me his most piercing gaze yet, stealing my breath, “—why a woman with nothing to conceal should go to such lengths to do so…undetected?”

No. No no no no no, this was slipping so quickly away from my control.

“I do appreciate how all this must appear on the surface.” I could feel my heart racing with panic as I grasped at straws, desperate to remain calm and failing miserably. There was an audible quaver in my voice—damn it, damn ME!—“All I can do, my laird, is swear that I mean you and your clan no ill will, I have no ties or contact with the English government, whatsoever and I am willing to attest to those truths on anything you wish to name. The simple fact, however it may appear, is I saw a chance to reach Inverness and I took it. That is all.”

“Liar,” Dougal hissed. “Admit it: You’re a paid informant for the English. Ye left our company ten days ago to report our goings-on to your superiors, and now you’re back, despite your sweet face and claim to innocence, wi’ fresh orders and OPEN EARS.”

I was panicking. “That—that is simply not—”

He was looming over me again. I could smell his breath and feel it hot on my forehead. “Admit the truth, woman, and we’ll perhaps show ye some mercy. SPEAK!” 

A cacophony of sound filled the room and startled the birds. 

Dougal’s violent snarling: “Liar! LIAR!”

A whimpering sound. Me? 

Colum’s sharp, commanding, “I can think of no just reason—”

“LIAR!”

“—that a woman wi’ nothing to hide, should—” 

“Please—please—you must believe–”

Dougal’s hands on the arms of my chair. 

My eyes closed, the colors roaring in the dark. 

Stop. Just make it stop. Stop.  

“—DUNGEONS–”

“Please—“

“—Loosen your tongue–”

“JUST TELL THEM, Claire!”

I felt his voice jolt through my body like a wave of electricity and I whirled my head to see him standing in the corner, arms crossed. 

JAMIE. 

I nearly sunk to the floor in abject relief. He must have entered with Dougal, remaining silent. But he was here. HERE

Jamie. MY Jamie.

Floor be damned: I wanted to leap out of the chair and fly into his arms—those strong arms that had held me and warmed me and kept me; Wanted to feel his skin against mine. Wanted—wanted so badly it felt like physical pain in my chest—to kiss him and feel his fingers in my hair. To talk. To tell. JAMIE. 

I forced myself to remain still, but inside I was thrumming with relief and joy. Everything would be alright, now—Jamie was here.

Tell them, Mistress,” he said, and the coldness in that voice was so shocking I blinked as though struck. 

He had stepped forward a pace or two, so I could see that his eyes, too, were hard and icy, revealing none of his usual bright eagerness. Even more disturbing than this, they held an alarming intensity, some silent meaning I couldn’t comprehend. “It’s alright, mistress. Tell them the truth of why ye fled.”

Another jolt, and I could do nothing but stare, my mouth gobbling open and shut. The truth? 

For one wild, ludicrous moment, I was screaming: ‘how does he know I was trying to get through the stones?’

But he didn’t know; he couldn’t know; he could never know that truth.

“I….CAN’T.” I finally said, teeth gritted and voice tight. (Because I don’t know what in bloody hell you mean, you damned, wonderful—)

“Ye can,” he said, walking around to my right to stand with his uncles. “Go on, Mistress. There’s less shame in it than being mistaken and hung for a spy.”

“What’s this about, Jamie?” Colum demanded, his eyes flashing.

Dougal, too, was mounting in his own brand of fury. He took a menacing step toward his nephew. “D’ye mean to say that ye had further knowledge of her departure—Information that you chose to withhold??”

“Aye,” Jamie said, his eyes downcast. “Though it wasna mine to disclose, before.”

Dougal gave a guttural roar and made as if to lunge for Jamie behind Colum’s chair, but before he could say another word, Jamie raised a hand and looked directly at me with that same hard eye as before. “With your permission, Mistress?”

I saw it now, what that look meant.  

It said: be silent.

I nodded and dropped my eyes to my lap, seeing the three of them behind the desk only from the upper periphery of my vision.

“Mistress Beauchamp fled that night…because I spurned her advances.”

I couldn’t have spoken a word if I’d tried. If I could have, it might have been a gut-punched, ‘…Jesus.’

He went on, quiet and careful. “I begged her to forgive me—Told her truly what a fine, beautiful lady she is, and how much I admired and respected her—but that—my allegiances lay elsewhere.”

He placed a hard emphasis on that word, and I thought I saw a shifting, enough so that I chanced a glance upward to witness the significant look Jamie was sharing with Colum. To my astonishment and relief, I thought I saw something dawning in the laird’s expression. Jesus Christ…this was going to work!

