He didn’t only buy her apartment but paid much more beyond the price that was asked for it. He wanted that place and only that place, a lot!

Saturday, 25 August 2018

100K MORE!!!! Who does that???? I’m sorry, but the apartment receipt will forever make me scream because it’s just so…..insane. Like you don’t buy the apartment of your costar who you’re weirdly close to unless you’re married to them. If this happened in any other fandom people would just accept they were together because it doesn’t make sense otherwise.

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serial time killer

Rainbow (Moodboard challenge oneshot)

claryclark:

smashing-teacups:

A/N: I’m so excited to be a part of yet another thrilling writing challenge in this fic community! Naturally, leave it to me to take a perfectly fluffy board, stick a knife in it, and twist! 😂🤷‍♀️

A modern day take on the Faith storyline, and what it would be like for Jamie and Claire to go through that grieving process together, and what a second pregnancy/the ability to parent together after losing their first child would look like. Naturally, therefore, there is a big old TRIGGER WARNING I need to place here for stillbirth/pregnancy loss. But I do promise this oneshot has a happy ending!

Thanks to @outlanderlush and @iamnottrisha for organizing this challenge, to @fierceweebadger for creating this stunning moodboard, and to @desperationandgin and @lcbeauchampoftarth for betaing!

I knew before Claire did, the second time around.

I’d known for four days by the time she came home from Tesco with a pregnancy test wedged surreptitiously between the milk and the K-cups. I busied myself with putting away the produce, feigning oblivion while she ferreted the wee pink box into the folds of her cardigan and escaped to the bathroom on the pretense of putting away the toothpaste and body wash.

When the door clicked shut behind her, I went very still, bone-white hands clenched on the edge of the countertop.

I already knew what the test would show. There was no doubt in my mind at that point.

I knew my wife’s body better than I knew my own.

Her breasts were an easy tell; she’d whimpered in protest when I probed them — gently, experimentally — while she slept. They were tender, aye, and the nipples a little more full already. The delicate veins along her areola were swollen with the increased blood supply, and as recently as that morning the color had started to deepen, darken. In a few weeks, I knew they’d be the color of champagne grapes.

At least they had been. Last time.

She had burst into tears the night before over a dog food commercial. She was short with me, quick to snap blazing whisky eyes up to mine and give me a thorough tongue lashing for whatever my perceived error of the moment was.

And perhaps most telling of all: it was the middle of March, there was still a dusting of snow on the ground, and my normally ice-blooded Sassenach was burning up. She kept kicking off the blankets in the middle of the night, scooting away from my body heat unconsciously when I tried to spoon around her. She’d started cracking the window and turning on the ceiling fan before bed, complaining that the bloody thermostat must be broken, because it was “sweltering in here.”

Aye, I knew. I knew fine well what the test would say.

Apparently, my wife had been less sure.

When the door to the bathroom creaked slowly open on its hinge, I stood motionless for a moment, watching. Claire stood on the other side of the threshold, just out of sight.

She didn’t move.

So I did.

I crossed the kitchen in careful, measured strides, gaze trained on that doorway, waiting for the moment I could find her eyes with mine.

When I did, I froze, every muscle in my body drawn taut, every hair follicle standing on end.

I didn’t breathe — couldn’t — and neither did she.

Tears stood like diamonds in her eyes, shimmering in the light. She looked up at me helplessly, her chin dimpled and quivering, and put a hand to her mouth to smother a sob.

I felt a crack through my chest like a gunshot, and then I was moving again, grabbing for her in the same moment that she reached for me. There was nothing soft or tender about the way we collided — clawing, scrambling to get each closer, tighter — frantic and shaking and terrified.

Fucking terrified.

Keep reading…

READING THIS FIRST THING IN THE MORNING WAS A MISTAKE!!!! I AM SO EMOTIONAL OVER THIS RN. I CAN’T HANDLE IT.

@smashing-teacups , my love, you are KILLLING ME with the angst!!! This one shot was so insanely captivating. I swear to god I felt every human emotion in it’s purest form. YOU ARE AN ARTIST!