i will see this with my own eyes

The Last All-Clear (8)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story is a series following the premise: Imagine if Jamie travelled through the stones, but instead of finding Claire in Boston he found himself having arrived years too early, when the War was still happening and Claire had yet to meet him… What would he do?”
  • A wee bit o’ mixing of showverse and bookverse details, hope ye dinna mind. 


(Part 1) September 17, 1942: A Rusty Nail

(Part 2) December 3, 1942: Comb and Glove

(Part 3) 1943: Blood and Whisky | (Part 4) 1943-1944: Gifts and Ends

(Part 5) June, 1944: The Road | (Part 6) June, 1944: The Ditch  

(Part 7) Samhain, 1946: Inverness |

(8) April 16, 1948: The Hill 

The first time I went through the stones, there had been no sense to it, no words, no meaning. Unprepared as I had been, my mind had stayed four steps behind my body, completely incapable of processing the experience until it was long over, leaving even now only a vague impression, that of hurtling through an insidious, shrieking darkness. That senselessness had been a blessing, I now knew, no matter how terrible the experience itself had been. This time…

This time, it was like one of those horror-story medical cases where the anesthesia doesn’t fully take effect, where—unbeknownst to anyone— the patient is conscious and feels every single agony…. but is unable to move or scream or even blink.  

This time, I could feel everything, see everything as it happened, and yet I was completely powerless to move, to speak as I bled out, was torn apart. This time, there was no distraction, no senseless oblivion, no blessed, rushing current of time to speed the torture. There was only the truth, sharp and vicious, a thousand knife blades tearing through my flesh as I fell: 


Jamie is gone

Jamie is dead

Then the world broke apart, and I was falling through real air toward real grass… and into Jamie’s arms. 

“Oh, thank God,” I moaned. My knees buckled, the crippling blow of sudden relief too much for my body to withstand, but Jamie kept me from falling. Jamie. My fingers scrabbled to hold him tighter, to convince myself he was real. Jamie. Thank — God — !” 

You’re here,” he was gasping back, hands frantic, his cheek wet against my forehead. “You’re—here—You’re you!” 

It hadn’t worked. Praise be to God and all the saints for all of eternity, the stones hadn’t worked. They’d spat me right back out at Jamie’s feet. 

“Jamie ” 

This man—This kind, gentle, powerful, caring man….My husband…

Mo chridhe….” 

Abject relief and even the sensory comfort of him vanished as reality roared back in. “Jamie….Jamie, don’t make me do it!” 

For, I knew it as deeply as I knew my own name that one botched attempt would not be enough to dissuade him from getting me to the safety of the twentieth century. He wouldn’t give in. Well….neither would I. I fisted my hands hard in his coat as I gritted out, “You can’t make me try it again.” 

“’Try’?—What d’ye—?” He stiffened, then squeezed me tighter, his breath fast and shallow against my neck as he said, urgently, “No! Claire, listen! Ye have come—”

“They didn’t work—I can’t get through! You can’t go fight, now—” I was sobbing, completely senseless in my despair. “You CAN’T—You have t—You—Come away with me, Jamie, me and the baby —” 

I pulled myself harder against him, absolutely berserk with determination that he must not die—that I mustn’t leave him. I’d relented once, down below in the cottage; had felt my heart break in two as I agreed to go, because he had begged, and I’d seen no other way.  I’d touched the bloody stones for him, for his child, meaning to go back to my old life for their sake, if not my own; but the stones had had other intentions, thank God, and so now I would do the begging. “Jamie—don’t throw your life away—Come away with me, love—stay with—”

Claire,” he said, louder this time as he cupped my head, kissed it. His voice was cracked but full, radiant, even, with some powerful emotion I couldn’t name. “Mo chridhe, listen, ye dinna understand! You’re—  

“We can run away, ” I whimpered, twining my fingers in his hair, even as I memorized his scent again, greedily clinging to the feel of him for the last time, some part of me knowing the futility of every word. Still, I begged. “I’ll go anywhere—anywhere—Just don’t give yourself up — don’t — DON’T—

“Sassenach, look at me.” This was said more sharply as he tried to pry me away and tilt my face upward. “Lass, l—” 


I wouldn’t yield to this again; I WOULD NOT sit back and submit to  — 

He must have pushed me, for I was reeling backward, clawing at empty air, my eyes so blurred and swollen with tears I could barely discern more than the direction of the sunlight. 

