#i needta... draw her...

[spaciebabie]

...

hey!

...

pssst!

...

What if-

shhh

what if...

hehehe

what if

all of us

begin to fluster paper-lilypie with lily x monty...

like how you've had a week of springtrap x spacie...

hehehe

-mystery mutual

hehehehehhe.....ueyes.....YEEEEEESSSS GO FORTH BEASTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! CAUSE THE RECKONING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[chickenoptyrx]

Ok so here's the run down since I'm too lazy to ever draw everything out :U

goin off this comic

⬇️and down here cause I ramble too much 🙄⤵️

Ok so first the next few pages I had sketched out

Ok so things to note:

• trunks is sad and like very much thinkin bout gohan and his death.

• bulma has the control device thing for brolys headband, but can't figure out how to make it work

• this thing is basically a ki battery. And what imma ramble about.. The whole sub plot here being that 1 of the big drawbacks in the future is theres just not enough power for bulma to accomplish much. Ki as an energy source should work but it doesn't interact well w earths tech, its nearly impossible to store, and even when stored it doesn't then 'power up' in a predictable/usable way like electricity.

(As a side note I stopped at this page cause I kept wanting to redesign it to have 7 obvious apatures or idk something to coincide w the 7 Chakras cause like brolys jewelry stuff also has 7 gems. But. I did none of that :U )

So anyway we see in dbz that non-earthlings have tech that utilizes ki, and paragus' control device for broly obviously uses ki, but while this battery that her and gohan were able to sorta get to work can store ki, they never found a method for converting or using it. But now it can be used and the control device gives her something to reverse engineer from, which is 1 of the reasons for wanting broly around despite him being.. the way he is.

SO ANYWAYS

This was another panel I intended to use once 17 starts attacking broly, who at this point is still very zonked out and not reacting.

So. From trunks pov. Hes already A. thinkin bout what happened w gohan and B. primed to see 'saiyans' as good guys or heros or whatever. Even if hes heard every story about saiyans as a race being bad, hes grown up hearing about goku, seeing gohan, and yknow no ones really talkin too much heavy shit about his dead dad- and his mom loved him so like he was probably good too.. right??

Lol dumbass kid.

So yeah my poor dumb stupid baby boy here is gonna jump into a fight that he does not needta be involved in to protect someone who does not need his help and won't be grateful :D cause ⭐ Le Trauma ⭐

Meanwhile, bulmas testing out her new theory(s) about the control device A. being built to send out some kinda signal and B. Being powered by ki. She's got it set up to expand the reach of that signal so she can pick up that it is reaching something without using too much power and without necessarily alerting whatever its reaching. But broly was already in a weird spot w the headbands control so this lil ping along w everything else goin on is what like awakens him to the fight or whatever. As you can see I'm not a writer.

Big cool epic no holds fight scene that im not drawing starts up. Broly terrorizes the androids but also attacks trunks cause like tf does he care? He's havin fun :>

Bulma realizes how late for dinner she is, decides not to waste the energy in the battery since its all they have of it (also she doesn't wanna admit it but she knows its like the last thing they have of gohan) and now that she knows it won't blow up she can just ask trunks to help her run more tests on the control device later. Then she realizes her kids not home any more and 3 guesses where he went :U she planning on goin out after him guns blazing, realizes she has no idea where he actually is, YadaYada, if she increases the power and range, she can pin point what this devices signal is bouncing off of and thats probably where this new alien and therefore her kid are.

By this point in the fight the androids are aware this is not goin their way, and trunks, poor dumb baby that he is, has finally managed to draw his stupid sword thats way too big for him rn. This creates an opportunity for the androids to get tf outta dodge cause see. Here's the bit. Broly was stabbed by trunks grandad as a baby. So seeing someone pointing a big knife at his probably gets his undivided attention :D anyway, luckily bulma uses the last of gohans ki from the battery thing to send out another stronger signal that zonks broly right tf back out before he can kill trunks. He runs and meets his mom on her way to save him and uh.. yeah, they go home. Soooo gohan saved trunks again even after he's dead :U im sure that'll be fine. Maybe they have a sad fight about it, idk.

Anyway. Middle middle middle.

Paragus used broly for his power to fight his battles for him, so I dont see how this situation w the androids looks very different to broly. They have the control device for their own safety sure, but I mean that was paragus's reason at first too

Then too, broly doesn't know or really care to know how to actually apply any self control w his powers so ya kinda don't want him 'helping' destroy anything- dudes just gonna nuke the planet as collateral damage and move on.