“And—being, as we all know—a verra strong-willed and reckless sort of woman, Mistress Beauchamp departed in the night—” He turned his gaze to me, “—too hurt …and vexed to remain…That’s how it was….aye, Mistress?”

I felt myself nodding but I was still staring down at my hands . I could see him in my periphery, his image blurring and distorting as the tears gathered. My throat was burning. With shame.

That’s how it was. Despite his phrasing, he wasn’t asking me. He was telling. Hurt and vexed—the mildest words possible for what I had done to him. His eyes told me the truth: Furious. Heartbroken.

God, what a fool I was. I’d come back, free in my own heart, ready to sing out a ‘ten-minute’ apology, then throw myself into his arms with hardly a thought for just how deeply I had savaged him with my words, my rejection.

His eyes were on the floor, now, and I wanted to tear my own guts out. 

Beauchamp, look at yourself.

I was.

And I saw—vividly—how I had ground his heart into the dirt when he’d handed it to me so tenderly and freely.

I had had my reasons at the time, yes. But God, how I had twisted the knife in his flesh. How I had ripped him.  

He’d made me a gift of himself and everything he would ever be, and to his eyes, I hadn’t even glanced at it before flinging it into the fire.

I did, Jamie! God, I DID glance. I looked and looked and it frightened me because I WANTED it. And I ran because I was married—because of Frank. But he’s gone now. He’s gone and I want YOU. 

Can’t you see that in my face? LOOK, Jamie. Find me, here.

“Well… that does seem to explain things.”

I looked up at Colum in surprise, wiping my eyes, which had been streaming. Apparently my regret and shame over what I’d done to Jamie was playing off rather nicely in support of the narrative that I was the lover that had been spurned. Even Dougal’s hostile posture had softened, though his look of distaste had not.

Colum, however, was not done. “Though it doesna altogether account for your return, this morning. If it was our Jamie’s disregard that prompted ye to flee…why come back?”

“I knew almost immediately,” I said quickly, marshaling my tremulous voice and picking up the narrative from Jamie, thanking him silently for handing me a lie with a fighting chance of success, “that it would look dreadful—as it indeed does, I am well aware—to have forsaken my word to the MacKenzies on a mere affaire de coeur.”  

I met eyes with Jamie and lost my breath for a moment. He seemed to sense that my looking at him disrupted my train of thought, and he casually began pacing before the bookshelves, moving to my right and slowly out of my line of sight.

I carried on. “Upon learning that my friends were unreachable, I did consider going south to England—or to Edinburgh or some other place I might have cause to use my skills as a healer, but my honor prompted me to return–”

“Honor,” scoffed Dougal.

“—and to beg the forgiveness of the laird and permission to remain in his service. Which I do now, humbly, under whatever terms you demand.”

Silence reigned, interrupted only by the chirping of the birds.

Colum and Dougal  leaned their heads together, sharing a heated, whispered conference. I wanted desperately to turn in my chair and look at Jamie, touch his hand, thank him, but I forced myself to stay still.

At last, Colum straightened with a look of decision, and surveyed me intently for a long moment before saying, “You may remain at Leoch, Mistress Beauchamp.”

My sigh of relief was far louder than I’d anticipated. “Thank you—THANK YOU, my laird.”

“BUT—” he said, firmly, “you will confine your movements within the walls of the main castle. And an escort will be reinstated until you have earned my forgiveness. And my trust.”

I nodded. “That is—more than fair, sir. I will respect your wishes.”

We made our farewells and I rose, taking the time to give my deepest, most respectful curtsy I could muster, but turned the very first second I was able, tuned so that I could see Jamie, ask where we might go to talk, alone.

But all I saw was the swish of a vanishing plaid.



[[Next week they talk, I promise]]

Keep reading

An Unfamiliar Feeling

Pairing: Reader x Joshua
Genre: Fluff
Summary: Joshua isn’t a jealous person. So why does he feel like this?
Word count: 4k
A/N: thank you to @shouldwefall for helping me plot this!

Originally posted by j-miki

Joshua Hong was not a jealous person. If anything, his friends seemed to tease him for being too relaxed about things; like that time in junior high where he was supposed to sing the solo in choir, but some kid in the grade below kicked up so much of a fuss that the auditor switched it around. Or when he was expected to win the subject award for English in senior year, but a kid who’d just come into the class that year stole it from underneath him. Or when he was planning to ask one the girl he was kind of interested in at the time to prom, but one of his friends asked her first. He was mild-mannered, he’d always been.

So to be feeling something like this was so foreign to him.