I was screaming his name, so frantic in my disorientation that I thought I’d touched the stone again and that he was gone…Gone…. 

But he was shouting my name, too, near at hand, though the sound seemed muffled, as though I were beneath deep water. I reached blindly for it, but the tone of command in his voice cut through, harsh enough to halt me. I stood, still unable to see, heaving, waiting.  

 “Claire…. mo ghraidh.…”  

So soft, that voice, now. Gentle. Beaming, with —  

“Open your eyes, Claire. Look at me.” 

The 2,557th day 

God, how it broke my heart to see ye, so, standing in the circle, your face so pale and thin. The hollows of your cheek and collarbone stood out so painfully in the gold of the fading sunlight, and I could hardly bear the shame of it, of bringing that suffering upon ye. For all my own struggles and fears in our time apart, I have had seven years of plenty. Even in the worst of my days in this century, I never went to my bed starving, hardly one night in all those years, thanks to the kindness of many a stranger. You, though…. God, Claire, to see ye thus, your back hunched over as though ye would fall at any moment, scarce minutes removed from those wretched months of war and hunger, and with child, no less. Christ, our own wee bairn… 

Still, though my heart was squeezing fit to burst, though I was aching to hold my wife, to have you and the bairn safe in my arms at last…. I confess, the foremost feeling within me was unspeakable joy. Though my bones still seemed to scream from those agonizing hours of waiting, today, of fearing the worst with every minute ye didna arrive, I was all but laughing as I caught ye, held ye, the happiness so visceral and complete that it imbued my limbs, my breath, my tongue. For, the days of fear were gone, those hundreds and thousands of days, banished. You’re here, Claire. My Claire, the one I married. The one who knows my heart, and I, hers. All that remained was for you to look up, to see me, to see my joy and know your own, once ye understood the miracle at hand.

At last, ye did look, peering up, out from that darkness pressing down upon ye. You blinked once, straightened a bit and looked more closely. Another blink. I watched your mouth open as ye tried to speak, the wind blowing your hair about your face, but no sound came forth.   

My own voice scarcely could make itself heard, though I tried to smile as I gestured toward my garments. This isna precisely how ye left me, moments ago, aye?

Between the tears and hunger, the fatigue and the lingering panic, I couldn’t seem to fix my eyes long enough to put words to what I was seeing, to reconcile the contradictory realities before me. 

Jamie Fraser—my Jamie—standing on the other side of the clearing of Craigh na Dun. That was reasonable. He’d been only at the bottom of the hill, after all, when I’d left him. 

But his hair cropped short? 

His face suddenly clean and shaven?

His clothes— his clothes….?

“Ye did come through the stones, mo chridhe,” he was saying, his face alight. “And so did I.” 

“No…” I shook my head and staggered a step back. 

“…..It’s 1948.” He spoke each word slowly and carefully, repeating it. “Nineteen hundred and forty-eight.” 

I swayed, time and reason seeming to pulse and stretch absurdly, like a rubber band. This was a dream. This was nothing more than a bloody fever dream of grief and emotional turmoil and pregnancy, my subconscious soothing me with a fantasy world in which I got to keep both of them, Jamie and our child, forever, in a place of safety. That world isn’t real, Beauchamp. This isn’t real. I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my mouth to keep from screaming. This isn’t real, no matter how much you want it to be.  

