#excuse my swearing scot

[s0urw00lf]

Two peas in a pack : Magic bullet

Stiles stilinski x reader

An: I knowwww it’s been a while… do what to say and this wasn’t even hard to write… no excuse. Anyway enjoy!

    Scott Stiles and y/n were all sat in class as their teacher handed out test results. Stiles, who was sitting to y/ns right and behind Scott, tapped Scott on the shoulder getting his attention. "If Derek isn't the alpha, if he's not the one who bit you, then who is?" He asked, y/n nodded "Great question". Scott pondered for a second before answering "I don't know". Stiles sat back but quickly leaned forward again. "Did the alpha kill the bus driver?" He asked, and again Scott answered "I don't know"  Stiles sat back again exhaling dramatically loudly, before leaning up again "Does Allison's dad know-" he said but was cut off by Scott "i dont know!" He said way louder, attracting the attention of the whole class momentarily. The teacher had finally reached the trio, y/n looked down at her paper and smiled at the circled A+ at the corner of her paper, she looked over to Stiles and he showed his that just read A. Y/n smirked when she showed hers, laughing at the way stiles face dropped. Y/n took a quick glimpse at Scott while smiling and her smile immediately dropped, making Stiles turn to look. His face mirrored y/ns shock. "Dude you need to study more" Stiles said jokingly "Yeah Scott I knew you were failing, but I didn't think it was this bad" y/n said going along with Stiles's teasing "Okay we’re joking. Scott, it's one test. You're gonna make it up," stiles said trying to lift Scott's spirits, "He's right. Hey, I'll even help you study," Y/n said. Scott sighed "No it's okay, I'm studying with Allison today," Scott said nonchalantly. Stiles plastered a surprised expression on his face "That's my boy" he said making y/n groan. "We're just studying," Scott said shutting down what everyone knew Stiles was referring to. "Uh uh. No, you're not," he said pushing his case.

    "No, I'm not?" Scot said questioningly. "Not if I'm forced to live vicariously through you. If you go to her house today and squander that colossal opportunity, I swear to go I will have you de-balled" Stiles ranted. "Don't feel pressured Scott, it's nobody's fault Stiles can't get laid" y/n said, smirking when Stiles looked at her with one eye squinted. "Not like you can either y/n," he said arguing back. "Oh no I can, I just choose not to." She said widening her smirk. "Okay! Just stop with the questions man" Scott said interrupting the banter. "Done. No more questions... no more talk about the alpha or Derek. Especially Derek who still scares me." He said. As soon as y/n heard Stiles mention Derek y/n began to get an overwhelming sense that Derek was nearby. She immediately brushed it off not seeing how he'd be able to get in the school during school hours.

    the school had just let out and y/n followed Stiles to his jeep and laughed as he happily jumped in. He pulled out and began to drive out of the parking lot but was abruptly stopped by a very sickly-looking Derek Hale standing in the middle of the road holding his hand up as if to say "Stop". " you gotta be kidding me this guy everywhere" "Ok seriously this guy’s everywhere" y/n said at the same time as stiles, as they looked around for Scott hearing honking from behind them. Scott ran up to the driver's side, then to Derek making both y/n and Stiles get out and do the same. "What are you doing here," Scott asked kneeling beside Derek. "I was shot" Derek replied with labored breaths. "He's not looking so good dude," Stiles said. "Why aren't you healing?" Y/n whispered yelled as she knelt as well. "I can't. It was a different kind of bullet." He answered. "A silver bullet?" Stiles asked. "No you idiot," Derek said glaring up at Stiles. Scott's eyes widened "Wait. That's what she meant when she said you had 48 hours," Scott said. "What? Who said 48 hours?" Derek asked. "the one who shot you" Scott answered. Just then Derek groaned and his eyes shifted to the glowing blue. Y/n looked around panicking making sure nobody was close enough to have seen it. "What are you doing? Stop that" she hissed. Derek shook his head "That's what I'm trying to tell you. I can't." He growled breathlessly. "Derek. Get up!" Scott demanded.

The honking began to get more consistent. Scott lifted Derek as y/n opened the door before climbing into the back seat. "I need you to find the kind of bullet they used," Derek said as Scott closed the door to the jeep. "How the hell am I supposed to do that?" He asked.  "Because she's an argent, she's with them," he said. "Why should I help you?” Scott asked "Because you need me," Derek said, making y/n sigh. He was right and Scott knew it "Fine, I'll try. Hey get him out of here" Scott said to Stiles who had just gotten in the driver's seat. "I hate you so much for this," Stiles said through gritted teeth, before pulling off.

They'd been driving for about 30 minutes in silence and Stiles sighed picking up his phone to call Scott, he sighed even louder when he didn't answer, so he decided to text. 'Did you find it?' To which Scott replied 'need more time' making stile slam his phone on the seat, he looked over to Derek who had come out of his jacket "Hey try not to bleed out on my seats, okay?" He said. "Hey stiles ease up, he's shot," Y/n said, stiles again sighed "Fine. We're almost there anyway" he stated. "Almost where?" Derek asked. "Your house," Stiles said. "What? No, you can't take me there" Y/n sighed putting in her earbuds to not hear the two bicker, even when Stiles abruptly stopped the jeep. She thought it was best for them to sort out their differences.

Hours had passed and y/n groaned, they were parked on the side of the road and she was at the point now where she was aggravated. She got out of the car and dialed Scott's number. Surprised when he picked up

Y/n- Hello Scott it's me one of the two friends you so graciously forgot about that is sitting with the dying wolf... where the hell are you!?

Scott- I'm sorry they made me stay for dinner, where are you?

Y/n - parked on the side of the road. Where we have been for going on 2 hours!

She said getting back in the car, holding her phone out for Stiles to take

Stiles - what are we supposed to do with him?!

Scott- take him somewhere. Anywhere!

Stiles- and by the way he's starting to smell

Scott- Like what

Stiles- Like death

Scott- ok, take him to the animal clinic

Stiles- What about your boss

Scott- He's gone by now. There's a spare key in the box behind the dumpster

Stiles sighed "You’re not gonna believe where he's telling me to take you,” he said handing Derek the phone

Derek- Did you find it?

Scott- How am I supposed to find one bullet? They have a million. This house is like the freaking Walmart of guns

Derek- If you don't find it, then I'm dead, alright?

Scott- I'm starting to think that wouldn't be such a bad thing

Derek- Then think about this the alpha called you out against your will. He's gonna do it again. Next time you either kill with him or you get killed. So if you wanna stay alive, then you need me. Find the bullet.

Derek hung up the phone and handed it back to y/n. Stiles started the jeep and they began on their merry way to the animal clinic. "Isn't it ironic we're taking an injured werewolf to an animal clinic?" y/n said with a laugh. "Don't forget you were bitten too" Derek huffed. Y/n made eye contact with Stiles through the mirror and smiled

They arrived at the clinic and Stiles unlocked the door, Derek plopped down on the animal food, y/n got a message from Scott "Does Nordic blue monkshood mean anything to you?" Y/n asked Derek. "It's a rare form of wolfsbane. He has to bring it to me" he said. "Why?" Stiles asked. Derek looked Stiles dead in the face "Because I'm gonna die without it". Y/n sighed a little more panicked she texted Scott with urgency 'You need to get here NOW'

Y/n followed Derek and Stiles through to the operation room. Derek discarded his shirt to which y/n's eyes widened and quickly looked away, and Stiles was quick to look over to see  y/n's reaction.

The wound looked horrible if y/n was being honest, "You know that doesn't look like anything some echinacea and a good night's sleep couldn't take care of." Stiles said making y/n shake her head. "When the infection reaches my heart it'll kill me." Derek panted. "You know you really know how to be optimistic," y/n said sarcastically. Both y/n and Stiles watched as Derek rummaged through the drawers and cabinets obviously in search of something. “If he doesn’t get here with the bullet in time, I have a last resort,” he said. “Which is?” Stiles asked. The pair stared at Derek as he pulled out some sort of electric saw “You’re gonna cut off my arm.” Derek answered. This shocked the room into silence as y/n and Stiles racked their brains for something to say. “Oh my god! What if you bleed to death?” Stiles exclaimed. “It’ll heal if it works,” Derek said through clenched teeth as he tied a band around the bicep of his wounded arm. “I can't do this” y/n muttered as she turned away from Derek gagging. stiles nodded his head “Look, I don’t know if I can do this” Stiles explained, sounding like he was trying his best to hold back a gag.

“Why not?” Derek asked, still tying the band. “Well because of the cutting through the flesh-“ “the sawing of the bone!” “And the blood!” “Especially the blood.” Y/n and Stiles said bouncing off each other’s sentences. “Derek sighed dropping his arm onto the table “You faint at the sight of blood?” Derek asked grunting. “No, but we might at the sight of a chopped-off arm!” Stiles said, making y/n nod along. “Yeah no I can't I’m sorry Derek,” Y/n said. “Alright fine. Either you cut off my arm or I'm gonna cut off your head.” Derek said to Stiles. “Okay, you know what? I'm so not buying your threats-“Stiles was cut off by Derek grabbing his shirt and slamming him to the table “All right, bought, sold, totally, I’ll do it” Stiles rambled.

Y/n groaned “You’re an ass sometimes you know that?” She said to Derek “But I'll pass you this time because you’re dying” Y/n said before Derek leaned over and puked some sort of black substance right at his feet “Holy god, what the hell is that!?” “Jesus, I just might projectile vomit,” y/n said gagging while turning away from Derek for the second time tonight. “It’s my body trying to heal itself,” Derek said “Well it isn’t doing a good job,” Y/n said moving towards Stiles. “Now. You gotta do it now.” Derek said to Stiles. But y/n's ears picked up something unusual. The fast breathing of someone coming closer to the clinic, but how could she hear that? How all of a sudden. She heard something drop and hurried footsteps “Guys I think Scott’s here. Y/n muttered “Stiles? Y/n?”. Y/n's head shot up towards the door, she was right. Scott popped through the doorway seeing Stiles holding the saw to Derek’s arm “What the hell are you doing?” Scott almost yelled. Stiles let out a relieved chuckle “Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares.” Stiles said. “Did you get it?” Derek asked. Scott hurriedly dug the bullet out of his pocket and gave it to Derek. “What are you gonna do with it?” Y/n asked “I’m gonna- I’m gonna-” Derek panted before he fell to the ground passed out and dropped the bullet. Scott hurriedly chased after it while Stiles and y/n worked on waking him up.

Y/n tuned out the yelling as she thought, but only one option came to mind. “We have to hit him. Hard” Stiles looked at her as if she was crazy “It's the only way, we don’t have that salt here, we don’t know what to do with the bullet so we can't do it ourselves.” Y/n rushed “We have to hit him”. Stiles looked down at Derek “Please don't kill me for this” he said before he punched Derek square in the face. “Ow, god” Stiles hissed as he shook his hand in pain, Derek had woken up. “Give me,” he said softly as Scott handed them the bullet, and y/n and Stiles helped him up. Derek quickly got to work biting the tip off the bullet and emptying the powder before lighting it on fire, a blue smoke emitted from the substance. He wiped the powder from the table into his hand as he took a breather before pouring it into the bullet wound making him yell out in agony, as he fell to the ground still yelling the trio watched grimacing at his yells of pain, but their wasn’t much they could do. They watched as the wound quickly healed, “that was AWESOME!” Stiles cheered pumping his fist in the air “Are you okay?” Y/n asked. “Aside from the agonizing pain,” Derek remarked. Making y/n roll her eyes “I'm guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health” Stiles said making Derek glare at him. “Okay, we saved your life, which means you’re gonna leave us alone,” Scott said, y/n groaned and walked away muttering “I’ve had enough testosterone for one day”.

She situated herself in the waiting room of the clinic, now able to fully focus on how her body was changing. Her muscles are more defined, she’s hearing better, and if she were to guess she's stronger too, which means the bite did take effect and she’s turned. But into what? She asked herself before Derek walked passed her and out of the clinic with Scott following. She watched them leave wondering where they were going. Stiles soon walked into the waiting room, joining y/n. “where are they going?” Y/n asked softly. Stiles shrugged “Something about the argents, I don’t know,” he said. Y/n smiled “he really is whipped,” Y/n said looking at Stiles, almost lovingly. Stiles chuckled returning her stare “Yeah, he is” he said, not breaking the stare. The atmosphere began to get tense, both wondering if the other felt the same. Y/n was the first to break the eye contact, chuckling “We should lock up” she said looking anywhere but at Stiles. “Yeah,” he agreed. So they got to work cleaning Derek’s puke first then locking up around the clinic, making sure to leave it as they found it. The pair got in Stiles's jeep and drove home, the atmosphere wasn’t exactly tense but it was too much for y/ns liking. It didn’t take long for her to build up the courage to grab Stiles's hand. Stiles whipped his head towards y/n and stared in shock. Y/n laughed “Eyes on the road you big goof, and close your mouth, you're gonna catch flies,” she said, and Stiles nodded turning back towards the road but squeezing her hand just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming when he felt her squeeze back his heart soared over the moon.

[lanabuckybarnes]

Tha gaol agam ort.

This was originally a drabble, now it’s probably a mediocre one shot but the words kept coming and my fingers kept typing.

I just wanted an excuse to boast that I’m Scottish lol. I hope you enjoy. There should be a rough translation with every word or phrase but if I’ve missed any let me know!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Scottish! Female reader

Trigger Warnings: Swearing is all! Unless you count the use of Y/N as one. Also I call Scots a dialect once, please don’t come for me my people.

Word Count: 1.9k (oh my god it’s over 1000 words!!!)

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

When Bucky had first met Y/N, he had no clue what she was saying but the confusing phrases and silly placement of random words she intrigued him. Originally just her speech had him interested but it wouldn’t stay like that.

It was only after 4 months of getting to know her, speaking to her almost everyday, whether she was happy, sad or drunk until Bucky had been confident enough to say he understood what she was saying. Most of the time.

The others though, they hadn’t a clue.

It was winter, the temperature dropping rapidly each day. The crime didn’t stop. Bucky and Y/N had just finished their patrol, thoughourly soaked to the bone from the unrelenting rain.

The doors to the elevator opened on the communial floor, Y/N popping out first with a grumpy Bucky, looking akin to a soggy cat following behind.

“Fuck me it’s baltic out there like” the thick accent boomed across the living area, the others looked at her in confusion. Bucky gazed at their bewildered faces, sighing.

“She said it’s cold”. At the translation they all gave a variation of agreement, they were thankfully Bucky had spent a lot of time around her. They needed a translator, and he needed a girlfriend.

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Lover boy. Sam had started calling him around HQ and it stuck, much to Bucky’s bemusement and confusion. He didn’t see the heart eyes he’d gaze at Y/N with, after all. ‘They were just too lazy to learn’, he said to himself, pummeling shot after shot into the thick punching bag.

“Careful lover boy, you’ll knock the stuffing out of it” Sam quipped, entering the gym, his skipping ropes hung loosely over his shoulder.

“Lover boy” Bucky repeated lowly whilst sending a vicious right hook into the leather, he was thinking of Sam’s face. The nickname tasted disgustingly bitter on his tongue, Sam just laughed.

‘Lover boy? What the hell kind of name was Lover boy anyways?’ A deep scowl settling itself onto his features as he thought. He almost didn’t hear the gym door squeak open again.

“Ooft, don’t look in the fridge you’ll turn the milk sour” She giggled at her own joke. ‘Very funny Y/N’ Bucky mused in his head. His scowl worsened, if it was even possible but he failed to repress the small blush at the sound of her chuckles.

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Bucky had been stuck on those words all day. The the nickname never failed to leave his head after any one of the group called him it, the foul mood it brought following it as well. The only person Bucky hadn’t chewed the head off of was Y/N. Which the others weren’t particularly surprised about.

Watching a grown man shovel cereal into his mouth was probably the most interesting thing Y/N had ever seen, sorcerers and aliens be damned. The conversation she was having with Nat and Sam fading in and out of her mind in favour of watching Bucky chew violently, throughly slaughtering the wheat O’s.

