sometimes i wonder what my life would have been like if i were born in another place

Hi guys! Here’s a little masterpost of quotes from children’s books that you can use in your bullet journal, or anywhere else you feel like!


  • “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”
  • “The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.”
  • “You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed.” 
  • “You - you alone will have the stars as no one else has them…In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars were laughing, when you look at the sky at night…You - only you - will have stars that can laugh.”
  • “Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them”
  • “A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral.” 


  • “If I am a princess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside. It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed in cloth of gold, but it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the time when no one knows it.”
  • “When you will not fly into a passion people know you are stronger than they are, because you are strong enough to hold in your rage, and they are not, and they say stupid things they wish they hadn’t said afterward. “
  • “There’s nothing so strong as rage, except what makes you hold it in–that’s stronger. It’s a good thing not to answer your enemies.”
  • “If nature has made you for a giver, your hands are born open, and so is your heart; and though there may be times when your hands are empty, your heart is always full, and you can give things out of that–warm things, kind things, sweet things–help and comfort and laughter–and sometimes gay, kind laughter is the best help of all.”
  • “Somehow, something always happens just before things get to the very worst. It is as if Magic did it. If I could only just remember that always. The worse thing never quite comes.”
  • “But I suppose there might be good in things, even if we don’t see it.”
  • “You don’t forget, but you bear it better.” 


  • “I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship.”
  • “It’s wicked to throw away so many good gifts because you can’t have the one you want.”
  • “Love is a great beautifier.” 
  • “Watch and pray, dear, never get tired of trying, and never think it is impossible to conquer your fault.”
  • “I want to do something splendid…something heroic or wonderful that won’t be forgotten after I’m dead. I don’t know what, but I’m on the watch for it and mean to astonish you all someday.” 
  • “Conceit spoils the finest genius.” 
  • “Be comforted, dear soul! There is always light behind the clouds.”
  • “Life and love are very precious when both are in full bloom.”
  • “The only chivalry worth having is that which is the readiest to to pay deference to the old, protect the feeble, and serve womankind, regardless of rank, age, or color.”
  • “Books are always good company if you have the right sort.”
  • “The humblest tasks get beautified if loving hands do them.”
  • “Now and then, in this workaday world, things do happen in the delightful storybook fashion, and what a comfort that is.”


  • “So Matilda’s strong young mind continued to grow, nurtured by the voices of all those authors who had sent their books out into the world like ships on the sea. These books gave Matilda a hopeful and comforting message: You are not alone.” 
  • “Never do anything by halves if you want to get away with it. Be outrageous. Go the whole hog. Make sure everything you do is so completely crazy it’s unbelievable…” 
  • “I have found it impossible to talk to anyone about my problems. I couldn’t face the embarrassment, and anyway I lack the courage. Any courage I had was knocked out of me when I was young. But now, all of sudden I have a sort of desperate wish to tell everything to somebody.”
  • “I’ve always said to myself that if a little pocket calculator can do it why shouldn’t I?”
  • “There is little point in teaching anything backwards. The whole object of life, Headmistress, is to go forwards.”
  • “I’m afraid men are not always quite as clever as they think they are.”


  • “So many things are possible just as long as you don’t know they’re impossible.”
  • “Have you ever heard the wonderful silence just before the dawn? Or the quiet and calm just as a storm ends? Or perhaps you know the silence when you haven’t the answer to a question you’ve been asked, or the hush of a country road at night, or the expectant pause of a room full of people when someone is just about to speak, or, most beautiful of all, the moment after the door closes and you’re alone in the whole house? Each one is different, you know, and all very beautiful if you listen carefully.”
  • “Time is a gift, given to you, given to give you the time you need, the time you need to have the time of your life. ”
  • “You must never feel badly about making mistakes … as long as you take the trouble to learn from them. For you often learn more by being wrong for the right reasons than you do by being right for the wrong reasons.”
  • “The most important reason for going from one place to another is to see what’s in between.”
  • “What you can do is often simply a matter of what you will do.”
  • “What you learn today, for no reason at all, will help you discover all the wonderful secrets of tomorrow.”
  • “Whatever we learn has a purpose and whatever we do affects everything and everyone else, if even in the tiniest way.”


  • “You cannot change what you are, only what you do.”
  • “We are all subject to the fates. But we must act as if we are not, or die of despair.”
  • “Every opportunity will come again.”

anonymous asked:

"your soulmate’s hair color is the color of your eyes. the color of your eyes also changes to match the color of their hair if they dye it" is just begging to be an andreil prompt

Here you go! This was really interesting to write, I hope you like it!

For as long as he can remember, people have never wanted to look Andrew in the eyes. Some people’s eyes don’t ever change, other than the natural shifting of childhood, but Andrew’s have been through quite a colorful journey.

Andrew was born with the colorless eyes of those whose soulmate hasn’t been born yet. It’s fairly commonplace, but with his light coloring, some foster families say the blankness is unsettling. He’s a little over a year old when his eyes change to an auburn color. The fiery color is rare, but not unheard of and shouldn’t have been outside of any family’s expectation. But again, combined with Andrew’s serious face, even as a child, few people wanted to look. Which was fine with Andrew. He was safest when he was invisible.

He’s eleven when his eyes begin rapidly changing, first brown, then gold, then black-all manner of colors. It’s strange, but for nine years, he’s free of the red that reminds him how utterly visible his soulmate must be. He’d much rather have the luxury of pretending his soulmate could be anyone. It made it easier to ignore.

He’s had nine blissful years of thinking very little of his soulmate. He’s with the Foxes and he’s not happy, but he’s in a better place than he’s been in his life. Until Neil Josten and his lies and his questions and the way he can play Andrew like a fiddle. And then Thanksgiving happens and he’s definitely not thinking about soulmates.

He gets out of the “hospital” and he wants to tell himself that Neil’s new hair color is the last thing he notices, but he’s always been stupidly aware of Neil, so it’s one of the first.

When he gets back to the dorm, he looks at himself in the mirror for the first time in two months and he wants to put his fist through the glass when he sees those auburn eyes staring back at him.

Neil is somewhat thankful that his soulmate’s hair is light, because it makes covering up the color with contacts easier. The best option of course would be if he didn’t have a soulmate at all, but since he did, at least they were consistent. And it keeps him from looking exactly like his father, so there’s another benefit. Sometimes he feels bad for how strange his soulmate must think he is, but it’s not like they’ll ever meet, so Neil doesn’t think about it.

By the time he gets to the Foxes, he hasn’t thought about his soulmate for a long time. Until Nicky tells him that Andrew’s figured it out about the contacts. He lets Andrew hold his chin and inspect his eyes and thinks he sees a flicker of interest, but quickly dismisses the thought. Neil knows he will be dead soon and things like soulmates don’t matter when you’re not a real person.

He does note that Andrew’s eyes are not colorless. He wonders what person out there is made for Andrew.

They’ve been…whatever they are to each other for over a year now, but the fact that their eye colors link up has gone unspoken for that time. Neil knows it can’t have escaped Andrew’s notice, but he also knows that bringing it up could stop their progress in its track. He never wants to force Andrew into something, destiny or not.

They’re on the rooftop one night though and Andrew is holding his face with no apparent desire to kiss him or do anything but look and Neil says, “Are you thinking about my eyes?”

“Yes,” Andrew says because they’ve been through too much to lie to each other.

“So you know.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “Of course I know.”

When it doesn’t look like Andrew’s going to leave or deflect, Neil smirks and asks, “Do you want a different color? We can go get some hair dye.”

Andrew considers that. He’s always had an uneasy relationship with his eyes. But he also knows that his having auburn eyes makes the color mean something to Neil other than his father, so he answers, “No. I think I’ll keep these for a while.”

Neil lets himself be pushed down onto the concrete, smiling the whole way.

anonymous asked:

is having a ginormous fat peen a deal breaker for you? yano cuz u short

Anonymous looked up at the sky, not trusting the colour smeared upon the horizon. Horizons could be misleading, they knew. Horizons could convince you it was still daylight, even when the whole of the sky arced above you in a sprawl of midnight. Looking forward was not always enough. Sometimes, you had to look up. 

Directly above Anonymous, the moon cut its teeth into the clouds, drawing blood and bruising the darkness with its waxen light, waning at the edges. It was time. 

They did not have long. The witch had told them, as she reluctantly handed them the bag of herbs, that the spell would only be useful for the minute or so that the moon was at its highest. The minute was upon them. 

Fifty five seconds left. 

Cursing themself for having lost track of time, Anonymous reached into their trouser pocket and pulled out the little drawstring bag. With hands shaking in anticipation, they emptied the contents into the small well they’d dug into the earth all those hours ago, and covered it back over with dirt. Fingers crossed behind their back, they stepped away and waited.

It did not happen immediately. Magic takes time, the witch had said. Magic does not come to you when you ask for it; it comes to you when it’s good and ready. You can cast all the spells you like, scatter all the herbs and make all the offerings, but magic cannot be summoned - only tempted. 

The seconds ticked by, and Anonymous waited.

This had been a long time coming, they reflected. They had waited too long for the taste of power on their lips. They had been too long distant from how it felt to be in control. They had learnt too early their place in the world, and they had too soon come to rue it. The chasm between want and have had grown inexorably bigger since the day they were born, and now they were here. 

The mound of earth did not move. Anonymous thought about the time they had first felt insignificant - the first time they had realised that they stood small in the face of all things - and counted the seconds. 

With ten seconds left before the spell died, the magic came. 

