So this is a request from @hobbithorse19! Just a little reminder Requests!!! Are!!! Open!! It might take a few days for either Widow or I to finish them to our liking, but don’t be shy to ask us for something!! And without further adue, @hobbithorse19 ‘s request!
The bird twittered outside, the early stretches of dawn peaking over the skyline and filtering in through the trees, the warmth of your husband keeping you lethargic, steady breathing on your neck functioning as a lullaby. The glimmer of the sunlight on your polished ring hit your eyes, reminding you that- unfortunately, this comfort could not last forever. You could already hear the hens stirring and your cows mooing as they impatiently awaited your attention.
Claire had always had a knack for compartmentalizing. Whether it was life after her parents’ death, being a nurse in the War, or her recent life as a solitary nomad, she could separate herself from feeling and fear to deal with the here and now. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and set to work.
Despite Claire, Jenny, and anyone else’s opinions on the matter, Jamie had flatly refused pain medications. The stare down between the two siblings was something to behold, but the results didn’t change. He asked for a towel to replace his pillow, a few drams from the farm’s whisky stock, and to be left alone while his back was tended to. Claire had averted eye contact, but caught the gist of the Gaelic arguments going back and forth from all four Scots. They didn’t trust her enough to leave her alone with him, despite the fact that Jamie could probably knock her flat even in his present condition.
“Is… something funny?”
Claire started, nearly dropping the scissors she was about to use to cut his shirt open.
“Don’t do that!” she scolded.
“Sorry,” Jamie replied, though the curve of his mouth suggested he found her quite amusing. “Ought I not be concerned that ye were smirkin’ whilst preparing to slit my shirt open?”
Claire gave him a look. “Oh, I was not ‘smirking’”.
“Aye. Ye were,” he retorted, eyes gleaming with mischief. Claire gave him a look, then smiled and shook her head.
“I think you may be drunk my lad,“ she rejoined, putting the scissors on the table and seeing his raised eyebrow. “Alright. I might have been,” she conceded, taking a knee by the camp bed and pulling a hair tie out of one of her pants pockets. “May I?” she asked, holding it up for him to see.
“No, I am'ne and aye, ye can,” he replied, resting his forehead on his arms so Claire could pull his hair out of the way.
Being caught up in the bantering, Claire didn’t realize how tense Jamie had been. She reached to gather his hair, expecting the warmth of his body this time, but not his reaction. It was as if he unconsciously melted into her touch; like every wave of his copper hair that passed through her fingers rid him of some burden he carried.
Claire could see his pulse beating in his neck, steady but fast; goose flesh rippled over his arms; she knew without looking that he’d closed his eyes. He looked so young and vulnerable and yet he trusted her, a complete stranger, to do this. Trust was a rare commodity these days. She swallowed, placing a hand on his arm again as a sudden wave of tenderness swept through her. He opened his eyes and looked at her, open and fathomless.
“Ready?” she whispered.
He continued to gaze at her for a moment longer before he nodded.
Claire exhaled, gave his arm a light squeeze, and picked up the scissors again. Jenny had brought a stash of saline and had soaked Jamie’s shirt with it in order to make its removal easier. Claire hoped to trade for some before she left. The antibiotic ointments and fresh bandages were lined up and ready.
“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she muttered, reaching for more saline.
Claire had hoped that the scabbing hadn’t fused with the shirt cloth but found her hopes dashed as she began to tug on the tattered pieces. Jamie’s skin tried to come up with his shirt. The extent of his injuries weren’t apparent while covered up but she could feel now how many lacerations he must have. Claire looked down, seeing that he was clutching the frame of the cot again. As if he sensed her, he opened his eyes to look at her again.
“Do what ye must. I’ll stand it,” he said gruffly, then shut his eyes again.
Claire pursed her lips, but went to grab more damp cloths from the hearth. Placing these by her other medicaments, she grabbed an end of shirt cloth and the saline bottle.
Alright Beauchamp. Squirt the saline underneath and pull the cloth. Stanch bleeding with the damp cloths. Assess. Clean. Disinfect. Possibly multiple times. Keep the wounds moist until scabbing shouldn’t result in infection. Now, how to do this on a large, pig-headed Scot who refused pain medication…
“This is a lovely place,” she said to try to distract him, selecting a bit of shirt that didn’t appear to stick as much.