“You always said that Jeonghan was cool, but I didn’t expect him to be this cool,” You breathed, sitting back on the couch. You had a massive grin from ear to ear, and your eyes were lit up in a way that Josh hadn’t seen recently.
“Yeah!” He smiled and nodded at you, trying to shift the uncomfortable weight in his chest. “I can’t believe it’s taken you guys so long to finally meet.”
“I’m so glad we finally have,” you sighed happily, running a hand through your hair. “You always seem to find the most interesting people.”

You and Joshua had known each other for years. You couldn’t quite remember the exact time the two of you became friends, but you were hard-pressed to remember a time that he hadn’t been in your life. You’d graduated high school together, and you’d both moved to go to the same university. Ever since you’d met, you’d become constant staples in each other’s lives. You’d thought to yourself many times how empty your life would feel without him. He very much felt the same.

That’s why, when the initial feelings of discomfort had set in once he’d introduced you to Jeonghan, he palmed it off as just disliking the idea of things changing. They’d been the same way for a very long time, of course. He’d been content with that, for a day or two. He’d smiled and nodded when you first mentioned the two of you had been texting. He’d done a pretty good job of ignoring the uncomfortable weight on his chest. But, it had been a few weeks now, and every time you brought Jeonghan up, he felt himself tense up. It was getting more difficult to ignore it.

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You Are Not My Mother Part 3

Summary: Sam and Dean’s sister found out Mary was working with the BMoL. She took off with the Colt and plans to keep it safe.

Word Count: 1357

Warnings: None that I know of.

A/N: I can’t wait to write part four. You’ll see why. Feedback would be greatly appreciated.

Part 1 Part 2

      I finally pulled into the old salvage yard and shut my car off. I grabbed my bags and headed for the door. I stuffed my key into the lock and turned it. Shoving the door, it finally opened and I entered the empty house. The house had been sitting vacant ever since Bobby died. His death had taken the biggest toll on me because he had raised me. If I wasn’t with Sam or Dean, I was with Bobby. On the rare occasion, I didn’t hunt with my brothers I stayed at Bobby’s place. It was my home and the boys didn’t know that I came here whenever I could. I dragged my duffel upstairs and tossed it on the floor beside my bed. I flopped onto the bed and hoped to get some sleep.

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The Simple Things Aren’t Always So Simple - Part 3 - Show Me

Word Count:  2554

Warnings: Smut, pretty much pure smut, cheating, unprotected sex (please be smart), language, Daddy!kink, praise!kink

A/N: I, in no way, condone cheating on your spouse or partner. This fic is the result of a dream my friend @spntrista had one glorious night. Remember, this is strictly a work of fiction and should be regarded as such. We mean no disrespect to Jensen or his beautiful family. 

(images are not mine but thank you google)

The Simple Things Aren’t Always So Simple Masterlist



“Jensen? What time is it?” I asked, my face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

Jensen laid me gently on my bed, opening my robe, exposing my scantily clad body to him.  “It is time for you to forget. Forget thinking that you aren’t what I want or what I need. I can’t wait until tomorrow. Our time starts now.”

Jensen stood above me, devouring my body with his eyes. He slowly undid his bow tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Each inch of skin he revealed to me made my heart skip a beat. I pulled myself to kneel in front of him. I ran my hands up his chest and over his shoulders, pushing the shirt from him as I went. I trailed light kisses over his jaw and face as my hands traveled over his skin, creamy, freckled and soft. My tongue sought out the taste of him; a nip here, a flick there, I left a trail over his chest and stomach as I inched closer to where I wanted to be.

I lifted my eyes to look at him. He was watching me intently, his breath heavy. I reached lower in an attempt to release him from his trousers. He grabbed my wrists, halting my movements.

“No, Y/N. Remember what you said to me this morning? That you weren’t what I wanted or needed right now. And I made a oath to you that I was going to show you. Now let me. Be a good girl and lay down.” Jensen commanded.

Before I could even think about it, the words rolled off my tongue. “Yes, Daddy.”

Jensen voice rumbled low in his chest, reverberating off the walls and straight to my core. “Do you know what that does to me?” Jensen asked as he removed his pants.

“No, but I am hoping you will show me. I promise to be good for you, Daddy.” I vowed, teasing slightly, as I remembered his reaction from earlier in the evening.