“Claire, hear me. Time has passed. It was morning a moment ago, aye?” He was speaking quickly, urgently. “Look about—’Tis sunset, now. This isna the morn of Culloden. It canna be. Ye see how I’m dressed. Ye felt me in your own two hands, just now, did ye not?” He took a step forward. “We’ve come through the stones, both of us. I’m real.” 

I could do nothing but stare and try to stem the flood of yearning before it could break me apart from the inside. I tried to speak, but could only mouth one word: How…? 

“When I saw the redcoat making chase for ye, I followed, running up the hill after him,” he said, moving slowly toward me. 

I had heard footsteps behind me as I ran to the stones…. just minutes ago…

“I crested the hill just as I saw ye vanish,” he said. “I fought him as the sun came up fully, all across the circle floor. At one point, I made a lunge for him but missed, staggered, and threw out my hand to stop my fall, but I fell against the stone by accident…..I passed through.”  

I couldn’t stop staring at those fists, clenching and unclenching at his sides, twitching, then stilling again, just a few feet before me. 

“I’ve been here ever since.” 



"You didn’t fight in the battle?” The words seemed to come from somewhere outside my body as I watched those hands, transfixed, my lips scarcely moving. “You…didn’t die?” 

“No, I didna die,” I heard him murmur with a breath of a laugh, gentle and soft and him. Alive. “I woke up here, in this very spot….. and I’ve been waiting for you, for this day, praying you’d be safely delivered to this year……And here ye are, at last. Claire, I—” His voice broke at that, a grating whisper, and I watched as the fingers began stretching out toward me, trembling. “Mo chridhe…. I’ve missed you so….All th—” He had to stop. When he spoke again, the tears were choking him in good earnest. “—all these years, I’ve— ” 

“Who’s the prime minister?” I heard myself blurt. 

The hands twitched. “…..Beg pardon?” 

“The prime minister,” I snapped, the rush of annoyance somehow momentarily bracing to my fracturing sanity. “I know for a fact I never told you, so tell me right this damned minute who the bloody pr—” 

“The prime minister of the United Kingdom….” I watched as one hand reached out and took mine, warm and confident as his voice. “…. is Clement Attlee.” 

A sob and a gasp escaped my throat at the same time, a wretched pain slicing through me as the other hand raised up to my face. “Dinna fash, my Sassenach,” he said, though tears were pouring down his own cheeks, framing that same crooked smile. “Mr. Attlee’s doing a fine job of it.” 

I must have blacked out for a few moments, for the next thing I knew, my arms were already around his neck, my feet barely touching the ground and my ribs ready to crack as he crushed me to him. We were both crying, sobbing, and I couldn’t seem to hold enough of him at once. Him—Jamie—JAMIE—“You—fucking—bastard!!!” I ground out through gritted teeth against his shoulder (his real, 20th-century shoulder!!). “BASTARD!” 

He laughed, sniffing through the weeping. “I love ye too, Sassenach.” 

“You were going to die!” I snarled, truly and mightily furious, coughing and gasping for air even as my limbs went liquid from relief. “You were going to go to that battlefield— and let yourself be slaughtered— you FUCKING —” 

“I know….” he murmured at once, all levity vanished as he sobered and held me, his hand coming up to twine in my hair and cup my head, hard. “I know….You were so brave, mo ghraidh…Thank ye for doing as as I bade, for the bairn’s sake. It meant everything to me. It means everything.” He kissed me, just below the ear, exhaling, shuddering against my skin. “But now, w—we dinna have to grieve—anymore.” He was crying so heavily he could hardly get the words out. “We’re here…. to—gether.”  

“How long?” I choked out. 

“Forever, mo chridhe—We’ll have all the time in the—”

 “No—” I said, feeling the horror pooling in my gut, enough to make me push back to study his face above the collar of his waxed cotton jacket. All these years, he’d just said. “….How long have you been waiting?” 

He replied, but so quietly I had to ask it again. He cleared his throat and couldn’t look me in the eye as he said, too carefully, “Since— 1941.” 