Saline and pull, saline and pull..
“Aye,” Jamie muttered. “Aye it’s… been in my family since the 1700’s. Ancestral and all that. It’s a bonny place.”
“Mmm,” Claire agreed, pleased to see no bleeding from the first strip. “Are all your family fluent in Gaelic?”
Jamie’s forearms strained as Claire removed the next bit of shirt, taking most of the healed skin with it, but he made no sound.
"Aye,” he said after a moment, realizing the damp cloths Claire was dabbing him with wouldn’t hurt. “Since we were bairns.”
"That’s wonderful,” Claire replied, giving him a moment to recover. “Language is fascinating. Everything else may be shot to hell but people always find ways of communicating.”
"There are more ways than words to do that Sassenach,” the Scot responded dryly.
Claire wasn’t sure she heard him right but, looking down, saw one blue cat eye crinkled in amusement. She smiled and shrugged in assent, appalled to feel a blush creeping up her neck, but her mind returned to his back in the next instant.
God, what did they do?
"Alright. This is the worst part.”
He’d kept his gaze on her and nodded, gripping the cot tighter and setting his jaw.
Saline and pull, saline and pull…. Jamie’s breathing turned into hissing noises, but he still remained silent…. Saline and pull, saline and pull…. the muscles of his arms strained as he held on…
"Almost got it… keep still…” she breathed. Jamie responded with a huff of breath but continued to do as she asked.
Saline and pull, saline and pull…
"Done!“ Claire exclaimed triumphantly, grabbing for the last of the damp bandages to wipe the trickling blood away. Between the stress of removing the pieces of his shirt and the fire in the hearth, Claire felt her own perspiration make its way down her face and back. She wiped her forehead with her arm, then poured more saline on the cloths she’d put in place.
"Well done,” she said softly, bringing a cup of water for him to drink. “I need to clean and redress it, but that can wait a minute.”
"This isna whisky,” he said huskily, forming what he could of a smile. Claire noted the paleness of his face, but his eyes were still focused.
"I promise you’ll be fully rewarded later. Right now though,” Claire gave another Nurse Randall look, “I need you coherent.”
"Careful lass,” Jamie said as she stood. “A promise is a verra serious thing in the Highlands.”
The human body is a miraculous thing. So many connections and processes required for life to go on. Things seen and unseen that is the makeup of a person. Claire removed the cloths and gazed at Jamie’s back in fascinated horror.
"Bloody fucking hell..”
"Aye. It was.”
Jamie sniffed out an uncomfortable laugh, but the tension in his shoulders had returned. Claire took in his flayed skin, some wounds deep enough to cut the muscle underneath. How could he have stayed still like this, let alone ride a horse?
Claire jumped at her name, eyes snapping to Jamie’s. “What?”
"The uh, captain you encountered..” Jamie looked down then. “T'was him that flogged me.”
She nodded and blinked hard, then turned to her pack. He may have refused his sister’s medicines, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.
"Why were you flogged?” Claire asked, keeping her tone calm as she spread the topical lidocaine through the welts and blood on his back. It wouldn’t completely numb the area, but it would at least take the edge off.
Jamie made a Scottish noise. “Obstruction.”
"Obstruction? Does that exist now, with no one to enforce it?”
"It does if ye have the numbers to make it so.”
"And he does?” she asked, hoping the talk would at least distract from the first round of cleaning.
"Aye,” Jamie all but whispered, blue eyes staring straight ahead as Claire set to work.
"We served together in the Last War. Randall and me I mean,” he continued. “Near on four years ago now, they evacuated our companies from the mainland. I was… glad to come home, away from all of it.“
Claire felt a pang in her own heart at his words.
"Ye might not have noticed when ye arrived but we’ve many tenants near here. Small places that have been part of this land for generations. We didna have the old ways of collecting rents and pledging fealty but… we look after each other. The way it should be.”
"It sounds wonderful,” Claire replied softly, switching out a used cloth for a new one. “Are there many families?”
"Aye, a fair few. Not as many as there once was but-ah!”