Magic has no face, has no body. It takes no form and it holds no weight. The witch had told Anonymous this herself. Magic simply is; it is because no other word will do, but it is not. It cannot be, and has never been, and yet it is. 

When Anonymous thought about it, it was all rather complicated.

Best, then, not to think at all. Best to give voice to thought and make it speech. 

Anonymous cleared their throat and began. 

“I suppose you’re wondering why I summoned you here - ” 

I was not summoned. 

They flushed, the soundless sound surprising them even though they had been expecting it. Do not fear the voiceless voice, the witch had warned. It speaks, and is silent. The words are only half your own. 

Breathing slowly, they tried again. 

“No, of course not. Sorry. I’m not - I haven’t used magic before.” 

And you still have not. I am not here to be used. Say what you would have, and I will do the same. This is not a service. This is a trade.

“Right. Yes. Sorry.” They inhaled, exhaled. This was the only chance they would have to resolve the conflict that had been the shape of all their life. This was the resolution of aporia; of feeling as though they deserved everything, yet having nothing. Of knowing that they should be free, but being everywhere in chains. Of wanting, and of not having. “I want to feel powerful.” 

In what sense? Power is not all-encompassing. The queen ant is powerful to the workers, but weak to the heel of the boot. What power would you hold? Do you seek to command nations, or to master the arts, or to take another as your own? 

Anonymous considered how best to formulate their response before replying. Precision was key here. The witch had made it clear that magic would grant you what you asked, whether or not it was exactly what you wanted. 

“I’m tired of being silent,” they said eventually. “I’m tired of being unable to say whatever I want. I’m sick to the teeth of thinking all these thoughts - great thoughts, too; thoughts that could topple cities and part seas - and being forced to keep them to myself, all because other people think that their own feelings are more important. Well, what of my feelings? What of feeling inadequate? What of the weight of being told to keep silent? Do they know what that does to a person?”

As they spoke, they could feel their heartbeat rise, pumping and roaring in their ears, in their veins. “Sorry,” they added. “I’m getting carried away. But to answer your question - I want to have the power to speak my mind.”

In all things?

They contemplated it. “Yes. In all things.”

The silence was real for a few moments before it became illusion.

I can help you.

“And will you?” 

Yes. It will require exchange, however.

At these words, Anonymous could hardly contain their excitement. “Anything. I’ll give you anything.” They took their purse out from their other pocket, and held it out towards the mound. “I have money. I have a house, too, but that’s back in town. You mightn’t like it there. My neighbours - ”

I would have your face.

Anonymous faltered. “My what?”

Your face. That is my offer. I will give you unlimited and unprecedented power to speak your mind. All thoughts you have will be given voice, and you will never again be forced to turn away from speaking aloud what you have always been taught to keep silent. In return for this extraordinary power, I would take from you your face, and in so doing I would give myself form and body. You would never again be silent; I would never again be invisible. 

“But wouldn’t I suffer without a face? How would anyone know that it was me who was speaking?” Anonymous asked, wringing their hands around their purse. 

I have named my payment. Now I would name my price. The price of this power is thus: the knowledge that all thoughts you give voice to will be dampened by your lack of face. That everything you ever say to another will be tempered by your lack of identity. That no-one will again know whose thoughts you speak; only that you do speak, and in all things. 

There was nothing for it. They would have to decline. They could not accept these terms. What power came at such a price, after all? What king had ever ruled his country with no name or face? What lover had ever made another theirs with no identity? 

All the times they had been asked to hold their tongue; all the times they had been scolded for speaking their mind; all the times they had uttered the wrong words at the wrong time and had suffered for it: all this had been for nothing. 

Although, Anonymous admitted to themself, the thought did appeal on one front, and one front alone. It was undeniable that a certain freedom was gained by completely giving up one’s identity. After all, who could be held accountable for a deed when the deed was done by one with neither name nor face? Who would they scold when the words that were given were not the words that were wanted? Who would suffer when the things said were not things that people wanted to hear?

Only those who heard them, of course, and not the one who spoke them. 

And immediately, ashamedly, wonderfully, the decision was already made, had perhaps been made years ago. 

“It’s a deal.” 

You agree to the payment and price?

“I do. Take my face, and give me the power I seek.”

The deal is struck.

And then the moon, which had begun to falter at its peak, was suddenly once more at its highest. The minutes had been returned. 

Hand trembling, Anonymous reached up to touch their face, only to find that, of course, there was no face. Where their image had been - the folds of their mouth, the curve of their nose - was now smooth and featureless. There was nothing there at all.

“Are you happy?” came a voice from behind them. 

Anonymous whirled around, and came face to face with their own face, worn by another. “Who are you?” they asked, and a thrill chased up their spine at the realisation that there was no fear behind these words at all. Their voice did not falter. The question was biting, crystalline.

“I am Magic,” replied the impostor, “given form by our deal. Is it to your satisfaction?” It cocked its head inquisitively, Anonymous’ old eyes seeking validation in their new setting, and Anonymous felt powerful. They were looking at their old self - their weaker, voiceless self - and they were free.

Anonymous drew a deep breath in before responding. “is having a ginormous fat peen a deal breaker for you?” they asked.

Magic blinked. “I don’t understand.” 

“yano,” continued Anonymous, “cuz u short.”

“Why are you saying that?” asked Magic, eyes darting left to right in placid uncertainty. “I don’t understand. I gave you what you wanted. You could say anything you wanted, and no-one would ever hold you accountable. You could take a lover with intricately crafted sonnets, bend ears with your scintillating rhetoric, and yet you choose - ”

“is having a ginormous fat peen a deal breaker for you? yano cuz u short,” interjected Anonymous, feeling giddy and drunk with power.

Magic blinked again. “You have the choice of a thousand languages, billions of words - ”

“is having a ginormous fat peen - ”

“Sometimes,” Magic interrupted, “silence is the more powerful weapon after all. I could undo what I have done, but I think it best not to bother. Some people will never learn. I wish you luck with all things, and may you one day find your power useful, for it will not aid you in the pursuit you have chosen.”

With that, Magic was gone, and Anonymous’ face was lost to them forever. Now alone, Anonymous looked gleefully at the small mound of earth that had been their salvation. They thought of all the things they would say tomorrow, and they smiled.

At least, they would have smiled, had they been able.

Far away, Magic rolled its new eyes, and decided to write a sonnet. 

Deathly Calm

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader, Bobby Singer, Sam Winchester

Length: 1723+ words

TW: Character death, cheating, implied smut, car accident

A/N: This is for Brook @wayward-oneshots and Taylor’s @impalaimagining Angst Challenge! This was super fun to write, and thank you for giving me the chance to join the challenge! I don’t know why I find this one so sad. I hope you guys enjoy! Feedback is appreciated! 

Prompt: “You told me to go to hell. Well, this is it - my life without you.”

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Dean bellowed. 

“I was saving your life,” you replied calmly- well, as calm as you could. Inside, your heart was racing. You’ve never seen Dean this mad before, and having him scream at you like that was enough to worry you. Despite your concern, you knew it would be best to stay calm. Be the steady water against his blazing fire. 

“The fuck you were- You were being stupidly reckless!”

“I’m sorry, Dean, but I was not, and you know it.”

“If you want to be stupid on your own, that’s fine, but don’t bring your shitty decisions when you’re hunting with us! We’ve already got enough shit on your plate, and we don’t have time to be babysitting you!”

“I can handle myself just fine, Dean. I think you need to cool down- you’re not thinking logically right now. I’m going to leave for the night, and we’ll talk in the morning.” 

“Oh, what?! You think I’m the one being unreasonable.”

“Right now? Yes.”

“Oh, go to fucking hell, Y/N. I’m done with your bullshit! If you wanna go on a suicide mission every time we go hunt, be my guest. Just don’t come crawling back to when you’re dying,” he spat.

“Bye, Dean.” You carefully closed the door behind you, deciding to get another room. The only room they had available happened to be the room right next to Dean’s room. You let out a sigh as you stepped in, careful not to make too much noise. The noise of heavy boots perforated through the thin walls, and soon your room shook with the force of Dean slamming the door beside yours. 

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Ascension (II)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jongdae / Baekhyun

Rating: R (violence)

Word Count: 5,641

Summary:  The weight of humanity rests on Y/N’s shoulders. In Ascension, enemies must come together, lines must be drawn and the question of good and evil itself must be raised. As Y/N’s power strengthens and more players reveal themselves, the only thing obvious is that nothing in this world is black and white. (Book 2, sequel to Guardian)

Originally posted by byunvoyage

Previous to Ascension: Guardian

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Tension - Leon Draisaitl

Originally posted by mcdraii

All right y’all, this is my first request! I’m excited to share it with you, though I may have gotten… extremely carried away. And by carried away I mean that this is 3805 words and got extremely steamy. I mean, it’s PG-13, but barely. The language, however, is not PG-13, so there is a lot of cursing (and even some cursing in German). And you know, the classic enemies to lovers trope.

Anon said:  I need a Leon draisaitl one where he has been trying to get you to date him for a while and one night him, Connor and Connors gf come over for movie night and Leon worms his way into cuddling with you (it can have a bit of steam if you feel like it but if not it’s ok)

Check out my series Torn Up!

Warnings: Cursing in two (2) languages, Extreme Steam™, and a very poorly written Connor (McDollars) McDavid

Friday night was always movie night. It had been since you ran into your old high school friend Connor, when you found yourself sitting in on his NHL contract negotiations. You were in law school, and you landed a fantastic internship with a law firm that specialized in contract negotiations and worked closely with the Edmonton Oilers. The two of you got to talking and reminiscing, and thus movie night was born. At first it was just you and Connor, reliving high school memories and drinking as much as you could possibly stomach.