The sound that issued from me—

It wasn’t possible. If it truly was 1948, then the stones kept time in exact parallel. Jesus H Christ, I had left him mere minutes ago, how could he possibly—POSSIBLY—?

Very gently, he took my hand and turned it over. The letter J carved at the base of my thumb was oozing blood, the scabs having torn off sometime in the last few minutes from grappling with him, I supposed. He laid his own hand palm-up to show the mark I myself had made upon him. I stared. For so very long, I couldn’t do a goddamn thing except stare, my eyes and mouth both moving furiously but without sound. In contrast to the raw, screaming red of my own fresh wound, his C was the barest, faintest crescent of white, so long-healed as to all but have disappeared amid the lines and wrinkles. 

 “…Oh, Jamie…”  I reached up for his face with both my hands, my heart absolutely breaking for him. My eyes were wide and streaming, though I still dared to hope that I’d misunderstood. “…..Seven years?” 

I expected him to make a joke, to tease or try to lighten the mood, but he only nodded and kissed my hands, laying his own atop them on his face as he continued to weep. 

“Oh, my love….” I kissed him, kissed his tears, the devastation of his reality ripping through me as though they were my own years that had been lost; my own heart that had been alone for close to a decade. There were no words, but I couldn’t stop murmuring what I could. I love you….I’m so sorry….It’s alright… It’s over.

I love you,” he repeated back, letting me hold and soothe him, as he had me. “I love you.” 

“But, where did you go?” I whispered at last when the questions became too frenzied to ignore. I tried to search his eyes, my own surely incredulous and horrified. “What….what did you do for all that—” Jesus “—all those years?” 

His eyes flicked open. He took a steadying breath, kissed me, very gently, then released one hand to reach into his pocket. Turning my scarred one over once more, he placed something delicately in my palm. It was still warm from the heat of his body. A smooth pebble of cherrywood, carved with a interlace dragonfly. 


I thought I’d seen ye shocked, already; thought that you had already been overcome to the most extreme point possible by the day’s revelations. I was wrong, for your reaction in that moment, seeing the token in your hand, the one I made for ye, all those years ago—That reaction was something the like of which I’ve never seen on your face, Claire, so visceral and true, it sent waves coursing through me that took my breath from fear and love, both. I hope never to give ye cause to feel such a thing again.   

You studied my face, wild-like, seeking your friend of old, within….and finding him. Ye covered your mouth with both hands to keep from wailing. 

It’s really him, ye wept through your fingers, —really you.

C’est moi, I said, touching your cheek. It’s me. 

One hand dropped to your heart and clutched hard as ye sank to your knees, tears streaming freely over the other. 

It was the only way I kent to live wi’ myself, I said, or something of the like as I knelt beside ye, put my arms around ye. Being near to ye, in some way. 

All along? 

That what ye kept saying. I could see your eyes above your hands, clear and shining and full of love and awe, even as the most terrible sobs wracked your body. 

Aye…all along. 

It was difficult to speak the words, any words, for I, too was being bowled over by the weight of it all, the immensity of release from this last burden, this last secret that had so long been crushing my heart. I felt myself swaying on my knees, the world spinning around us. 

You came to find me? you said, incredulous, broken-hearted. All those years, you watched over me? Helped me?

As best I could, I said. 

You did, you whispered, nodding fiercely as you wept into my chest and pulled me close, tightly enough to bruise. You did. More than you know.

My heart leapt, for I thought surely ye must mean the night in the ditch. Though, when I asked of it, ye didna seem to comprehend that of which I spoke. You stared up at me, trying to fathom what I might possibly could mean. 

Then all at once you jolted as though struck by an electric shock. I saw you remember. 

You were there? you said, again and again. You were there with me…..Jesus Chris, you were there….