"Sorry. This one’s very dirty.”
"S'fine,” Jamie hissed, burying his face into his forearm.
Claire glanced around for something else. “You still have lamps here. Old habits die hard?”
She saw Jamie smirk despite what she was doing to him.
Claire stopped dead.
Jamie lifted his head and grinned at what must have been a flabbergasted face.
"Electricity. Dinna have it where you come from?”
"No one’s had electricity since the virus outbreak spread to the utility systems.”
"Well, this modest farm never tapped into the utility systems. We harvest it with old fashioned water power.”
"No, I’m not. If ye can patch me up, I can show ye tomorrow.”
"Nice try. You’re not moving from this bed for at least three days,” Claire replied, moving on to the next laceration.
Jamie gave a grunt of amusement, but silence soon followed as Claire continued her work. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but Claire felt a weight to it; it was as if something hung in the air that wasn’t quite tangible, but just within reach all the same.
"Why you?” she blurted. “Why did he come after you?”
“I wouldna give him what he wanted. He..” Jamie shook his head, as if to catch the right words. “It’s… personal. Wi’ him, I mean.”
Claire moved to the table to grab the antibiotic ointment. If the scars on this man’s back were any indication, “personal” was an understatement.
“What was it that he wanted?”
A moment passed. Claire thought Jamie was going to ignore her question, but felt him shift a little as he sighed. Exhaustion and sweat lined his body and, when he spoke, he sounded far away.
“Power. Respect. He demanded it, always. The thing he never understood was what it took to earn it.”
Sensing this was all he would say on the subject, Claire nodded, bending down again to smooth Jamie’s hair out of his face. Still pale, but eyes clear. He blinked blearily at her as she touched his cheek with the back of her hand. Slight fever.
“Rest now, hm? I’ll guard the whisky.”
One corner of Jamie’s mouth turned up and he nodded.
“I’ll hold ye to that, Sassenach.”
Claire chuckled, allowed her thumb one light caress of his cheekbone, then stood and covered his back with a light bandage. She’d have to redo the process again, but Jamie needed sleep first.
Claire turned to tell him so but looked down in time to see that his eyes had already closed and his lips were slightly parted in restorative sleep. Smiling to herself, she pulled a tartan blanket off the high backed chair near the head of the cot and laid it gently over him. Claire curled up into the chair, watching over him until fatigue dragged her under, forcing all thoughts and feelings blessedly from her mind.
i honestly love that early 2000s fashion was a complete free for all where literally everyone was jst wearing whatever the fuck they wanted and it was more or less accepted… we could learn a lot from the early 2000s
Alright there is a mention of parental abuse but it isn’t described or anything…I just wanted to add a warning incase it triggers anyone. You can skip it and continue reading after the first major break. Sorry I didn’t update yesterday, I had a lot of homework and was not having a good day mentally for some reason. I sadly work all weekend so I probably won’t update for a couple days but I hope you like it :) Drugs are mentioned as well. Gif is not mine.
same rating as Sons of Anarchy I guess :)
Harley was cleaning up all of the broken bottles of last night’s party and glaring at the stains she did not want to know about when Juice spoke up. “You know you don’t have to do that,” Juice stood up from whatever he was working on, she wasn’t good with electronics, and started cleaning a stain saving her from it. “I’ve got nothing else to do.” Harley shrugged her shoulders and looked over at Potato on the only clean couch. “Can I ask you something?” Juice stood next to her and tossed a rag he was using on top of the stain on the pool table. “Sure.” She tugged the bottom of her shirt back down to cover the top of her leggings. Juice looked over her face and shifted from his left foot to his right foot. “I ran a background check on you.” Harley stared at him and twitched her nose. She turned around and continued sweeping more broken glass. “And?” “Were they right?” “Who?” Harley asked quickly. “The cops.” Juice said, Harley remained quiet, “said your dad hit you, is that true? I saw the pictures from the hospital.” “Juice.” “Harley. I told Jax and Clay, it was either me or them asking, I figured it’d be easier if I asked first but if you don’t tell me, they’re gonna come and ask.” Juice turned her around and lifted her chin up so she looked at him. “Yeah, but I don’t want to talk about it, ok?” Harley tapped her foot and looked back up at Juice, his eyes watching her face. “Why’d you leave?” “I didn’t feel comfortable in the house anymore. Some people in town knew. I just wanted out. So, I just needed to leave.” Harley clenched her jaw and crossed her arms over her chest. Potato whined on the couch and she smiled over at him. “They won’t be looking for me and I didn’t run from the law. Are we good now?” Harley tilted her head at Juice and he watched her, smiling after a little and pulling her into his chest. “Yeah, we’re good.” Juice hugged her until her arms slowly wrapped around his waist. “Just so you know, we may be bad ass bikers but we respect women here, most importantly children. That shit doesn’t go over here.” “Ok.” Harley sighed into the hug and rested her head in between his chin and his chest. “Ah, damn it. I was so close.” Harley’s head whipped around to see Tig staring at the two, smile on his face. Harley snorted as Potato jumped off of the couch and ran over to Tig, “that’s right, you still love me.” Tig leaned down and rubbed Potato’s head.
