smoke and fears

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“Where there is no imagination there is no horror.” - Arthur Conan Doyle, A Study in Scarlet, 1887 |  Delissa McWilliams

Dear Columbiners

There are certain things about this case that we should discuss more instead of making edits of Eric and Dylan with flower crowns.
Victims.
Just students and a teacher.

Those people left this world in unpeaceful way. There was a girl who died in attempt to have a lunch outside the school instead of eating in the cafeteria or going to the Smoker’s pit as she sometimes used to. There was a boy who tried to run away from upcoming bloodshed but failed. Majority of the kids took their last breath in a room filled with smoke and fear, in a room, which used to be a calm place. It used to be a library for zealous students who were trying to get better grades to make their parents proud or for those who just enjoyed the company of friends gathered around the table with opened books on the top. This room has in less than 7 minutes changed into a morgue where pools of blood slowly started to soak into the carpet and remained until the day when lifeless bodies of boys and girls, who were once students full of joy and expectations, were removed.

There were hundreds of parents who left their jobs in attempt to find out that their daughters and sons are safe. Some of those parents were lucky. Some weren’t. Gathered around in groups, slowly waiting for the buses to came and to see their child’s fearful yet lucky face. Decreasing amount of yellow buses signified less hope for those who still haven’t found their child. There was a father who waited until the last bus came. He couldn’t understand what went wrong. Where is his son? There were no buses left. That was the last one. Meanwhile, body of his dead son laid on the bloodsoaked carpet in a room, which after one hour full of screams and gunshots became silent again. In a room, where no sense of life was present, where the only sound that could be heard was the alarm. Alarm indicating that it was too late to do anything. There were parents who found out about their son’s death from the picture of his lifeless body lying on the sidewalk in the newspaper. Daughters who will never be able to meet their father, who tried his best to protect students yet noone was able to help him during almost 3 hours of suffering and mentally preparing to his upcoming death. And plenty of other parents, relatives and friends who will never be able to speak to their sons, children, nephews, cousins, grandsons, granddaughters.

Dear Columbiners, not everything is about Eric and Dylan. Even though we all can feel the pain of these two young boys and can relate to them on some level, we shouldn’t forget to feel the pain of families who lost their beloved ones and to respect the memory of all the victims.


I, as a Columbiner (even though I don’t like that name), will always protect the memory of those innocent victims whose lives have been taken away by such a cruel way by two stray young boys, misunderstood in this world full of prejudices and people who push others to the edge and learn about impact of their behavior only after that big damage is done and is unable to return back to the normal.

J/C Fic

First and foremost to all my new followers…and there seems to be a decent amount of you. That kinda makes me nervous, but…I am a shipper. I ship end game. I don’t care if you’re a shipper/neutral or anti. All are welcome if they wish. I only care if you’re a hater. If you are, kindly move along. I have no time for negativity. I typically write S/C stories, with the occasional Outlander one thrown in.

Fic prompt from @massivelycasualtyrant

While I know she wanted something sexier, the story she gave me could not have been anything that what it became. I swear I had ghost around me. My ghosts, writing this. I didn’t want them, but they were there.

I cannot write Jamie for the life of me, and I hate that I can’t, but there you have it. But it’s his story and only he could tell it.

Originally posted by yellowfeather84

Pernicious Bliss

I gripped the shift, thin and worn, like it was still draped along yer body… 

With a thunderous howl, the wooden door was wrenched open, Jenny appearing on the other side. I could see her brush the soot off her skirts, but I dinna look up. I could feel m’heart beating something fierce; racing round like Jenny’s wee bairns after the chickens.

I felt the dress ripped from my grasp, and a tear sprung from its edge. I stood quickly, ducking out from under the cubby, but looked down upon my sister with an anger I could feel surgin’ inside of me.

“Give it back.”

She stood back, holding the shift up high, tight in her hand. “She’s gone, Jamie. Ye said so yerself. Why must you keep bringing her back?”

“Janet Murray,” I could hear my words, steady and firm, “Ye give me back my wife’s clothes, or I

swear- “

“Swear what?” Jenny stood before me, her eyes blazing, “Ye canna do a thing to me, James Fraser. I come to tell ya the red-coats have gone, so ye can ferret back up to yer hole in the hills, and I find ye frozen in place, wi’ your face in her shift. She’s gone.”