So yeah, more middle middle middle and he's training trunks to fight and trunks is tryin to get him to learn basic self control and like.. morals. And uh theyre friends or whatever. Idk man I just wanted to draw them hanging out and hadta do a convoluted back story about it that I then never actually did :D

[sun-shimmer]

captain calaeno is my bird girlfriend & i love and support her so much

[freds-keep]

i like harper a lot i think

[stusbunker]

Things That Are Deadly

A Supernatural Fan-fiction

Featuring: Dean Winchester, Vampire!Reader

Requested by @thoughtslikeaminefield for my one word drabble a day for August 2019. This took on a life all its own, other drabbles won’t turn into one shots. I hope. xoxo

“Billie”

They had been doing this game for months. He’d roll into town, sometimes alone sometimes with a partner and find her in a night or two. He didn’t waste anytime calling her bluff, whether flashing that fake badge he always had on him or playing the drunk ex. He knew just how to push a girl to extremes, hungry and on edge.

But then he’d leave, with a knowing smirk and a dead eyed glare, he’d slip into his black and chrome chariot and disappear, until the next time.

She had gotten lucky for a few weeks, he seemed to be otherwise occupied and she fed like a one percent-er. It felt too easy now, without him breathing down her neck, but it was a streak she didn’t need broken. Unfortunately, it was cut short, by something else entirely.

It had been two months and three states since Dean had seen her. A growing inkling in the back of his mind had him thinking he had lost her trail. It wasn’t that she was sloppy or savage; he had just been out of the game. Michael had seen to his own exploits long enough and now freed; Dean needed the familiarity of the chase. She was his fall back girl and boy did he need that sliver of control; a monster on a leash.

He spotted her in the back of the seedy bar, already whispering into some poor slob’s ear. Dean sent a drink to each of them, with a twenty for the waitress who looked at Dean as if he was nuts for pushing his luck. He knew it wasn’t about luck. She slipped the straw between her lips and sucked back the Bloody Mary, all the while watching him. Her date slammed his shot before she could push him off of her, bones crunching when he insisted. Dean winked at the waitress as she passed, earning him a impressed chuckle.

She didn’t say anything, she simply set the empty glass beside his graveyard and walked outside. She slipped up onto the hood of his beloved car, engine long since cooled. Her tiny skirt bunched and twisted as the night air met her lifeless flesh. Dean spun his key ring between his thumb and forefinger, coat collar hitched against the cold upon joining her.

“You needta be invited?” Dean balked, breath streaming from his wide smile. Everything about him screamed danger, run, now, don’t stop.

“Don’t play dumb, you know the answer.” She leaned back, legs slipping open as she purred.

“You’re right. Get in.” Dean nodded in agreement, words coming back with a bite.

She felt tiny on the wide bench seat, yet they were close enough that she felt the warmth of his whiskey and the slight hitch in his heartbeat. Her hunter was excited, one way or another. He pulled into an abandoned lot, empty warehouses as far as the eye could see. No one around for blocks. No one to hear a scream or even a decapitation.

When he adjusted the rear view mirror, she stopped breathing. His eyes fell on their company, but he shook her off with his eyes, keeping up the charade. He pulled her into his lap, scruff gliding over her jaw as his hot breath assaulted her every sense. She tried not to show how scared she was, dragging her open mouth over the few patches of his exposed skin.

He groaned, shifting beneath her as he slid something into her hand. A calculated hum sounded in his throat as he licked down her chest, dipping lower until she was free to swing. The machete reflected the interior in a blurred rush of tan and black, steel and skin before it met its target. She struck the vamp, who had been pimping her for weeks, just below the ear with a satisfying thwack. But the blade didn’t clear, a menacing blue light shot from his eyes and she froze, half over the front seat.

Dean checked the side view and he knew they had underestimated their guest. He pulled her back down and rolled on top of her, the blade falling against the dash, clambering down until it lodged into the floor. Dean fumbled with the passenger side handle as the grace-charged vampire grabbed him and threw him into Baby’s ceiling. Luckily, she had slipped out just before he came crashing back down. He was going to have pound out the roof again, damnit.

She got a hundred yards away before turning back, her eyes locked onto his as he crawled out of the door she left open. He was bleeding, she could smell it and the wanting made her squirm with a filthy kind of guilt. She’d been used, drained and beaten for days on end.  Yet wanting to drink him makes her feel lower than low, feral, evil.