Time seems to have juddered out of place, then, for I canna precisely recall how much of it passed. I canna recall how my body was situated, or yours. I canna remember what words we might have spoken, or, for that matter, if we were able to speak at all. I think not, on the whole. All I ken for certain is that I was holding you, all my heart running down my face as I clung to you and to the bairn; that everything was well, that all was clear, at last. 

When the night had fallen, though, and you were asleep against my breast, I carried you here to the campsite and laid you down upon the blankets, tucking you in against the chill of the night. I couldna sleep, myself. Not yet. I watched you, for a time, wept some more (I’m a most damnably fragile man, mo chridhe; I do hope you’ll forgive me) and then turned on the electric torch, that I might write to ye. One more letter, one final letter, before closing this wee book for good. After all, I dinna mean to be spending many days apart from ye, in the lifetime to come, Sassenach; none at all, if I should have my own say in the matter. 

Lord, but what else remains to be written, apart from rejoicing here on this page that we are safe; we are together; we have our child; that we will live, Claire, long and happily; and that, by divine grace, I was able to keep my promise. 

Do you recall it? The one I made near Carryarrick, just after ye told me about that night in the ditch? About the Americans? I promised you that no matter what might come, you would never be alone again; and you weren’t, not for a single moment as ye fell through the stones; not in that darkest, most fearful night of the war. Whatever luck or chance or providence brought it about, guiding my steps, you were protected. You were never alone. 

Aye, that was it:  what I was repeating over and over as we lay there shaking and weeping on the ground before the stones. 

You weren’t ever alone.

[y e s , t h e r e ’s  m o r e]

Lie to me - Dean Winchester x Reader - Chapter 12 (French Mistake AU)

Title: Lie to me

Pairing: Dean/Jensen x Reader x Sam

Word Count: … oh no

Warnings: None

Imagine: Imagine Dean and Sam getting transported to the French Mistake universe. Only for Dean to realize he is married to you, his best friend, love of his life and… Sam’s girlfriend.

Great thank you to @gaveherhearttotheliontattoo for being an amazing beta!

Also, @iavengesuperwholock is going to be writing a similar story as this, if you want to check another one out!

Read Part 1 here! l Read Part 2 here! l Read Part 3 here! l Read Part 4 here!l Read Part 5 here! l Read Deleted Scene here! l Read Part 6 here! l Read Part 7 here! l Read Part 8 here! l Read Part 9 here! l Read Part 10 here! l Read Part 11 here!

She kissed him.”

“Who?” he blinked, pulling away to look at you “What are you talking about?”

“I-” you pursed your lips, blinking when the sentence kept being repeated in your mind. You could still take it back, you could change the subject or shake it off but-

“(Y/n)” you said in a soft voice and the frown on his face made you realize he had not heard a thing, so you cleared your throat and took a deep breath “(Y/n). (Y/n) kissed Jensen, my husband Jensen. Who… is in your place in the Supernatural universe in- in your body.” you couldn’t help the small stuttering but you kept your voice firm so that he could listen to every word. He needed to know before he made any decision.

“Wh-what?” his voice was significantly more rough “How do you know that?” his eyes were slightly wide, and you could almost see he was holding his breath.

“I’ve been having these visions, dreams into your universe, Dean. Moments your (Y/n) lives and shares with Jared and Jensen, and I know she’s been experiencing the same thing. I struggled to understand it too and I- I don’t know how to feel. I mean it is still Jensen, my husband, and I-” you laughed humorlessly “Am I jealous? I- I think I am. Gosh, I am jealous of my own self. Wow this is messed up. But-” you cleared your throat. 

Keep reading

Hold That Thought 12

Pairing: Lawyer!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning: Swearing. Strong addiction to coffee. Name calling. In office affairs. Fluff. Secrets.

A/N: Just a fun little AU series cause I felt like it. While I try to get my footing for Frank Castle. Btw Other Marvel cameo’s in this story.
Matt Mudrock
Foggy Nelson
Luke Cage
Jessica Jones
Frank Castle
Pietro Maximoff
Bruce Banner

The Italics are flash backs // The bold’s are Text Messages.

