part lines

[9]

KUROGANE’S DAD WAS A LORD?

OR LIKE. THE FEUDAL NINJA JAPANESE EQUIVALENT. 

A DAIMYO?

EITHER WAY. 

IMPORTANT. 

I don’t think I expected that at all.

BTS IN CHICAGO

Jhope was so happy the entire concert
he was so smiley and we sang mama amazingly. Taehyung got choked up and started crying towards the end, (that’s when I started crying tbh, I was a mess) - Namjoon loves Chicago “"If I were to live in America I’d live in Chicago.”
Cypher pt 4 was lit as fuck and there wasn’t one second between that and FIRE - (I WAS NOT emotionally prepared) We sang part of Yoongi’s lines for him in DOPE, The solos were beautiful and we did the “We Love You” for Namjoon during Reflection They all did so well?? Both the fans and BTS. The fans were all so good and I couldn’t be prouder of Chicago as a whole! We were so loud!! Can you believe Chicago, so far is the loudest of the concerts?? We made BTS so happy and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. // okay to rb

10

Sebastian Stan and the Tshirt™ for the Beauty Book (2011) (x)

LET’S PRAY FOR KIM YUGYEOM'S LIFE, THE MAKNAE WHO DUG HIS OWN GRAVE

Yugyeom just enjoying the moment not worrying about his future

Keyword: Im Jaebum

Keyword: Bambam

But before GOT4 can escape the dark room

Except this man

Yugyeom got his revenge for all the “hidden camera” GOT6 put him through

4

poor jun

8

“Glowing appearance, glowing.
Black jeans and a white t-shirt.
Gathering the spirit of the sky, 
Absorbing the essence of the sun and moon.”

– Namjoon describing Hobi

I finally went back and listened to the Gravity Falls soundtrack. I adore cartoon background music - it’s so much livelier than film scores, almost without exception. Brad Breek is a hell of a composer. I think my favorite is actually the ‘Tourist Trapped’ theme… it’s kind of dorky-cool and I’m not sure why.

Fanfiction - A Lifetime of Her (Part VIII)

Part VIII – “Please teach me gently how to breathe”

You can find every previous part here.

Twenty-eight

“Open yer mouth.” I ordered with what I thought might be a commanding voice, holding a spoon in front of her stubbornly closed lips. “This jelly actually looks delicious. Ye need yer strength.”

“Yuck.” Claire showed me her tongue in distaste. “Why don’t you eat it, then? I’ve been eating that yellow blob for the last three weeks!”

“Sometimes it’s red.” I pointed patiently. “I ken ye’re tired of being here, mo nighean donn – I have spent enough time in hospitals to last me a lifetime, I assure ye – but ye’re scrawny as a bird fallen from its nest. They won’t let ye leave unless ye put on some weight.”

“Fine.” She replied in a mordant tone, clutching the spoon away from me. “But I can feed myself – I’ve been shot, not taken back in time to when I was two years old.”

“Then stop acting like a wicked bairn.” I offered her a playful nose scrunch. “How is yer pain?”

“About as good as it was two minutes ago, the last time you asked.” Claire swallowed a spoonful of the hospital’s dessert, grimacing. “Are you sure you haven’t been a nurse in a past life? You seem to like prodding and ordering way too much.”

“I’m sure whatever I was, ye were always the one in charge, lass.” I kissed her forehead – marvelling with the freshness of her skin, after so many days of burning fever. On top of her surgery, from which she was slowly recovering, Claire had developed an infection of her suture – which finally had started to heal properly, after days of intravenous antibiotics. Her usually calm and centred temper had suffered with prolonged seclusion and constant fear of a relapse – and undoubtedly she found my constant attentions profoundly tiresome, if amusing and heartening.

“How is my favourite patient?” Denzel asked, entering the room and greeting us with a warm smile. He looked tired, wearing his crumpled scrubs, his surgical cap slightly hanging from a pocket. “I hear half of the nurses in the department are handing in their notices, unless I discharge you.”

“Hardly.” Claire smiled, neatly folding a corner of her sheet after pushing away the lunch tray. She still looked quite pale, with deep dark smudges under her eyes, but her orbs had regained their usual sharpness and liveliness. “But I’ll let you get away with it if you let me leave this damned place.”

“I’ll have to check your dressings.” Denny squeezed my shoulder in a companion manner, before stepping in to expose her abdomen, still covered with fluffy white bandages. “Your labs are back though – your infection parameters are finally down, so you might be in for some good news.”

After some clicking of his tongue – and a heated debate between the two doctors, from which I only understood about half the strange words – it was settled that Claire was allowed to leave the next day, as long as she accepted to come in every two days to check and redress the wound.

“And you have to build up some body again.” Denzel alerted, ignoring her disarming glances with a professional face. “The infection took almost all of your muscle. You need to eat a bit more if you want to heal nicely.”