He started to laugh. “Whew! I didn’t know big brother liked to watch. Sorry man, but I don’t go parkin’ for an audience.”

She shuffled forward, letting the hunter draw out her captor. Dean was hurting, but she also knew he was buying her time. Them time. The backdoor slammed open, hinges protesting against the force. Once the other vampire cleared the car, she made her way back to the driver’s seat.

“So, what, no comments from the peanut gallery?” Dean challenged the strangely silent adversary as he charged forward. Then Dean realized why: she had cut through his vocal cords. Even if Michael’s science project had wanted to banter; he couldn’t. Which only gave Dean less distractions to work with.

He dug in his coat for the syringes of dead man’s blood he always kept on him for these trysts of theirs. He never thought he would have to use them. He was grateful it wasn’t on her tonight. He clicked his teeth and finished unbuttoning his coat, he needed room to dance. He pulled out his gun, knowing the ammo would do little to stop this bastardized monster. His angel blade remained secure in the trunk and once again he kicked himself for losing his step.

The ang-pire, Dean decided, was painfully confident, grinning with his extra teeth as he walked into the spray of bullets Dean sent his way. Then came the hiss of laughter through splayed flesh, deepening as the grace flowed,  mending their assailant layer by layer. Bullets retreated, falling in misshapen jangles onto the jagged blacktop.

“Bullets? Really? Michael would be so disappointed,” his voice croaked.

“Yeah, well-” Dean shrugged. “He can kiss my ass.”

She didn’t strike out this time, this time she swung for the fences. The blade severed every inch attaching his head to his shoulders. She had closed her eyes, and once she opened them she saw Dean was doubled over, back throbbing. She raced over to catch him before his injury could catch up.

“Honey, we need to talk about your choice in friends.” Dean gasped, letting her walk him back to the solidarity of the Impala. 

“No love lost there,” she sighed, glancing back to the stilled body, before handing him the weapon. He tucked it back in his jacket, still hunched against the pain. Suddenly Dean was off again, wincing but booking it around the back of the car.

“Fucker moved, need to put it down,” Dean warned, patting his pockets for the keys, which were still in the ignition.

“I got ‘em, Crutchy,” she reassured, ducking in from the passenger’s side. All she heard was Dean’s voice belt out a resounding, “No!” just before she felt the swift prick to her thigh. The poison flooded her system, thick and festering. Dean’s fists struck the trunk in frustration, drawing the monster back to standing.

“You know what? I don’t give a fuck what He says about you. For that, I am going to take my time with you, now that your little slut is out of the way,” the Ang-pire promised.

Dean ran, full out, every muscle and bone hollering from his neck to his thighs. He felt about sixty-five, hips and all. There were two more syringes left behind, but he needed to keep him guessing. Dean squared up and brandished the machete. Pieces of him were still stuck to the blade; Dean tried not to think about it.

The once vampire snarled at Dean, lowering his stance before he charged the hunter. Dean had physicality on his side, he feigned left and though he wasn’t moving as quickly as usual he still got his outside leg behind the monster. He elbowed the back of its reattached neck before hacking into his back. Dean staggered back from the swing, clearing his feet from reach. Dean slammed the blade into his spine at the neck, like following a pattern to cut. In the end it was a sloppy job, Dean kicked the head across the parking lot before heading back to where the syringes lay.

He didn’t look at her body, legs dangling from Sam’s spot. Monster or no, he knew he was at fault. He didn’t want to see what the poison did to those perfect thighs. He was going to miss getting the drop on her, his trained pet. No matter how many guys she duped, she hadn’t finished or turned any of them. She had basked in the gray, a Winchesters’ team color if there ever was one. He sighed as he bent down, scooping up the next step.

He didn’t even hear the gun cock.

*^*^*

Billie hummed as she finished the book, delicate fingers tracing the back cover before closing it. Michael was going to be an issue for more than just those Winchester boys after all. She stood from her seat and placed it back on the shelf before she pulled out the next possible fate.

[cuppykin]

Isabelle being a whole ass mood (I needta draw her more)

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

Edinburgh to Boston Chapter 6 - The Truth

Good evening all, Here is Chapter 6.  I think that many of you will be expecting something else in this chapter.  Sorry to disappoint, but certain things needed to be said first.  

I hope you enjoy reading this. Any comments, thoughts or questions are always welcomed.