I pulled the shift from her fingers, holding onto it for dear life. I wouldna let go of this, the way I had with her hand that night, so long ago.

“Aye. She’s gone,” I agreed. “I’m reminded of it every day. Claire was,” I stood straight as an arrow, my voice lowering, “Claire is my wife.” I was quiet, our anger equal in fierceness, but on opposite sides. “And what do you mean by hidin’ this from me all this time?” I waved the shift in my fist, before bringing it to my nose and closing my eyes. Her memory always pricked my skin like a thistle, but I felt alive in that pain; her face reflecting back in my blood.

I grabbed the bag Jenny and Ian had filled wi’ food and trinkets to keep me entertained, and stealin’ a quick glance outside to make sure the soldiers had disappeared as quickly as they had come, fled back to the home I had lived in for nearly six years.

Wi’ the red-coats so close tonight, I couldna make a fire. But as I sat in my cave, the chill of the wall against my back, I ken I wouldna be cold tonight. I breathed in her scent, faint, but still there, “Ah, mo nighean donn, you’ll keep me warm, will ya not, Sassenach? Ye always could.”

“Jamie, everyone’s awake,” she hissed, pushing my hand away from her breast.

“Aye, everyone is,” nudging my morning wakefulness against her round behind. She laughed a laughed that warmed my soul each time it floated passed my ears.

She tried to pull away from me, giggling “Your feet are cold.”

“Hmm…I ken you’ll warm em up.”

She turned over in my arms, her breath hot against my lips. I kept trying to catch them, but she’d keep on pulling away, giggling, before coming close again.

“Sassenach,” I growled, before showin’ her I could take what I wanted. I gripped her body, pullin’ her into me. She ran her fingers along my side, just in the wee spot she ken would always get me. I laughed, lettin’ her break free, until she rolled on top, pinning my arms above my head.

“I win.”

“Did ya now?” I quirked my brow nudging my cockstand against her bottom.

She laughed, her body falling atop mine, pressing her breasts against my skin, my arms free to wrap round her body. I buried myself in her hair, inhaling, and she whispered in my ear, scratching her face across my beard, “What is it you want, Jamie?”

I fell against my blankets, her shift, heady wi’ her scent, even after all this time, whirling around my brain.

I closed my eyes, taking hold of myself through my breeks. It had been so long, I dinna want to disgrace her wi’ what I was doin’. But I couldna stop myself.

“Could ya maybe, Claire?”

I could hear her answer, it came through the cave softly, and wrapped around my body, keeping me safe and warm, as she took my cock in her hand.

Each night she’d come. I’d watch her face lookin’ upon me from the walls; her smile caught in the steady flow of water, dancing along the stones, hiding in between the cracks, before bursting through the other side with fire and light.  I would feel her hand upon my cheek, her breath upon my lips. She was soft, those nights. Her skin chilly and smooth. Pernicious bliss, I thought with a smile. She was lovely in the dark. Almost hidden, my thoughts only allowing for fragments of her to come through.

“You know I’m not really here, Jamie,” she would say.

I would just hold on tighter to her shift, curling myself into her body.

The nights a fire was lit, though, she was fierce. Her anger, punching me in the chest, ferocious and strong, leaving marks, wounding my flesh. Or was tha’ me? She was strong and passionate, then. Would push me to the wall, grabbing and fighting, thrashing about. She rode me hard, those nights. Taking her own pleasure wi’ every part of my body; her hair wild, falling across her shoulders. She was strong in the fire.

Some nights, she’d walk away from me. I would see the shape of her through her shift, the dampness causin’ it to cling to her hills and valleys, just so. Her nipples pointing hard through the thin cloth. As the ember flame perished, I’d shiver. I’d call her back, my legs not moving to run for her. She’d duck, curling herself around the edge of the cave so that all I’d see were her fingers clinging to the stone. I’d call out to her, my throat hoarse from the smoke and chest tight wi’ fear.

“Claire!”

I’d wake with my hands bloodied from the ground, the dirt itching under my nails. I’d look to the entrance, the light barely shining through, and she wouldna be there. She wouldna be there until I breathed her in, calling her forth, again. Then, she’d come.

My heart would warm, beating faster beneath my chest.

“Oh, mo chridhe. You are a sight.”

I’d watch her dance in the cave, the dark, damp walls turning to the blue paper of the Laird’s room. Our room. She’d sing songs to me, from her time. Songs that would make me laugh, and she’d laugh along wi’ me. She’d take my hand, pull me up beside her.

