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bulletballet-arch · 3 years

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REALLY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY. RULES. repost , don’t reblog ! tag 10 ! good luck ! TAGGED. I took this from Minnie’s archived Bioshock blog. I’ve been looking for this meme all this month. TAGGING. @hammurabicomplex. @bluuxriising. @ Me - for Sal on @bulletsoverbensonhurst. @immaterialed (charlie) @soypeor (bella) @svmmercmance. @mrflayed. and you!

BASICS. FULL NAME : Eve Delores Littlejohn NICKNAME : Evie, Little Evie (by her maternal side of the family), Delores, Didi NAME MEANING / S Eve is from the ancient Hebrew name חַוָּה (Chawwah), which was derived from the Hebrew word חָוָה (chawah) meaning "to breathe" or the related word חָיָה (chayah) meaning "to live". Delores is a variant of Dolores, meaning "sorrows", taken from the Spanish title of the Virgin Mary María de los Dolores, meaning "Mary of Sorrows." Littlejohn is a surname that has historically been found in England and Scotland. With potential origins being either ‘to distinguish a beloved child that was not the eldest.’ Or, ‘a contradictory nickname for a large man.’ HISTORICAL CONNECTION? : She’s named after her grandmother, Evelyn Hollins.

AGE : 42 BIRTHDAY : June 2 ETHNIC GROUP : Black-American. Meaning she’s mixed with a lot (Some of her relatives are respectively Creole and Italian) but uses Black as a catch-all term. NATIONALITY : American LANGUAGE / S : English, Italian, Spanish, Latin, some French SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Biromantic RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Verse dependent, usually married -or connected- to Salvatore Scozzari in some way. CLASS : Upper-Class HOME TOWN / AREA : Brooklyn. Spent time between Bedford-Stuyvesant - with her paternal grandfather and Park Slope - with her maternal grandparents. CURRENT HOME : In her childhood home in Bedford-Stuyvesant. PROFESSION : Ballet Instructor. Former Professional Ballerina. ( Other verses see her as a professional thief. )

PHYSICAL. HAIR : Black. In terms of her natural hair, Eve has springy, 3C hair she seldom shows off because she was raised in a family where straightened hair was deemed presentable and professional. EYES : Thin almond eyes. Dark brown. NOSE : Straight and small. FACE : She has a prominent, high forehead, that’s accented with high cheekbones and a pointy chin. LIPS : Full. COMPLEXION : She has a light brown (tawny) complexion. SCARS : None major. TATTOOS : None. HEIGHT : 5′4″ BUILD : Eve has a slender build. One of those people who have been small and petite since childhood. Despite this, she also stays skinny because she is obsessively conscious of the food she consumes. The older she gets the more she weighs, however. USUAL HAIR STYLE : Her hair is cut short. Reaching her shoulders in a neat, even bob. She either curls it in a retro fashion or curls the tips. For work she wears it in a traditional, pinned bun. USUAL FACE LOOK : In public, she appears stoic for the most part. Any emotion shown (such as the length of a smile) is carefully calculated. She has to seem perfect. USUAL CLOTHING : Form fitting dresses. Incredibly chic and fashionable for the time. Shoes include heels - never open-toed, unless she has on stockings. Extravagant earrings. Jewelry that can include either necklaces, crosses, pearls, or dainty rings. Prone to wearing black sunglasses in public.

PSYCHOLOGY. FEAR / S : Thunderstorms, airplanes, creatures like weasels, snakes and ferrets, break-ins, men she doesn’t know, harm coming to her children ASPIRATION / S : Formerly wanted to become a major [black] ballerina in the elite world of ballet, now she just wants to expose more [inner city children] to dance through her job. Personally, she wants her children to change the world in some form or fashion, too. Eve also has good ideas on improving the community, but at the moment has no idea how to go about these ideas. POSITIVE TRAITS : Generous, compassionate, patient, protective NEGATIVE TRAITS : Strict, sullen, hard to read, represses her emotions, secretive MBTI : Advocate - INFJ-T ZODIAC : Cancer TEMPERAMENT : Melancholic ANIMALS : Lioness VICE / S : Pride & Lust FAITH : Christian. Grew up Baptist, but Catholic influences have been around her since childhood. Attended a Catholic High School in Park Slope, her grandmother Evelyn was also a practicing Catholic. GHOSTS ? : Yes and no. She feels that objects formerly owned by the deceased posses the essence of their previous owners and that they essentially live on through these pieces of property. AFTERLIFE ? : Yes. REINCARNATION ? : No, but it’s a romantic concept. ALIENS ? : No. POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : Democratic ECONOMIC PREFERENCE : She likes being where she’s at now. But honestly, being upper class is all she’s ever known. SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION : Bourgeoisie, basically. The Littlejohn’s represent The Historical Black Elite. EDUCATION LEVEL : College level. FAMILY.