I also want to say that I am concerned for the next chapter as it is really long, well for me it is.  And, I want to do it right with the story as it is important to me to not disappoint the readers, to J & C. I am just worried that I may not have it done by next Sunday. I will really try my best to make it happen, but I don’t want to short change anyone.  Once again I ask for your indulgence. But I’m going to try.

My deepest thanks again to @curlsgetdemgurls and @jmoonrise for being my betas. You both are the best.

I give you:

Edinburgh To Boston

The Truth

 Chapter 6

James took the key card from Claire and opened the door allowing her to enter.

The room was beautiful. It was decorated tastefully in creams, taupe, and espresso. The wide expansive window would have provided a breathtaking view of the Boston skyline if it were not for the blizzard raging outside.

There was a gas fireplace providing a warm and welcoming glow in the room. 

To the far side of the room was a workspace with a desk, chair, and a lamp was available. There was a well stocked  bar in the room with premium liquor.  A bottle of Dom Pérignon champagne sat chilling in a bucket of ice. By the window was a highly polished cherry wood table with two barrel-backed chairs that were deeply tufted and thickly cushioned in buttery leather which could be used as seating for dining.

 A bowl of red ripe juicy strawberries, some plain others enrobed in chocolate, sat on the table waiting to be nibbled. The hotel’s trademark violet orchids sat on each of the bedside tables. The bed was a huge modern four-poster king-size bed that was the focal point of the room.  It was a delicious confection dressed in crisp white Egyptian linen that felt silky to the touch.  Topping the bed were two cream colored cashmere throws with GX emblazoned in the center. The throws were luxurious, so soft and light. Claire ran a hand over a throw, and she thought it felt like she was touching a cloud. The room was the height of luxury.

Claire looked longingly at the bed and thought that she could sleep on the bed forever.

James removed his overcoat and jacket, took Claire’s overcoat as well and hung them in the closet. He headed straight to the bar and found a bottle of Glenfiddich single malt whisky and poured himself a generous dram, downing it in one swallow. He poured himself a second dram and one for Claire handing her the cut crystal glass.

“To us, sláinte,” James said raising his glass to Claire.

Claire raised her glass to him in salute, “Sláinte.”

Claire sipped at her whisky savoring the flavor and the burn. It warmed her through.

She was more than aware that he was tracking her every move in the room.

Finally, James spoke softly and tenderly, “Claire, we needta talk.”

“I know,” she whispered.

Claire bowed her head in contemplation, studying the depths of the glass she held as if it possessed all the answers to all the mysteries of the world.

She took off her knee-high boots, sat down on the bed patting the other side indicating that James should come and sit next to her.

“Oh, and bring the whisky. I think we’ll need some liquid courage for this conversation.”

“Aye, I think ye’re right,” James nodded in agreement.

James removed his shoes, took off his tie and opened the collar button. Claire could see James’ red gold chest hair peeking out from under his shirt. He handed Claire the bottle of whisky then made himself comfortable next to her.

They sat there sipping their drink in companionable silence for what could have been seconds, minutes, or hours each lost in their own thoughts.

Eventually, James turned to look at Claire and broke the silence between them.   

“Claire, I need the truth. When ye said ye loved me on the plane, did ye mean it or, or did ye only say it because ye thought we would die?”

“It’s the truth you want is it, Fraser?” she asked raising one eyebrow giving him a hard look.

James grinned, “Claire, don’t ye think ‘tis time ye call me Jamie?”

Claire chuckled, “Considering the position we find ourselves in, I guess you’re right... Jamie.”

“It’s the truth you want, Jamie?” Claire asked questionly.

Jamie nodded his head.

“Then it’s the truth you shall have. Both. It was the fear that we would die that gave me the courage to finally admit my feelings to myself and to you. I did not want to die without telling you how I felt about you.” Claire raised her glass and took a long sip of the whisky.

“How long Claire, how long did ye ken it?” His demeanor was serious. He needed to know.

“Since we met, well not long after we met really.” Claire kept her gaze averted from him. She could not face him. Her face began to flush from shame from her lack of honesty with him.

Jamie got up and began to pace in the room in frustration. “All this time Claire and ye didna have the nerve to tell me! Look at all the time we lost. Did ye think me a brute maybe because of my size that maybe ye were afraid of me?”

Claire looked shocked at this.  She rose from the bed and came to him, “Oh no, Jamie not at all! I think you’re the best man ever. That’s why I never said anything. I come with too much baggage. Why would a man like you want someone like me? Everyone in my life leaves me or betrays me. Why would you want someone no one else wants?”