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Cassian x Reader, Modern AU

Title: First Impressions and Second Chances / AO3
Length: 5.4k
Rating: T for language
Summary: When Cassian bumps into Reader in the airport, spilling her coffee and luggage everywhere, he didn’t exactly make the best first impression. But when Reader is stuck sitting beside him on her nine hour flight, she comes to realize that first impressions are not always right and second chances can lead to better beginnings.
A/N: This request came in a hundred years ago and pretty much the only thing I’ve thought about since than was how Cassian would smell so damn good that it would be torture. Sigh.
MasterlistWIP List

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The Death of Two

>) This one’s been running through my mind for ages ;u;; AND IT’S SUPER LONG LOL SORRY, I DIDN’T MEAN FOR IT TO BE SO LONG FORGIVE ME :’D

  • The school is having a class field trip, organized by Marinette and Alya
  • it doesn’t really matter where they were going, because what does matter is that they never get there
  • while riding on a bus and crossing over the seine, an accident occurs
  • the wheel jerks to the right, and the front half of the bus sticks off the edge of the bridge they were on
  • the students are screaming, of course, but Marinette and Adrien, being the brave souls that they are, are able to soothe most of them. Adrien reassures the students that Ladybug would be there soon
  • Meanwhile, Marinette feels that knife twist in her gut; she has a few options, but none of them are great. Instead of focussing on that, she’s working to get students to stay still and where they are, so as not to upset the balance of the bus

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I love you, but you don’t. And because one sided love can only mend one heart and not two, I will move on and let go. I’ve unloaded my guns and let down my weapons. The weapons of love. What’s left to do is bid my happiness goodbye and savour your scent one last time. Then I’ll leave against my ardent will, for my will cannot triumph long against the cruel whims of fate. The power of unrequited love manifests itself best in silence, amidst the eternal longing for something extraordinary that’s unattainable.

Yet even though the quill is in life’s hands, it will not annihilate the love I have for you. Nor will it erase or taint the place you have in my heart. Yes, time might plaster these wounds, but he won’t stitch them or wash away their gore, he won’t blemish the freckles of your chin or the debonairness you once wore. Things will change but you’ll remain the same, forever sparkling in my eyes, my dreams, my nostalgia, my insanity - an ardent fire that not even the most tropical of forests could burn out.

Though when I whispered goodbye, Love wouldn’t leave, she stayed. Albeit it was too late.
He was gone…

—  Forever.
//MD
Balance on the Head of a Pin

Chapter 2

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x OFC   |  Word Count: 5415
Warnings: Fluff and swearing


“Hell no!” Steve said, the words bursting forth with vigor.

“Steve, please!” Lauren begged, clutching her hands in her lap. This was not what she’d expected to happen when she’d gone to see the Captain about Loki going to Greensville with her. Sure she’d assumed there would be a little resistance but not this much.

“Lauren…” he trailed off with a sigh. “He hasn’t been part of the team long enough, or off probation for that matter, to agree to this.”

“So you’re sayin’ you don’t trust your own team mate?”

“I’m saying I don’t trust him to run around Greensville unsupervised!”

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Burger Truck King Lyrics (Parody)

To think I put actual effort into this

Asgore:
This will be, the first bun we need,
I will NOT, undercook this meat

With my blood, my tears and my sweat,
I will make this sandwich yet

First, we turn, on the flaming grill,
Don’t forget!
You wear a hairnet!

Chorus:
We’re waiting, for all our meals,
COME ON BURGER KING(not spon)

Burger Truck King,
he stands at his grill,
All he’s ever known
yet he’s happy still

Asgore:
Can’t hold back,
my breath is all gone,
my vision is blurred,
I’m asking myself
WHERE IS THE SAUCE???

Chorus:
Don’t forget the cheese,
Make sure you slice it,
Also the lettuce,
make sure you wash it,

Asgore (and chorus):
Did I (He) Change their (our) lives?
Are my (his) burgers worth it?
Do you (we) want fries with that?

Child, pass me that plate

Chorus:
We wish we could stay,
but the place is full,
We will return soon,
we cannot delay

Asgore (and chorus):
It’s hard to decide,
settle on a side,
Soon I’ll (He’ll) have to close,
Asgore:
And I hate to say goodbye…

Asgore:
Now to embrace,
this heat that we have made,
Chorus:
Now to put the
patties right on the gril

Chorus:
Wait how could we have forgotten,
we should order a drink?
Asgore:
Could have poured it yourself,
if the machine was working…
some day soon, it will be fixed,
customers can self-serve,
make my job so much easier,
and take a break now,
WAIT

Asgore (and chorus):
That’s just pipe dreaming,
and I (you) need to wake up,
fast food will always be easy,
JUST NEED TO PRESS ‘COOK’

Asgore:
Soon my shift will be over,
but first I SHALL SERVE
Chorus:
The time we had to wait here,
was all worthwile,
we finally smile

Asgore and chorus:
Farewell, everyone!
For tonight, my shift is over…