“Fine!” She conceded, mocking exasperation. “Get me a cheeseburger, then!”

“Take care, Claire.” Denny winked and brushed her hair with a kind hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning before you leave.”

“Will ye go home, do ye think?” I asked slowly, as she adjusted her pillow to settle in for the afternoon, after Denzel’s departure.

“Where else would I go?” Claire gave me a questioning look, softly squeezing my hand.

“Well,” I started, caressing her knuckles with my thumb. “I was thinking ye could come to my place – just while ye heal.” I added hurriedly, trying not to sound desperate and possessive. “My mind wouldna be at ease if ye were alone in her house, almost empty as it is, with no one to look after ye.”

“If you’re sure.” She raised a brow and smiled. “I can be quite the handful.”

“I am.” I breathed out, trying to control the emotions that seemed to ran so close to the surface, exposed and rampant, after her injury. “Bad things seem to happen when we’re apart. I want ye close to me – I want to care for ye, mo ghraidh.”

“It’s settled, then.” Claire grabbed by hand and pulled me in for a rewarding kiss. “You’ll be my private nurse.”

****

She had protested, assuring me she was quite capable of climbing up the stairs to my apartment – but I saw the effort everything required of her, even standing or laughing too hard – and carried her in my arms, only letting go when I laid her down on my bed.

After helping her change into some comfortable pyjamas, I contentedly sat by the bedroom window, grading some tests from my students, while she took a nap. Once in a while I stopped, my eyes drifting to her, reassuring myself she dreamt within my reach.

I cooked us a simple dinner – roasted chicken with basil and tomatoes, aromatic and homely – and helped her to lay down again, determined to find a place in the sofa or on the floor, where I could sleep close to her without disturbing her.

“Will you sleep next to me?” She asked softly, her brown curls and hawk eyes almost the only visible thing inside the cocoon of quilts I had made around her. “I’d sleep better with you beside me.”

“Aye.” I replied in a husky voice, easing myself under the covers next to her with gentleness, trying not to disturb her with my movements – the idea of causing her any pain made my stomach churn.

I placed an arm around her, reassuring her of my presence – mindful not to put too much pressure over her or to touch her scar. For a time we laid silent, aware of each other’s presence, discovering the intimacy of a bed shared in darkness.

We had been so once before – but at that time she had been devastated, wrecked like a ship after an unforgiving storm, and I had offered her security, a presence of someone who loved her without any demands. I remembered how I had stayed awake, memorizing her until I could recreate her in my heart - believing I’d never see her again, much less hold her in my arms. I wondered if she too recalled that night, when I had offered her the knowledge of my feelings, in the hope that she could use them to heal – and she had.  

I knew she wasn’t sleeping – I’d spent every day and night for the last weeks watching her sleep, until I knew the cadence of her breathing, the comes and goings of her dreams, like a second nature of my own.

She trashed about a little, fidgeting with bedclothes and adjusting her body on the mattress – always laying on her left side, wishing to avoid the tenderness of her upper right quadrant – slowly searching for the contact of my body behind hers, sheltering her like a cloak, two halves finally falling into place.

I waited for her to speak, painfully aware of the desires of my body, feeling her soft arse wedged between my thighs – yet completely restrained by the will of the woman who ruled me.  

A hand came up in the darkness and she placed it gently on my hip.

“I want you.” Claire whispered, almost sobbing. “I need you, Jamie.”

“Are ye sure?” I asked in a husky voice, my fingertips brushing her face, tracing her lips to find truth in her words in the absence of sight. “I dinna want to hurt ye. I’d die if I hurt ye, mo nighean donn.”

“You could never hurt me.” She replied softly, caressing the length of my thigh. “I can’t breathe while we’re apart. I must have you – please, Jamie.”

I didn’t try to dissuade her again, even afraid as I was that it was too soon, too hazardous. I knew all too well the hunger that moved her towards me, starved for life when death had come so close, when it seemed that each moment could be the last. We had lost and found each other in the past, time and again – it seemed that while we were one flesh, one body, parting us would be impossible. While we were in each other, life – and death – was an afterthought, a remote threat, to which we were immune while moving as one.

I moved impossibly slowly, wishing to give her enough space to retrocede at any time, baring us of as many clothes as possible. I kissed the back of her neck, delighted in the small shivers of her skin next to mine, the testament of her arousal in her hardened nipples. I caressed her body with a worshiping hand, taking time at each new discovery that made her moan and hiss in pleasure.

When I thought her ready – desperately pressing herself against me while clawing at my hair – I held her thigh with a light hand and raised her, slightly folding my legs, so I could enter her. I rocked calmly with her body nestled against mine, letting her command the pace while I carried all the weight of her movements.