“What do you think?” Nat asked, a smile playing on her lips. She’d caught her staring at Bucky, again.

“Huh?”

“About love, Sam thinks that everyone has a soulmate but I’m not so sure. What say you?” Nat clarified, leaning forward on her chair.

“Well my granny used to say, ‘What’s fur ye, will no go by ye’ so I suppose that’s my stance” She smiled at Nat who’s jaw had dropped in utter confusion.

“Hey lover boy, translate that” Sam shouted over to Bucky, his icy gaze turned in the direction of the trio. Allowing himself to linger a little too long on Y/N’s soft features.

“Hey!” Clicking his fingers at Bucky, Sam directed his attention back to the conversation.

“She said what’s for you won’t go by you. It means if you are bound to get something you will get it”. His features turned almost deadly “and click your fingers in my face again and you’ll get what’s coming for you”

“Ok, ok. Keep the heid” (calm down) she interjected, her small hand coming up to rest on the metal of Bucky’s shoulder , her soft fingers grazing over the sensitive skin at the edge. Such a simple gesture shouldn’t have caused his heart to flutter in the way it did.

As soon as Y/N had disappeared, Nat following behind, Bucky cornered Sam in the kitchen.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” He questioned. Sam picked up on the threatening tone laced through his voice.

“Calling you what man?” He chuckled back, trying to act innocent but he crumbled, laughing at the tension.

“Lover boy.”

The sound of Bucky’s angry voice saying those words had Sam buckled in two. He laughed hard, his palm slapping against his thigh as he propped himself up with the other.

“You don’t think we haven’t seen those looks, for a grumpy old man you sure do give her the heart eyes” Sam spoke once his fit of giggles subsided.

“Banner ‘hypothosised’ you were falling in love the first time you translated for her. Not a single person in this building knows what she’s saying except you, it’s not friendship that’s making you want to learn”

Bucky’s faced was flushed red, from anger or embarrassment at being caught out? he had no clue. Probably from both.

“Steve is the least laziest man I know and even he couldn’t learn, he tried many times” Sam explained. Bucky remebered the few occasions Steve had grabbed him by the shoulder or wrist, asking what the misspelled phrases or words in his little red book had meant, phrases you’d said to him that flew over his head. Sam was right.

“Steve also had 10$ on you having a crush on her” Sam let slip, tucking in his lips as soon as the words escaped.

“You’re taking bets on me!” He hissed

“Come on man, how could we not. It was Tony’s idea” Sam was trying to save his own ass by pushing others under the bus.

“I cannot believe you” Bucky snapped before turning on his heel, he’d deal with Sam later. Right now he had to relax. His feet moved on their own, seeking out a familiar room.

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Her door rattled, its hinges threatening to break if they were shuddered any longer.

“Alright keep your hair on I’m coming” she exclaimed, rushing from the bathroom with a pale green facial mask painted on her face.

“Bucky! w-what are you doing here?” She asked, embarrassment filling her body at the thought of her appearance.

He didn’t say a word, pushing past her and flopping down on her bed in a way a huffy toddler would flop to the floor if they didn’t get their own way.

“Ok then” she mumbled to herself, taking a seat next to his sprawled out body.

“Who shat in your cereal?” A normal thing for her to say, he knew she was only asking what was up. Even if her tone was a little mocking.

“Sam”.

“Oh how did I guess?” Laughing at her own words as she lay back beside Bucky, her head unintentionally resting against his inner arm.

He thought of moving, thought of whipping his arm to his side but the soft hair slightly tickling his flesh was grounding him. Allowing the anger to dissipate from his body.

“You know they keep calling me lover boy” He stated. ‘Lover boy?’ She thought. ‘Why lover boy?’.

“Why lover boy?” She asked, the question mimicking his thoughts from earlier.

“Well that’s what I asked Sam. I didn’t like his answer, not that it was much of an answer” Bucky responded, although Sam had told him bluntly he didn’t feel comfortable enough to repeat it to her.

He turned his head to watch her soft features try to determine the answer of her own question, she hadn’t even noticed his sapphire eyes watching her. With those same heart eyes that Sam had mentioned.

Gazing lovingly into the side of her head. His pupils dilated, watching every twitch of her brows, every time her eyelashes brushed against her cheek as she blinked. Every time her pink tongue peeked out to wet her plush lips.

Oh my god! Sam was right. He hadn’t just learned her dialect because of genuine interest in the meaning, but because of his interest in her.

He pulled his body up suddenly, her head flopping against the bed causing her to squeak in surprise.

“Gonnae no dae that!” (Don’t do that!) She yelped in surprise, the accent coming through thicker than ever but Bucky was far too focused on his own thoughts.

“Bucky?” She sat up as well, leaning forward almost comically to catch a glance of his frustration streaked face.

“Are you alright?” ‘Fuck that accent was distracting’ he thought. He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t keep his feelings bottled up, he didn’t want to lose Y/N as a friend but the longer the feelings festered the worse they got felt to keep hidden.

“No. I can’t do this anymore Y/N, I can’t be around you everyday, I can’t watch movies together, I can’t drink with you anymore. I can’t do anything with you anymore. Not until I’ve said what I have to say” Bucky exclaimed. He was sure he sounded angry to her but after all the pent up frustration as a result of having to keep himself from smashing his lips against hers had built up to its boiling point, he was hoping she’d understand.

“What the hell is going on?” She sounded crestfallen, the words breaking her heart. Had she said or done something wrong? Offended him in some way?

“I have spent too much time together with you, as friends. I can’t keep denying my feelings anymore, it’s hurting me physically to hold myself back. I’m borderline insane because I have to contain my thoughts of you” He took a deep breath, looking everywhere but her wide eyes.

“I love you, I have done so for a while. I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same, I mean I’m a horrible person. The things I did as the Winter Soldier to you, to everyone I’m surprised you even consider me a frie-“

He didn’t get the chance to finish his rant before she’d pulled him towards her. Stealing his lips away from his words selfishly.

The realisation of what exactly was going on clicked, he acted quickly, pulling her close. Almost too close to his own large frame. He groaned into her mouth at the feeling of her long nails scratching his scalp lightly.

His tongue poked against her mouth, fighting for dominance against her own when she let him in.

He’d never imagined he’d feel a kiss like this, not ever again but here it was. If he could’ve, he would’ve died of asphyxiation right then and there. She pulled away first, her breath heavy against his swollen mouth and reddened face.

“You’re an eejit” (idiot) She beamed, pecking his lips again.

“Tha gaol agam ort” she whispered, as if anything louder would scare him and his thoughts of her away.

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, he knew a lot of phrases but this one had him stumped. She noticed the confusion in his features.

“It means I love you” she explained, tucking a loose strand of his soft brunette hair behind his ear.

“I love you too” he replied, mustering up all the passion he felt for her and squeezing it into those few words. Her eyes widened slightly, a laugh bubbling up from her throat. She tried covering her mouth but he pulled her hand away.

“What? What is it?” He smiled as well. Her giggles setting off bubbling fireworks in his abdomen.

“You have my face mask all over you”

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Ahhh, im actually proud of this. Even if it was a little selfish of me to write one with this topic.

AND it’s over 1000 words which is a big deal considering I can’t seem to stay focused for 2 minutes. I can’t wait to never write something as good as this again lol

I hope you enjoy x

[sofasoap]

Thistle and Thorn

Pairing: Kind of Simon "Ghost " Riley x f!Reader ( OC aka Mini MacTavish ) + Johnny " Soap " MacTavish + Captain John Price

Summary : Everyone's worst nightmare comes true. Something you don't even want to think about. EVER.

Warning: ANGST. PURE ANGST. Mature theme , death , swearing. English isn't my first language so expect a lot of mistakes with tenses. Not beta'd.

A/N : seriously, I don't know WHY the hell I am doing this to myself.

Thanks to @saltofmercury for agreeing to my silly fic request and also kindly letting me using her ideas/fic and expand the story from there. I promise her I'll always credit her story because she is my muse * holding Saltofmercury up high lion king style Continuation/parallel universe of “The Favorite MacTavish” , where the reader/OC is Soap's little sister.

“masterlist” for more stories to this Mini MacTavish expanded verse. ( AKA the true happy endings )

You knew something wasn't right when Johnny didn't come home for Christmas as promised, what is even weirder was there was zero update from Gaz ( who you actually became good gossiping buddy during downtime), or Captain Price, even Ghost.

"I am sure Johnny and the team just stuck somewhere with the heavy snow, the weather been dreadful this winter. They will be home soon. " Ma comforted you as you voice your worry.

You came home a week earlier, excited as you finally get to see Johnny again after half a year and scoring victory in " who gets Christmas off " battle when your shift manager was organising everyone's holiday leaves.

Sure, for his line of work, it is hard to expect them to see their family often or even come home on time. But this time you just have this dreaded feeling you haven't felt for ages, like the time before Aunty Esme and Uncle Evan's fatal car crash. You have a strange sixth sense which is pretty much dead on ( excuse the pun ) everytime there's a death in the family.

Sitting by your bedroom window on second floor, you saw a Jeep pulling up towards your parent's front door. Immediately got up, grabbing a hoodie and making your way downstairs thinking its Johnny finally coming home and ready to greet him.

Walking through the hallway towards the staircase, you heard a man's voice, follow by your Ma's anguish cry, you ran downstairs as fast as you can. There you see Captain Price, with bandage peeking through his bonnie hat and he look like he has aged ten years. Your Da holding onto your Ma, comforting her with red brim eye, trying to hold it together at same time.

".. What is going on? Uncle Price? where is the rest of the team? where is Johnny?... Where is Ghost? " You started calling Price " Uncle " when rest of the squad jokes about how Price is like the uncle of the squad and the rest of them are like rowdy teenage kids.

Price just shook his head, beckoning you move closer to the front door. he hold his hand out, and you automatically reach forward , palms up.

Two dog tags. TWO. You swallow hard. Hands shaking.

" I am sorry Mini... Gaz and I barely made it out ourselves...we couldn't.. " he took a deep breath, word stuck in his throat. Reaching into his pocket instead, taking out a little Polaroid photo, a little laminated paper with dried thistle and put it on top of the dog tags in your palm.

It's a photo of you and a very begrudge looking Ghost, looking away from the camera. Both of you look like you been off your head. This was the photo that was taken after you met Ghost for the first time and narrowly lost to him after the drinking game.

The thistle, you made it into dry flower, laminated it onto piece of paper and gave it to Johnny when he came home years ago, announcing proudly he was selected to join the 22nd Regiment, elite force specialising in counter-terrorism.

" Good luck charm for you Johnny."

" A thistle?"

" Ya, well, other than it represent us Scot, you know what the meaning of thistle is? resilience, strength, determination, protection and pride. I want my favourite sibling to come home in one piece everytime. "

" I am your ONLY sibling. "

"And I love you too."

You knew this day will eventually come. The day Cousin Alec dragged Johnny into joining the army , you knew somehow you will lose them on the battlefield. Part of you wish they will come home in one piece, every time, after mission, and discharge honourably and move onto some safer or non-combating jobs.

You barely heard what Price said, " ... Ghost always have this photo with him all the time in his pocket. He look at it quite often, but he wouldn't admit it. " You hadn't had the chance to tell him how you feel. Now you will never have the chance again. EVER.

" hey Soap "

" ... yes Ghost? "

"Two gold fishes in a tank. "

"... you told me that joke before. "

"... Soap. "

" Ghost. "

"... I am taking Mini out on a date next time we go home."

" .... Are you asking for my permission?"

" I am telling you. I am not asking for permission."

"Ghost."

" Soap."

"Don't fuck around with my sister."

".. I wouldn't hurt her. I will never hurt her."

I am sorry.

Usually I am a happy ending person.. look, you can read this as a AU and "non canonical ( pff sounds like I own CoD, but I DON'T ) ending to the Mini MacTavish universe, because I don't want them to have bad ending. I just want to get this out from my head.

[rhiaemrys]

So, I've been trying to identify who would escalate a prank war to Kevin McCallister levels in the batfamily and I've come down to Three (3) options. By all means feel free to have a (fun) debate about it, though. This is just my opinion.

Option one, the most understandable: Damian Wayne

Damian was effectively raised as an only child while also being told to be The Best. Of course he's chronically unable to back down once challenged and so no matter who started this, Damian will attempt to end it. It's an easy way to prove himself their betters while also being super petty. Also, he desperately want's to prove to Jon that he's not a stick in the mud. Also also, his brothers are insane and there's no telling what the next prank will be and who will be caught in the crossfire. Might as well make sure that any revenge is premeditated.

Option two, the wildcard: Cassandra Cain

Cass is also an only child. She was also raised to be The Best and is stubborn as hell so of course she gets involved in what she sees as a fun competition with her family. Her image of retaliation is skewed, though so she always ends up going slightly overboard. Not enough for anyone to get mad, but it's suspicious that it's always enough to make the person ticked off, yet not murderously enraged. She's also a little shit who can get away with anything with Bruce if she looks innocent enough. It drives her brothers up a wall because there's no evidence to prove she DID do it. Cass knows exactly what she's doing and she's not afraid to do it.

Option Three, the Actual Kevin McCallister: Tim Drake

Listen, okay. I had to put him here. On top of being an only child I swear to god this kid was obsessed with Home Alone. He absolutely would take the opportunity to MacGyver some shit to torture his siblings, bonus points if it hits Bruce too. You cannot convince me he didn't booby-trap Drake manor at some point while his parents were globe trotting. He doesn't have any excuse of pride about challenges, he's just a malicious actor here. Tim fears no retribution or god, he's nearly been killed several times and it hasn't stuck so why would it start now. You attack, and he attacks back a thousand times harder. You attack Tim and practically sign a waiver allowing him the freedom to ruin your costume or civilian lifestyle.

Cut here before the explanations of those who don't escalate (Need to emphasize here, they still may participate but they don't make it worse) because this has gotten out of hand

Reasoning for others to not be included:

Duke: He's unhinged yes, but he's not batshit insane. He fully understands that if he escalates, someone is going to make a murder attempt. He doesn't want to be the next Tim, that's not a position he wants to willingly put himself in yet. He'll contribute or join a team, but ultimately Duke can be found in the one Neutral Zone, Alfred's kitchen, watching with bemusement as his siblings attempt to turn the Manor into a war-zone. If pranked, he'll prank back, but not escalate. Also people feel a little like kicking a puppy when they prank him. Duke weaponizes this and uses it to get out of bullshit or pull off bullshit scot-free.

Stephanie: Maybe she's on a team. Maybe she's a free agent. She doesn't want anyone to target her specifically because then she truly has to be paranoid. Instead, she's always helping with pranks, making everyone indebted to her and thus allowing her to be the only safe person other than Alfred.

Barbra: I just. I cannot emphasize how much the family leaves her out of this. She will find a way to get back at you and it will end your idea of pranking her again. Unlike Alfred, who was universally known to be off-limits, she knew that someone would try something because all of that family is made up of little shits. This meant that she has to shut it down once it starts. She is immune. Inevitably someone will push the envelope and Babs will remind them that she control's their tech and information systems. She will however, assist if a prank gets particularly nasty and someone needs to shut the war down. Typically she's recruited by Alfred or Bruce to end the war where it stands once it starts to get to the Property Destruction Level.

Jason: He was asked not to participate by Alfred and Jason willingly obeys only Alfred. This is specifically because of one incident when this happened with Tim, Dick, and him. Back when he and Tim were getting along somewhat and Dick had somehow pissed both of them off, they escalated The War. It ended with three new craters in the warehouse district, The Riddler so traumatized that he completely avoids doing Rouge Activities when Red Robin and Red Hood are on speaking terms, and Dick stuck in a box on his way across the country. Instead, Jason enjoys being on Stephanie's side of aiding whoever is funnier. He is not off limits though. Oh dear god he is not off limits. He is the victim of so many pranks. He just cannot retaliate. In turn, he turns into a snitch for this event, and only this event. Jason will alert Alfred of any destructive pranks. He will let Alfred know of birdies staying up too late, of birdies jumping off buildings because superman will catch them, of birdies doing general dumb ass restricted shit. Jason will make the pranker's life a living hell.