FATHER : William ‘Bill’ Littlejohn MOTHER : Linda Littlejohn ( nee Hollins ) SIBLINGS : None EXTENDED FAMILY : Amos Littlejohn (paternal grandfather) Liza Littlejohn (paternal grandmother) Evelyn Hollins (maternal grandmother) Giuseppe D’Aietti (maternal grandfather) and a wide host of cousins, aunts and uncles.

FAVOURITES. BOOK : Night Song by Beverly Jenkins. The Color Purple by Alice Walker. Some sort of old, French erotic novel that was published before she was born. MOVIE : Eve watches films along the lines of...Waiting to Exhale, Beaches, The First Wives Club and Fatal Attraction. She loves Made-For-TV movies from the time period. In regards to plays, her favorite one is Sunday In The Park With George. 5 SONGS : Meet Me On The Moon / Essence of Sapphire / No One In The World / People / The First Time I Saw Your Face DEITY : Persephone HOLIDAY : New Years Eve, Christmas, Thanksgiving. Major holidays during the colder season. MONTH : October SEASON : Autumn PLACE : The dance studio she works at. WEATHER : Sunny, but cool. SOUND : The voices of Anita Baker and Sarah Vaughn. A skilled hand running over piano keys. Soft trumpets. Running water. Cats making chipper little meows. SCENT / S : Perfume, floral scented lotions, her partner’s cologne TASTE / S : Caramel, the tang of dark chocolate, strawberries coated with either chocolate, or sprinkles of white sugar. Light Vinegar. FEEL / S : Performing in front of an audience. Hot water engulfing your skin after a long day. Satin - whether it be the fabric of her clothes or sheets, your fingers tightly intertwined with another’s, feeling your significant other’s chest raise and lower against your skin with each breath they take. ANIMAL / S : Cocker Spaniels, Afghan Hounds, Cats, Birds - she loves all ( well, a majority ) of animals. NUMBER : Doesn’t have one. COLOR : White, Pink, Gold.

EXTRA. TALENTS : Dance, Eve is trained in ballet when it comes to her main verse. She has attended ballet classes since the age of eight and ever since then she placed all of her focus into it. Similarly, Eve has always had the makings of a good artist - as a child she enjoyed drawing and had informal art lessons with a man who lived in the basement of her grandfather’s brownstone, but she never invested into that half of her. BAD AT : Singing, Being interviewed, Public Speaking (as in Speech Giving), Decision Making TURN ONS : Charisma, Leadership Skills, Temperature Play, Phone Sex, Heavy Kissing, Light Roleplay TURN OFFS : Public Sex, Tearing [ Her ] Clothes, Threesomes, Cruelty, Senseless Violence HOBBIES : viewing plays & some musicals, reading romance novels, shopping, working out (she was into the whole celebrity VHS tape exercise trend), playing tennis, decorating AESTHETIC : Vintage Black Glamour, Black Ballerinas, Champagne and Wine Glasses, Paintings by Melinda Byers and Edward 'Clay' Wright QUOTES : "I'm bad with words, I hope you're good in reading eyes." / "There are truths I haven't even told God. And not even myself. I am a secret under the lock of seven keys."

FC INFO. MAIN FC / S : Lynn Whitfield ( A Thin Line Between Love & Hate ) ALT FC / S : Kylie Bunbury ( Twisted ) OLDER FC / S : Lynn Whitfield ( Greenleaf ) YOUNGER FC / S : N/A VOICE CLAIM / S : Lynn Whitfield

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : if you could write your character your way in their own movie , what would it be called , what style would it be filmed in , and what would it be about ? A1 : Recently I decided that if/when I try to write anything serious about Eve again, it’ll center on her being a jewel thief because it presents me more fun, and emotionally diverse, opportunities. That and I have a very specific cover image in my mind. Ideally, her adventures would be a series of books. I have no title in mind, no idea about how ‘it would be filmed’ ( although a style replicating 90s films would be excellent, film grain and all. ) but, I do have a bunch of plots in mind that I really don’t feel like typing out here.

Q2 : what would their soundtrack / score sound like ? A2 : Her score would have a vintage sound (or a jazzy Spike Lee sound, if you will) with instrumentals by Dorothy Ashby (a Jazz Harpist) the Ahmad Jamal Trio, Pharaoh Sanders, Yusef Lateef and Tarika Blue. For music with lyrics, the soundtrack would include the likes of Julie London, Sarah Vaughn, Ella Fitzgerald, and Dionne Warwick.