Harley was leaning against Juice’s bed in his dorm, drinking from the rum bottle while Juice smoked. “I want to learn how to bake.” Juice laid out on the floor, resting his head on her lap. Her hand fell onto the top of his head and she laughed. “Looks like you know how to bake.” “No like brownies and cake and that fancy shit on baking shows, you know?” Juice thudded his head against her thigh to get her attention. “I could teach you. Maybe not that fancy shit but I can make a decent brownie.” Harley ran her hand over his hair, enjoying the fuzzy feel of his Mohawk. “That’d be awesome. You sure you don’t want any?” Juice raised the joint to her and she shook her head, drinking from the bottle. “I’m good man.” “Alright. What’s something you’ve always wanted?” Juice turned his head to look up at her and blew his smoke out into her stomach. “A margarita in the shower.” She answered automatically. “What?” “I always want to and just forget and then it’s too late. Or I shower in the morning and I can’t go to work drunk, that’s just a bad idea.” Harley laughed and switched hands, putting her rum in her left hand and her right hand resting on his chest, rubbing lightly back and forth. “I highly doubt Jax would mind.” Juice hummed, turning his head into her hip, “god you are so comfortable.” Harley snorted and took another drink. “We should snuggle more often.” Harley never really had much of a filter when she had enough to drink. “We aren’t even snuggling now.” Juice scrunched his eyebrows up at her. He watched her face get red and he stood up quickly, loose limbs making him grip onto the bed. He held a hand out to her and she put her hand in his. He yanked her up and pushed her towards the bed. “Juice—” “No, now I want to actually snuggle. Come on you aren’t walking home like this and your dog’s already asleep.” Juice’s head knocked into her neck and snuggled closely as he stubbed out his joint and picked up the bottle from your hand, screwing the cap on top. “Shouldn’t you go grab a crow eater to spend the night with?” Harley let him push her towards the edge of the bed and take off his sweatshirt that she borrowed earlier. “I’d rather spend it with you. Come on, lets sleep. Sheets are brand new and everything.” Juice smiled and kissed her cheek. Her nose brushed against his and she smiled back at him. “Ok.” She whispered. He jumped like a giddy kid and went to his dresser, pulling out sweatpants and a Reaper Crew t-shirt for her to borrow. He went to the bathroom as she changed and she did the same for him. When she came out of the bathroom, he was already laying in bed, almost same attire she had. He patted the bed with a big smile on his face that had her rolling her eyes and she laid down next to him. He pushed her one shoulder so she rolled onto her side and he slid right up behind her, pulling her into his arms and they both fell asleep with a smile on their face.