Dick: Dick matches the energy of the prank. He's petty so it will always be perfectly organized so that it causes maximum damage while never managing to be something one can reasonably escalate against. (For example, Tim once hid all of Dicks cereal in increasingly impossible places and swapping the boxes so they were labeled wrong. In retaliation every single one of Tim's coffees became decaf. They're the exact same flavor, but the caffeine content is so low it barely counts as coffee. Tim didn't notice until he went on a case bender and passed out thirty hours in despite drinking eight cups of coffee. This was weeks later after the war ended. There was no retaliation. Tim still has no clue how Dick got in, out, AND made the perfect replica) Damian learned at the feet of the master, but unfortunately has too much localized anger to play it to perfection like Dick can.

Cullen and Harper: They don't live at the Manor. They refuse to participate. They'll help small scale, but they're both sensible enough to know that anymore makes them targets.

Bruce: I don't need to explain this. He's tired. He doesn't want to be here. He never actively participates and yet always ends up in the crossfire. Can people please stop pranking each other on patrol? Must you dye Tim's suit neon pink? It's really not conducive to being the cities silent protectors.

[scotianostra]

On June 2nd 1581 James Douglas, the Earl of Morton was exucuted in Edinburgh.

The fourth and last of little James VI regents, Morton was arguably the most able of the bunch and distinguished his span of authority by winning the raging civil war against James’s mother Mary. Regent Morton had a reputation for avarice during his run in the 1570s. However, deriving as it does from his executive impingement on the treasures of courtiers and clans no less grasping than himself, that reputation probably ought to be taken with a pinch of salt.

If nothing else, Regent Morton had the excuse of king and country. Sir Walter Scott, for one, favored this Red Douglas with a much more charitably statesmanlike gloss in his books The Monastery and The Abbott, part of his Waverley collection.

As one example, Morton irked divines by enforcing with a minimum of pious exceptions a pre-existing statute requiring a one-third cut of ecclesiastical revenues.

Likewise, he made an enemy of Lady Agnes Keith — the widow of the assassinated first regent — and her (subsequent) husband, the Earl of Argyll by forcing them to turn over crown jewels that were being held in their quote-unquote safekeeping.

In 1578, this Argyll kidnapped King James VI and induced the 12-year-old to declare his majority and dismiss the Earl of Morton. Argyll landed a Chancellorship out of the deal: Morton — well, you know. He would eventually be accused, 14 years’ belatedly but not inaccurately, of complicity in the 1567 murder of the Kings’ father Lord Darnley.

Argyll in the end lost his head to that distinctive Scottish proto-guillotine known as the Maiden. Though the apparatus actually dates back to 1564,* a legend as moralistic as it is specious holds that the Regent Morton was himself the man who ordered construction of the device that would eventually end his own life. Sir Walter could hardly be asked to resist that kind of material:

“Look you, Adam, I were loth to terrify you, and you just come from a journey; but I promise you, Earl Morton hath brought you down a Maiden from Halifax, you never saw the like of her — and she’ll clasp you round the neck, and your head will remain in her arms.”

“Pshaw!” answered Adam, “I am too old to have my head turned by any maiden of them all. I know my Lord of Morton will go as far for a buxom lass as anyone; but what the devil took him to Halifax all the way? and if he has got a gamester there, what hath she to do with my head?”

“Much, much!” answered Michael. "Herod's daughter who did such execution with her foot and ankle, danced not men’s heads off more cleanly than this maiden of Morton. ‘Tis an axe, man, — an axe which falls of itself like a sash window, and never gives the headsmen the trouble to wield it.”

“By my faith, a shrewd device,” said Woodcock; “heaven keep us free on’t!”

-Sir Walter Scott, The Angie Abbott

Any young travellers out there, when next in Edinburgh, quaff Scots engineering acumen with the friendly backpackers crashing at the High Street Hostel — the glorious stone town house that was once Regent Morton’s very own crib, so you can soak up the history, and watch out for his ghost, that is said to haunt the lodgings, their Night Porter swears he's seen some weird stuff at the wee sma’ hours of the night.

After he got the chop his corpse remained on the scaffold for the following day, until it was taken for burial in an unmarked grave at Greyfriars Kirkyard. His head, however, remained on "the prick on the highest stone" as was tradition with traitors, where it remained for eighteen months until it was ordered to be reunited with his body in December 1582. Morton's final resting place is reputedly marked by a small sandstone post incised with the initials "J.E.M." for James Earl of Morton. The post is more probably a Victorian marker for a lairage. In the very unlikely event that a marker were permitted for an executed criminal, the inscribed initials would have been "J.D." and, secondly, it would have been cleared away in 1595 when all stones were removed from Greyfriars

[coralcatsea]

My Miraculous Facebook posts before the finale:

-

Gabriel Agreste better not die, because he deserves to deal with the consequences of his actions.

I think it would be great and hilarious if he revived Emilie just for her to be horrified with him, divorce him, and take Adrien away for good. Then he can rot in jail.

I'm worried he'll get some stupid excuses and a redemption, though, because of all characters, Astruc seems to believe CHLOE is the worst. Yeah, the privileged bratty teen who keeps getting manipulated by the other antagonists is the most evil, irredeemable character in this universe...sure.

-

Gabriel Agreste was always abusive, but the extremes to which he's gone in the past few episodes are wild.

I just...this man can't even be satisfied with using technology to manipulate his son's likeness into doing and saying whatever he wants, he literally has to TRAP Adrien in some white room (it looks like a padded asylum room) just because he doesn't want to date and be forced to breed with Kagami?

I swear, Astruc better not try to redeem him.

-

Me now, after the finale:

A STATUE. They gave him a STATUE. The man not only gets to bring his wife back (assuming that's not Amelie), he's seen as a hero who made a sacrifice to help save everyone. Uh, yeah, from himself?? And Adrien doesn't get to know or react to anything, because it's not like this entire arc was about his family or anything...

Also, what about Kagami? Is she really okay keeping secrets from Adrien? She was upset when he kept secrets from her, after all, that was a huge thing. I hope she'll consider telling him next season, but honestly I wouldn't be surprised if Adrien's possible feelings on the situation were just never mentioned, knowing Astruc loves teasing potentially interesting possibilities only to never do anything with them.

Also, is Kagami fine with her mother getting off scot free? She knows a ton of information thanks to Felix, doesn't she? And how is Felix feeling about what happened with with Gabriel? With Madame Tsurugi? In fact, how is Madame Tsurugi feeling about everything? She's no closer to any of HER goals. Will she team up with Lila? So many loose ends, and while not ALL of them need to be addressed, I feel like almost none of them were. We weren't told anything that mattered. We weren't given a satisfying conclusion to anything.

But hey, in more positive news, the new movie trailer looks great. Let's hope it actually is. 😂

[ponysbooks]

KISS OF THE HIGHLANDER

Karen Marie Moning

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ (out of five)

Format: E-book

Scots naked, time travel, physics. What more can a girl want?

Drustan, having been tricked and bewitched, had spent nearly five centuries sleeping in a cave in the Highlands, until Gwen; an American scientist, tired of her tortuous life, decides to take a vacation in Scotland and bring him back to life by accident, when he wakes up he doesn't understand much of what has happened, but he knows that he has to go back to protect his people and his family from the fate he now knows, what he doesn't expect are the feelings they develop for each other and what they will have to sacrifice in order to have a future together, despite having such different pasts.

Historical romance is my jam, honestly, and I really liked how the author explains time travel through physics. It is a tender story, with endearing secondary characters, with the magic that characterizes Scotland and with a very masculine, passionate, loving and intelligent love interest. In addition to the fact that the protagonist is also very intelligent and deep.

There are a couple of smut scenes, so proceed with caution.

*spoiler alert: the only thing I didn't like is that the protagonist has never had sex and the love interest is the first to do it with and leave her... he has a good reason for doing it (I swear) but I still don't like it.

Just looking for an excuse to use Jamie Fraser’s pictures? Yes, indeed.

[mxgicum]

@diamcndhearts​

"So she fuckin' goes, put in a ticket, as if the fucking IT team run by one goddamn teacher, and a bunch of seniors one semester from graduation give a fuck that my goddamn shite smart board doesnt work." Hamish was pretty much ready to rant the minute he heard his lover come down the hall towards the English Department. He just released when Mason asked how his day was. Hamish complained as he put on his jacket and grabbed his bag.

"Shite, its a fuckin' private school, and I cant get a goddamn working smartboard." The wolf finally snaps as they enter the hallway to leave the office, where of course any English professor in their office would hear him complaining. "And there's no available classrooms with a working smartboard a-fuck-vailable in my time slot. She offered to give me a fuckin' whiteboard classroom. Like the fuck?"

[lilxberry]

That’s My Girl - Scott Lang

Requested by: @bnhaxreaderquotes​

Could I have a Scott Lang x longterm girlfriend fic?? Where she’s like super strong but super dumb?? Like she’s Thor but human and female XD bonus if she lifts Thor’s hammer to get to something and everyone’s like 👀 and she’s like ??? And scots like 🥰 “that’s my gf”

I loved this idea, I just really didn’t want to use the word stupid so much lmao I mostly referred to reader as “slow” I believe but like, this whole thing is kinda cute asf so I’m happy with it. I hope you’re happy with it too

Warnings: Like, a singular swear. Sweet ass Scott. Upset!Reader? IDEK ANYMORE.

Words: 1,645

Pairings: Scott Lang x Reader (female reader) (super strong reader?)

Unplanned sequel; That’s My Wife

_______________

There’re many words to describe you.

Sweet? Yes. Kind? Yep. Selfless? Definitely. Beautiful? 100%. Strong? No doubt.

Stupid?

No, just…slow.

It’s not that you lacked intelligence, just, your brain worked at a different pace to that of others. Your fellow teammates could tell you that. Especially your partner Scott.

Scott, the sweetie pie that he is, certainly tries his best to help you catch up, to understand things that hadn’t really made sense to you at first. He’s no stranger to defending you either, no matter who or what it’s against.

Including your teammates.

“So, like C-3P0?”

Your head was tilted in confusion and your face was scrunched up as you tried desperately to understand what Tony was talking about.

You had walked into the lab finding all of the Avengers surrounding Tony rambling on about his newest creation, engineering some crazy new robotic tech. The others that had been subjected to his showcasing had explained to you that he’d called them in, forced them to watch the unveiling of Frankenstarks newest monster.

When you had asked why you hadn’t been called in, you’d missed the way Tony and the others tensed up. They knew that you wouldn’t understand a word Stark was speaking, as if the man were speaking some foreign language to you, but they didn’t want to explain that it was because you were ‘dense’.

The heaven-sent that is Scott stepped forward, a big, bright smile on his face as he entwined his fingers with your own as he came up with an excuse for the billionaire, saving Starks’ skin and sparing your feelings.

“He thought you’d find it boring. We all do to be honest honey but only so many of us are lucky enough to have an out,” was the sugar-coated explanation he conjured up on the spot.

You bought it easily, nodding in understanding with the sweetest of smiles before reaching up on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. The others visibly relaxed, though you were oblivious as you stared up at Scott with a love-sick expression.

You had then gone on to ask what exactly it was that Tony had been working on which had led to a longwinded explanation with wild gestures and a heap of words you certainly didn’t understand whatsoever. Truth be told, he’d lost you within the first sentence.

Tony heaved a sigh. “No, not like C-3P0. The design is completely different and the level of A.I. being used it higher than that of C-3P0,” he spoke exasperatedly, a mocking tone taking over his tone near the end.

Feeling even more confused that what you had originally felt, you tried once more to understand.

“So…like Vision?”

Sam snorted as majority of the others smirked or tried to supress their smiles, Vision unsurprisingly seemed stoic as ever. Tony, on the other hand, had a look of genuine surprise. Almost looking proud.

“Uh, yeah, actually. You worked that out a lot faster than I thought you would honestly,” Tony said as an off-handed comment causing the others to still and Scott to tense slightly beside you while your brows furrowed.

“What’d you mean?”

Scott once again interjected to save the day, dragging your attention to him instead. “None of us really got it, that’s all. I’m pretty sure Thor still doesn’t, honestly.” He whispered the last part as he pointed his thumb towards the towering, blonde Asgardian.

Although your heart fluttered at the thought of Scott trying to be so sweet and kind to you, you couldn’t help the hurt that spread through you. You knew how the others viewed you, how they thought you were stupid, how you don’t understand anything.

Rather than show it affected you, you forced a smile on to your face and a tiny giggle to pass your lips.

Glancing at the others before allowing your eyes to fall back on to your boyfriend, you kept the feigned smile on your lips as you spoke. “I just remembered I gotta load of stuff to do. I’ll see you guys later.”

Scott flashed you his pearly whites in a wide smile before pecking your forehead and giving you a quiet “Sure babe.”

Walking backwards, you called out loudly to the group before exiting the room. “Have fun with Vision 2.0.”

Usually, when the team unintentionally commented on you in such a way, it would never really affect in such a negative way but today, it was just a series of failure after failure, your day all-round being bad.

From the comment in the lab, to the accidental breaking of a trainee’s arm due to you forgetting the strength you held over others, to Steve and Bucky taking the last of the coffee in the pot of the coffee machine which you had no idea how to work.

You had even bumped into someone in the hallway, the file you had been carrying falling to the ground and the papers inside scattering across the floor in disarray, leaving you to try reorganising the lot, taking a whole hour and a half.

It’s unfortunate that the person to be at the end of your disgruntled mood would be someone who you strongly considered a friend.

The Avengers who were currently residing at the compound were all scattered within the main living area and the open kitchen when you walked in, looking dishevelled as you frantically searched for a package that you had been notified had been delivered.

Walking through, you looked to see if the damn thing was atop any table you passed. Hell, you even lifted one of the chairs slightly to see if someone was cruel enough to hide the thing under it.

Although everyone had opted to watch you curiously, it was your sweet Scott to break the silence.

“Hey honey, whatcha’ doing there?” he asked curiously.

You grumbled out your answer, honestly ready for the day to be over with. “I’m looking for my delivery.”

Sam snorted before pointing towards the island in the centre of the kitchen. “You mean that massive package right there?”

Low and behold, there sat your package on top of the cool, marble surface, just with an added feature. You scowled, storming over towards the thing. You turned your fiery gaze to Thor, who was overall minding his own business chowing down on the entire contents of a Pop Tart box.

“WHY DID YOU PUT YOUR HAMMER ON MY FUCKING DELIVERY?!” You roared out, everyone’s eyes widened in complete and utter shock, Thor even jumped at the sudden loud booming. As he opened and reclosed his mouth repeatedly in a pathetic attempt to say something, anything, you continued.

“There could’ve been something really important in there! Or-or super fragile or something! What if you broke it?!”

During your explosion at the poor Asgardian, you happened to grasp the handle of Mjölnir and lift it with ease, causing everyone’s eyes to widen further and even a few mouths to drop open, gaping at the sight in front of them, Tony choking on his drink that he had been taking a sip of. Although Scott was just as shocked as those around him, he more so looked like a small child who’s completely wonder-struck, a twinkle in his eye.

“Never, and I mean NEVER, put your hammer on my damn things again. GOT IT?!” You shoved the hammer into Thors’ chest harshly, causing him to fumble to get a hold of it.

Once certain he had a tight grasp on the thing, you released your hold and spun on the spot, now becoming witness to everyone’s flabbergasted expressions. “WHAT?” you asked in exasperation and confusion, today completely tiring you out mentally and emotionally.

A pregnant silence befell you all before Scott suddenly jumped out of his seat, face ecstatic, arms raised high into the air above his head, hands balled up into fists, a loud and excited shout escaping him.

“YES!”

“You-you’re worthy?” Thor asked quietly to no one in particular.