Q3 : why did you start writing this character ? + Q4 : what first attracted you to this character ? A3 : Whenever I make NPCs for my character’s lives I actually can’t just let them just be NPCs. I start thinking about them too much. Developing them too much. And then I’m like, ‘wow! I really like this character!’ Eve was a different character when I began writing her, and likely wouldn’t be considered the same character as she was previously, if I told someone in real life who knows about my writing (like my grandma) about all the changes she has undergone. Originally Delores was a university professor, because I thought it could lead to interesting interactions with college-age muses. And her previous history with the mafia was also something interesting to tap in. But then I started thinking about what was realistic, what wasn’t realistic, what did I feel comfortable/interested writing? What didn’t I feel comfortable/interested in writing? So as time went on, things would alter about this character. And the new things I came up with attracted me more.

Q5 : describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. A5 : I have a love/hate relationship with Eve’s quiet demeanor. On one hand, I think quieter characters need love and the ability to be fully dimensional but on the other hand, writing louder characters has always been more fun for me. But really, Eve’s guarded behavior makes writing her stressful in some cases with others because sometimes...if I’m going to be honest...people don’t know how to carry a thread and interact with someone of her demeanor effectively.

Q6 : what do you have in common with your muse ? A6 : We’re both black, we’re both into art (although our exact interests and aesthetics with art differ)

Q7 : how does your muse feel about you ? A7 : Realistically she would think I need to take better care of myself.

Q8 : what characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ? A8 : We skippin’ this question.

Q9 : what gives you inspiration to write your muse ? A9 : Films such as, “Waiting to Exhale,” “The Kitchen” and “Widows.” Books by Alice Walker, like “The Third Life of Grange Copeland” as well as her short story, “Roselily.” The historical mob figure Stephanie St. Clair.

Q10 : how long did this take you to complete ? A10 : A few hours.

#long post #dash games.#headcanons.

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hunterartemis · 7 years

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Confessions (Frank Castle X Reader)

We lay on our bed, sweaty and basking under the post-coital glow. I looked at Frank and he looked at me, and we giggled like five year old, nuzzling into each other’s body: our laughs muted and harmonized in the same tune.

A moment of fruitful pause passed, as we shyly looked at each other like teenagers in crush, while the other moment we goofily grinned at each other as if we knew each other for years: the lust in his eyes was overlapping with his love and adoration and it made me crazy.

‘How do you do that?‘ I asked, pulling the sheet up on my chest.

‘Do what?‘ he leaned on his side, with his chest exposed, glistening with sweat which only accentuated his chest.

‘pull off that... rugged charm suave!‘ I pouted and he pulled me closer.

‘hey Frank...‘ I ran my hands over his chest and looked up at him, ‘wanna play a game?‘

‘If it’s gonna be who’s laughing first while getting tickled I ain’t gonna be a part o’that shit...‘ He smiled and pinched my nose in an affectionate way.’No... not that! It’s a different kinda game. It’s called ten questions. You get to ask me ten, I get to ask you ten.‘ I said and looked at him.

He paused and froze for a second, his smile vanished, and I could feel his muscle tensing up, for him... this could go anywhere. I was terribly scared, perhaps I was going to the landmine zone, ‘It’s okay, if you don’t wanna play... we can just have round two?’

‘No.. it’s okay, I don’t mind.‘ He shot up straight and sat up on our bed and made me do the same, ‘it would be like the good ol’ Sundays back in the days.‘

I nervously breathed it in and started to giggle madly as I was making him thorough with the rules and played ‘rock-paper-scissors’ to decide the first one to ask the questions, after drawing the same thing for about five times, My paper won over his rock.

‘Okay... since there is no need to tell me your name, tell me about your childhood in a few expressions‘ I asked in a mock business-like manner, to which the big bad Punisher joined me.

‘Ladies and gentlemen o’the jury, I am Francis Castle, I was born and raised in Queens by a housewife mother named and a father who worked in NYPD, I am a high school graduate. My old man died when I was sixteen and therefore, to provide for my family, I joined the USMC.‘ before he could finish, I broke out laughing, to which he didn’t quite settled ‘what’s so funny?’

‘You have a pompous-ass name for a vigilante warlord “Francis”...‘ I pronounced his name with a fake British accents while gathering one of my lock over my lips ‘all you need is a monocle!!!‘

He looked at me with a quizzical expression and said ‘ya know, I could be way classier than I lead you on kid! It’s you now, shoot’, I told him what I was and how I handled this far.

‘Okay, next question: what is the strangest, most unpredictable thing about you that will shock the world?‘ I asked, and boy was I wrong about how the surprised will stop after the ‘Francis‘ bomb.

‘My real name is not Francis Castle--‘

‘Frank, I think you’re missing the point of ten questions, I did not ask to ten ways to troll your girlfriend--‘

‘My real name is Fra-‘

‘Francesca?‘ I snorted and he affectionately slapped my thigh, and answered ‘no... Francis Louis Mario Lorenzo Castiglione. I am Italian-American and was studying to be a Catholic priest, which didn’t set well with me, and you know why.‘

I was completely silent, and looked at him with gaped mouth while he enjoyed my expressions and smugly winked, ‘guess Francesca just got owned... not sure if I will get the same with yours kid.’