Claire walked over to the window and stared out onto the frozen landscape. A single tear ran down the side of her face.

Jamie stopped in his tracks. He stood stock still staring at her in utter disbelief.

“Not want ye, not want ye!?”  He was thunderstruck at her assertion.

Two of Jamie’s fingers began to beat a restless tattoo against his leg.

“God Claire, I have wanted ye since the moment I laid eyes on ye, did ye ken that?” He closed the distance between them in three strides. He placed his arms around her waist, dropping his chin onto her shoulder.  

“But, do ye ken when I knew that I loved ye? It happened not long after that. Do ye remember the night that we lost wee Adelaide MacGregor ‘cause we couldna get a heart to transplant for her?”

Claire turned to face Jamie and nodded in assent.

“That night as I held ye in my arms when ye cried, I kent that I loved ye. I kent I would be yers forever, whether ye wanted me or no’. How could ye think I’d no’ want ye? Ye’re bright, intelligent, kind, tenderhearted, and sae, sae beautiful. Of course, I would want ye! Any man in his right mind would.”

“Not every man would,” Claire said bitterly.

He was scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck as he  paced around the room again. He was growing more distressed with each passing second.

“She has been hurt laddie, be gentle with her.”

Jamie took a deep steadying breath, turned and returned to Claire’s side. He pulled her into his embrace wrapping his arms tightly around her. Jamie made a small noise almost like a sob.

“I’ll ask yer forgiveness, Claire. I shouldna have spoken to ye so harshly. I dinna have the courage to admit it to myself either. I dinna think ye would want a man such as me.”

He let go of her, took two steps back, his head lowered to his chest.

“I carry around baggage too, Claire. I thought if ye kent about me, ye wouldna want me.”

Claire was quite taken aback by his statement. What kind of baggage could this beautiful man be carrying around that would make him think he is unlovable she wondered?

Jamie strode over to the fireplace and stared into the flames. Claire came to him resting her face against his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

“I’m here for you, Jamie. You’re not alone.” Claire placed a small chaste kiss on the side of his neck.

“Thank ye, Claire.” He broke the embrace, turned to face her and kissed her on the forehead. “As I am for ye.”

“Jamie, obviously we both have pasts that we have issues with. I think that in order to give whatever this is between us a chance, we need to be open and honest with each other. Don’t you agree?”

“Aye, Claire, I do. I dinna want to push ye to tell me anything ye feel ye canna, but we need to have a truth between us.  We can have secrets but no’ lies. Now, who shall go first ye or me? We need to remember that a burden shared is a burden carried.”

“I’ll go first.” Claire refilled her glass with whisky, took a fortifying drink, and began.

“My father had his own jet that he used for business.  My mother and I often accompanied him wherever he needed to travel for business. One day in late October we were returning home to London. A great storm suddenly rose up around us. The sky was ablaze with lightning and the air was filled with the crash of thunder all around us. There was a reek of ozone about us.  A blinding downpour began to pound the plane. The turbulence caused the plane to begin to shake and rock. I was so frightened. I remember whimpering and clinging to my mother.”

“Despite trying everything he could, Papa lost control over the jet. My father radioed the tower that he had lost instruments, control of the jet, and gave our location. He held me, kissed me, and told me he loved me. Then my mother cuddled me into her body using her body to protect me from injury. She told me to always remember them and to know they would always be with me wherever I was. The jet crashed and I survived while my parents died. I was only five years old.”

James was visibly moved by her story. Tears rimmed his eyes. He reached out grasped Claire’s small hands in his larger ones and placed them over his heart hoping that the steady beat would soothe her. Tenderly, he placed a kiss on her forehead. Now I ken why she is afraid of turbulence.

“I am sae, sae sorry, Claire. I didna ken.”

Claire leaned into his chest drawing strength from his solid presence, nodded her head and continued her story.

“My Uncle Lambert, Lamb as I called him, became my legal guardian. We traveled the world together. He was an eminent archeologist. My life was quite unconventional. Going from one dig to another in different parts of the world. In the evenings, I was tutored by Lamb. I didn’t really have friends growing up. Childhood was quite different for me than what most children experience. I don’t regret it, but there were times I wished for a normal life like everyone else.” Claire shrugged at that thought.