The two of you had never been close in school so, despite Connor’s protests otherwise, you suspected that he was just trying to provide you with a friendly face in a strange city. He had always been nice. But the two of you as adults really hit it off, and would try and get coffee as often as you could, in addition to your weekly movies.

A few weeks later, Connor’s teammate Leon joined you two on Friday nights. Connor claimed that he needed to keep Leon from going out and partying too heartily after an especially messy incident, but Leon said that Connor was just taking his duties as captain of the Oilers too seriously. You insisted that Leon had invaded, and you did not hesitate to say so every time he showed up at your apartment.

Sure, he was attractive, and funny, and really really fit, he could crack a joke to rival your own, and he was actually quite intelligent when he wanted to be, but the two of you did not get along. At all. It was like some sort of cosmic joke; this guy that was completely your type-who was good friends with Connor who was slowly but surely becoming your own best friend-this guy who was almost perfect and who was unattached (you had asked Connor about this repeatedly when Leon was not present, though even you did not know your own motivations) was the single person that you hated most in the world, bar none.

It didn’t help that Leon was an incorrigible flirt. He made jokes and teased you to your wit’s end and would not let up, even when you made it perfectly clear that he was not amusing and you did not like him, nor would you ever, no matter what he did or tried to bribe you with.

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anonymous asked:

for your prompts!! (I'm so excite thx for doing this!) sheith royalty au where Keith and Shiro are princes from warring countries and when Shiro's country loses he is captured and sent to Keith as a slave. When he shows up he has been treated very badly...what will Keith do?? Will they fall in love? Can they gain each other's trust??(Requesting maximum angst and Shiro being tenderly taken care of plz <3)

Okay, I got way WAY too into this one and had to force myself to stop writing. I absolutely love this prompt and love putting Shiro through hell. My sweet sweet son. Let’s punch him in the face again.This is the best ending spot I could find, but you bet your ass I have like 1000 more words I haven’t posted.

This is the first fill for my most recent follower celebration, stay tuned for more of me getting way too into prompts.

He wasn’t unfamiliar with the goings on of war. He knew exactly what a well placed punch felt like, what an arrow felt like piercing his shoulder, what a blade felt like slashing along his side. He knew what torture felt like and was all too familiar with the sensations caused by all the different tools they liked to hide in the deep dark holes of war camps. He knew what it felt like to have his arm separated from his body as he watched, as he fought for his life, as he watched his country massacred in front of him. He knew what it felt like to be held up on a podium of bodies, hasty tourniquet tied over the stump of what used to be an arm, he knew what it felt like to be a trophy and absolutely nothing more. He remembered the feeling of Sendak’s knife, slicing through his face, inch by inch, the sound of cheering a dull roar, pierced by his own incoherent screams and Sendak’s soft whisper, filling his ears, his mind, and his memory.

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A Wild Night in Vegas -- Part 15.2

Here’s the last half of chapter 15! @outlandishchridhe is my soul sister and I love her. We’ve got so many plans for the future of this story, so don’t worry. I can’t say when the next chapter will post with Ish having a lot of stress at the moment. I promise there will be more, but you’ll have to wait.

Catch up on 15.1 HERE

Fraser Bairn Watch: Month 9

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Fanfiction - A Lifetime of Her (Part VI)

Part VI – “My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder”


She didn’t come back after that night – I knew she had gone back to Boston, to take control over her life. I waited. The phone never rang to give me news or an explanation, inexplicably silent even though I was certain she could find the number had she wished to. And I waited. My mailbox was painfully empty every day, while I dreamt of letters touched by her fingers, read aloud by her warm voice. And yet I waited.

I waited because I had no choice – I was meant to wait for her. Our lives were inextricably connected, vessels adrift on the sea with an intended destination written in the stars. I had tried to forget her before, to live pretending I wasn’t waiting – and that had hurt more than the hours I spent awake at night, looking at the spot where she once had laid by my side. But there was that small fraction of time, that heartbeat, just before I opened my eyes in the morning, where everything was possible – and I was happy.

Sometimes I would catch myself checking the weather in Boston, wanting to know if she could see the stars in clear skies – at least I could share that proximity with her. I wondered if she had drank coffee, dark and strong, while her eyes were still half-shut. If she had decided on a specialty yet. That was better than wondering about her marriage – every time I turned my thoughts to Frank, the idea of her being touched by him brought me to a blinding state of anger and fear. I would go outside in those occasions to run, as fast as I could for as long as I was able, until I had fled myself and was somewhat free.

I enjoyed teaching and found great solace in my students, curious and lively little fiends, always looking for trouble. I dedicated myself to the task of keeping their spirits sharp and their curiosity burning.

I had my old friends, with whom I shared whiskey glasses and laughs at the pub – keeping a respectful distance from the place I knew Laoghaire still frequented. They kept me grounded, even with their crudes jokes about my bachelor status. While I was laughing, it was easier to wait – I could almost push Claire to the back of my mind, where she would curl and sleep, satisfied.

Saturday was born in blazing glory, sun shining high in a cloudless sky like a treasure’s coin. I accepted the chance to spend the morning exploring the paths at Arthur’s Seat, pushing myself to the limit. I reached the summit with a delicious pain at each breath intake, the air fresh like crushed mint, filling my chest with the pulse of life.

Back at my apartment, I made plans to shower and spend a lazy afternoon reading and napping on the couch, while I stripped off my sweaty t-shirt, heading towards the bathroom.

That’s when the doorbell rang.

I opened it without thinking twice, expecting perhaps to see Angus or Willie, swinging by to challenge me to watch a rugby match or play a chess game.

Her hair was a bit shorter than the last time I had seen her, framing a face that was slightly flushed from sunlight and anticipation. She was wearing a white sundress and I realized I had been wrong – my memories would never be more than a pale comparison to the woman who stood before me. Her arms were bare, with no visible marks, her flawless skin resembling a painting.

“May I come in?” Claire asked softly, her eyes quickly tracing the lines of my exposed chest before she looked at my face, expectant.

“Of course.” I moved to the side, allowing her in. I brushed my hair with nervous fingers, desperately looking for an old t-shirt to dress. Eventually, I settled for the one I had been wearing, smelling faintly of sweat and crushed leaves.

“I wanted to come sooner.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve been in Scotland for a couple of days, but had to take care of some papers to start my surgical residency here and find somewhere to stay permanently.” Claire searched my eyes. “I’m moving back to Scotland.”

“Aye.” I said in a husky voice. “I’m glad to see ye, Claire.”

“I’m glad to see you too, Jamie.” She smiled, more confident. “These past two years, I -“

“Ye dinna have to explain anything to me.” I interrupted, feeling strangely hollow, fighting against anger which came with a sense of relief.

“I think I do.” Claire insisted, stepping closer to me. “I want you to know that I heard you, Jamie. I didn’t want to make promises until I truly meant them. I had to finish school and decide what I really wanted for my life.”

“And did ye?” I croaked, folding my arms in a defensive gesture, pre-emptively shielding myself from bad news.

“Yes.” She whispered. In that moment she reached out with her hand, offering it to me with her palm down – naked. Her wedding ring gone. “I divorced Frank more than a year ago – and never lived with him again after I was here.” Claire searched his eyes. “With you.”

“Then why did ye never wrote or called?” I asked, hurt creeping into my words. “Why did ye waited two years to show up again?”

“I had to be worthy of you.” Claire said simply, twisting her hands – her fingers touching the ghost of the ring that once had been there. “I had to make sure I was coming because it was the right thing – not because I was wrecked. You offered me everything and I wanted to have something to give back.”

“I missed ye.” I admitted in a whisper, as her hand touched my cheek – I closed my eyes, surrendering to her caress. “A Dhia, I thought I’d go mad with the idea of never seeing ye again.”

“I missed you too.” She gasped, her body so close to mine I could feel the swell of her breasts, the compelling heat coming from her skin. “I haven’t realized I could barely breathe until now.”

“Are ye here to stay then?” I asked serious, our eyes locking. We were gently swaying along some music we could both listen, too eager to stand still, too afraid to finally meet in quietness. “Because if ye’re not…”

She silenced me with her trembling fingers, touching my mouth, learning the shape of my lips. I almost moaned with the pleasure of her touch, so sincere and tender.

“I’m here to stay.” Claire assured me, tracing the line of my chin, where stubble prickled. “If you’ll have me.”

“I’ll have ye in any way I can.” I whispered, my voice almost breaking with emotion – and yet, stronger than ever before. “Always.”

“Jamie…” She sighed with a smile, her forehead leaning against mine. “May I kiss you?” I realized she didn’t wish to rob me another kiss, a thief taking something precious, covered in the night’s cloak.

“I thought ye’d never ask.” I gave her a lopsided smile and our lips finally met, a kiss eighteen years in the making, hesitant at first and then all-consuming.

We spent the afternoon discovering each other, laying in the living room’s rug, slowly and languidly displacing clothes in order to kiss another inch of skin, to draw shapes of desire with our fingertips.

I opened the first buttons of her dress, tracing with my tongue the curve of her breasts; she insinuated her hands on my shorts, caressing the fine copper hairs of my thighs. I nuzzled her neck, softly biting her until she moaned, so I could reward her with a soothing flicker of my tongue. She laughed and playfully clawed my back, making sure I too would wear medals of our war, marks of the victor. I marvelled with the roundness of her arse and the feel of her swollen lips, battered with kisses, ever-wanting. I was mightily aroused – that much was evident to us both – and yet I didn’t move to enter her. I didn’t wish to precipitate the voyage we had started together, to hasten something that would come naturally to us, as each one of our meetings through life had. I would finally get a lifetime of her and planned to savour each small conquest.