“I love you”. She whispered – moaned - tilting her head to kiss my lips. “Jamie.” I felt the moistness of her cheeks mixed with mine, tears of a joy long forsaken, exploding between us with enough force to leave us gasping, deeply moved.

It didn’t take long – I knew she was still weak, stubborn and lustful as she might have been. When I felt her tire in my arms, my hand came around her hips to delicately touch her in time with our movements, smiling as she cried out my name.

Afterwards, I held her against me, my hand brushing the dressing on her belly to make sure everything was in place – feeling the comforting thump of our hearts beating together, close enough to be inside the same chest.

“I was right.” She murmured on the verge of sleep, surrendering to my keeping once more. “Nothing hurts when you love me.”

The end

…for now - End of Section 1

Fanfiction - A Lifetime of Her (Part VII)

Part VII – “You bleed just to know you’re alive”

Twenty-eight

Why do sirens cry in blue and red?

Are they calling for help, for the crushing urgency, the need to rob time of time itself? Or are they warning us to look away, to prepare ourselves because tragedy is upon us – we might as well be next?

Even after many years, I’d recall their grieving sound. The way my hands pressed upon Claire’s belly, blocking the exit of her life with my palms. The screams around me, senseless, enhancing my growing despair. How her eyes never left mine – daring me to stay with her, to keep death at bay.

The paramedics came. They could have taken from seconds to a lifetime to reach us – I wouldn’t be able to say. Time skipped and jumped, a leaf on the fury of wind, fragile at the thought of flying.

“I need you to step aside, sir.” A small man told me with assertiveness, trying to dislodge me from my position, kneeled next to Claire on the ground. His gloved hands were already evaluating her pulse, placing an oxygen mask on her face.

“I will not leave her side!” I growled, ferocious. He gave me a serious look, but didn’t make any further attempts to take me away from her, certain I would strike and maim any man foolish enough to try. He was right.

They quickly bandaged her abdomen with a pile of snow white compresses, held tight against her body by a bandage skilfully applied. Claire tried not to moan, but I could see her pain in every ragged breath, in the sweat that dripped from her brow.

The ambulance flew across the roads of Edinburgh, transporting us to the closest trauma centre. The driver had opened his mouth – about to object my presence – but was shortly discouraged by my menacing glance and a shook of head from the short paramedic.

“Hold on.” I repeated to Claire, like a mantra, holding her band – being almost thrown to the opposite side of the ambulance as the vehicle raced to the hospital, jumping on speed bumps and sliding on the curves like a car in hot pursuit. “Dinna die on me, mo nighean donn. I won’t let ye, do ye hear me?”

“I’m… not… too keen…. on the idea… either.” She puffed haltingly, making a weak attempt of a smile, which almost broke my heart.

“Woman of thirty, victim of an armed robbery, gunshot wound to the upper right quadrant with no exit wound – she’s losing blood fast.” The paramedic announced, as they erupted through the emergency doors, a team standing by to receive them. “Glasgow fifteen, she has been responsive during transport. Her blood pressure kept dropping, the saline is wide open but ineffective fluid challenge.” He informed to a man with brown hair and olive eyes, who nodded in acquiescence, leading the gurney carrying Claire to a trauma room as I followed closely.

“Denzel.” Claire whispered to the young surgeon, as he started to unpack her abdomen to access her injuries. “Is that you?” He looked at her face, surprised at hearing his name, and his eyes opened in shock.

“Claire!” He touched her face in greeting, as nurses hurried around, preparing trays and drugs that might be necessary. “Dear God! What happened?”

“Do ye know her?” I asked, grabbing her hand in spite of a nurse’s protest, prepared to shoo me away from the secluded room.

“Of course.” He looked at me with concern in his calm eyes, as he started to palpate her belly. Claire hissed in pain and he pursed his worried lips. “I met Claire during medical school in Boston and was very pleased when she decided to return to Scotland and be a resident here, as I am. You really shouldn’t be here, sir.”

“Please…” Claire pleaded, closing her eyes for a second and licking her chapped lips. “Let Jamie stay…just a while longer.”

“Alright.” Denzel Hunter patted her hand in reassurance. “As long as he doesn’t faint on me.”

“How… bad… is it, Denny?” She asked, her eyes more unfocused and glassy. “I’m…fairly…sure…it went through…my liver.”

“And I’m sure you’re right - brilliant even in this situation, my dear. I’ll ask Doctor Myers to come in to operate.” Denny smiled, skilfully inserting a catheter on her jugular vein.

“I’ll be dead…before…he gets here.” Claire said sheepishly, raising her brow. Her face was hazardously pale, her whiskey eyes shining even brighter, her orbs dilated from pain and blood loss. “It has…to be you. I trust…you.”