“Eventually, Lamb settled in Oxford to teach.  There he met a young doctoral student studying history.  His dissertation was on the ‘45 Rebellion. Frank Randall is his name. They became friends and eventually, Frank courted me.  I was all of 19 at the time. Frank was 10 years my senior.  He was rather dashing and handsome.  Lamb approved of him. So when Frank asked me to marry him, I did. That was a mistake. Frank did not love me. He used me to further his career through his association with Lamb. Frank had a mistress all while he courted me. He was with her even on our wedding night before he came to me.”

Claire stopped in the telling of the story, took a deep breath to compose herself then continued in a halting voice.

“I found out about his mistresses, there were more than one by the way, by accident. Frank kept a locked box that he said contained important research documents. One day I was reaching for something in the closet, it fell and opened. In it were love letters from all of  his mistresses.”

Tears began to run down Claire’s face, hot and heavy. Claire turned her head away from Jamie as if to hide her shame. Instead, Jamie pulled her tightly to him, cradling her against his chest. He cupped her cheeks lifting her face up toward him.  His thumbs gently wiped away her tears. “Dinna hide yer face mo ghràdh, ye have nothing to be ashamed of. He does.”

Claire’s eyes glistened with tears; she nodded wondering what she did to deserve to be in the arms of a man such as Jamie.

“I read them. When I confronted him with the evidence, he laughed at me. He admitted the whole thing. He told me he never loved me and all I was good for was a good fuck. I slapped him, grabbed my purse, and went to see Lamb. Naturally, I told Lamb what happened.  Lamb became despondent. He felt responsible as he encouraged the match. He refused to eat, slept poorly, and would not take his blood pressure medication. Lamb died of a stroke three months later. Of course, I divorced Frank. And then I was truly alone.”  

Tears streamed down Claire’s face. Large, hot, angry tears. She sobbed and clung to Jamie, shaking with the remembered pain and humiliation.

Jamie hugged her fiercely to his chest, running his hand soothingly over her back. “Hush a nighean, hush.  I’m here.” Jamie uttered words in Gàidhlig which sounded nonsensical to Claire, but the words and his voice calmed her. As Claire began to still he placed two fingers under her chin raising her face to him and kissed away her tears.

“Claire, where is yon man, yer ex-husband, now?” Jamie spoke to her tenderly all while he was seething with fury. His eyes darkened becoming narrow slits.  His hand opened and closed with the want to lash out, strike out at this poor excuse for a man and beat him within an inch of his life for what he did to her.

“I think he teaches here in Boston. Why?”

“If he ever has the misfortune of crossing my path, I shall beat him into a pudding.” He smiled with pleasure at the thought. He would avenge her.

“Dinna waste your tears, a leannan. He is not worthy of ye or yer tears. The man is a fool. I love ye and I always will.” He cuddled her close rocking her gently. He raised her face up and kissed her tenderly on the lips. When their lips parted, Jamie gave her a shy smile; his lip curling on one side.

Claire’s eyes opened wide in shock; her hand going to her lips. Her lips tingled from his kiss, and she felt a rush of blood through her body warming her. Claire realized that she had never experienced such closeness, warmth, tenderness, and safety as she did now while Jamie was holding her close to him. There was a sense of peace that washed over her. In Jamie’s arms, she was totally accepted for who she was.  She found love in his arms.

“I’m sorry Claire if I was too forward. I dinna mean to… Ye seemed so upset. I just meant to offer ye some comfort.” Jamie said apologetically.

Claire looked into his clear blue eyes, reached up, grasping him by the nape of his neck, and brought his head down to hers. She soundly kissed him back. His lips were soft, tasting of whisky, and from the salt of her tears. It was everything she imagined it would be.

“That’s what you call being forward, Fraser.”

Jamie was completely nonplussed by her kiss and was rather flustered. “Where did ye learn to kiss like that, Claire?”

“I am not a nun, Fraser. I have kissed a few men and maybe an occasional frog in my life.”

Jamie was not sure how he felt after that.  He wanted to pick her up, throw her over his shoulder, put her on the bed, and take her. He stepped back, chest heaving, and with great effort collected himself.

Claire shyly smiled at Jamie, “I do believe it’s your turn now to tell your story.”

Claire sat by his side, taking his hand in hers as an offer of support waiting for him to begin.

“Some of my story is similar to yers.  My mam was a visiting nurse, ye ken.  She was going on a home visit to a new young mother and her bairn.  The mother was no more than 18. My brother Willie needed to drive into Broch Morda to pick up some supplies my Da had ordered for the farm. So, Willie drove my Mam to her appointments that day.  It was September and the beginning of the rutting season for the red deer.  As Willie was driving along two huge stags ran out onto the road directly in front of the car.  Willie swerved trying to avoid them but struck one of the stags.  The car went off the road and into a ditch.  Willie died instantly, while my Mam hung on for a week in a coma. She died eight days after the accident.  I was fifteen at the time.”