Your brows furrowed deeply, now entirely confused and ever so slightly self-conscious. “What?”

“You’re worthy babe! Hell yeah! Up top!” he had made his way over towards you, now one arm raised with his hand now relaxed, waiting on you to give him a high five.

“I’m not following…”

“Only Thor could lift the hammer ‘cause he was the only one who’s worthy or whatever. It’s like impossible for anyone else to lift it,” Clint started to explain before being cut off by Natasha.

“Until you, that is. You’re the only other one whose been able to lift it.”

“Oh,” was all you said before shrugging your shoulders and waddling your way past Scott and towards your package on the kitchen island, picking it up and beginning to walk away.

Before you left though, you thought this to be the perfect opportunity to finally boast about something that you had been able to do that the others couldn’t. “Well, I may be stupid but at least I don’t put my back out by trying to lift a little hammer.”

You smirked as you continued to walk away, your destination being your room, package what would be heavy to most in your arms. Scott laughed loudly, something you could hear as you continued to retreat to your bedroom.

Meanwhile…

“HELL YEAH! THAT’S MY GIRL! WOO!” Scott began to follow after you, still shouting out every single word he spoke. “HONEY! THAT WAS LIKE THE COOLEST THING EVER! DID YOU SEE THEIR FACES?! Oh man, I can’t wait to tell Cass. SHE’S GONNA FREAK!”

The Avengers were still suck in their retrieves of shock, all unmoving, all trying to process the newfound information that you could lift the hammer.

Thor seemed to be taking it the worst, looking ever so slightly frightened, gulping loudly.

“I believe I have new matters to discuss with my father...”

_______________

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I love any Paul Rudd character just as much as him

I even have a t-shirt with his beautiful ass face on lmao

If you want to be added to a taglist lemme know

Anywho, I hope you enjoy

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

_______________

Marvel taglist:

@thanossexual

[doopy-n-loopy]

How would yandere mercs react to us trying to escape late at night?

Well not well that's for sure!

Yan!Mercenaries (TF2) × Reader hcs/ imagines

// Yandere themes, violence, fear play, yandere shit

Defense

Demo

You got out of Demo's bed, you had given him more alcohol than usual to keep him asleep. You looked over the heavily snoring figure beside you. The scot had his mouth wide open and a bottle of beer cluched in his palm. You leaned in and blew on his eye to make sure he was asleep, and there was no physical response from him. You then quickly slipped on your clothes and pulled out the small bag you've been hiding behind the nightstand, it was filled with money and other essentials like pepper spray, sunglasses, and a cloak.

You walked out of the room, taking one last look at the scot before tiptoing out of the house, avoiding scattered empty alcohol containers on the ground.

Just as you were about to leave, you heard a voice from behind you

"y/n? What are ye doing?"

He was drunk of course, but when wasn't he? It was like he was sober in his own way. Sober enough to recognize that guilty look on your face. His expression twisted into an angry snarl and he grabbed you by the wrist, dragging you down the stairs into the basement

"you'll stay here till you know how to listen"

He said trying to conceal his anger, but failing to do so

He could also just have a breakdown depending on the type of night it was and guilt you into staying

He will be a lot more strict on you

Heavy

You were looking to escape in the night but heavy lives in an eternal blizzard basically so... That's not a great idea

But lets say you've been preparing for awhile and got everything set up, a snow mobile, warm clothes, and a torch

But the moment you get to the shed, you find that your snow mobile is broken

Heavy then appears out of a corner of darkness with an upset expression

It's silent for a moment, until he speaks

"After all Heavy has done for you? Why?"

You felt guilt building up into your throat as you tried to search for an excuse. Unable to find one. He isn't a very restricting yandere, in fact, he's much tamer than most, he's given you basically all he has and to do this is like a slap in the face.

"Heavy will forgive you, if you just come back" he said while smiling

You were then gently pushed back out into the cold in the direction of his house, where you'd be staying once more

If he was in a bad mood, he'd be a little more rough

He also will place more restrictions on you but it's not like you'd notice considering it's not much

Engineer

You were about to leave in your car at night, when you tried turning it on, it wouldn't start. Engie then walks in front of your car and waves at you for you to come out, which after hesitating, you comply.

He walks over to you and hugs you, which confuses you. He tells you it's alright and that you don't have to go

"I'm sorry but, I want to leave" you stutter out

He panics internally and grips your shoulder, looking you in your eye

"do you know what could happen to you out there? Rapists! Murderers! The world ain't sugar n' honey, darlin"

"but-" you respond, suddenly cut off by him

"but you're safe here with me. I'll always protect you"

He hugs you once again, sucked into that warm embrace, you calm down and walk back with him

You were restricted from certain things from then on

Offense

Scout

You got into a fight with him earlier and in the middle of the night, you decided it was time to leave.

You packed a bag of clothes, some water, money, and other essentials

As you got your keys, you were met with a sleepy eyed scout who had bedhead

"Y/N....? The hell are ya doin?"

It takes a second for scout to process what's going on. You're grabbing your keys, you're fully dressed, and you had a suitcase with you

"Jeremy. I'm leaving*

You said sternly. You could see in his eyes that his heart shattered into a million pieces

"Wai- what no! No no no no! Please y/n you gotta stay please!"

He begged, grabbing onto your coat as you began to walk out. Tears formed on his face but you ignored it

"I can't put up with this anymore"

You said, voice cracking from the pain in your heart. Scout was sobbing now, he kneeled in front of you to stop you

"I'm so sorry I'm so sorry! I'll change I swear I'll become better! You want to go to eat out more? I got the money! I'll treat you nicely!"

You didn't believe a word he said, but with the way he was talking, it had to be true.

"Please I love you so much and it would kill me to lose you... Literally... You're my world to me, baby"

You bit your quivering lip as you looked down at him like he was a sad puppy. You sniffled and dropped your bags, huffing in defeat

".. I'm sorry. I'm just tired"

Scout was overjoyed to hear this. That night he clung to you

Scout didn't really become more strict, but he did become more loving to avoid that again.

Pyro

This one is scary, scarier than support classes even

You were almost out the door when they spotted you. They gave you an inquisitive look. You both shared a minute of uncomfortable silence before you bolted out the door. Pyro was unprepared for this, giving you some time to create distance between you two.

But Pyro was quick to get ready and they were out the door in no time with their flamethrower, ready to burn down acres of forests in order to catch you

You could hear pyro approaching, knowing that once you reach your car at the end of the base, you'll be safe and free.

While you were running, it seemed like their footsteps had been fading ever since they've gotten louder. Until you couldn't hear it anymore. You didn't pay any mind to this since your objective was just getting ti your car

When you arrived at the boarders of their territory when you stopped in your tracks

Pyro was leaning over their axe by the car, looking smug as ever. You looked towards your car and gasped.

Pyro had shredded the tires and broke open every window so you couldn't escape. You stood there as pyro approached you and swept you up in their arms, snuggling their mask into your neck the entire way home while you couldn't help but softly sob

Soldier

Soldier would lose his shit

He's already super strict, forces you to get up at 5 am every morning and run laps like you're in the military, makes you eat either MRE packets or home cooked food and you better hope it's an MRE pack because he cannot cook

So when he sees you at your car late at night, he screams at the top of his lungs enough to scare you into shock

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, MAGGOT? GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!"

I could see this going one of two ways, either complying or he has to chase you down (which he will)

If he has to chase you down, he won't be happy about it, and become even more strict than before (which I don't think is possible but it's soldier)

Support

Sniper

You... What?

How did you even get the idea that you could escape?

You live in his fucking van, you won't have a car other than his van

But lets say you saw the chance for escape, and tried to take it. You either got shut down the moment you got out of bed or you were lucky enough to get far away from the van

"get your bloody ass back to bed" is something he'd say if he shut you down the moment you stood up

But this man is a sniper, he can scope you out easily, and he won't hesitate to use a tranq on you

After that, you're back in the chains

Spy

Scary

Did you really think you could?

He knew you were gonna escape before you even escaped

He'd make very subtle remarks about it and remind you of what he could do

"Do you remember about the undercover mission in Spain back when I was working for the government that I told you about? When I was able to find the traitor using three clues. Even after all his records were erased"

Subtle shit like that to remind you who's in control

But lets say you didn't take the hint, and you decided to try and escape anyways

He'd catch you in the living room trying to escape, and send you back to bed

Or, you'd get lucky and be able to run away, meaning he'd be on a job

Trust me, he will find you within 48 hours, 24 if you aren't moving that much

He's very manipulative so he'd try to make you feel bad about it.

Much more strict afterwards

Medic

I have a feeling he'd already knowz but not to the extent that spy does

He notices your behavior, and how you're starting to become a bit more.. energetic?

Anyways, like spy, he'll warn you subtly

"You seem to always find yourself injured in any way. And like they say, a medic can track an injured person like a gps system, ja?"

If you decide to escape, he'll have some fun with you definitely. He'll late you run far enough to think that you're finally free, before he catches you and brings you back. He's sadistic.

He'll laugh at your face and degrade and humiliate you, making you regret ever trying

After that, he's much more strict, and demanding from you

Bonus cause I wanted to: Pauling

Pauling like spy, can track people very easily

I wouldn't even be surprised if she convinced medic to help put a tracker in you

Well, she'd be at work checking your location every hour. And the moment she finds out that you're not in the house but at a motel, she's pissed.

She has to quickly finish up work before taking her time to go catch you, and trust me, if Pauling takes time off work for something it's important

Once she finds you, she tells you to come out, trying to keep it civil. When you don't, she ends up busting through the door and taking you herself.

On the way home, she complains about how you worried her and made her miss some work like a parent going to pick up their sick kid from school

She eventually cools off after she gets you home, but she is definitely more strict

Gify was acting up so I couldn't download any more gifs 😭

Anyways feel free to request again!

[altaruwusmolboiz]

I'm going to rant about how misunderstood Dear Evan Hansen is because I swear to God no one understands complex characters. Before you guys ask, I do have diagnosed GAD and I don't exhibit symptoms the same way Evan does, but I know people who do.

The second, the SECOND there's a character with anxiety that you can't turn into your UwU child who can do no wrong, you immediately make him out as a disgrace. The show by no means excuses Evan's actions. Just because he wasn't physically punished doesn't mean that he's let off scot free. Did you forget that he lost the closest thing he's ever had to friends? Did you miss the part where he tried to say that he wasn't Connor's friend but then got tangled in a web of lies?

I'm not excusing his actions, he's not a perfect person, what he did was awful, but he's a three dimensional character. Calling Evan a sociopath is not only inaccurate, but it's also completely not okay. I'm sorry people with anxiety aren't perfect. Yes, saying that Evan was the hero is absolutely missing the point, but so is saying Evan was the villain.

Not only that but you'll then go and romanticize Jared and Connor and Alana (Two of whom also canonly have mental illness, and Jared implied to have something) and it really shows that there's never an in between. We either could do no wrong or are the worst people on Earth. I like Jared and Connor and Alana but they aren't perfect and neither is Evan, and they have good qualities as well.

Y'all love asking for morally grey characters but the second you actually get some, you criticize it.

As you can probably guess, Dear Evan Hansen means so much to me and it means so much to other people who dealt with mental illness. There's a reason why Waving Through A Window is such a popular song; because it's incredibly relatable. The score is good! It's just not in a musical theatre style, but it's still good! You Will Be Found is a good song! Even to break in a glove is way too overhated. Good For You and Requiem are some of my favorite songs just in a musical in general.

My intention here isn't to say that you have to like Dear Evan Hansen (It isn't without its flaws) but my intention is to say that it's entirely misunderstood. As someone with anxiety, thank you Dear Evan Hansen.

(Side Note: The movie wasn't as good as the musical but the movie wasn't that bad and I think that people overhate that movie as well.)

[liron-ao3]

It's not that Dean doesn't like Castiel. It is more of an I-swear-on-my-mother's-grave-I'll-kill-him kinda relationship. Because the thing is, Castiel set up Dean's little brother Sam and his stepsister Rowena and it isn't that Dean could say it out loud, but he is worried. To say the least.

Rowena has a power over Sam that makes Dean's stomach flip. She conjures sappy smiles on Sam's face and makes him follow her like a love-drunk puppy. She's a witch, Dean is convinced, but he tries hard not to mention that in Sammy's orbit. He heard the whole that's-a-misogynistic-term speech when Sam was dating that Ruby chick and Dean knows that his brother would only cling closer to the Scot if he knew that Dean thinks that his fiancée is straight from hell.

So Dean grits his teeth, swallows his tongue, and plays nice around her, even going as far as agreeing to be his brother's best man. He will still be there when Sam comes running with his heart broken and with his tail between his legs.

Castiel, on the other hand? That man he can hate in abundance. Not that he has ever met him, but honestly, he has to be Lucifer himself if he thinks their siblings to be a good match.

Dean can picture him vividly—a leer on his face, sweet-talking people into feeling safe and then smiting them with the snap of his fingers. That man has to be evil incarnate and Dean won't pussyfoot around him. No way!

***

"Play nice," Bobby grumbles when they enter the venue for the rehearsal dinner.

"I am nice," Dean hisses back.

"Sure you are," his surrogate father says and makes a beeline for Ellen and Jo on the other side of the room.

Dean shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and scans the room for the man he is sure he will recognise immediately. But no one really sticks out from the crowd that is well-dressed and mostly speaking in different kinds of British accents. Family of the bride, obviously.

Dean feels a little underdressed until he spots a man in an ill-fitting suit, draped into a trenchcoat. He is standing next to a redheaded, slim woman, who Dean would probably try to get on the backseat of his Impala if he wasn't set on finding that Castiel guy, sweet talk him today and wreck him tomorrow. Unless Sam does the wise thing and cancels the wedding, which seems less and less likely by the minute. Rowena's spell seems to become stronger day by day. Dean hardly recognises his ever-worrying, self-loathing brother anymore, with all the grinning that goes on on his face.

Maybe Dean is an asshole, but he has pulled Sam from the edge too many times to count. This is too good to be true. Happiness doesn't find a Winchester. Not in his experience.

Dean walks to the other side from where the redhead smiled over to him. Maybe she can point him to the object of his hate. She tilts her head to the side when he comes closer.

"You must be Dean," she says, stretching out her hand. Dean is taken aback by her knowledge.

"How did you…?"

She shrugs. "I know nearly everyone in this room. And the only two men Sam ever mentioned were his brother and Bobby who I assume is the fella over there."

Dean looks in the direction she is nodding to. "Yeah. Sam always had more female friends."

"I think that's what Rowena likes about him. He's sensible."

Dean huffs. "Yeah, I bet she likes that he's soft for her."

"He makes her very happy," the man says and his voice does things to Dean's insides he doesn't want to nurse right now. He needs to focus on his anger. Arousal isn't helpful.

"If you say so," Dean grunts.

Anna furrows her brow. "Are you okay, Dean?" she asks concerned.

"Yeah, just not really convinced about this whole wedding business. Don't you think it's too fast?"

The man tilts his head to the side and Dean starts seeing the family resemblance. "I think that they complement each other very well. I would have expected Sam's best man to see that, too."

Dean can't really argue with that. "I don't know her well enough to judge. I just know that my brother is a different person now."

"And you don't like that?" the woman asks. Hell, Dean doesn't even know their names and spills all the beans, probably making an ass of himself.

"He's my brother. I know him better than anyone and this—" He gestures in the engaged couple's direction. "This isn't the man I raised."

Two pairs of eyes move to the tall men and back to Dean.

"You mean a happy man?" the woman asks.

"No. I mean…" Dean should have kept his mouth shut. They don't know Sam, his dark thoughts, the forced smiles, the brave face. Dean knows it all or at least well enough to know that the chuckling man on the other side of the room is a stranger to him. Okay, maybe Dean is a bit overdramatic. He knows Sam laughing, pulling pranks. But life had been shitty to both of them and the only people they could always rely on were the two of them.