Harley snapped off the caps to beers and placed them in the hands waiting for them, quickly turning to grab shot glasses and fill them with Jack for the five girls with what looked like bras and underwear on. Her eyes raked over their chests and she had to shake her head to focus. “Did you just check them out?” Juice’s voice over the loud music and the crowd outside calmed her nerves. “Have you seen their boobs?” Harley raised her eyebrows at him. She leaned over the counter as she shoved the shots to the girls, “you girls are gorgeous and extremely sexy. If you want Tig, tell him Harley sent you.” Harley smiled and leaned back over. One of the girls pushed her breasts together after taking the shot and winking at Harley. “Oh hell, that’s hot. Are you gay?” Juice took in the interaction. “No, but I can appreciate both genders.” Harley smirked at Juice’s jaw dropping. “Tig still in the ring?” She added. “Yeah, with Happy.” Juice leaned against the counter next to her, his hand lightly resting on her left hip that was closest, pulling her to him. “He’s actually terrifying.” Harley smiled down at Juice, stepping over his legs so his were in between hers. “Don’t ask him about the smiley face tattoos.” Juice smiled up at her and let his thumb brush against the skin on her hip peeking through the slit of her shirt. “I should get another tattoo.” She said, Juice’s other hand shot up and gripped her, pulling her closer. “Let me be there.” Juice’s hands slipped under the back of her shirt. She smirked and leaned closer, letting her lips brush against his ear. “Girl’s getting tattooed turn you on, Juan?” She placed her hand on his chest, letting her nails dig into his pecks lightly as he visibly shuddered. “You are a Goddess, Harley.” Tig yelled over the music. Harley looked up as Juice let out a big sigh, letting his head fall forward into her stomach. Tig had a big smile on his busted-up face with a girl under each arm, both of them from earlier. Juice nuzzled his face into her softness and stood up quickly, startling a giggle out of her. Harley patted his chest as he frowned at her. She handed him a beer and nodded towards Tig. “Go on, have fun with the boys.” Juice sighed and left.
The weather has been changing so rapidly, and It’s almost hard to keep up. However, this happens to be one of or my favorite times of the year for fashion. As spring transitions into summer, I like to label this period as “skin showing season”. By incorporating off the shoulder shirts, high slit skirts, and a crop top or two, this is the time to enjoy the sun before things really heat up.
Pictured above is one of my fashion favorites, the beautiful Kelly Rowland. Here she’s dressed for Beyonce’s African inspired Push Party. Embodying the immaculate Nubian Queen she is, Kelly delivered a simple slay perfect for the occasion.
With her braids pulled up in a beautiful bun, her bamboo earrings are on full display drawing our attention to her delectable, chocolate, neckline and shoulders. This outfit paired with a firm, wooden styled platform makes her legs look outstanding in this high slit skirt. I have grown to love matching top & bottom pieces.
Sometimes they can deliver the illusion of a dress, and other times the cropped middle provides the perfect break to show some skin.
Dipped in chocolate, bronzed in elegance,
Kelly sets the tone with a royally refreshing look. I have definite plans to duplicate this look this summer.
He enters the bright room and watches as a sea of heads – patients
and staff alike – swivel in his direction. He doesn’t even need to speak before
three nurses rush over, the male taking you into his arms while the
small blond wheels over a gurney.
He barely registers the pretty, but exhausted-looking Puerto Rican nurse beside him until she squeezes his arm; steering him in close
proximity to you and immediately firing questions:
“You related to her?
“Did you see what happened?”
by shooting, 15 minutes ago. Think one bullet went out, there are some still … still
in her. There was silencer; could not tell for sure but seemed like-”
cuts off, his gaze fixed on your still form; the nausea taking hold of
him as he watches as the one nurse slits your blood-soaked shirt apart
and off to assess the damage, the other now connecting you to a myriad
of IV tubes. He sees the huge splotch of purple on your skin, trying to
stay steady while knowing that you’re bleeding internally, and bad.
nurse snaps her fingers in front of him and he finally looks at her,
thrown off at first by the odd bruises and cuts on her face. The snap
was sharp but her tone is kind:
“You got her here, now the best way to keep helping her is to tell me what I need to know, ok?”
finally averts his gaze away from your mangled torso, taking a deep
breath before he continues thickly, starting to run a hand through his blond
hair but stopping as he sees your blood staining his tattoos.
“From holes, think it was .45. Heard three shots, found three holes.″
“What’d you do when she got shot?”
sweater to put pressure and keep bleeding down. Took her to car and had
her hold it. Pulse was quiet, it was hard for me to find at first.”
“She have any allergies or prescribed medications?”
“Not that I know.”
The nurse nods and backpedals starting to follow your moving transport, holding a hand out to stop Vladimir.