“Are ye hungry?” I asked eventually, kissing her shoulder. She looked dishevelled and wanton, pure lust and love in the shape of a woman – I’d never seen her more beautiful or desirable.

“I’m starved.” She laughed, nuzzling the hollow of my chest one final time. “Will you feed me then?”

“Ach, I’m too knackered to cook.” I admitted, playing with her curls – already sorely missing her lips on mine. “But there’s a fantastic Mexican place nearby – I’ll buy ye dinner.”

“If you’re planning to intoxicate me with Margaritas,” Claire sat up and started to compose her clothes. “I have to say it’ll probably work like a charm.”

We left the house walking hand in hand, like two loved up teenagers, giggling and teasing each other. I’d pull her against me once in a while to kiss her again, to the general amusement and surprise of people around us. I didn’t know such happiness was possible – I felt my chest so full that no space was left for regret or doubt.

We were talking about plans to spend Sunday together, when we heard the commotion. A loud crash, someone screaming – the air was thick with tension, harder to breathe in. I felt Claire gripping my hand one final time before she let go, prepared to face what was certainly coming around the corner.

A man with a black ski mask emerged from the sizable jewellery store, which had imposing diamond rings and golden necklaces peeking through the window displays. He carried a dark sports bag at his shoulder and in one hand sported a menacing revolver, while the other grabbed a shrieking shopkeeper by the hair. Blood dripped from the side of her head, where she had probably been pistol-whipped, her eyes blank with shock.

An alarm went off inside the store, an unnerving sound that made me shiver, the hairs on my arms erecting in fear.

The robber shouted something – a car was waiting near the curb, another masked man inside it. He forcefully pushed the woman against the sidewalk, her head bumping against the edge with a nauseating sound of crushed eggshells.

I think I screamed, trying to stop Claire from moving – I knew she would go. She had healed me times enough for me to know that she wasn’t capable of witnessing suffering without trying to interfere.

It happened in a second and yet I saw it in slow motion – how she kneeled next to the woman, trying to stabilize her neck, to evaluate her wounds, calling for her with the lips I just had kissed moments before. The man in the ski masked turned and looked at her, laughing at the sight of her unfruitful gestures – she held his gaze in defiance, insulting him with her sharp tongue.

I was already screaming before it happened – I could see it so clearly and yet I was powerless to stop it. The gunshot that announced the ending, loudest even than my heart breaking.

I ran to her, trying to catch her before she fell on her back. For a moment I thought he had missed her – but a drop of red appeared on the white of her dress, spreading quickly across her belly like a net of poison, a cloud of blood drenching the fabric.

She looked at me with her eyes wide open in painful shock. I sobbed and cried for help, trying to keep her with me through a stupor of despair, my hands pressing the wound as my heart’s blood left her body.

“Jamie.” Claire whispered weakly, searching my eyes. And I started to pray, as sirens wept around me.

Note: I know it’s angsty but - hey- it’s canon! :D

The Princess and The Pauper

Summary: You’re a princess who travels into the city, you ee your people struggling and you also meet Harry, a tailor who you feel a strong connection with.

Warnings: None(?)

Requested: Yes!

You pull the hood of your cloak further over your head when notice one of the cart owners staring a little too hard at your face. 

“What’s a rich woman like you doing out here?” A man sneers as he walks past looking you up and down. “Why you slummin’ it down here in your fancy dress?” 

You look up at his face, he has shocking blue eyes which are only made more prominent because of the dirt on his face. You notice how thin he is, his clothes worn loose with holes in them. 

“I-” You struggle to find the words as you look around at your people. This isn’t the city you were raised to believe you lived only a few miles from. You were always told your city was beautiful and the people loved it.

But this? This wasn’t that. These people were struggling, and you could only watch. 

“You?” The man asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. He takes a step closer to you, “You nobles all got your fancy houses and clothes. Never had to lift a finger in your life, I bet.” You back away, but he only follows. “Then you come down here and gawk at us like we’re animals in a zoo.” 

You feel your back press into a wall, “I’m sorry, sir.” You whisper as you look down at your shoes. You notice even his shoes has some holes in them. 

“Oh you’re sorry! They’re always sorry,” He turns to address the few people who have surrounded the two of you. “But they never do anything to help.” His hand grips at your waist.

“Please don’t touch me.” You push his hand away, but that does nothing to deter him. He grips your waist again, “What? Don’t want my pauper hands on you?” 

“She doesn’t want your creep hands on her, Alex.” The man, Alex’s, hand falls of your waist as someone pulls him away. Your savior takes a protective stance in front of you, “Just because she’s got money doesn’t mean you can touch her, have some respect for the lady.” 

Alex only scoffs before walking away, the crowd dispersing with him. The man turns to you, and your eyes widen. 

He’s gorgeous. Bright green eyes staring at you, a kind smile on his face as he offers you his hand. You take it and he gently pulls you towards a tailor shop. 

“Thank you, Mr….”

“Styles.” He smiles as you let go of his hand and look around the shop. “but you can call me Harry.” 

“Harry.” You turn back to him with a grateful smile. “Thank you for helping me, you have every right to be as angry as him, yet you saved me.” 

Harry shrugs, “I believe everybody deserves the same amount of respect, Ms..”

“Y/N.” You answer before thinking, 

“Like the princess?” He asks with a small laugh. 

“Yes.” You nod, “I was born only a few months after her and my parents wished to honor the family. Is this your shop?” You ask the question trying to steer the conversation away from your name.

“My parents shop.” He shrugs, “They left it to me when they passed.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” You frown, “I didn’t-”

“No need to apologize, Y/N.” He smiles, “I’ve kept up with it since. Business is tough sometimes, especially with our struggles now, but the nobles who stop in sometimes help.” Harry shrugs.

You look around the shop. There are beautiful dresses displayed and some stunning suits. All printed with gorgeous patterns and colors. 

“Are these dresses for sale?” You ask while running your hand over one of them. 

Harry comes beside you as is hand traces one of the other dresses, “No. They were my mother’s. I have them displayed in her honor. I would only sell them if I absolutely had to.”

“Then I guess I must commission you to make one for me.” You turn to him with a smile. 

Harry laughs, “Ma’am if you feel like you need to repay me, don’t worry. I can make do without-”

“I think your dresses here are beautiful, and if you’ve got even half the talent your mother had I will have a stunning dress.” You cut Harry off as you walk around his shop. 

There’s fabrics hung on the wall and thread kits spread across two desks, “Does another person work here?” You ask sitting on one of the stools behind the desk. 

“My sister. Although, she married a few months ago so she only works a few days a month.” Harry frowns looking down at his table. 

“Oh, that must make the work so much harder for you.” You frown as you notice a list of names on his desk.

“It makes the wait time a little longer, but not many people are buying dresses or suits these days so I don’t worry too much.” 

“How long has the city been struggling like this?” You ask wondering if people like Harry been struggling for long and why your mother hadn’t told you anything about this.

Harry gives you a strange look, “Have you never visited before? The city has been like this since I was a child.” 

“A child?” You yell, your hand goes to your chest. Your people had been struggling so long, and you had done nothing about it. A wave of guilt washed over you. “My mother had me live a very sheltered life after my father died. I’ve never left our estate.” 

“And she let you visit now?” Harry asks with a raised eyebrow.

You shake your head shyly, “No. I snuck out, she’s not a clue that I’m here.” 

Harry laughs as he takes a seat on the stool beside you, “What made you want to come out today?” 

“I’ve always wondered what the city was like, if it was truly as beautiful as stories have described.” Harry’s watching you with curious eyes, like he’d never seen somebody so naive before. You frown, “I can’t believe my mother never told me what was happening. I feel so helpless.” 

“It’s not your fault.” Harry begins to fiddle with the ring on his hand, “Our country has been losing money for years now. Ever since we lost the king. It’s rumored we’re going to be bankrupt if the queen doesn’t marry off her daughter.” 

You sigh, your mother had mentioned suitors visiting within the week to speak of taking your hand. You had never wanted to marry for your royal duties, you had always wished to marry for love. But after seeing your city, you might just need to give up on that dream. 

Maybe you would learn to love whoever you married.

“Yes, I’ve rumors of wealthy suitors for the princess coming soon.” You whisper to Harry, who nods solemnly. 

“Why the sad face? If she marries the kingdom may be saved.” You place your hand on top of Harry’s sending him a soft smile when he looks up. 

“She will marry for money, not love.” Harry stands up. He dusts himself off and offers you a hand. You give him a confused look but take it, letting him pull you up. “I was always taught to marry for love, my parents loved each other and they didn’t care if they had no money.” 

You hear music playing from outside the shop, a violin playing a class harmony. You laugh when you realize Harry has pulled you up to dance with him. 

“Well, it must be different when the fate of your kingdom lies on your shoulders.” You say softly as Harry twirls you around the empty shop.

He shrugs and he pulls you closer, “Everybody deserves love.”

“The people would hate her.” You sigh, thinking of the man who hated you just because of the noble clothes. You couldn’t imagine how angry they would be if you married somebody who couldn’t help the kingdom. 

Harry gives you an odd look, “I wouldn’t.” 

“Well you’re only one person.” You snap, pulling yourself from his grasp. “You’re too kind. You can’t speak for how an entire city on the verge of bankruptcy would feel.” 