Yes, their circles have widened over time, with Jody and the girls, Charlie and Dorothy. Still, happiness isn't really part of their lives. They might get glimpses of it, but…

"You mean what? That our sister isn't good enough for your big shot lawyer brother?" the man asks.

Dean freezes. He sometimes forgets that Sam isn't little Sammy anymore. That he's one step away from leaving his old life behind, and with it his big brother, probably.

Dean scans the people in the room, mainly the bride's family and he swallows hard. Yes, he's the odd one out. He only owns a single suit, so he couldn't wear it tonight. Is it that? Is he jealous? Or anxious to lose Sam?

He looks back at the bride and groom. Sam presses a kiss into Rowena's hair. From afar, they are a cute couple with the difference in height and the unconventional age gap.

Dean bites the inside of his cheek and tries to unclench his fists. It isn't working.

"She's way out of his league," he hears himself say, not knowing where this is even coming from.

"That's what you said, Anna, the first time you met Sam," the man chuckles.

Anna? Oh, that's the future sister-in-law Sam raved about and Dean thinks he wants to set him up with. Well, that probably flew out of the window a minute ago.

"I didn't, Castiel. I said I was surprised that she went for someone younger. That's all."

Dean's eyes shoot up. That's the man? The man, who he built up as the bogeyman who would get familiar with his fist? A fucking baby in a trenchcoat?

The whole house of cards that Dean has built up over weeks is threatening to collapse. Dean's throat tightens and he pops a button on his polo shirt, but to no avail. He meets Castiel's eyes for a moment, the other man squinting at him as if he could look deep into his soul.

"Are you okay, Dean?" he asks and sounds concerned.

"Yeah. Just need some air," Dean all but spits and heads for the door.

He props himself up on the roof terrace's balustrade and tries to sort through all his contradicting feelings. He hates it. It's all him. His fear to be left behind, for the only constant in his life to leave, like everybody else who has ever meant something to him. He's jealous and the realisation hits him hard.

Yes, he doesn't know Rowena, but Sam does. Well enough to want to marry her. Sam, who thought he was too toxic for a real relationship. Dean always told him that this was bullshit. And now that his little brother is finally listening, Dean acts like a jaundiced ex? Fuck!

"There you are," a too-familiar voice comes from behind. "I thought you left me hanging, man."

Dean chuckles. "I have to lead the bride to the altar, right?" He ruffles Sam's hair. His brother glares at him, but without heat.

"Wanna come in? I'd like to introduce you to Rowena's best man."

"Who's that?"

"Castiel."

Dean's eyes sink to the floor. Of course, he is. "Already met him."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you already snubbed him."

"Nah. I wouldn't embarrass you in front of your new family." It's enough that Dean embarrassed himself.

"Most of them are kind people," Sam says carefully. "And after tomorrow, Rowena is your family, too."

Dean works his jaw. It's a bit difficult to look at Sam, now that he realised that he's never given his fiancée a real chance.

"You'll be here in California, and I'll be back in Kansas. We'll be lucky if we see each other on Christmas."

Sam squeezes his shoulder. "You could move here, Dean."

The older brother shakes his head. "I don't belong here, Sammy." Another squeeze. "And I can't afford to take off so much to drive over." And soon you'll be too busy to fly back to where everything feels small and like past, he adds in his head. He puts on a smile nonetheless.

"Samuel?" Rowena calls from the entrance. "Dinner starts in five."

Sam smiles over to his future bride. "I just need a minute, mo ghràdh."

"Mo what?"

"It's Scottish Gaelic for 'my love'."

Dean raises an eyebrow and chuckles. "You really got it bad, huh?"

"I wouldn't marry her if I didn't."

Dean pats his back. "I'm happy for you man." He's surprised that he means it.

***

Dinner goes fine and Dean has a nice conversation with Anna, who is seated next to him. Luckily, she's not of the resentful kind. Still, Dean is feeling out of place. Their found family is so much smaller than Rowena's real one with all the siblings and cousins from both sides of the pond. And this is only the rehearsal.

As soon as dinner is done, Dean excuses himself and flees to the hotel. A real one that Sam was kind enough to pay. It makes Dean feel only smaller and not good enough.

He takes a shower and walks out on the balcony, just a towel slung around his waist. He can hear the waves hitting the beach nearby and seabirds screeching. He gets why Sam moved here, why he won't come back. It still stings.

Dean did everything in his power to get him so far and he can't bring himself to regret it. But he's still angry. Maybe he is anger, plain and simple. He's been angry since his mother died and his father gave a shit about giving his sons a home. This anger will probably never go away. It's good that Sam found happiness, Dean muses. At least one of them should.

There's movement on the balcony next door and despite the separation wall, Dean can see the trenchcoat clad arms propped up on the railing. What are the odds?

"Castiel?"

There is a long pause and then comes, "Dean?" This gravelly voice doesn't fail to move him. If Dean didn't decide to scratch the term 'witch' for his future sister-in-law, he would wonder if her stepbrother might be a witcher, too.

"Yeah. Not into parties?"

There is another pause, probably filled with a head shake Dean can't see. "I don't like crowds of people. And my family is, well, my family. I love them, but it's complicated."

"I get it," Dean says, although he probably doesn't.

"You seem to have cooled down a little," Castiel states matter-of-factly.

"Was it so obvious?"

Castiel laughs and the sound vibrates into Dean's heart, churning it in delicious ways. "You looked as if you were out to kill someone."

Dean chuckles. "I kinda was."

"Why? And who?"

Dean swallows hard. What he would give for a beer right now, but he had way too much of that red wine already. Maybe that's why he answers, "You." There is a long moment of surprise that Castiel doesn't seem inclined to break, so Dean adds, "I built up this story in my head that Rowena bewitched Sam and you were at fault because you brought them together."

"And now?"

Dean shrugs his shoulders. "I only want Sammy to be happy."

Castiel hums on the other side of the separation. "Why are you sounding so sad then?"

A flare of anger rises in Dean's chest. The man doesn't know him. What gives him the right to state something like this?

"Blow me, Cass!" he grinds out. That guy is getting under his skin. Why, he doesn't know. Maybe because he's right.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

The retort comes quick like a shot and Dean is struck speechless for a way too long moment. Castiel starts chuckling.

"You're an asshole!" Dean grumbles.

"An asshole who gives good head, though," Castiel says smugly.

Dean groans. No, he won't think of these sinful lips wrapped around his cock. No way, José.

"Is that an offer?" his mouth asks without his consent.

"I'm not a one-off kind of guy, Dean."

Dean wishes he wouldn't have to lie if he said he wasn't either. Is there an expiration date for that stamp if you haven't got laid for more than a year? Probably not.

The silence stretches into an eternity until Castiel quietly says, "Good night," leaving Dean alone in the pale moonlight.

***

Rowena looks beautiful and Sam smart. Dean manages to get through the whole wedding ceremony and his best man speech without a single glimmer of jealousy. Bobby looks at him approvingly and Ellen whispers into his ear that his mum would have been so proud of him.

Still, Dean finds himself on the balcony once again. His thoughts need space to swirl around him. There's a lot to process on this fine day—his brotherly/parent-like love, his own loneliness in a room full of people, the strange stares that Castiel and he have been sharing the whole day…

He presses the palms of his hands against his eyes, hoping to force back the sting of tears building up in them. A warm hand lands on his shoulder, startling him. "You've done well."

Dean chuckles without mirth. "Can't remember when anyone said something like this about me." He bites his lip, hard. Why did he say that? To a complete stranger nonetheless. Castiel doesn't comment on it, though, and Dean sighs in relief.

The music coming from the party changes to something slow and Castiel asks, "May I have the next dance?"

Dean turns his head and stares at the outstretched hand for a very long moment. He has never danced with a man before. Not without a beer bottle in his hand and for sure not a slow dance. But he feels a pull to this man, who he hated with all his guts just a day ago. A man with kind eyes, a shy smile, and a patience Dean isn't used to.

He takes the offered hand and Castiel's smile grows wider, just like Dean's heart. Castiel pulls him slowly into his arms, lets him settle against him, and rewards Dean's head leant against his own with a gentle brush over his back.

Dean shivers at the tender touch and bites the inside of his cheek in a last attempt to keep back the tears welling up in his eyes.

"It's okay," Castiel says. "Let go. No one will see it."

And Dean does. In the arms of a stranger under the Californian moon. He doesn't shake off the tender hand carding through his hair, or the strong arms holding him upwards. He lets out the sobs he's been holding and allows Castiel to brush away his tears before their lips meet in a gentle kiss. He smiles at Castiel bashfully afterwards.

"It's okay," Castiel repeats.

Dean chuckles. "Is it? Crying like a baby in a stranger's arms?"

"Crying like the big brother, who raised a wonderful man and has to let him go to live his own life. Crying like a lonely man, who hasn't been touched intimately for ages."

Dean furrows his brow. "How?"

Castiel smiles at him with so much warmth that Dean feels like welling up again.

"Sam loves you. He talks about you all the time. It felt like I knew you before we even met. And the rest? Let's say, kindred souls recognise each other."

Dean huffs a laugh. "You're good, man."

Castiel smirks at him. "And you're a good man, Dean Winchester," he says and leans in for another kiss.

Maybe, Dean muses, Castiel is magical after all.

[scotianostra]

On June 2nd 1581, James Douglas, the Earl of Morton was beheaded on the Maiden.

The fourth and last of little James VI regents, Morton was arguably the most able of the bunch and distinguished his span of authority by winning the raging civil war against James’s mother Mary.  Regent Morton had a reputation for avarice during his run in the 1570s. However, deriving as it does from his executive impingement on the treasures of courtiers and clans no less grasping than himself, that reputation probably ought to be taken with a pinch of salt.

If nothing else, Regent Morton had the excuse of king and country. Sir Walter Scott, for one, favored this Red Douglas with a much more charitably statesmanlike gloss in his books The Monastery and The Abbott, part of his Waverley collection.

As one example, Morton irked divines by enforcing with a minimum of pious exceptions a pre-existing statute requiring a one-third cut of ecclesiastical revenues.

Likewise, he made an enemy of Lady Agnes Keith — the widow of the assassinated first regent — and her (subsequent) husband, the Earl of Argyll by forcing them to turn over crown jewels that were being held in their quote-unquote safekeeping.

In 1578, this Argyll kidnapped King James VI and induced the 12-year-old to declare his majority and dismiss the Earl of Morton. Argyll landed a Chancellorship out of the deal: Morton — well, you know. He would eventually be accused, 14 years’ belatedly but not inaccurately, of complicity in the 1567 murder of the Kings’ father Lord Darnley.

Argyll in the end lost his head to that distinctive Scottish proto-guillotine known as the Maiden. Though the apparatus actually dates back to 1564,* a legend as moralistic as it is specious holds that the Regent Morton was himself the man who ordered construction of the device that would eventually end his own life. Sir Walter could hardly be asked to resist that kind of material:

“Look you, Adam, I were loth to terrify you, and you just come from a journey; but I promise you, Earl Morton hath brought you down a Maiden from Halifax, you never saw the like of her — and she’ll clasp you round the neck, and your head will remain in her arms.”

“Pshaw!” answered Adam, “I am too old to have my head turned by any maiden of them all. I know my Lord of Morton will go as far for a buxom lass as anyone; but what the devil took him to Halifax all the way? and if he has got a gamester there, what hath she to do with my head?”

“Much, much!” answered Michael. “Herod’s daughter, who did such execution with her foot and ankle, danced not men’s heads off more cleanly than this maiden of Morton. ‘Tis an axe, man, — an axe which falls of itself like a sash window, and never gives the headsmen the trouble to wield it.”

“By my faith, a shrewd device,” said Woodcock; “heaven keep us free on’t!”

-Sir Walter Scott, The Abbott

Any young travellers out there, when next in Edinburgh, quaff Scots engineering acumen with the friendly backpackers crashing at the High Street Hostel — the glorious stone town house that was once Regent Morton’s very own crib, so you can soak up the history, and watch out for his ghost, that is said to haunt the lodgings,  their Night Porter swears he's seen some weird stuff at the wee sma’ hours of the night.

After he got the chop his corpse remained on the scaffold for the following day, until it was taken for burial in an unmarked grave at Greyfriars Kirkyard. His head, however, remained on "the prick on the highest stone" as was tradition with traitors, where it remained for eighteen months until it was ordered to be reunited with his body in December 1582. Morton's final resting place is reputedly marked by a small sandstone post incised with the initials "J.E.M." for James Earl of Morton. The post is more probably a Victorian marker for a lairage. In the very unlikely event that a marker were permitted for an executed criminal, the inscribed initials would have been "J.D." and, secondly, it would have been cleared away in 1595 when all stones were removed from Greyfriars

[zuffer-weird-girl]

What would happened if both Kai and his s/o got turned into children and they have puppy crushes on each other

I loved this one. Like. Thank you my lufe is complete

"We are so fucked when both of them return their memories and actual bodies."

"Fucked? WE aRE FReAKinG DEAd ArROw HaIrEd! D-E-A-D!"

"Stop yelling, both of them are on the back seat." Chrono hissed while he took a look at the now brow haired little boy, stoic face as usual as he read it a book on his hands while bot much far a little companion of (E/c) shakung their legs shyly on their seat while looking at the black window.

To cut the story short. The four of you were sinply walking abd minding your own business... until a child, that apparently just had gotten their quirk, shoted a puff of green smoke in your direction by accident.

Kai had tried to grab your arm and yank you away but he was also catched by the quirk's affects... and after a bit of coughing, Chrono and Mimic widened their eyes at horror at not seing his boss and (Y/n), but a pait of childs instead.

The parents of the rascal just grabbed onto their kid and ran away without looking back... leaving both men to deal with those... tiny versions of Overhaul and his partner.

The moment they got out, Chisaki recognized the place and nonchalantly just made his way out of the car, stopping when he noticed that his little... companion wasn't coming.

"U-uh.. excuse me m-mister?" You tugged at Kurono's coat, catching not only his attention but of everyone in there actually.

"C-can you please take me home? My mommy and daddy might be worried."

"Shiiiiiiii-" Mimic got punched by Kurono's after that before the man sighed and crouched down to be eye level with you.

"Sorry about that. I will take you home soon okay?" He lied blankly, smirking unterbally at the sigh of relief and shy nod you gave it to him.

"What is going on here?" Pops just had came out of his own office, almost tripping over at... Chisaki?!

Since when the time had reverted? And why the fuck he didn't got younger as well?

Chrono and Mimic nervously explained the situation to the man while you were almost panicking at seing that cute boy's eyes on you.

Chisaki just... didn't even blinked... He had that same look but his eyes spoted something different on there...

But the staring eas creppy. Creppy as f-

"Luckily the effect will wear it off by a few hours." Chrono finsihes while Pops sighed before letting out a low chuckle while patting Chisaki's head.

"I hope you just don't cause me the same troubles that you did once in this age kid." He arched one of his eyebrows at seing the tiny grunt that left his sucessor as he nodded... eyes not even once changung fron their original place.

He followed his gaze and laughed at seing the tiny version of his daughter in law, catching what was going on.

"Kurono my boy, take that little one to 'show the house' if is not much of a bother." Chrono nodded his head before extending his hand at yours to lead you through.

Oh boi, wrong move. Tiny ball of wrath right now is pissed.

The elder laughed even more before messing with Chisaki's hair.

"Hari can't touch your friend anymore kid?" The boy glared at him before huffing his response.

"First, that's not block head Pops. Second, we're not that, I dont even know them. And for final, that man doesn't even know them either, so its disgusting, they didn't even washed their hands befo-"

"Oh dear lord Kai just admit you have feelings for once, brat." He sighed, remebering that he discovered Kai's disgust of germs werr indeed at a very young age.

~

"Your name is?"

"Since you dont have your memories, you can call me Chrono." He said nonchantly, following you from behind as you looked in astonishment and curiosity the house.

"Got it! Chrono!" You turned around looking uo at hin with a small smile "Did I say it right?" You yelped in glee at his nod, Hari shooking his head at that.