He hardly can recognize his own voice, shaking and panicked and filled with desperation. He’s been so used to burying fear, of being in control, that the sound of it in his voice only further intensifies the sinking feeling in his chest.
“I need to be with her. She told me to stay, I need to be with her.”
It’s been over a century since the epic and bloody war against Hybern, but a new, unprecedented horror lies in wait to threaten everything the Inner Circle holds dear.
At a mere 17, it seems that the only one who can save them is the Heir to the Night Court, Feyre and Rhysand’s daughter Eleana, but as a creature so vile promises to kill everyone she loves, she must combat the urge to succumb to the darkness herself. The key to success lies hidden within her mate, the bastard born Kaden, who is as oblivious to the bond as her Court is oblivious to the war on the horizon.
With the help of her cousin and warrior Felix, the son of the famed Nesta and Cassian, they will try to save everything they hold dear, hopefully before the darkness takes them all.
“Hello, youngling.” Eleana turned to be met with the steel gaze of her aunt. Amren stood in front of her, unchanged from her last ten thousand years of existence in this body.
“Amren,” Eleana breathed. She felt a deep sense of relief knowing that she as able to contact her most lucrative aunt with her faltering magic, or even that Amren was asleep when she tried. Amren was cauldron knows where - it would be impossible to discern what time she had found herself in.
“What brings you to my dreams? I can assure you, they are not something you’ll find enjoyable.” Amren purred.
“I need your help, and I hoped that you would forgive for any intrusion if the situation was dire enough.” Eleana stepped towards her aunt with her hands clasped in front of her.
“And is it?” Amren ran a hand down one of the large leaves next to her - swiping away the water.
“What do you know about Impeaths?” Amren raised her eyebrows and smirked. “What an unusual line of questioning. I can tell you that they are extinct and you needn’t worry about such a tale.”
“Let’s say hypothetically they still existed and you had to warn someone about them. What then would you say to me?” Eleana probed.
“I would tell you they are terrible creatures that are hard to find and harder to catch. They’re a very distant cousin to the elves, although one would never know it if not told. They are small but powerful – they would only be as tall as your knees.”
Eleana blanched. “How can that possibly be? The storybook I had as a child-”
“Was written by High Lords who didn’t want their courts to know that such a small, forgettable creature is what nearly brought Prythian to its knees.” Amren’s grey eyes glittered. “Why do you ask such questions? I was under the impression that the situation was dire, especially if you felt the need to ransack my home.”
“I – I, I’m sorry. I saw something that was like the Impeath I saw in my book. I knew you could help me, but it seems that I was wrong.” Eleana’s face fell. She had been so wrong. So, so wrong. “What do you know about Collodens?” She asked in a last ditch attempt.
“There’s only ever been the one, and he is long dead.”
“Did you see him? After he had turned?” Slight hope in her voice.
“That is not a time I like discussing, and much too dark for you, youngling. I will tell you this: the tale told about him in that children’s book of yours is far more accurate than the one about Impeaths. His name was Iian.” Amren got a far away look in her eyes that Eleana had never seen her aunt have.
“How did he die?” Eleana was going that her aunt would say he hadn’t, if only to make Eleana seem less crazy.
“It was horrible by most people’s standards. They tried a lot before anything worked, and even then they had to mist the burnt remnants of his body before we could be sure he was actually gone.”
Definitely dead then. Also not like the one Eleana had thought attacked her. It had been killed with a simple beheading.
Amren’s eyes perked up again and she gave Eleana a feline grin. “If that is all I would like my mind back now. You should be off preparing for Starfall - it’s only a week away and you know your father and mother are obsessed with the sickening event.”
Eleana had forgotten that it was so soon.
Her mother said that on Starfall Eleana could get her wings back, and a longing so strong that the dream became hazy overcame her.
“One last thing, Laya.” Amren’s voice shook - not from uncertainty or nervousness but because the dream was coming to an abrupt end. “Never break into my home again, or you will suffer the consequences.” _____
So I spent the last few nights modifying some camp tshirts. Next month with be my 11th year at the same camp and I thought what better way to celebrate than to destroy my shirts? They’re all boxy and unflattering anyway