Harry places a hand on your cheek, “You’re not just a noblewoman, are you?” You close your eyes, imaging how it would feel to do this everyday. Wake up to somebody who makes you feel the way Harry has today. 

You shake your head and his eyes go soft, “I have to go.” You pull away. “The guards will realize I’m gone soon.”

“Y/N.” Harry murmurs, following after you. You turn to look at him and he grabs your hand, “Will I see you again?” 

You shake your head, “I don’t know.”

You wander out to the garden after you meeting with King Julian and his advisers. It had been decided the two of you would be married within the month. 

King Julian was kind and handsome, everything a princess could wish for in a suitor, but you couldn’t help and want more. 

You wanted a spark. You wanted the feel what you had felt with Harry earlier dancing around his shop. You wanted Harry. 

You run your hands over bush you were walking next to. 

“Darling, you know I hate when you wander.” You jump at the sound of your mother’s voice behind you. “The garden strays so far from the palace, it’s unsafe.” 

“I know, mother.” You sigh as she comes to a stop next to you. “It has a nice view of this city though.”

She shakes her head, pulling you back towards the palace. “King Julian was lovely, wasn’t he?” 

“I don’t wish to marry him, mother.” You say quietly, deciding it was best to tell her now before any wedding plans were set in stone. “I don’t love him, I don’t feel anything with him. No spark or connection.” 

You mother stops walking and turns to you, “All my life I have only wished for your happiness, but you can’t refuse this marriage.” She places a gentle hand on your cheek, “We must think of our people, not ourselves.” 

You feel tears gather in your eyes, but push them away. “I know you’re right.”

She smiles sadly, “I grew very fond of your father once we were married even though I had previously thought I wouldn’t like him.” You knew she was trying to make you feel better, but growing fond of your husband sounded so sad. 

“Can I call for a certain tailor from the city? I saw one of his dresses on a guest of ours a few weeks ago and adored his work.” 

“Of course, what’s his name? I’ll send for him tomorrow morning.” 

You smile, feeling a little excited. 

“Harry Styles.” 

You toy with the fabric on your dress as you wait for Harry to step through your door. One of the maids had informed you he had just arrived and was going through proper security checks.

“Your Highness.” You look up at the deep voice and smile. Harry was standing in your doorway, he held a bag of supplies in his hand and papers in the other. 

“Leave us, please.” You turn to the maid who was organizing paper on your desk. She looks up shocked, “Madam, I am not-”

“Please?” You plead and her eyes soften, looking between you and Harry, before she nods and scurries out of the room. 

As soon as Harry puts his stuff on the ground you give him a hug, he holds you close for a moment before pulling away. He looks at you with gentle eyes, “It’s good to see you again.”

You step onto the podium in the center of your room as Harry pulls out measuring tape, “I only wish I was not measuring you for your wedding to another.” 

“If my people were not suffering the way they were, you would not have to.” You run your hands over the skirt of your dress as Harry measures from your hip to your ankle.

“Have you met him?” You nod as he moves onto measuring your arms, “Is he kind?” 

“And handsome.” You sigh, “He’s the perfect suitor. I’m lucky he’s not double my age and creepy.” 

Harry watches you for a moment before coming to stand in front of you, “But?” 

“But… I don’t have a connection with him. I don’t wish to dance around a dress shop with him.” You let out a small laugh, “My mother told me she grew fond of my father, but I don’t want to grow fond of my husband.”

“You want to love him.” Harry offers you his hand, helping you step down podium. 

You nod as he pulls you closer to him, “There’s no music.” You point out as he begins to sway. Harry only hums a melody in response as he begins to twirl you around the room. 

The two of you come to a stop in the center of your room, “Your bedroom is bigger than my entire shop.” He murmurs looking down at you.

“Hmm.” You stare at him for a moment, taking in his features. 

“I wish I could-” You cut him off, pressing your lips against his. He stands stiff for a moment before responding to your kiss. His hands travel down your back as one of yours rests on his cheek. 

He pulls away after a few moments, “That was lovely.”

“Lovely?” You laugh as he pulls you closer, your chests pressing against each other’s. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “Lovely, but not allowed.” 

“Oh, I’ve been following rules my whole life. If I wish to kiss you, I will.” You shake your head as he pulls away. “As long as you want the same?”

“I want nothing more.” Harry laughs as he takes your face in his hands, “But you were right, it would not be fair to the people.”

“I know.” You step back from him, “Maybe if we met in a different time.” Harry nods as you step back on the podium. He pulls out an ivory colored fabric and holds it up to you neck, “Beautiful.” 

The dress Harry makes is beautiful. You smile as your run your hands over the soft, ivory fabric. It fits you perfectly and compliments your body shape in the best way.

“You look absolutely stunning.” You mother wraps her arms around you from behind and rests her chin on your shoulder. 

You smile a little tearfully, “Thank you.” 

Your mother presses a kiss to your cheek before stepping back and turning you around to face her, “Don’t cry, Lady Mary worked so hard on your makeup.” 

You shake your head, trying to stop the tears so you’re not left with tear streaks in your foundation. The wedding had come up on you so fast, with almost no time to see Harry. 

After the initial meeting he had only come by to do the fitting and the two of you were supervised by your mother the entire time. He still managed to slip you a little love note that was now tucked away in one of your desk drawers. 


“I know.” Your mother whispers, placing her hands on both of your cheeks. She gives you a sympathetic look, “How long have you known the tailor?” 

You stand still in shock at her question before glancing away, “Only a few weeks.” 

“You met him when you snuck into the city?”

“How did you know?” You look at her shyly as she laughs softly. 

“Darling, you think you got away with sneaking out on your first try?” She shakes her head, “You’ve always wanted to travel, I thought you deserved to see the city once before royal duties truly fall upon you.” 

“Or you knew if I saw the city I wouldn’t refuse a marriage to save it.” You pull away from her. You turn and look at yourself in the mirror again, “Harry is kind and I felt a connection with him that I haven’t felt with any suitors.” 

She shakes her head, “Yes. I knew if you saw our state you would feel more inclined to help.” She looks at you guiltily, “I didn’t think you’d meet somebody you would care for like this.”

“Mother, isn’t there another way?” You plead grabbing her hand, “Must I get married?” 

She nods, “Things are different when you’re royal. We have people to take care of, so we don’t always get to choose happiness.” 

You knew that was the answer you would get. Your mother had married your father for an alliance, this wasn’t too far off.  A part of you had hoped she would never want you to have to do the same she did. 

She always said she had grown fond of your father, maybe you would grow fond of Julian. Maybe that would be enough. 

“I know.” You whisper as somebody knocks on the door. “Your Highness, it’s time to get into position.” You and your mother nod as a few hand maidens come scurrying in. They lift the train of your dress to keep it from dragging as you walk from your room to the gardens. 

“I’ll meet you down there.” Your mother travels ahead of you to presumably speak to the royal adviser about any plans still up in air. You don’t respond, only stare straight ahead as you think. 

“Madam.” One of the women, Jane, comes up to you with a note in her hand. She offers it to you shyly, “This was in the box with your gown.” 

You smile thankfully before looking down at the envelope. Your name is written in script on the front and the back has a stamp of Harry’s initials to seal the envelope shut. 

You open it as you walk, crumbling the envelope in your hand before reading the letter enclosed. 


I bet you look absolutely stunning in the gown. I knew that style would make you look even more beautiful. 

I can only hope it remains on you for the entire day, but I know that couldn’t be. We know the rules of wedding nights. I only wish that you remember my hands on you and your lips against mine. 

I can only hope that you remember me and how much I care for you. 

I’m writing this as some handlers pack up your dress, so I don’t have much time. I just want you to know I’m so glad you snuck into the city, even if seeing it persuaded you into this marriage, it brought you to me. I will cherish the memory of you as long as I have it.

Yours, Harry.

You feel tears gather in your eyes as you read the note. You bring it to your chest, pressing the paper against your heart as you stop walking. 

“Madam?” Jane taps you on the shoulder and regards you with soft eyes. You shake your head, stuffing the note into your undergarment before continuing on towards the gardens. 

Nobody says anything as you make your way towards the there. Your mother offers you her arm when you meet her. Music starts playing softly and you take a deep breath. 

This was it. 

You look up when you reach the beginning of the isle. Julian is standing in place with a kind smile on his face, but you can tell it wasn’t a look of love. He was doing this simply because he would need a wife to produce an heir and your family needed help.

You look down at the ground, the isle is a white carpet with white rose petals spread across it. Just as you’re about to reach Julian the music stops. 

“Wait.” There’s panting, like whoever the voice belonged to had been running. You see Julian’s eyes widen before you and your mother spin around. 

Harry is standing at the end of the isle, there’s an odd rock in his hand and his hair is messy from running, but you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face when you see him. 

“You don’t have to do this.” He begins walking towards your mother and you. “I know-”

“You don’t know anything.” Your mother’s adviser snaps, coming to step in front of the two of you. “Guards-”

“Let him speak.” Your mother puts her hand up to silence him before turning back to Harry. “What else do you propose?” 

Harry looks at you before turning back to your mother, “The mines. They’ve been running out of resources since I was a child. They’re close to closing down, but my sister’s husband brought me this earlier today.” He offers the rock to your mother, who takes it with a slightly unimpressed look. 

“A rock?”

“Look inside.” Harry smiles widely, “It’s jewels. The mines are filled with these. This could bring prosperity back to our kingdom, not marrying off the princess.” Your mother looks inside the cracked rock, and sure enough, it’s all a shining jewel. 

“Oh my god.” You whisper as her adviser comes over to look at the rock in her hands. You look at Harry, who’s staring at you with excited eyes then you turn back to Julian. He nods his head, like he understands why you’re staring. 