"Oi." A cold monotomous, yet childish, voice interrupted your glee, making you yelp at the sudden appearance while Hari bitted the inside of cheek to not to snicker.

"I can take care of the newbie. Go and do something useful instead." You furrowed your eyebrows at that, almost gasping in disbelief when the man had left you alone on there with this boy.

Traitor!

"You. Name. Now. Why are you here in the Shie Hassaikai? Pops clearly didn't took you in." You gagged, blushing furiously at the closer he had gotten and the intensity of thise golden eyes were pearing at your own.

"I-I don't know!" You blocked your vision with your hands "B-But I am going away soon!"

"Why? Stop covering your face like that idiot, you look ridiculous."

"Because... I have to go back?" You said almost uncertainly as the boy hummed, not exactly in complete understatement.

"You make me feel weird. What's your quirk? Stop using it on me your illness." He growled the last parts as you waved your hands in the air.

"No! No! I am not using anything, I don't have a quirk!"

He blinked in astonishment at that, his golden eyes eyeing you more curiously as he took steps around you, stopping with a huff as his hand went ot his neck, pink dusting his cheeks.

"You... know how to play Shogi?"

"What's shogi?" He scoffed at that before picking a handkerchief on his pocket to grab on your hand and oush you around the house.

"You don't have culture. Here, wash your hands first and I might teach you a bit."

You blushed before giggling a okay, not understanding this weird boy but surely liking him a bit.

He crashed you on that thing, but you were more focused on that concentrate golden eyes and the slightest twist of those lips on a smirk whenever you losed.

"I won." You whined while putting your chin on the coffee tablr "Don't do that, is dirty."

You poked your tongue out, giggling at the way he arched his eyebrow while he organized the board again.

"Ah! Is late!" You scotted up and patted your legs while Chisaki furrowed his eyebrows.

"Where you're going?"

"I need to gi back to my parents@ they must be worried... Chrono told me he would get me-" you gasped at feeling a hand grabbing on your own, causing you and Chisaku to go wide eyed.

What was he doing? He hated touch! Hated it! Except pops, he wouldn't just touch neither let someone touch him out if no where like this!

But yet... he didn't wanted it for you to go now. You were... different, weird... in a... good way if he could say that.

"He.. he is taking a shower now." He lied before retreading his hand, finding it weird to jot to feel the necessity of washing it... it was actually a warmth he was feeling "Is going to take a couple of minutes for sure."

"Ah!" You exclaumed in understatement before turning to him again "Ne ne! I don't even asked your name, sorry!" You put your hands behind tour back as you inclined your body towards him a bit with a smile "I'm (L/n) (Y/n)! What's yours?"

"... Chisaki." He spoke, cringing at the geelung of gossegumps consume him "Chisaki Kai."

"That's a beautiful name!" You said with a bright smile.

It.. seemed liek that smile of yours was contagious, it had to be. He was starting to feel like smirking for abit as he merely nodded.

"...you're weird." He blurted out, chuckling a bit at your confused expression.

"Why?!" You said a bit offended.

"You're just-" he showed with his hand at you "like that. Weird."

Just when you went to disagree you started to cough, not a bit ling Chisaki did it too before you opened your eyes... blinking a bit before seing your normal sized hands in front of you.

You looked up to see Chisaki, lookung at you in relief but also in disgust at himself for letting that happen.

You just had one thing to say.

"You were sooo cute when you were a child Kai!" You cooed with both of your hands in your cheeks as you smiled widely at him.... who didn't seened to appreciate your words with that scoff and crinsom blush.

And he wasn't wearung his mask! You could see his flustered face in whole display!

"Shut your mouth. We need a hot shower after that I swear. This was disgusting." He pucked his pace up, trying to ignote his embarrassment.

"So I make you feel weird? How so? Is tgat weird what many would say...umm what's the 'L' word again?" You mocked him before receiving a flip on your forehead and a quick slap on your bum, making you yelp.

"Shut. Up." He growled threateningly, but you only laughed even more at seing his flustered face.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Whether It Works Out Or Not; Back In The Cage

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: High Honor!Arthur Morgan/Named OFC

Rating: Holy shit T.

AN: Okay I promise I swear this is the last bonus chapter until I finish the game. I swear.

[Spoiler warning for the first four chapters of the game!]

Tag List: @huliabitch​ @cookiethewriter​ @pedrosbigdorkenergy​ @thirstworldproblemss​ @anonymouscosmos​ @culturalrebel​ @karmezii​ @teaofpeach​ @crookedmoonsaultpunk​ @wrestlingfae​ @zombiexbody​ @nelba​ @scribblenotes76​ @toxiicpop​ @mstgsmy​ @misty-possum​ @gallowsjoker​ @midnightbeauty35​ @lackofhonor​ @renegademustelid​

Part One: Strangers

Part Two: Friends

Part Three: More

Bonus One: A Brief Diversion

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: For allusions to character death, mentions of previous abuse, historical inaccuracies and my poorly-remembered French. Stay safe!]

She felt a bit silly in her outfit.

Of course, she didn't need to display as such. "Tastefully understated," she had said to herself in the mirror with a firm nod. It was the fawn-brown dress (admittedly, it was the only dress she currently owned), but she had scraped together the funds for some light trimmings and alterations. A flounce of lace around the hem, a small length of lovely cream ribbon at the waist. The corset, while unwanted, would be expected, practically required in polite company, and even secondhand it was by far the most expensive piece of the puzzle. After that, everything else seemed to fall into place.

Irene Carson (née Craft) arrived at the ball astride Bluster, her hair crowned with a plethora of vanilla flowers and one single spider orchid. The buttermilk buckskin had been curried to within an inch of his life, and sported a matching cluster of vanilla flowers in his mane. He behaved remarkably well given all the hubbub, not putting up any fuss when he was taken from her to be stabled for the evening.

Irene had no elaborate hat to wear, no fantastical feathered monstrosity, so she had made do with what she could find. The flowers would be out of fashion, but they would suit her understated attire a bit better. Perhaps she could be fashionably unfashionable, ahead of the curve.

"I will not be on the list, but please tell Mayor Lemieux that it is the Widow Carson." She politely informed the man with the list at the gate, doing her best to seem calm and collected.

This was a bold move in the normally-subtle social maneuvering of Saint Denis. Attempting to integrate herself back into the gentry was a risky strategy, but a recent realization had convinced her of the necessity of such a move. 

Arthur had made an excellent point. That house had sat silent for long enough. It was time for her to take what spoils she could, time for her to think of the future. Hardly fair that she should escape her dismal marriage with nothing but the clothes on her back!

Tonight would be the first step, provided she could even get past the door. 

As luck would have it, the mayor himself, Henri Lemieux, came out to verify her claim. "Irene? My dear Mrs. Carson, is it really you?" He asked, all a-fluster. "Let me look at you my dear, let me just…" The man took her by the shoulders, examining her face. "It is you! Mon dieu, Irene, we all thought you had perished! Willie assured us-"

"I am certain he went to great lengths to convince you all of the legitimacy of my death." Irene interrupted him coolly. "However, it would appear that he greatly exaggerated."

"He said you...Irene, my dear, he claimed you committed suicide. He had me thoroughly convinced! But he remarried so quickly, I…" The mayor shook his head in a disapproving manner. "I know more individuals than I alone were skeptical! Oh it is so good to see you again, my dear. Please, you are more than welcome." He offered her his arm, which she took without hesitation. "How have you been, my cheré? Your hair is so short, so fashionable! I see you have been taking cues from our sister city of Paris, ne c'est pas?" 

"Naturellement, my dear sir." Irene replied, offering him a soft smile. "I know I will look somewhat out of place in your party. Please forgive my impropriety, but when the news of Willie's passing reached me...I so longed to see you all again, I could not stay away."

"Nonsense, you have nothing to apologize for!" The mayor scolded her lightly, patting her arm. "You have returned from the dead, our very own Lazarus wreathed in flowers like a Belgian-crafted nymph! You are most welcome at our little fête, dear girl. I daresay, after whatever it was that you went through, you are quite justified in a night of revelry." His heavily-accented voice dipped to a conspiratorial tone, "and you must tell us all about your trials. I am certain you have a grand story indeed!"

"Thank you for your hospitality, my dear Mayor Lemieux. I pray that the road ahead of me is far kinder than the road I have traveled thus far."

…

And here Arthur had thought that them playing lawmen was as foolish as they could get. 

He couldn't even believe some of the stunts Dutch was willing to pull for the sake of networking or contacts. The bunch of them looked like damn circus animals in their tuxedos and white ties, and Bill in particular seemed aggressively uncomfortable. Just getting him to bathe had been a struggle. 

Arthur personally had been downright henpecked by Grimshaw and Tilly, the two of them doing their damnedest to tame his thick, unruly mane with a comb and the vestiges of some pomade. All the while Abigail alternated between telling him he would cause every woman at the ball to swoon and bemoaning his stubble. He had shaved yesterday, damn it, and he wasn't going to shave again!

Lord, they were all fools.

Hosea was the only one who seemed to be even remotely at ease, the elderly man already maneuvering his way to the balcony above the courtyard before Dutch had even managed to find Bronte so they could 'pay their respects'. Bill just followed Hosea like a lost puppy.

Arthur didn't have to understand Italian to know that Senor Bronte was insulting them right out the gate. Neither did Dutch, if the tense smile he gave Angelo while they conversed was any indication. 

Arthur was slightly entertained by the panic that flitted across the waiter's face when the larger man ended up catching his arm to use the match originally lit for Dutch's cigar. Never mind that Arthur had had to cut his own cigar with his damn teeth, he was used to doing that shit. Used to falling by the wayside in the gregarious presence of Dutch Van Der Linde. But he wasn't about to let this stuffed-shirt little cocktail carrier get away with ignoring him scot-free. An uncut cigar he could excuse, but an unlit one? That was sacrilege. 

The courtyard was teeming with people, illuminated by the soft glow from crisscrossing strands of fashionable Edison bulbs. There were so many ornate gowns, elaborate hats and stiff-necked suits, Arthur scarcely knew where to look. "Mingle, Arthur." Dutch ordered in an undertone, giving him a concealed shove from behind. "Steal nothing unless it's information."

Arthur sighed, straightened his white tie with the air of a man set before the gallows, and slowly descended into what reminded him of how educated folks would describe an active volcano. The courtyard was a maelstrom of activity, the dull roar punctuated by the mosquito-esque whine of a string quartet. God, what he would give to be out with Irene in the hills instead, listening to her play the fiddle for the wolves.

He shook his head at himself. Again with this nonsense, thinking about her every time he heard violin music. 

He gritted his teeth and approached a group of women, seizing a bottle of champagne off one of the tables as he went. Arthur Morgan was not a smart man, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that folk were more inclined to think charitably towards you if you brought them alcohol. 

"Ladies, might I offer you some champagne?" Arthur asked, knowing his speech was stilted at best as he tried to choke his drawl down. The trio of women seemed to buy it though, simpering and preening while calling him a gentleman. 

That was a lie, and Lord was it a bold one. Though, looking around at the so-called polite company, Arthur felt less like the villain that he was and more like a sheep that had wandered into a wolf's den. 

Maybe a nest of vipers would be more accurate. 

Either way, the large man wasn't used to feeling like prey. As he made his rounds slowly across the courtyard, complimenting outlandish hats and offering his input on the most recent theatre performances (which he had absolutely no clue about), Arthur experienced the distinct sensation of the noose tightening around his neck yet again. Saint Denis was far too civilized for the likes of the Van Der Linde gang. It was only a matter of time before they were rooted out, sent scampering into the night like the vermin they were or slaughtered without quarter.

Lord, this place made him long for the open country.

He bumped into Hosea and Dutch shortly after he had rescued a rail-thin man from choking to death on some peanuts, the two elders of the gang looking like they were plotting something.

"Figure anythin' out yet?" Arthur asked softly.

"Maybe, Arthur. You see that group of folks over by the fountain? That fellow with the tall top hat is the mayor himself." Dutch pointed the man out, gesturing with his cigar.

"So?" Arthur muttered. 

"So, my dear boy, ingratiating ourselves with the mayor's little band will no doubt do wonders for our credibility." 

"Dutch, if the mayor is already cozy in Bronte's pocket like we are, what's even the damn point?" Arthur queried, trying not to sound as sulky as he felt.

Dutch sighed heavily and Hosea quickly interjected, "it's not necessarily the mayor that's our target, Arthur. Rather, the group of people with him. We are attempting to make as many friends as we can, if you recall."

The large man nodded. "Shoah, I guess. You want me to mosey over and...what was the word? Ingrate myself?"

"Ingratiate Arthur, dear Lord." Dutch huffed.

"Right, yeah. Usual fake name?"

"Of course, my dear boy!" Hosea replied brightly, smiling and patting him on the back. "You may have some luck with the woman he has alongside him. From what I can gather, she's stolen the show a bit. The Widow Carson, back from the dead!" He chuckled, oblivious to the way Arthur froze. "Apparently she's returned to attempt to claim her deceased husband's money. Some nasty business, for certain."

"See if you can get into her good graces, Arthur. A wealthy benefactor could do the gang wonders." Dutch instructed absently, already back to scanning the crowds. 

"Her good--Dutch what the hell are you sayin'?!" Arthur hissed, his stomach knotting as a nasty sense of comprehension slowly dawned on him.

"Oh go on Arthur, just pour on the charm! I know you can do it." Hosea encouraged, misinterpreting the source of Arthur's discomfort. The older man gave him a gentle nudge and Arthur found himself sent on his way.

A wealthy benefactor. Was it Irene? Was Irene really here? More importantly, was Arthur shameless enough to accomplish what Dutch had requested of him?

A wealthy benefactor. His skin crawled and Arthur suddenly felt disgusting as he realized that, were it not for his suspicion that the Widow Carson was indeed Irene, he would not have any sort of particular qualms about being asked to do something like this.

Is it Irene? All he could see from his current position was Mayor Lemieux's top hat. He loitered beside a garish floral arrangement for a few moments, trying his best to get himself under control. He was Arthur Morgan, the enforcer of the Van Der Linde gang for fuck's sake! He had survived countless trials before this, surely he could manage speaking to a woman at a party!

Arthur growled under his breath, clenched his fists, and slowly approached the group by the fountain.

"-cheré, you must continue with your story! Ferdinand, stop interrupting, I beg of you!" The mayor was chiding one of the other men standing there, his voice luxuriantly heavy with a French accent. 

The other man, whose complexion was bright red (whether from drink or passion, Arthur could not yet discern), scoffed at the mayor. "Her tale is rife with inaccuracies, Henri! We knew Willie, he would never-"

"Unless you too visited him in his bedchambers, Ferdinand, I suggest you keep your observations to yourself."

Irene. Oh Lord, Irene, flowers woven into her hair like she was a damn forest spirit out of those old Greek tragedies. It was like time had stopped for Arthur as he took in every detail. God, he was startled all over again by just how much he had missed her. She was in that dress, the one she had worn in Valentine. But wonder of all wonders, she appeared to be fully-laced this evening. Arthur swallowed hard, tearing his eyes away from the shapely curve of her hips. The way her corset held and molded her body into something devastating, a weapon normally concealed from him by men's clothing…

Well, he was a red-blooded American. Unfortunately right now, he had to try his damnedest to temper that particular truth about his nature.

"It ain't complex, Lemieux, and only an idiot like you, buddy, would try to make it so!" Ferdinand continued over what Irene had been saying, sloshing the liquor in his glass dangerously close to that beautiful dress. Irene's brown eyes were fairly crackling with restrained fury, color high in her cheeks as she endured being near this loathsome character. She looked magnificent. Arthur wished he could kiss her, right then and there.

"I will not deny idiocy sir, but perhaps now is not the time." The mayor tried to settle Ferdinand down by placating him, however the outspoken man didn't seem to get the hint.

"Typical pansy!"

"You are drunk, Ferdinand." Lemieux stated disapprovingly.