Claire could feel the tremors running through Jamie’s body as he told her the story. She pulled him closer to her, gave his hand a squeeze letting him know she was there and as encouragement.

Jamie took a deep shuddering sigh and continued.

“Much like yer Uncle Lamb, my Da was overcome with grief from the two losses. He was no’ himself after their deaths.  The following year, when I was 16, a group of lads and I were swimming in the pond by the gristmill. We were naked as jays,” he said with a smirk.

“The lads were roughhousing around, pushing and shoving. Someone pushed my friend Ian, and he fell into the pond too close to the water wheel.  He got caught by the water wheel at the leg and was about to be dragged under. I heard Ian screaming and hollering. So, I jumped in after him and managed to free him. His leg was badly mangled. There was blood everywhere. I was trying to get out of the water but I lost my balance, and I was taken under. The water wheel paddles tore the skin from my back. The water was turning red from my blood too. Ian and I were rushed to the hospital. Ian lost his leg below the knee.  I spent a long time in intensive care having surgery to close my back. Some grafts had to be placed ye ken. Some of the wounds had to be left to heal on their own."

Jamie let out a heavy sigh sounding like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“It was all too much for my Da after my Mam and Willie. Then I went and got injured, his now only son.  When he came to the hospital and saw me, I was told he made a small sound, grabbed at his chest, and fell. He suffered a heart attack and died. To this day, I feel responsible for his death.”

Jamie whispered, “Claire, I killed my Da.”

He turned his head buried his face into Claire’s neck and sobbed like he was a child fresh with the grief from the loss of a parent and from years of repressed guilt.

Claire held him close, rubbing his back, uttering tender words that one would say to soothe a child.

“My back is scarred, Claire. ‘Tis grotesque. I’m afraid ye would think me a monster if ye saw it.”

Claire looked at him with a smile on her lips that went to her eyes.

“I sincerely doubt it, Jamie.”

“Ye didna think ye would be disgusted or repulsed by it, Claire?”

“No Jamie, I most certainly don’t think so. Your beauty lies in your heart, in your soul. A marred back cannot change that. It cannot change what I feel for you.”

They sat there holding each other, taking solace from each other. 

“Jamie, you mustn't blame yourself for your father’s death. You were very brave to jump in after your friend and save his life.  He would have died if not for you. I’m sure your father was very proud of his brave son.”

“Do ye think so, Claire?”

“Yes, I do. I think you were very brave, reckless maybe, but brave nonetheless.” She smiled. “Oh, Jamie how I do love you.”

Claire kissed him soundly on the mouth. They sat holding each other. Each giving comfort to the other and feeling safe within each other’s arms.

[guzma-reader-hell]

Guzma x Reader: Baby Fever

What is even “baby fever”? Not sure that I know, but I do know that I have kitten fever. And now after writing this I definitely have Wimpod Fever.

…

“Guzma let me see! I don’t want to ram into the wall!”

“Just keep your eyes shut babe! We’re almost there…”

His large, warm hands press a little harder against your eyes as though he believes you have them open. Minutes ago you were engaged with cleaning two ornery Golisopod shells in the tub with a toothbrush and some Pokémon soap (It had been a chore trying to clean Gumdrop, his little girl as he calls her, and your big boy Gazpacho. They had been cuddling and purring in their own little bug away and refused to be cleaned.), but his whining and nagging has finally gotten the better of you. After towel drying the giant isopod Pokémon off you followed him, only to have your eyes covered. You stumble blindly wherever he leads you, holding onto his arms and pressing your back flush against his soft abdomen.

“Ok, now look.” He says at last, joy in his voice when you come to a halt.

Your open eyes are greeted with worn wooden bars in the shape of a box. Soft pastel bedding with pictures of fluffy Mareep prancing over little gates and bushes, the tiny mattress nestled safely within the bars along with a small matching plush toy that looks as though it has been very much loved for many years. It’s a comfortable, well used looking crib that would surely be the safe haven of any small child. But why it’s in your living room is a mystery.

“Guzma.” You state simply.

“I know it looks a little gnarly now.” He insisted, patting the wood as though it was an old friend, “But I figure if I oil it, maybe find a new mobile, and then wash this little guy with the sheets, I think it’ll look real nice again. We could move it in our room next to the bed thataway we’ll be close if somethin’ happens.”