A one night stand at the New York Law Firms Conference, couldn’t have been more fun, and mysterious. When your new boss Bucky Barnes introduces you to his boss; the man who runs Avengers Of Law, law firm and your new place of work. Steve Rogers and your mysterious one night stand is your bosses boss. What you want to pretend never happened, he doesn’t want to let go of. When you find yourself struggling to stay away from Steve, who won’t let up on getting you to go out with him. Can you resist, Steve who is looking for more than a one night stand, while you’re struggling to get through the long days and never ending nights of being a paralegal or will you let lust and emotions distract you from your goals in life?

Tag List Is Open. Let Me Know!!

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itsagentromanoff  asked:

Vampire! Stony gives me feels. Do they go out for meals? Like pick randoms off the road or go afte bad giys or ya know buy blood from meat packing district or blood banks? Yeqh, I'm weird.

Steve is surprised the first time Tony offers to take him out to eat. 

“You eat.” he said slowly. “Real food.”

“Yes.” Tony didnt even look up from the book he is reading, something old and dusty and not in English. “I prefer not to eat red meat, but if that is what you want…”

“You dont eat red meat.” Steve laughed and Tony looked up them, a smile on his face because Steve had such a great laugh. 

“Why is that funny?”

“Because you know–” Steve motioned a little awkwardly between them, then rubbed at his neck. “You know.” 

“Oh.” Tony put his book down, clasping his hands in his lap. “You think because I am a vampire, I also prefer my meat bloody? No. I prefer chicken and fish, light pastas. Unless of course I am homesick, and then I need something less Mediterranean and more hearty.” 

“Thats fair. Is it weird if I eat my steak fairly rare?”

“What are you really asking?” Tony leaned forward, dark eyes sparking. “Are you asking if seeing blood on your tongue would bother me?” 

“I dont– I dont eat them that rare.” Steve gulped and Tony licked his lips, letting his fangs peek out from behind them. “I mean–”

“Relax.” Tony grinned, fangs and all. “Nothing you will eat will bother me. Lets go get some dinner.” 

“Maybe put those away.” Steve tapped his own teeth and Tony grinned all the bigger.

“Perhaps I want a snack before we go.” 


Tony never hunts when Steve is around him, and after they have become closer, he doesn’t hunt at all. Instead he visits gentleman’s clubs that cater specifically to vampires, where they employ women and men who are happy to bare their throat for a vamp, or if that is not what the vamp is looking for (like Tony), they can get it bagged, poured into wine bottles, or bottled more like a sauce. 

The vampire community has come a long way from ripping peoples throats out in alleys, and there is honestly no reason for that at all. 

Tony prefers his blood in a wine bottle, where he can keep it alongside the rest of his wine in his cellar, and sip from it as needed. 

After a century or so, vamps lose the need to drink every day anyway, and at almost 300 years old, Tony can go almost a week without any blood at all, as long as he isnt using his powers. 

When he has to use his powers though– nothing charges him like draining a fresh body. 

But its been… decades…since hes had to do that. 

The 1940s were such interesting, bloody times. 

anonymous asked:

Virgil finds out he needs glasses and well he’s anxious about it

Title: In Hindsight

Summary: It was all Logan’s fault

Word Count: 828

Notes: Written for the Birthday Prompt Bash

Tag List: @future-watcher @vladimeme @abstractedthinking @wilsonprs @the-sanders-sides @choco-latte-timtams @milk-withtwosugars @bossatronia @parkersanders @overly-analogical @ashrain5

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anonymous asked:

Why cant the guy use the pictures as cover art? As long as he credits you I don't see an issue. You let the other person use your stuff as an icon w/ credit so.... I don't get it :/ sorry

he would be using my art (art from a story that is precious and personal to me) as representation for his own art. generally, cover art and the music is artistically linked and that would really alter the story behind my work, in my eyes. using an icon doesn’t have any real meaning because it’s not artistically linked.