You smile in thanks before turning and walking towards Harry. The walk turns in a jog as you lift your dress up and meet him halfway down the isle. He pulls you into a hug when you reach each other, leaning down to whisper in your ear. 

“If we weren’t surrounded by people I would kiss you right now.” 

I started this then I remembered Barbie’s Princess and the Pauper and it strayed into being similar to the ending of that. I used to love that movie so much when I was younger. 

Anyways, here is something that’s not Little Lion because I got this request and loved it.

As always, thank you for reading and I hope you all have a good day!!

✰ * º ❛ californication sentence starters. ❜


‘  i am not a fucking shrink. i don’t give a shit anyway.  ’
‘  we are not talking! we are not fucking! nothing is happening!  ’
‘  you know me… the talking and the fucking go hand-in-hand.  ’
‘  rehab is for quitters.  ’
‘  you can’t snort a line of coke off a woman’s ass and not wonder about her dreams. it’s not gentlemanly.  ’
‘  damn you smell good, like home.  ’
‘  spend the rest of your life with this fool and this fool will spend the rest of his life making sure you don’t regret it.  ’
‘  there’s no easy way to say this so i’ll just say it: i met someone.  ’
‘  there’s this feeling in my gut that she may be the one.  ’
‘  i don’t know how to be with you right now and that scares the shit out of me.  ’
‘  it’s a big, bad world full of twists and turns and people have a way of blinking and missing the moment.  ’
‘  i don’t know what’s going on with us and i can’t tell you why you should waste a leap of faith on the likes of me.  ’
‘  it’s a lost art, really. like handjobs.  ’
‘  i have a confession to make… i didn’t like you very much at first.  ’
‘  you didn’t seem to have much interest in me, which i of course found vaguely insulting.  ’
‘  funny how some things never change.  ’
‘  i cruised along, doing my thing, acting the fool, not really understanding how being a parent changes you.  ’
‘  i don’t remember the exact moment everything changed. i just know that it did.  ’
‘  loving you has been the most profound, intense, painful experience of my life.  ’
‘  i made a silent vow to protect you from the world, never realizing i was the one who would end up hurting you the most.  ’
‘  when i flash forward, my heart breaks, mostly because i can’t imagine you speaking of me with any sort of pride.  ’
‘  i care for nothing and everything at the same time.  ’
‘  noble in thought, weak in action.  ’
‘  i think that’s the good thing about never being married, it’s impossible to divorce.  ’
‘  i tried, but somewhere along the line, you slip back into what you know and i’m sorry about that.  ’
‘  i’m sorry we haven’t talked in awhile because i miss you.  ’
‘  you’re doing the best you can. you’ve done good.  ’
‘  that fucker is the horniest man i’ve ever met. he’ll be pitching a tent on his deathbed.  ’
‘  don’t tell me what to feel.  ’
‘  all my fucking life people have been telling me i do things wrong. i’m always the fucking asshole. i look around and i see everybody else is infinitely more fucked up than i am.  ’
‘  i’m offering you sex, and you just want to talk? has the earth spun off its axis?  ’
‘  i question everything. it’s very healthy.  ’
‘  you should live with someone who everyday reminds you how fucking lucky you are to be with them.  ’
‘  you don’t want to be with me.  ’
‘  if i were to give myself to you, you would run for the hills ‘cause you’re not in love with me. you’re in love with the idea – the idea of love.  ’
‘  imagine my fucking disappointment when you turned out to be the biggest cliche of all.  ’
‘  a great father is a guy that gives it all up for his family and leaves his self-destructive bullshit at the door.  ’
‘  there isn’t a woman that i’v’e met that i haven’t fallen in love with for 10 minutes or 10 years.  ’
‘  friends don’t let friends bang each others soulmates!  ’
‘  i consider that whole area – general area – my cock. like, from my knees to nipples.  ’
‘  two people of the opposite gender can’t rendezvous after 7 pm.  ’
‘  life’s just too fucking boring not to try.  ’
‘  i may be easy, but i’m not sleazy.  ’
‘  a morning of awkwardness is far better than a night loneliness.  ’
‘  i like it here. it’s nice. the sun is chirping, the birds are shining. the water’s wet.  ’
‘  life is good, sweetheart. life is good.  ’
‘  you can blame everything on the economy, douchebag.  ’
‘  no man should ever have to bear witness to his “o” face.  ’
‘  you know, it’s not fair to say “b.r.b.” and then never actually b.r.b.  ’
‘  fuck around all you want. i’m no judge judy. but don’t string a woman along for a major chunk of her childbearing years. that’s not cool.  ’
‘  when it comes to emotions, women know how to pain with the full set of oils while men are busy doodling with crayons.  ’
‘  there’s nothing quite like getting stoned on the very bed that your ex-domestic partner shares with her fiance. it’s the little things.  ’
‘  hang out with your wang out, but remember: no gloving, no loving.  ’
‘  hate the game, not the playa.  ’
‘  no matter what you did, don’t give up. do not give up because if she loves you, she’ll forgive you.  ’
‘  things fall apart. they break. that’s life.  ’
‘  despite all evidence to the contrary, i am a gentleman.  ’
‘  i’ve been thinking about us – that’s us with a capitol “u”.  ’
‘  the story of us… how the fuck do i sum it up?  ’
‘  any story with me in the center of it will never be anything less than a big, smiling mess.  ’
‘  our time in the sun has been a thing of absolute beauty.  ’
‘  for years i woke up, fucked up, said i was sorry, passed out, and did it all over again.  ’
‘  i’m a sucker for happy endings.  ’
‘  there’s just the two of us, which can be fucking ugly sometimes.  ’
‘  i didn’t know how to finish it because it’s not over.  ’
‘  it’ll never be over, as long as there’s you, and there’s me, and there’s hope, and grace.  ’
‘  wine me. dine me. stand up 69 me.  ’
‘  one does not very easily forget the kiss of a beautiful woman.  ’
‘  that’s right. i said it. i meant it. i’m here to represent it.  ’
‘  can you slow down? i don’t know why you’re so fucking angry.  ’
‘  i’m not the one who disappeared to the bedroom with that fucking weirdo degenerate.  ’
‘  you’ve got a fucking nerve to take issue with anything i do, ever!  ’
‘  you’re right, but what am i supposed to do? just sit there and watch it happen?  ’
‘  why the fuck did you come here tonight anyway?  ’
‘  there’s always this voice in the back of my head that says ‘maybe this time it will be different, maybe this time the stars will align and there will be this magic moment between us where everything will be okay again.’  ’
‘  there’s always something or someone in the way!  ’
‘  you want me not to see anybody else, just say the word. but if you keep me at arms length, what am i supposed to do? just sit around with a cock-cage on and hope that you’re going to have some kind of epiphany about us?   ’
‘  do you honestly think i care about you fucking someone else? if we’re not together, i don’t expect you to have taken some vow of celibacy.  ’
‘  when i see someone look at you the way i used to look at you… i fucking hate that. it makes me sick to my stomach.  ’
‘  i don’t want to be that person. i don’t want to start playing games and like, trying to get back at you or try to hurt you.   ’
‘  i thought there was something wrong with me, but it’s you. you’re a loser.  ’
‘  i’m sorry you got hurt. i thought we had an understanding.  ’
‘  i swallowed your cum, but worst of all, i swallowed your bullshit.  ’
‘  i guess being there made it easier to forget that i still love the shit out of you. yeah, wow, i said that out loud, didn’t i?  ’
‘  so? i still love you. i always will, till the day i die. but at some point, i had to choose happiness, i had to make that a priority.  ’
‘  i’m with someone who understands that i’ll never stop loving you and that makes me happier than i’ve ever been.  ’
‘  contrary to popular belief, i’m not out there trying to hurt anyone.  ’
‘  by the way, you’re an incredibly woman. very sexual. are you ovulating right now?  ’
‘  don’t blame me because you were born with a clit for a cock and a tiny beanbag to house what passes for balls.  ’
‘  eat my shit.  ’
‘  it makes my labia shrivel.  ’
‘  die young and suffer, dickless.  ’
‘  you can either cry like a bitch or smack a bitch.  ’
‘  what, you going back to your mommy’s? you fucking infant.  ’
‘  sperm would enter my pretty little vajoojoo and my cold black heart would kill that shit dead, son.  ’
‘  trust me, getting your asshole bleached would be much more fun.  ’
‘  you’re like one of those freaky chicks who marries serial killers on death row.  ’
‘  well, if you were not so preoccupied with sticking your dick in anything with a hole that will have you, you might noticed these things.  ’
‘  i want to go back and do it all over again. only this time, not make the same mistakes… this time, do it better. this time do it right.  ’
‘  our best days are behind us now. you’re just chasing a dragon. we’re never going to life happily ever after.  ’
‘  you’re going to die poor, drunk, and alone.  ’
‘  welcome to the place where time stands still, where whisky flows and always will.  ’
‘  i came back… for you. i know it’s overwhelming, disorienting even.  ’
‘  we have to resolve this shit one way or another, don’t you agree?  ’
‘  i say we stay here until we figure it out… or until we both get so fucking horny we can’t stand it. either way, it’s a win-win for both of us.  ’
‘  what is this? explain yourself, woman.  ’
‘  do you realize that the bottom has just officially dropped out of our relationship?  ’
‘  angry? i’m not angry! why would i be angry? i’m not even entitled to angry.  ’
‘  that’s what makes it worse: she was there first.  ’
‘  you might wanna curve your crazy bitch.  ’
‘  why, do you still love her?  ’
‘  are you challenging me right here in my own home?  ’
‘  of course i love you! i’ve always loved you!  ’
‘  i didn’t fuck anyone, if that’s what you were wondering.  ’
‘  who gives diamonds to the homeless? not i.  ’
‘  i love you and i want to spend the rest of my life annoying the shit out of you.  ’
‘  i’m sick and tired of fighting about the past.  ’
‘  home is wherever you are.  ’
‘  you are so full of shit?  ’
‘  other than making the sweet love to me, that’s the nicest thing you could’v done.  ’
‘  you’re right, i know everything there is to know about you.  ’
‘  i am lucky. i’m lucky to have known you, i’m lucky to have loved you.  ’
‘  i like you when you’re crazy.  ’
‘  you have so much shit going on in your life right now, you don’t want to add this to the mix.  ’
‘  thank you for letting me be the crazy one for once.  ’
‘  merry fucking christmas. can we go home already?  ’
‘  it’s your life. if there’s something you don’t like about it, you can change it.  ’
‘  you need to be in the middle of a mess of your own creation, right? that’s what makes you attractive and also, impossible to live with.  ’
‘  impossible is a very strong word.  ’
‘  i love you, but i can’t be with you. when will you accept that?  ’