“Guzma…”

“Come on babe! You have to admit it’s a good first time crib. Better than getting one a those cheap ones that break right away.”

“Guzma, I’m not pregnant. Why did you buy this thing?”

There’s a flash of realization that flickers across his eyes like a lightning bolt, quickly followed up by a strange expression. Longing? Sadness? One of the two, you’re not sure which. But this is the first time you’ve ever seen him so downtrodden by something you’ve said.

“I know that.” he says quietly after a while.

“So why did you buy it?” you ask again, “I’m not mad baby, I just want to know.”

Guzma is unsure how to answer, opting to run his fingers across the bedding until they come across the soft toy. He worries it in his hands. Avoiding the question for as long as it takes. You sit down on the couch, scratching your tummy from under your shirt and waiting patiently. Taking a deep breath he sits down next to you, seemingly drawing strength from the Mareep toy.

“I want a baby.” He replies at last.

You’re thunderstruck, eyes widening and your nerves tangled up in a myriad of confusion. How does one feel about this request when you’ve only been living together for a few months? There are so many things that haven’t been settled. His father is still leaving threatening messages with the league. Your mother hasn’t quite warmed up to the fact that your relationship started up so quickly. Demands from your being the champion keep you away from the house more often than you’d like to admit, especially now that you’re slacking on your duties to be with Guzma. The work piles up, sometimes you become upset at each other, but you never thought he would be ready for such a drastic step.

“A what?” you croak, thinking perhaps he has responded with something else.

“A baby.” he says again. His voice seems to gain in strength, as though the toy has given him his voice back, “Been seeing some of my friends in town, mostly the girls are the ones who got a little kid with ‘em. They look real happy. Probably never seen ‘em that happy before. I unno… I got the baby fever bad babe…”

“I…” what could you say? You can only sink further into the couch. Guzma isn’t looking at you anymore, probably thinking the worst as his grip tightens around the Mareep toy. Palpable silence lingers in the air for quite some time. It’s finally broken when Guzma inhales, letting it out slowly before continuing to defend his desire.

“Just been thinkin’ too… Would be like… nice to have somethin’ that’s ours.”

“Ours?”

“Yes. Somethin’ that we didn’t have to rely on anyone else for. Somethin’ we made on our own, ya know? Somethin’ I can call mine, and you can call yours, but we know it’s both of us that made it.” He seems to have more conviction, despite the fact that he cannot find the words to describe what it is he wants exactly.

“But isn’t our love like that? Isn’t it something we didn’t need anyone else to give us? We made this,” you indicate to the apartment around you, to the two Golisopod waddling through the hallway curiously trying to see what’s happening, “We made this together. A baby is just… I’m not sure we could handle that right now. Not like this.”

“I’ll take care a you both! You won’t ever have to worry about money or who’s gonna take care a the kid. I’ll get as many jobs as it takes, I’ll do anythin’ I needta to make sure you both have everythin’.” he insists. Your Gazpacho nudges him softly with a claw, earning a “not now” from him until a bit of an ice beam gets his attention.

“What the hell!” he exclaims.

“Gazpacho,” you begin, “Don’t do that to people- what have you got there buddy?”

In terms of spellbinding events, today seems to have it out for you. Guzma’s Golisopod makes a soft content noise when your Gazpacho lowers his arms, an egg cradled between its claws. He places the egg gently in the space between you and Guzma, returning to his innocent little mate and looking expectantly at the two of you. Guzma can’t say anything. He reaches for it at the same time you do, and without missing a beat you both cradle the egg between the two of you.

“I… I guess we are having a baby after all.” you say, smiling at Guzma’s widened eyes. He’s completely enraptured with the egg, fascination with bugs showing clear as day now that he’ll have the opportunity to witness one being born.

“And I guess… Maybe after this little guy hatches… Maybe we can talk about the baby thing a little more. See if we’re ready.”

“I’d like that babe.” He smiles.

At least, if the crib he’s purchased cannot yet contain a baby, it can be used as a soft nest for a Pokémon egg.

[seaseren]

Finally drew Aqua Mom. Now I just needta draw Pink Mom, Orange Gremlin Cousin, and Red Please-Don’t-Let-Her-Be-Your-Mom

[spaciebabie]

imagineing twilight sparkle listening to stay the night while thinking of her gay pony crush flutterhys im gonna fucking lose it