i have let ppl use my fanart for fan mixes and such. my fanart is always okay to use in a free context like that. it is the fact he wanted to use my personal work.

he also did not ask or say he had intention to credit :)

One of the first things I did to help jumpstart my personal art training when I was just 12 years old, was copying by eye artwork by LionHeartCartoons, who drew a lot of Kim Possible fanart back around 2004 and 2005. I would pull up some of my favorite works of his, take out bit 12x18 pieces of paper, and try to copy the drawing as best I could. After doing that for over a year, my own art rapidly improved.

I still credit LionHeart, and the Kim Possible show itself for inspiring me to start drawing my own art and creating my own characters. I may not see his stuff much these days, but it still serves as inspiration to me, including the few animated pieces he did.

It’s surprising then to think that after all this time, this is the first drawing of Kim that I’ve ever done by myself. My character Tiffany was inspired by Kim, but I’ve never drawn Kim in any stand-alone piece. So I’m glad to have now done that. I’ve actually got a few crossover ideas I’m planning on trying, and some other ideas for Kim, Ron, and Drakken. So we’ll see what happens next.

Cutting Ties

It wasn’t until I lost you
that “Somebody that I used to know” became my favorite tune
the lyrics playing over and over in my head
reminding me that our relationship was dead

When I went to sleep at night
I dreamt of you and I
Just praying our love would never die
but dreams and reality are much different you see
and with that logic some things are just not meant to be

I’m sorry I couldn’t make you happy
I tried and tried again
but it was never enough
you had had it with
all this relationship stuff

Whenever I lock eyes with you from across the room
it’s as if I’m seeking out my own personal doom
I still think you’re beautiful
and if I had it my way
I’d stare at you each and every day

We should have been together
as you were supposed to be my forever
but somewhere along the way
we got lost
and I had to pay a painful cost

Medication puts a smile on my face
but my heart has not returned to its regular pace
I feel like a ghost just passing the time
wishing you’d ask me if I feel alive

I probably should have
cut ties with you long ago
but every time you
asked anything of me
I just couldn’t tell you no

All those other girls think you’re
sweet and smart
but they’ve never seen your heart
It’s dark inside
as if you’ve got something terrible to hide

What if I told them about the outbursts
and that you constantly pushed me away
would they still love you like I do
or would they find someone new?

Most people would say
I was brave to stay
that the way you treated me
was mental health suicide
but I was determined
not to let it destroy my pride

I told myself not to fall for your lies
or that sweet look in your eyes
but I have yet to follow my own rules
Why does love have to be so cruel?

And yet here I am
at the end of all things
The sun still shines
and the birds still sing
but I am left trying to figure out
why you won’t ever be mine
and it makes me wish I had cut ties

what she says: i’m fine.

what she means: niall james horan really defied all of the odds and went to harry’s show last night AND he did it lowkey. he didn’t attract too much attention, didn’t really take pictures, took a couple of friends but stayed by himself in a corner and he just watched, like he was truly only there for harry. it wasn’t the first time he saw him perform but it was the first time he watched harry from the outside, from the crowd, where nothing he was doing was really directed at him, and yet he still had that same fond smile on his face which he gave harry so many times over the years before. 

So, this is weird, and idk if it’s just me, but…I think I actually ship Klance more than I used to? Not that I didn’t love them before, but it’s a different kind of love now. And I think the fandom feels that way, too…this past year, we’ve thrived on mostly fanon content: fics, art, headcanons, etc. A lot of that would incorporate canon into it, but efforts were focused on the fanon aspect, on what they could be, on interactions they could have. But now…I’ve seen more meta on the characters and their relationship during the season over the last few DAYS than I have over the course of this entire YEAR. Most, if not all of the Klance content I’ve seen this weekend, art included, has been based around their actual, canon interactions in the show, and not our HOPES for their interactions.

I think that really, really says something.