“Dance with me, Jamie.”

“Ye know I canna dance, Sassenach,” I’d say.

“I can’t sing, has that stopped me?”

I would laugh, hearty and healthy, “Nah. And I would never wish ye to.”

And we would dance, her voice echoing around the cave, bringing it to life. All the creatures hidden in the dark would slink out, coming to clap and stomp their feet as we did.

We’d fall into the piles of blankets and I would kiss her deeply, lifting her shift up, and I would push inside her. My name would fall from her lips, and the creatures around us, would leave us in peace.

Some nights I was quick. Some nights I would take my own pleasure inside her body, forgetting her. Other nights, I would love her in every way imaginable. I would kiss every part of her, leaving a trail of heated flesh that would bubble up in the cool night air. I would nurse from her breasts, let her nourish me, before moving on. I’d play around her tummy, my tongue tickling her by her sides, and she’d push me away in fun, but she’d always pull me back. Back into her.

I would taste in her most private of places, her honey pooling on my tongue as her legs would tighten around my head. And when she called to me, when she would beg to be taken, only then, would I enter her, swiftly and to the hilt. And I would be home. We would be home.

I turned my head, my fingers drawing across the scars on my back. The scars she left from the night before. I set her aside, dropping the shift to the blankets, and I would brush away the dried blood, only nothing fell away; so, I’d feel again, but the marks under my fingers were old. Nothing remained but scars from so long ago.

I would break. I would fall to my knees, cursing you. Cursing God! I promised I would gladly walk through two hundred years of purgatory for ye Claire. But did ye have to punish me yerself, while I did?

I settled myself in, one hand tucking under my breeks as the other held yer shift to my face, once more. I closed my eyes and ye came to me with yer hand open, taking hold of mine, beneath the breeks. I could smell yer hair all round me.

I buried myself in her hair, inhaling, and she whispered in my ear, scratching her face across my beard, “What is it you want, Jamie?”

“You.” I dropped the shift, wet from my tears, from my hand and let it fall into the fire.

Cigarettes and knives, knives and cigarettes
Watch the gasoline light and see how high it gets
Walk in the flames, it doesn’t burn anymore
Memories are the real pain, the burn from before
Now there’s fire in your eyes, blazing bright!
But it’s quick to die, the withering light
Your hopes, your dreams, they float away
The smoke, the smoke’s here to stay
You’re choking, choking
You’re soaking in blood
Is it your own?
Who knows, but who has time to care?
When the real villain here is quite clear
It’s the mirror, the mirror, break it, destroy it!
Stab it, rip it! You’re an old toy
Your owner got grown and now you’re alone
Alone? Yes alone, there is nobody here
Nobody in the mirror besides the smoke and the fear
But then you grow up, quicker than you should
You stamp out the fear and cut down the wood
Light it on fire, quick, watch it burn!
The field of your emotions is nothing but fern
That’s soon to die, to die, to die
Now you stand up high, try to feel
It cannot be him, this is not real
His hair’s of fire, his eyes of ice
Every word he says, they’re all lies
Can you trust him? No you can’t!
But you have to, don’t you?
So you play a game, a game of wits
Truth for truth, coming in bits
Sort through the pieces and fit them together
Build them up and protect them
You’ve worked too hard to let this burn
So you give him a key, a home, a kiss
Just something simple, something you won’t miss
But this is all wrong, something is mistaken
It was just a risk you’ve taken
But look what’s happened
You’re not up high, you’re feeling again
And you’re not sure why
But maybe you are, it’s this boy and his lies
The way he looks at you without despise
This is all wrong! Look in the mirror!
There’s nothing but a monster, stripped of fear
But there’s something behind it, something you feel
Something that feels just too real.
Burn it! Rip it! Slash it! Kill it!
You pick up a knife and you simply stare
You look in the mirror and you do not dare
It’s there, it’s there! The light in your eyes!
But you cannot, simply cannot
So put down the knife, say a percent,
It will take a while to know what this meant
Cigarettes and knives, knives and cigarettes
You’re not quite sure what this means yet
So you watch the smoke blow from your lips
Drop the cigarette, another percent slips
But you’re not alone, you’re not alone
You’ve found the truth, and this is home.
—  cigarettes and knives, knives and cigarettes | s.w.