"I'm not drunk, you fool...but this man! This man loves damsels-"

"Ferdinand, your behavior is becoming unseemly." Irene said through clenched teeth. Arthur had a nasty feeling that he knew exactly what Ferdinand had been about to say before Irene cut him off. "Not to mention utterly irrelevant to the topic at hand. Must you constantly inflict your heinous presence upon polite company?"

"Hey hey, you are pretty drunk." Arthur chose that moment to intervene, draping his arm nonchalantly around the belligerent man's shoulders and pinning Ferdinand's arm behind his back after a momentary adjustment. "What's say you and me cool off?" He 'suggested' cheerily, strong-arming the drunkenly-protesting Ferdinand off to the gazebo at the rear of the courtyard. Giving the man a rough shove, Arthur stated (much more rationally than he felt like being at the moment), "sit down and calm down. Count to a thousand. Then, you can rejoin the party."

...

"Thank you sir!" Henri said sincerely, shaking Arthur's hand upon his triumphant return sans one loudmouth. 

"My pleasure." The tawny-haired man replied with a boyish grin. Lord, if she had thought he looked dashing before-! Irene was tempted to feign a swoon. Arthur had clearly been blessed by a trip to the tailor, of that much she was certain. The black suit coat accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist in equal measure, leaving him imposingly proportionate in a way that was incredibly tasteful. She was sorely pressed to keep her eyes from wandering, realizing vaguely that Henri was introducing himself.

"Henri Lemieux. I hope you are enjoying my party?"

"The mayor!" Arthur said with an air of surprise, as if he had not known. Irene didn't buy it for a second. Though she was grateful for his timely arrival, she had to wonder why he was here. Did Arthur Morgan have friends in high places?

"Allegedly!" Henri replied with a modest chuckle. "And you are?" 

"Tacitus Killgore, at your service." Irene blinked. That was unexpected. What an elaborate fake name, but he said it so confidently! "This is quite a place you've got here." Arthur continued the conversation, his drawl a touch off. Like he was deliberately attempting to soften it.

"It's not mine, and the city is horribly in debt, but we still can put on a good show." Henri gestured after a moment to the man on his right. "Do you know Evelyn Miller, Monsieur Killgore?"

"My Lord. The writer?" Arthur appeared legitimately awed now, shaking Mr. Miller's hand. Irene could understand that awe, Miller was a revered and respected author amongst the folk in the untamed wilderness of the new States. She herself had been simply soaking up the man's educated palaver like a sponge until Henri urged her to begin sharing her trials.

"Ah, and of course! Our unexpected but most welcome guest, Madame the Widow Irene Carson." Henri introduced her with an elaborate flourish of his hand, making her laugh. "She has been regaling us with the exciting tale of her return to life! It is fascinating to hear."

"Enchanté, Mister Killgore." Irene said, smiling and offering Arthur a quick curtsy. Again, out of fashion, and a bit difficult with the added restriction of her corset, but the quaint gesture had always been preferable to a nod as far as she was concerned. If only that bath girl hadn't been so thorough in lacing her!

Arthur bowed, took her hand and touched it to his lips chastely. "The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Carson." Her murmured, blue eyes boring into her own. Irene suddenly felt incredibly warm, despite her no-doubt constricted blood flow. "A return to life, you said? Have you been travelin' abroad then, ma'am?"

"Oh no sir, I'm afraid it's been nothing quite so delightful as that." Irene demurred. "Rather trying, in all honesty."

"Truly, it is a sordid affair. Her own husband, claiming she had perished!" Henri shook his head, looking appropriately distraught. "Ghastly. Then, Willie marrying that other woman so fast, and her turning out to be a murderer...well, it is like something from a cheap novel!"

"How awful that experience must have been for you, my lady." Arthur said softly. "Might I listen to the rest of the story, or are you weary of tellin' such a tale?"

"I'm afraid there is not overmuch left to tell, Mister Killg-"

"Please, ma'am, call me Tacitus." He insisted, his eyes bright with their secret joke. 

Irene couldn't help her smile in reply. "Of course, Tacitus. But as I was saying, there is not much to tell. I have spent most of my exile cowering in a cabin out in the mountains, shivering to death or roasting alive." She had tried so very hard to dumb down the tale, doing her best to make it seem like she was still the frail and fragile Mrs. Carson.

"It sounds like you have endured quite a bit of hardship, ma'am." Arthur's lips quirked upwards at the corner, his smile faint but still there. "It's a miracle you managed to survive! A delicate li'l thing like you, all alone out there in that dangerous wilderness." His voice dipped low enough to make her shiver. "Especially with such...reprehensible folk about these days."

Like me, his gaze seemed to say, the heat in that look reminding Irene of when he had kissed her at the stables.

"Exactly what I said, Monsieur Tacitus! Irene, you were so rash! I know that you believed you had no recourse, and I must apologize for my own complacency regarding Willie's abhorrent behavior, but surely there was another way!" The mayor scolded her.

"I am so very sorry, Henri. Next time I am kept prisoner in my own house, I'll be certain to send you a messenger pigeon." Irene retorted wryly, making Henri sputter as Arthur outright laughed. Ah, that laugh! She would have gladly borne her troubles in silence had she known such a delightful sound would someday grace her ears.

Irene was struck anew by the providence of her whole situation while she watched Arthur do his best to play at high society. She had not often been afforded the privilege to observe him, instead of the other way around. His blue eyes caught the amber light quite marvelously, his jaw shaded with stubborn stubble that gave him just the tiniest hint of wildness, of untamed danger. Enough to make him appealing to many of the women present. Irene wasn't sure if she should be flattered or concerned about the amount of time he was spending with the mayor and, by proxy, herself. 

She was growing increasingly lightheaded from the squeeze of her corset and was just about to ask Henri if she could impose upon his hospitality for a brief reprieve to adjust herself when abruptly, the butler approached to inform Mayor Lemieux that he had another phone call from the tycoon, Leviticus Cornwall. 

Henri waved the man off as fireworks began to erupt overhead. Irene, noting how Arthur watched the butler depart a touch more narrowly than one might in polite company, dared to place a hand on his arm. "Tacitus, my dear, you play your cards too openly." She whispered, her words making Arthur grimace. "May I ask you to escort me upstairs? I fear all this excitement has me feeling a bit short of breath."

…

"Tacitus-" Irene gasped his fake moniker at the top of the stairs, groping the wall for some kind of support. "I realize this is very forward of me, but I must beg for your assistance in loosening these damned--" She paused for air. "Lord, I fear I will swoon. This is so tight-"

"Okay, easy now." Arthur murmured, privately marveling at how large his hands looked on her cinched waist when he steadied her. "I gotcha', Irene. It's alright." 

She didn't appear to be exaggerating for his sake. The walk up the stairs had nearly done her in, it would seem. She was incredibly pale, and trembling slightly. He had assumed that she was just playing along for whatever reason, the two of them stalking the butler for fun or profit, but it was evident now that she had no such ulterior motives.

Arthur picked a door at random, immensely thankful that the room behind it was a parlour of sorts. Irene all but collapsed on the chaise, her fingers clumsy with the tiny buttons that ran the length of the front of her dress. Arthur rushed to assist after he made certain to lock the door, feeling a little frantic at the way Irene was wheezing for air.

"You're okay, you're okay, we'll get you loosened up." He tried to calm her (and himself), working on the next button in the line. "Front or back lacing, Irene?"

"Back." Her voice had gone pitchy. "I--she laced me very well."

"I know, shh, gimme' a minute." Arthur soothed, willing himself to relax. This wasn't any sort of terrible scenario, this was mundane compared to how his life usually was! How the hell was it that his hands were shaking more over getting a woman undressed than being shot at by the law?!

The two of them managed to peel the dress down over her shoulders far enough to let Arthur maneuver his hands in between her chemise and corset to loosen her laces. Slowly, carefully, he worked his way down, gradually slacking the binds. He didn't want to just undo the whole damn thing, that would leave her to endure the remainder of the party with her bosom unfettered and as appealing as that was to him, he knew that the gentry would tear her apart for it. 

"Any better?" He asked after a moment, relieved when she nodded. 

Then, "I didn't think you would actually help me." She admitted softly, holding her dress closed in the front. Arthur was stunned. "I assumed you were going to follow his retainer." Irene turned to look at him after a moment. "Why are you here, Arthur?"

Lord, he felt like a sinner on Judgement Day. Pinned by the weight of an angel's stare, all he could do was try to tell her the truth. "My...associates and I are...well, we need leads, Miss Irene. Senor Bronte, in exchange for our...services, cut us a deal for invitations to this ball. And uh, I suppose that's it." He said awkwardly. "I didn't expect you to be here, I figured you'd have headed for the Grizzlies by now."

Irene shrugged. "I thought long and hard about what you said during our last meeting. Me not taking everything that wasn't nailed down, that is." She squared her shoulders stiffly, trying to straighten her dress out. "I decided it was time to take back what's rightfully mine, propriety be damned."

Arthur put his hands on her shoulders, slipping the dress back down to reveal bare, freckled skin. He breathed her name, ducking his head to drop a kiss on the nape of her neck and feeling her shiver. His next words caught in his throat. How could he do something like that to her? 

A wealthy benefactor, Dutch had said, like it was an afterthought. Like she wasn't a person, but a resource. A tool.

Because that was all she would be to Dutch, Arthur realized grimly. A silly woman for them to string along, someone with deep pockets and a trusting heart. She wasn't Irene to Dutch or Hosea, she was the Widow Carson. A naive young widow, beautiful and lonely and (possibly) about to come into some significant money. The perfect target for a good old-fashioned seduction.

Lord, he had almost preferred feeling like prey earlier to this sudden cold understanding of how his companions (and even he himself, to a lesser degree) saw people like Irene. 

"You look beautiful tonight, Irene." He murmured instead. 

"Don't tease me, Arthur." Irene retorted sharply. "I am an utter mess. I look like a child playing dress up amongst all the immaculate gowns down there." She then sniffled, the noise almost too soft for him to hear. "I very nearly fainted dead away because I haven't worn one of these blasted things in almost a year! What kind of proper lady can't even endure the simplest of corsets?" 

"The kind that doesn't need one to turn every damn head in the room." Arthur said gruffly, a hand beneath her chin tilting her head back so he could see her face. Her brown eyes shone with frustrated tears. "You're beautiful, woman. Why the hell don't you believe it?"

"A majority of my marriage was punctuated by people who felt the need to inform me that I was attractive 'for my age', Arthur. I'm old, I'm nearly thirty. No man wants a wife that old. My father was hard-pressed to marry me off when I was twenty-four, can you even imagine what folk might say to a man who would court me in my thirties?" Irene shook her head despondently. "I...I don't know what I'm doing, Arthur." She confessed suddenly. "I am terrified. If I put effort into taking whatever might be left and it turns out to all be for naught, I don't know what I'll do!" Her hands twisted in her skirts. "I'll be back to where I was before." 

Arthur wasn't certain he understood what the issue was. She had seemed happy out in the wilderness. Hell, she had insisted upon her happiness. What had brought on this change, this desire for stability and financial security? He was thoroughly confused. "I don't know what to tell you, Irene." He said finally. 

"I know, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even brought it up." Irene apologized. "It's hardly your concern, Mister Tacitus." She tried to tease, daubing at her eyes with her sleeve and then starting to button her dress back up. "Just the worries of a silly woman whose age is catching up with her, I suppose."

Arthur caught her wrist to stop her, pressing a kiss to the inside of it like he had done so many times before. Her pulse tripped and hammered beneath his lips, galloping wildly. "Irene, you are beautiful." He sighed, his fingertips grazing her exposed collarbone when he palmed her shoulders from behind. "Everyone down there knows it. I know it. You could have your pick of fellers downstairs if that's what you're so worried about."

"It's such a fleeting thing, Arthur." She whispered. "When it is gone, if I cannot reclaim any of Willie's estate...I'll have nothing and no one."

Arthur wanted to die. He wanted to grab her shoulders and embrace her and say you'll have me, God damn it! But he knew he couldn't promise her that, as much as he wanted to. Hell, getting truly involved with him would no doubt cut her life short. That fear was what kept him from speaking, no matter how badly he wished to assure her. Even after the tender moments they had spent together in the wilds, now, when it would have made a difference, he was unable to offer any sort of meaningful comfort. 

Arthur closed his eyes, cursing himself roundly. "You don't mean that, Irene. The mayor seems-"

"Henri was perfectly willing to overlook my abuse when Willie was funding his campaign. All of them down there were complacent." Irene interjected, her tone one of barely-bridled fury. "Politicians and the elite are of no use to me, Arthur, for I am of no use to them."

Fair enough, Arthur mused. "So what are you gonna' do, then?"

"I'm going to try and bring my case to the attention of the courts. Willie was an only child, which is the sole reason I may still have a chance to receive something for my trouble." Irene's shoulders slumped and Arthur dug his fingers in, silently working out a few of the knots she seemed to have created in her muscles. 

"I hope it goes accordin' to plan for you, then." He said finally. 

"As do I." Irene took his hand, leading him around to the front of the chaise. "I have missed you, Arthur Morgan." She said simply. Sweet and honest. 

He was a fool.

Arthur felt like cheap gold leaf as he greedily buried his hands in her hair, sending one of the vanilla blossoms tumbling to the floor when he did. He felt like a veneer of class spread thin on his thieving bones, he felt like a liar. This vision of a woman, this divine being who trusted him so readily...

This time would be the last. It would have to be. If Dutch found him out, if his pre-established closeness to the Widow Carson was discovered, Arthur knew that Dutch would tell him to bleed her dry.

And Arthur, the kind, loyal man that he was, would do it. Because loyalty was everything.

…

Arthur was troubled. Even through her own worries, Irene could see that. She threaded her fingers through the shaggy locks at the nape of his neck, whispering his name. "What's wrong, Arthur?"

"I...I can't keep doin' this, Irene." He confessed, those blue eyes stormy with emotion. "I can't keep draggin' you down with me. You deserve so much more than a man who you don't really know, a man who's here an' gone again. It ain't right."

"I don't much care what I deserve, Arthur Morgan." Irene said tartly. "If you want me, I am here. You have yet to cause me harm in any of our endeavors, which is more than I can say for my prior partner." She tugged at the back of his neck, bringing their foreheads together. "If you want me, Arthur, I am here."

"Irene," he grated out, cupping her face, "I'm a bad man. I've done a whole heap of turrible things. I ain't the kind of man that you should be lettin' anywhere near you."

"And despite all of that, I'm beneath you on a chaise in the mayor's upstairs drawing room." Irene replied dryly. "Honestly Arthur, I thought you knew by now that my intuition is quite dreadful."

"Irene-" 

"You are remarkably poor at displaying any sort of reluctance, Mister Arthur." It felt like icy fingers were creeping their way down her spine. Had he finally decided that whatever they were, it wasn't worth his time? She could hardly blame him, of course! She was a currently-penniless widow. She had offered herself freely in the past; he owed her nothing, just as she owed him nothing.

"Because I ain't reluctant!" Arthur exclaimed. "I'm...Christ, Irene, I want this. I want you, so much that it hurts. But the life I lead ain't got a chance in it for a happy, fairytale endin' where I get to live out my days in peace. I have people I need to take care of, and you have a life of your own to finally start livin'." He stated firmly. "So for both our sakes, we can't...continue."

"At the very least," Irene begged, her thumbs stroking the familiar scar on his chin while she peppered his face with light pecks, "may we still be friends, Arthur?"

"Irene…" Arthur breathed, tilting his face to the side and kissing her until she was dizzy. "You've given me so damn much, woman. Given me hope, and beauty, and music. My friendship ain't worth spit compared to what you've done for me."

Irene shook her head, blinking back her tears. "I'm the one that ought to be saying that, Mister Arthur!" She protested. "I wish there was more I could do to repay the kindness you've shown me."

"Miss Irene, all the payment I ask for is that you go and live your life to the fullest extent. Take tenfold from that son of a bitch what he took from you." Arthur swept back some of the curls on her forehead, the gesture achingly tender. "Do that, and you'll be paid up, alright?" He murmured.