Denny nodded, solemn, checking her pupils with a small flashlight, as she suddenly became unconscious – the monitors around them going crazy with alarms. “She’s bleeding out! Let’s move people, hang that saline wide open and two units of blood on the rapid infuser!” He commanded, concentrated in the wound’s trajectory. “Do you know her blood type, by any chance?”

I didn’t know her blood type – never had the chance to ask her, that information amongst a million other precious details of her that I knew nothing about. I didn’t know her birthday, even though I knew the position she slept in. I didn’t know her favourite dish – even if I was aware she preferred sneakers than high heels. I almost choked at the realization of the lifetime of things I could be robbed of, so devastatingly – left wondering, forever, because the time we had been offered hadn’t been enough. Knowing how much I loved her – and yet knowing so little of the one I loved.

“I dinna ken.” I admitted, gripping my fists, fighting the urge to curl into a ball and weep on the floor, stained with her blood.

“That’s alright.” Denzel assured me, throwing away compresses soaked in blood. “Let’s go with O-negative! I need a blood gas test as soon as possible and someone call the OR, let them know we’re coming! I want to be doing the first cut in less than five minutes!”

“Is she going to be alright?” I fearfully asked him, reluctantly letting go of her hand as a nurse took blood from her wrist with a fine syringe.

“She’s going into shock from the blood loss.” He explained in a steady voice. “I need to repair the damage right away, before she’s too unstable to endure the procedure. We’ll take her away now.”

I approached her, feeling numb as if my own blood had been turned to ice in my veins. I kissed her forehead, my lips hot against her perspired skin.

“Don’t leave me, Claire. This time I’ll beg.” I whispered in a broken voice. “Don’t leave me.”

****

I roamed the strikingly white corridors, incapable of sitting any longer in the waiting room outside the OR, where other husbands, daughters and mothers gathered, hope and fear lurking inside their eyes.

I came upon the small chapel, whispering of shelter and tranquillity in the half-light. I sat on the wooden bench, my hands entwined in prayer – I was ready to surrender to His will well enough, but was intent on offering a bargain.

“Lord, ye gave her to me.” I whispered, my eyes fixed on the cross where he had been martyr, symbol of the most loyal of loves. “I canna make sense of it in any other way. When my need was greatest ye set her upon my path so she could heal my soul. All along I was meant for her.” A warm tear streamed down my check, too raw to be contained. “And I intend to love her well the rest of my days – to care for her and make a home of her heart. I shall repay the gifts bestowed upon me by loving her to the best of my abilities. So I ask ye now – dinna take her away.”

I clenched my teeth, fighting against the sobs that threaten to wreck my body. “For if ye ever loved, ye know this – there’s this place inside me that only exists as long as she walks the earth. Once she’s gone, the part of me that lived in her light – the best, the one that makes me myself and no one else - will die with her.” My voice was unhinged, resounding in the naked walls, pulsing as the chambers of His heart. “I’m none so brave as I was before, ken?” I added very softly. “Not brave enough to live without her anymore.”

I heard footsteps approaching the door – I didn’t bother to clean away the tear tracks on my cheeks. I didn’t turn either – I knew who had come to bring me news.

“Does she live?” I asked aloud – the hint of pain, of shaped glass an inch away from shattering, creeped into my voice.

“She lives.” Denzel Hunter sat next to me, sighing in tiredness as his bones found comfort in transient rest. “It was touch and go for a while, but I was able to retrieve the bullet and repair the vessels – she lost a bit of her liver, but it will regenerate itself with time.” His outline was sharp, softness mixed with edges, akin to a bust of an angel descending from grace to speak of hope to the lost crowd. “It will be a slow recovery – but she lives.”

“Thank ye.” I closed my eyes and bent my head, my body shaking from supressed grief, as I let go of the leash I had been using to keep myself together. “Thank ye.” I repeated. I didn’t know if I was thanking Denzel Hunter or God – but to me, in that moment, they were one and the same.

He squeezed my shoulder in silent acknowledgment and left me alone – to cry for joy and gratitude, for my heart had been saved.

****

I sat by her side as soon as she went to a room in recovery. I jumped each time a monitor bleeped, startled to the point of panic – but she slept peacefully, her lips still hauntingly pale.

I knew sleep wouldn’t touch me – my task was to watch over her. To guard her. To will her back to me.

I marvelled with each heartbeat – found terror in the infinitesimal space between each and every one of them. I talked to her in the Gaidhlig, the language of my dreams, in which I could best tell her all my heart. I brushed her hand with inquiring fingers, learning the lines of her to make sure they were still the same. I kissed her lips softly, remembering the promise of her laugh.

And as the moon rose outside, I watched the circuit of air inside her lungs, the tiny movements of flesh and bone, adjusting to the challenging rhythms of life. I watched her breathe again and again, until she opened her eyes to look at me – and I discovered that I too could breathe again.