Women in Ice Cells: The Mother of Dragons

So far in the Women in Ice Cells series, I’ve examined the characters of Elia Nymeros Martell and Joanna Lannister, both notable members of the Dead Ladies Club. Today I’m going to be tackling another member: Rhaella Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, mother of Rhaegar, Viserys and Daenerys. While Aerys is often talked about by a number of characters, Rhaella is rarely mentioned in comparison. Aerys’ name appears 165 times throughout the books. Meanwhile, Rhaella is mentioned, by name, a grand total of five times. For such a major character, in-universe and out–a queen, and mother to one of the main characters in the series–that’s frankly shameful. In light of that, I’m going to take a look at what we know about her, and what this could tell us about her character.

Warning: this essay talks about rape and abuse. Please stay safe and don’t read it if you think this will trigger or upset you. 

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Word Count: 1726
Author’s Note: Happy Birthday, Jim! This wasn’t to the point I wanted it at, but I’ve got to get to work, so I had to cut the planned smut and the planned ending…

The first time you saw Jim Kirk, you knew your life would never be the same. There was something about him, even while you were both cadets. He made your world seem bigger. More dangerous. And infinitely more exciting. There was something about the way he looked at the universe with the promise of adventure that made you want to be near him. You were disappointed when he was caught fixing the Kobayashi Maru, and surprised when you saw he’d somehow made it onto the Enterprise. Once the dust settled from the Narada incident, the emergency crew assignments had been reviewed, and you were surprised to find that you were reassigned to the Enterprise, under Jim Kirk as your captain.

It was on the Enterprise that you really got to know Jim. He’d always been this larger-than-life character on campus, the focus of your unrequited crush, which left you filling in the blanks when you didn’t know the answers about him. He was at once better and worse, depending on what rumour was floating around about him. You were innately fond of him, no matter how many notches he scratched into his headboard. But it was a crush, and it was fleeting, and in those moments when you were honest with yourself, you would admit that the idea of Jim Kirk was a heady drug, but the reality would likely be a letdown.

Once you were serving together, you were pleasantly surprised to discover he was nothing like the man you’d imagined. Instead of a thoughtless lothario, he was overwhelming discrete in his romances. So discrete, in fact, that most people didn’t realize he still had any. He was smarter than you could have imagined, challenging the intellect of Commander Spock regularly enough that the Vulcan seemed perpetually frustrated. Unbelievably, he managed to know each member of the crew, and at least have some sort of background information on them so that each conversation he had built on the trust he already had gained. He took that trust, and in turn, returned it, giving him a loyal crew that would go beyond reasonable expectations for one another and for the ship. It was as though he was born to lead.

That wasn’t to say he wasn’t without failings, and you’d definitely seen those too. His successes made him prone to arrogance, and he liked to needle Spock just a little more than necessary. He was sometimes too headstrong. And his disregard for the Prime Directive was frustratingly obtuse. But the positives about Jim Kirk far outweighed the negatives, and you felt your youthful crush fading away into something more like an admiration, trust, and deep comfort. Simply put, you loved him. It remained unanswered whether your feelings were returned.

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IMAGINE…being set up on a New Year’s Blind Date with Richard Madden

New Years One Shot #1 !!!

Word Count: 2,554

Warning: None….OH it ends on a cliffhanger!

((I TRIED SO HARRRDDDD….I’m not very good with writing about real people! I’m sorry! This is something I’ve been wanting to try for a while now though so…here it is. Perhaps next time, if there’s a next time, I’ll try it with Richard and Reader in a more private, relaxed environment.))

Y/B/F – your best friend

Y/E/C – your eye color

Y/n – your name

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bellamylover100  asked:

What do you think about valientned's theory that Sansa invented the Unkiss to explain the situation in her recollections, versus the prevailing SanSan theory that she invented it because she wanted it (later)? One puts stock in the Unkiss as proof of Sansa's fear, and the other as proof of her desire or love. Not that those are mutually exclusive. +They both make sense and have evidence. IMO, the fact that Sansa makes it up after she starts having erotic dreams indicates desire for him, not fear

**Edit** I do follow valientned’s tumblr and I enjoy their posts.  I was not aware of their position on the unkiss or read anything about it from them personally, so I’m taking your word for it.  But I will answer from the position that some people have about the unkiss being about processing trauma or fear.***

It’s sooooo not about fear or trauma.  Just, no.  That makes no sense and here’s why.

I think to understand the unkiss, we have to look at it first in a literary way and why the Blackwater scene was written the way it was. What is GRRM (not Sansa) trying to say to the reader with not just the unkiss, but everything connected to it?  He obviously can’t write a literal romance between them in the early books for so many horrifically unconscionable and logic-defying reasons.  George is really following a literary tradition using sexual and romantic symbolism to speak directly to the reader without the characters being aware.  It’s a classic Gothic literature theme of exploring sexual desire that is fraught with fear for it being taboo or somehow non-prescribed by society.  Or in Sansa’s case, that it is not the ideal.  (See the Bear and the Maiden Fair).   

The Blackwater scene itself is not actually sexual, though it is terrifying, to say the least.  It is however very sexually and romantically symbolic in its wording.  The dagger as a phallic symbol, the “wetness that was not blood,” the blood-stained cloak evocative of loss of virginity, etc.  BTW, we were already pre-exposed to Sandor holding a blade against Sansa’s neck and she was not scared (kind of unimpressed actually).  Swords and daggers are dicks and they are everywhere.    

What we’re really talking about here at the Blackwater is metaphoric wife-stealing and it’s important to understand what wife-stealing actually is.  It’s a ritual among Free Folk to demonstrate to the woman a man’s prowess and worth to be considered as a suitor.  They value traits of being brave, clever, and quick.  Ygritte has no fear or trauma from Jon unwittingly stealing her at knife point because she is interpreting the events through her cultural lens.  She enthusiastically accepts “his suit” because he passed the test.  It is not an assault on the woman or an actual kidnapping.  The man might get the shit beat out of him, but the woman is never supposed to be hurt.  In the end, the woman has the final say if she will have him, as Tormund’s daughter Munda did with Longspear Ryk after he stole her.  This custom is set apart from the already existing sexual freedom for both sexes to hook up.  Wife-stealing is a public declaration of a serious romantic relationship.  It’s a marriage proposal.  Sandor fails the wife-stealing test metaphorically at the Blackwater.  He’s drunk, scared, barely holding on mentally and he is refused.   

So GRRM has given us extensive literary set-up to place the Blackwater in a symbolically romantic context.  Why?  So he can make the unkiss just about Sansa processing fear and trauma?  That makes no sense.  Now that we have the proper literary context, we can look at Sansa’s progression of thought toward the unkiss logically.   

This is before the first incarnation of the unkiss:  

1)  It’s implied she’s already forgiven Sandor after he leaves her room wrapping herself in his cloak.  She was cold, but she was already in her own bed.  She has cloaks of her own.  That does not speak of fear and trauma after the fact to seek out his cloak and remain under it for some time.  It speaks of subconscious emotional attachment.  

2)  Still so hint that she was traumatized.  This passage takes place approximately one month later according to the ASOIAF timeline.    

I wish the Hound were here. The night of the battle, Sandor Clegane had come to her chambers to take her from the city, but Sansa had refused. Sometimes she lay awake at night, wondering if she’d been wise. She had his stained white cloak hidden in a cedar chest beneath her summer silks. She could not say why she’d kept it. The Hound had turned craven, she heard it said; at the height of the battle, he got so drunk the Imp had to take his men. But Sansa understood. She knew the secret of his burned face. It was only the fire he feared. That night, the wildfire had set the river itself ablaze, and filled the very air with green flame. Even in the castle, Sansa had been afraid. Outside … she could scarcely imagine it.                 

 She wishes the Hound were there for his advice.  She’s has spent more than one night considering the events of the Blackwater, so she’s already processed it.  She secretly kept his cloak with her future wardrobe, though she can’t give a reason she is consciously aware of.  She understands why things happened the way they did from a non-emotionally charged place and with critical thinking.  The only fear she emphasizes is the fear of the wildfire, both inside and outside the castle.  By “wondering if she’d been wise” (that slight pause over her choice but without overwhelming regret) says she might have chosen differently if he had approached her the right way.