‘Well Frank, I am proud to tell you that...‘ I huffed and looked at him exasperatedly ‘I wish my life was as exciting as yours.‘

‘C’mon kid, there’s gotta be somethin’‘ Frank gave me a mischievous smile, ‘like that one time you was found in the’ and he dived in to tickle the hell out of me to a point where I finally confessed. ‘okay, okay... I was found in the bushes during the field trip, masturbating to my really hot, Shakespeare expert English teacher, by the English teacher in person’ I huffed, laughing, tickled, slightly embarrassed-- not because I verbally said it out to Frank, but the fact, he knew about that before I told him. ‘But how the hell you guessed it?’

‘Sweetheart... I know how to know things... next question.‘ Frank was now killing the game, in my opinion, and I was half-hearted to stop the game immediately and smacking myself how wrong I was to think that he was anxious about the game.

‘whom would you identify with the most before you became a Punisher: Fuckboy or Nerdy Virgin?‘ I do think that I got him now. But being Frank, he was all cool, ‘I would say, that I pretended to be a fuckboy so that nobody would guess I was a nerdy virgin who was studying to be a priest... which would be the rudest fucking surprise to all the concerned... what about you?‘

‘Don’t mock me now Francis... ‘ I slumped my shoulder, ‘my status, until few hours ago was Nerdy Virgin.‘

‘Right you are sweetheart... choose the next one carefully.‘ he smirked mischievously, oh I will Francesca, I will.

‘Okay... what is the most embarrassing story of your life?‘ I laughed while asking it, because Frank cannot return that to me because I got it when he answered the fourth question, and I was enjoying the hell out of it when I got Frank gaping and tilting his head in the most ‘Frank-like‘ manner.

‘It’s a long story now kid, I dunno if--‘

‘If you don’t answer you don’t get to kiss me all week.‘ I played along.

‘You’re evil... alright‘ he huffed, ‘it happened in the Marines...in the Military Ball when i was dancing with the Colonel’s daughter and I suddenly stepped on ‘er dress and the shit got ripped from the waist. got ma’self tangled in all o’er it and wors’ o’all... her boobs o’ma face, in front of my seniors and... ‘

‘And?‘ i asked.

‘That’s it... end of the story... I handed ma ass t’ya. Next?‘ he smiled, and I thought I should have mercy on him, I can’t stand him getting all embarrassed: it doesn’t suit him--he should be fearless and bold. This time I hold his hands ‘what is the most favorite moment of you with her?‘

Frank’s embarrassed smile got replaced with a nostalgic silence, his dark eyes glinted with the ghosts of his past and I almost got teary when he spoke, ‘ya’ know that one time, when we were newly married-- she was already with the child an’ all round and squishy. There was--there was’ he flayed his tall fingers in a way that he was already afraid that the memories will fade ‘there was a--a myrtle tree under which she sat, because she was all beat with the baby shoppin’ and suddenly she asked me to--to put the flowers on her head, it’s like “Frank, how will they look on me, will they be good” and boy, she looked like a potbelly fairy princess with all the pretty flowers in ‘er head-- I kissed her, and by god and I got my heart broke into pieces with the pretty little smile o’her.’ he ended with a sniffle and looked at me, while I was a hot mess, with tears running down my face, before he could say anything, I hugged him and kissed his temple tenderly.

‘I think we are done with the game?’ he tried to smile from what I guessed from his voice, while I rose from his shoulder and cupped his face in my hand ‘I must have saved a country in the past, for being here with you now... and I have no idea why... why of all bad people you-you should have the worst fate in the world--’

His big, calloused finger tapped over my relatively tiny lips and hushed me softly. I was a hot mess of tears and emotions as his big thumb caressed my tears away and looks down at me with affection.

‘Sweetheart, you are sitting on my lap, buck ass naked, oozin’ a world worth of love and sweetness that would give me diabetes. Trust me, I am not the one whose fate is the worst‘ he tucked one of my hair behind my ears and shook my chin ‘I think the worst fate award goes to every person about to be shot by me, and the douchbags who rejected you.‘

#Frank Castle Imagines #frank castle trash #jon bernthal #fangirling #Shakespeare referances

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kalendraashtar · 7 years

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Fanfiction - A Lifetime of Her (Part VI)

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

Twenty-eight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s when the doorbell rang.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#A Lifetime of Her #Part VI #My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder #Twenty-eight #Jamie and Claire #Outlander fanfiction #Lover You Should've Come Over #ANGST just so you know I know

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