Irene took his hand and kissed his knuckles, feeling the pronounced lines of old abrasions on the skin when she did. "Don't give up, Arthur. There is someone out there who will be worth it to you." She told him, her voice trembling a bit as she struggled to get the words out. "Someone who will see you for how kind and loyal you are and instead of taking advantage of it, they'll cherish it. Guard you close to their heart like a jealous little secret." Her smile was tentative, "that's what I would do, anyway."

Arthur cursed under his breath, shoving his thigh gracelessly between her legs. "Irene." He said her name and it was an oath, a prayer. Whether for himself or for her, she couldn't say. 

"Yes, Arthur?" Irene replied softly. 

"If you hear about me in the future, if…" he hesitated, clearing his throat as he drew his index finger studiously down the side of her face. "If somethin' happens, don't pay it any mind, alright? Remember me just like this. All gussied up in this frippery, lookin' like the world's most uncomfortable trained bear." He tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow. "Can you do that for me? Please?"

"As long as you remember me like I was in the wilds." Irene was pleased when he smiled. "All filthy, with twigs in my hair."

"The Irene of my dreams has always been the one from the wilderness." Arthur confessed quietly. "This is lovely, don't get me wrong." He continued, giving her skirts a playful tweak. "But you out in the forests, playin' your violin for the wolves an' howlin' at the moon...that's the Irene I think about." The man cleared his throat again after a moment, looking away. "Now, let's get you put to rights. Buttoned up and all that. I figure it'll be best if I go back first. Hopefully folk won't be too suspicious. Shit, I don't even know how long we been gone for." He swore, grumbling a little as he struggled to help her with the tiny buttons on her dress.

Irene giggled, feeling a bit hysterical. "Oh heavens, what they will think of me! My husband hardly cold in the ground and now I'm enjoying an absolutely scandalous rendezvous with a handsome stranger. I'll be the talk of Saint Denis for weeks!"

"Woman, if you don't quit your funnin'..." Arthur huffed, a wry grin pulling at his mouth seemingly in spite of himself. 

Irene rubbed her forehead against his own, smiling a bit wistfully. "Shall I ever see you again, Mister Arthur?"

"For your sake, I sure as hell hope not." Arthur replied bluntly. "Bad luck seems to follow the folks I hang around with."

…

He hadn't entirely lied. He did leave ahead of her. However, he didn't return to the party immediately. 

Instead, Arthur ducked into the study he had seen that butler enter when he and Irene were making their way up the stairs. A few minutes of pointed rummaging and a jimmied lock on the desk drawer later, Arthur Morgan (or rather, Tacitus Killgore) was the proud owner of various interesting, incriminating documentation. Leviticus Cornwall. Arthur barely resisted the urge to spit on command when he so much as thought the man's name. 

Footsteps passed by the door and he froze, pressing himself back against the bookcases until whoever it was had descended down the stairs. 

Hopefully, this information would please Dutch to the point where he would forget about Widow Carson. Arthur just wished that he could forget about Widow Carson. Irene. 

Maybe...maybe if she was still in the drawing room, he could explain. Maybe there was still time. It would be dangerous, of course, but she deserved the truth. She deserved to know why he couldn't promise her anything aside from a life of fear and misery. Shit, at the very least she deserved to know why he was cutting her loose!

Arthur left the study and retraced his steps to the drawing room, his heart in his throat and her name on the tip of his tongue. Irene--

But she was gone. 

The chaise was vacant, lonely in the cluttered room. Through the open French doors to the balcony, the sounds of the party below filtered in like something from another world. He stalled in the doorway for a moment, uncertain of what to do. An object on the floor by the chaise caught his attention and Arthur stepped forward. 

It was one of the vanilla flowers from her hair, the blossom sitting forlorn and abandoned next to the leg of the chaise. He scooped it up with all the care someone like him could muster, tenderly examining the fragile, bruised petals. Then, Arthur slipped it into the pocket of his suit coat.

Much, much later that evening (technically the next damn morning), when he was bedding down at Shady Belle, he delicately extracted the worn flower and proceeded to tuck it between two blank pages of his journal.

Irene, he wrote at the very bottom of the page, and then, in another life, if I was a better man, we could have been so happy together. Instead, I have to push you away to keep you -safe-.

What a fool I am.

The following page bore a loose, flowing sketch of her on the chaise, staring up at him while she clutched the front of her gown closed at her chest. The fierce look on her face that he had tried valiantly to capture on paper didn't hold a candle to the real thing. Irene Craft, he wrote, then scribbled out her name and instead put, -Politicians and the elite are of no use to me, Arthur, for I am of no use to them.-

Mayor Onry Lemieux's party.

Winter’s Cold: Part One

[devaigh]

The Winner ~Chapter 8

A/N: This chapter is raw and unedited. Sorry for any mistakes. 

Previously || 1. 2. 3. 4.  5. 6. 7. 

Sassenach,

It feels like forever since I held you in my arms, though I know it has only been a month. I don't know how I'm to survive now without you. I find myself awake at night, reaching for you, only to remember myself. It pains me knowing the year is still ahead of us. I confess, since you have shared my bed, I don't sleep well without you. Call me what you will, but it is true. I miss you, mo nighean donn.

Life in the service is no longer what it once was for me. I am ready to finish, so we may truly start our lives together. I pray that day shall come quickly.

As it stands, the days are long. There is a layer of fine dust that has settled over the camp. I taste nothing but the dry air, I feel the grit against my skin, and I find myself shaking out everything I own. It never helps.

The days are hot, and the nights, dangerous. There are small villages my team has encountered, while they are not hostile, they are wary. I don’t blame them. I have picked up some of the language and I try to communicate though it seems like the people pretend to not understand.

I hope your schooling is going well. Know that I'm proud of you. I cant wait to see you realize your dream. I love you, mo chridhe. I'll write you again soon.

Yours,

Jamie.

***** 

Brianna frowned, playing with the corner of the paper as she read over the letter once more. The faded yellow page had been carefully tucked away inside the the worn journal that lay open on the desk before her.

It didn't make any sense. How could two people who seemingly loved each other live half their lives apart? What happened to make her parents not speak for 20 years?

And what of this little brother? What was he like?

Did he know about her?

“Of course not.” she whispered aloud. Clearly, she wasn't thinking straight. Jamie had said that he himself had no idea she existed prior to getting her letter, so why would this mysterious sibling?

It was all so complicated.

She groaned. Not only had she gone and invited her father to her wedding, who had actually shown up no less, but Brianna had now openly welcomed Jamie's son to join the festivities.

A brother.

How was she to explain that to her mother?

After learning about the boy, Brianna had excused herself from the rest of the party. The noise of the crowd lingering around her had made her head throb so she sought refuge upstairs. Once she had procured herself a rather healthy glass of wine, she rummaged around her desk looking for the old book bound in aged leather.

Her mother's journal.

It seemed like ages since she had found it, tucked away in a box in the back of the attic. Her mother had been on call one weekend leaving Brianna alone, tasked with clearing out the musty old room. A storm had come through and damaged part of the roof of their house, and repairs were needed. A whole section of the roof had needed replaced and part of the attic had started to leak. So Brianna had taken it on to try to clear out what she could.

Somewhere, beyond a huge stack of boxes that had once belonged to her Great Uncle Lambert, past even more stacks of boxes and an old crib, sitting next to what looked like a giant bird cage, was a single, small box simply labeled Boston. It was in that box that Brianna had discovered the journal.

Brianna had barely remembered Boston. Even though she had been born there, and lived for the first several years of her life in the city, it wasn’t home. Curious, Brianna opened the box and found the thin, leather bound book. There had been no title. Nothing to show what it was. Only when she had flipped it open to the middle, had she realized what she had found. At first, she felt a twinge of guilt for reading something so private, but she found that she couldn't stop herself. She had discovered an old diary her mother had kept, years before she was born. Most of the entries were simple, others were long winded excerpts that mentioned a man named James Fraser.

It came as no surprise to learn that Fraser, or Jamie, as her mother had called him, was her birth father. Brianna knew that her mother had been married to a man named Frank Randall when Brianna was born, but she had learned the truth about the man years ago. She knew that Frank couldn't have been her biological father thanks to a lab experiment in junior high. When Brianna had compared her blood type to her mother's and the man who she had though was her dad, she had learned there was no possible chance Frank could have fathered her. Brianna had never told her mother about what she knew however. Frank had always been a subject that Claire avoided. That was why the journal was such a surprise to find. With each page, Brianna had found more questions to go along with those that had been burning through her mind. Attic forgotten, she had slid down the wall to sit on the floor, caught up in the need to discover anything about the man who really had fathered her.

There had been so little to go on. Only his name, and the fact that he was Scottish military. Which had suddenly opened a whole world of questions up. Where was her father? Was he still alive? Would she be able to find him? Did he know she existed? Had he wanted her? Or rather, had he even cared? What were his reasons for leaving them? Who was this man who had left her mother alone and pregnant? What had happened between them?

As it turned out, James Fraser was still very much alive. Alongside the journal, Brianna had found a small stack of bound letters, held together with simple string. Delicate, fragile things, the envelopes were sticking together. Bree had picked through them, one by one, her fingers tracing the tight, cramped writing scrawled across the front of them.

She still had them. All 15 letters. They now lived in a box she had stashed away, carefully under lock and key. The box, was a simple wooden thing, she had also picked out of the attic. It was now sitting in the bottom drawer of her desk. Chewing on her bottom lip, she glanced down at the drawer in question. Roger didn't even know she had them.

She looked again at the letter in her hands. Something had happened between her parents, that much was obvious. And Brianna was determined to find out exactly what it was.

But first, she needed to find her mother.

******

He wanted to shake her.

James Fraser had never been the most patient of people. His hot temper was always quick to flair, but he wasn't one to start hitting people, even if they were trying on his nerves.

But ah Dhia, did he want to hit something.

"Claire, please. Just let me explain.."

"Explain! What is there to explain, Jamie? I SAW the announcement! You looked rather happy for a dead man!" Claire huffed, her hands curled into fists. "I grieved for you! Knowing you were dead I tried to honour your memory only to discover you LIED to me!"

"ENOUGH!" He roared, crossing the distance between them as his large hands took hold of her shoulders. "Claire! Listen to me, damn ye! I know ye think the worst of me, and ye have every right too, but it's no true!"

"Let go of me, you damn Bloody...Scot!" She bit off, trying to push him away. It was to no avail, he was still so much stronger than she was.

"No. No until ye agree to listen to what I have to say."

Claire glared at him, her mouth set in a firm line.

"Dammit Claire, there's things I need to tell ye!"

Jamie looked away for a moment before meeting her eyes again. "I'm no the same man ye once knew, but I swear to ye, I never would have hurt ye, had I been able."

"You were dead, Jamie." Claire said, her voice wavered, hiding years of heartbreak. "You were dead, and I was alone, pregnant with your child. Then I discovered you not only alive, but married to another woman. What the hell was I supposed to think?"

Jamie frowned. "It's true I nearly died. I came damn close to it. But I dinna ken how ye believed I was dead."

“I received a letter.” She hissed.

Well, that was news.

"A letter?" Jamie gripped her shoulders tighter. “What letter?”

Claire narrowed her eyes. “The letter that was addressed to your fiance, informing me of your death!’’ She shook her head, chewing on the corner of her lip. “I didn’t know I was your fiance.”

Jamie felt the color drain from his face. “I.. well..”

“You what, just decided that on your own? “

“No. I...”

“You leave for war, leaving me pregnant and alone then what, fake your own death so you can run off and marry someone else?”

“That’s no what happened! Claire, If you would just let me explain!”

“It doesn’t matter Jamie, I don’t want to talk about it.” She turned away “There’s nothing more to say.”

She took a deep breath, in an attempt to steady herself. A soft chime rang out in the distance, the melodic tune of the local village clock.

It was midnight.

“Claire.” Jamie reached out to her, His hand hesitating over her shoulder. “I ken ye’re angry with me. Ye have every right to be. But I beg ye, to just listen to what I have to say.”

She turned then, giving him a cold stare.

“I’m no asking for yer forgiveness lass, I just wanted ye to know the truth.”

Claire regarded him for one long moment. She could see the vulnerability in his face, and his eyes…

How often had she dreamed of his eyes?

She could feel her resolve cracking, the wall she had built around her heart starting to crumble. ‘Damn him’ she thought, as color rose in her cheeks. Jamie had always had this gift of undoing her with just a look. It was infuriating.

“How…” she started, hating the way her voice caught. “How do I know what you tell me isn’t just what you think I would want to hear?”

She met his eyes again as a muscle twitched in his jaw. A flutter of movement caught her attention as she realized he was tapping his fingers against his thigh. It was a gesture she recognized.

“Claire.” Jamie spoke softly, though his voice sounded tight. “I swear to ye, I’ll no lie to ye. I dinna ken if I have all of the facts, but I promise ye, I’ll share everything I know.”

*****

The walk back from the beach was a long one.

The wind had picked up bringing with it the promise of rain, causing both Jamie and Claire to seek shelter in the warmth of the beach house. While there was still much left unspoken between them, the silence between them had changed.

He watched her, her pale face half hidden as she walked just ahead of him. Her arms were folded against her chest, keeping the shawl tucked around her shoulders. Her eyes were distant, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as a wrinkle formed across her brow. It was several long moments before she spoke again.

“I don’t know, Jamie.”

Her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, yet Jamie remained silent, sensing her need to speak.

“I don’t know if I want to hear what you have to say.”

“Sassenach..” he began, one hand automatically reaching for her arm before seeing the glare aimed over her shoulder at him.

“You were dead, Jamie. I mourned for you.” She stopped again, just shy of the stone courtyard. “I had waited for you to come back. I was so lost. All while I was raising your daughter, alone.”

“Aye, I believe ye, Sassenach. And ye did a fine job of raising the bairn, I’m sure.”

Claire’s mouth set into a firm line. “Jamie, I would really, rather not talk about the past. Can we just get through this wedding? I still don’t know why you’re here, or what Brianna was thinking this would turn out to be, but can we just get this over with, and go back to our own lives?”

The look on her face was enough to crush his spirit.

“I swear to ye, Claire, I didn’t know.”

You didn’t know? Do you really think I can believe that?” She rolled her eyes. “That’s all you can say? That you didn't know?"

“No. Listen to me, Claire! I told ye that I didn’t remember! I didn’t remember my own name, much less anything else. Do ye know what it’s like to live as a shell, not knowing who ye are, or what you’re doing? How it feels like half of your heart, your very soul is missing?

“Do I know? DO I KNOW? Yes! Damn you! I spent TWENTY YEARS mourning you! Angry at you that you left me, alone, pregnant and you have the nerve to...to…

“Now ye listen to me, Claire..”

“NO! How DARE you show up here, to MY daughter’s wedding and..”

“She’s MY daughter, too, Claire.”

“Oh you may have created her, but you certain-”

‘’Brianna INVITED me here, She asked me to come, and you-”

"SHE can hear you!”

Whatever Claire had been about to say caught in her throat. Both Jamie and Claire froze, like they had just been doused with a bucket of water.

Standing in front of the french doors, stood Brianna, looking livid, the color in her cheeks nearly the same shade as her hair. She glanced between both of her parents who stood inches from each other, watching as both seemed to shrink a bit before her.

Jamie’s throat moved, and he cleared his throat, “A neighan, I’m-”

“Yelling loud enough to wake the entire house? I could hear the two of you from my window!”

“Bree..”

“NO. Stop! I don’t know what happened between you two, or why you;re both arguing. But this isn’t the time or the place! There's a storm coming and both of you need to get inside!"

Jamie and Claire looked at each other for a moment before they both moved towards the door.

"It's clear we need to talk. All THREE of us."

"Yes, dear." Claire said as she passed her daughter. "The sooner the better."

Jamie hung back, for just a moment, watching the two women.

"Lead the way, a neighan"