Now we get to the first incarnation of the unkiss.  Compared to what actually happened, let’s look at what’s stayed the same, what’s changed or added, what’s been removed:

Sansa wondered what Megga would think about kissing the Hound, as she had. He’d come to her the night of the battle stinking of wine and blood. He kissed me and threatened to kill me, and made me sing him a song.

He did not not come to her.  He was already in the room.  It’s been changed so he’s coming through the door where she can see him instead of startling her in the dark.  The first thing she says is that she kissed him.  The whole tone of the passage is matter-of-fact.  Not emotionally charged either positively or negatively.  No mention of the knife at her throat.  Then he kisses her.  Then he threatens her and makes her sing him a song.  So the kiss comes before any threat and is tied to the song instead.  The kiss didn’t come under duress, the song did.   

We know from Sansa’s fantasies of Loras Tyrell, she imagines herself being an actor, not just acted upon.  All while the Bear and the Maiden Fair is sang LOUDLY in the background (pointing to the subconscious) by Butterbumps just to drive the point home it’s the bear that satisfied the maiden.  Loras is still very much her conscious ideal at this point.  It’s the type that she is supposed to be with.  He’s what the songs are made of and she wants her life to be just like a song.  Sandor doesn’t fit in that superficial equation at all.  That’s the struggle.  The unkiss is not about coming to terms with trauma.  It’s coming to terms that deep down her erotic desires are the stuff of Gothic literature.  She’s not scared of Sandor, she’s scared of what wanting him says about her.  Miss dutiful, oh so proper lady that she is.  Ha!  

Her first erotic dream that replaces Tyrion with the Hound in the marriage bed is definitely not a nightmare at the end.  It comes the night of Lysa and Petyr’s very loud bedding after their marriage and after Lothor Brune (who she initially mistakes for Sandor) saved Sansa from Marillion’s unwanted advances.  So if the dream is coming after she’s being reminded of sex by the wedding night and Sandor is replacing and protecting her from the unwanted, doesn’t that make his presence wanted? Desired?  The context in how we interpret these things is key.

Finally, let’s get to the second and last (so far) incarnation of the unkiss:

Before she could summon the servants, however, Sweetrobin threw his skinny arms around her and kissed her. It was a little boy’s kiss, and clumsy. Everything Robert Arryn did was clumsy.  If I close my eyes I can pretend he is the Knight of Flowers. Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her … and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket.

As the boy’s lips touched her own she found herself thinking of another kiss. She could still remember how it felt, when his cruel mouth pressed down on her own. He had come to Sansa in the darkness as green fire filled the sky. He took a song and a kiss, and left me nothing but a bloody cloak.

It made no matter. That day was done, and so was Sansa.  

Once again, we must look at the context of what sparked this final version: Robert’s clumsy kiss.  Clumsy and cruel are now tied together.  Although Sansa has no desire to reciprocate Robert’s crush, she does want to be kissed again.  Her first inclination is to pretend he’s Loras, but that doesn’t work. She’s accepted the reality that courtship among the noble class is first and foremost about pedigree and politics.  The rose given was an empty gesture.  She can’t make him the focus of her desires any longer while accepting the truth.  Then her thoughts pivot to her “memory” of the unkiss. 

This version is far more poetic in tone than the first.  The wildfire outside is now turned into a vivid backdrop to the scene, not a horrific apocalypse.  There’s no knife, no threat, no vomit, no wine, no startling her in the dark, no fear.  She’s removed all unwanted elements and kept only the intensity of the moment.  Remember that Sansa wants to be an actor, not just acted upon.  As far as she knows the unkiss is her first real, mature, and erotic kiss.  And it was impulsively done (clumsy) under circumstances where she wasn’t prepared to meet it like an equal participant.  And he left!  The cruelty is making her desire him and leaving her nothing but a bloody cloak.  While the addition of the cloak is factual, it speaks to what she was given, what she was left withwas ultimately unsatisfying though she kept it all the same.  “That day is done,” there’s no going back.  He upended her usual fantasies and rocked her world view.  No other erotic fantasy will measure up now and it’s over before it can be satisfied.  We know from the preceding passage about Loras that her conscious desires now hinge upon accepting the truth.  This isn’t fear or trauma, it’s disappointment.  Like “I kissed the Hound and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.”  She’s consciously accepted her desire and must put it behind her immediately because he’s gone.

But not to worry because literarily speaking, GRRM has set us up for a do-over and she’s due to see him again really soon. ;)                

scully-loves-ruthie  asked:

Ok so miragelindsey wrote a post about Mulder and Scully slow dancing in the kitchen at 1 am to "Landslide" will you please write this fic, pretty please :)

Set in late season 8. Enjoy! 

It’s Scully’s absence that wakes Mulder up. He sits up in bed rubbing his tired eyes. There is only a rumpled blanket where Scully’s warm form should be. Mulder glances over at the alarm clock:  1 am. Who is the insomniac here? He wonders as he gets up. There are only two places she could be at this time of night and since the light in the bathroom is off, he wanders straight to the kitchen. The sight that greets him makes him grin from ear to ear; Scully is rummaging through the fridge, her back to him, and she is swaying back and forth gently as if to a music only she can hear. With every passing second, as impossible as it seems, he falls a bit more in love with her.  

“Mulder!” She startles, almost letting go of the plate with assorted snacks, when she sees him there in the doorway. A blush spreads on her face quickly coloring her cheeks. But he can’t stop grinning, doesn’t feel guilty in the least.

“Sorry,” he says half-heartedly, “I thought you said eating in the middle of the night was bad, Scully.”

“Yeah, but the baby is hungry and doesn’t yet understand it.” She pats her heavily pregnant stomach; not long and the baby will be here. No more endless hours at the office, no more rushing off to the next great goose chase. This’ll be the greatest, most scary adventure they have ever tackled and he can’t wait. “I wonder who he gets that from.” Scully tells him, offering him a piece of cheese that he declines.


“Or she. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Scully chews on one of these mini sausages that she claims not to like. Her downright ecstatic expression, however, belies that statement. Mulder watches her in amazement, unable to believe his luck. He almost missed this because he’d followed a light, pursued a path she could not follow because he thought it would lead him to the truth. What truth? The only truth he knows is this; Scully and the baby. If only he’d known, he thinks. If only. This is his second chance, a big one, and he is not going to mess it up.

“Why are you dancing?” He concentrates on the here and now. And here, in her kitchen, Scully is unmistakably dancing. Still swaying gently back and forth, his eyes follow her, mesmerized.  

“Come here.” She holds out her hand and he takes it, letting her pull him closer. For a moment he is dazzled by her closeness, grins, but she doesn’t have eyes for him. She puts her finger on her lips even though he is quiet, not saying a word. Maybe it’s her who can read minds, he marvels, chastening himself to silence his thoughts. He needs to listen. There, behind the wall, he hears it. A soft tune, bleeding through.

“Is that…” This time her finger lands on his lips, warm yet firm, effectively shutting him up. The music gets louder in his mind as he recognizes it, a funny trick of the brain, and he feels himself swept up in the melody, in the sentiment.

“Dance with me.” He whispers against Scully’s hair and she giggles like a young girl out on a date for the first time. It’s a rare sound, cherished and tucked away. She fits against him beautifully; the only description he can come up with this late. It should be awkward with her belly, but it isn’t. Their baby is safe between them, sharing this dance with them. It’s just as it should be.

“Who listens to Landslide at 1 am?” Mulder wonders out loud, murmuring the words.

“My neighbor. She… she lost her husband a few months back.” Mulder almost misses a step; a few months back. When he was dead, too. When Scully thought she’d be alone in this, with their baby, in this life. He holds her closer, reminding them both that he’s here now.

“He uhm, had cancer. It was rather quick but… sometimes he couldn’t sleep and she would play this song. She told me, after, that he used to love it. They met a Fleetwood Mac concert and he sang Landslide to her at their wedding, when their daughters were born and… it was the only song that calmed him down. I think she feels closer to him whenever she listens to it. I know she misses him. I sometimes listen… I used to listen.” Mulder takes in the words, every syllable of the song; can I handle the seasons of my life? His hand sneaks between them, comes to rest on her stomach. Their baby, this new life, is sleeping blissfully. Not yet aware of the pain and tribulations the outside world has to over. Mulder decides to ignore them, too, right now. His hand around Scully’s waist, he sways to the rhythm of the music, softly hums the melody, sings a few verses here and there when he remembers the words. Scully leans against him, lets herself be swept away by him and the music, too. There is tomorrow, another day, where they might talk about the time he was gone, when he was buried. Tonight, though, they just dance.

“Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’, cause I’ve built my life around you,” he sings softly right into her ear, “You’re my whole life, Scully. You and the baby. Without you, I wouldn’t be here.” He kisses the top of her head and holds her as tightly as possible, afraid she might slip away.


“You know it’s true, Scully. I’m not sure I ever thanked you properly. I’m not even sure how.”

“You being here is enough.”

“Is it, Scully? Am I-” For a second time this night, she quiets him. He kisses the finger she presses against his lips until she smiles, her whole face coming alive with joy, gratitude. Maybe she’s right; maybe this is enough. For now, while they dance to Landslide at 1 am in her kitchen, it has to be.  

No Slouching!

I have this personal headcanon that Lance used to be a ballet performer and was hella talented. He applied to the Garrison on a whim and a dream and got in, but he had already been given acceptance letters from various Dance schools across the country and so here is a fun, short fic enjoy!


Lance gave Keith a dead-eyed look of disbelief, his mouth twitching up into a wry smile, “She’s Russian, Keith. The Russians take their ballet as seriously as Allura takes the forming of Voltron.”

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