What-Time-Is-Love

on a picnic

he pours her a glass of sangria while she puts on even more sunscreen.

“if you put any more of that on, you’ll turn into a ghost,” he jokes, sampling a sip from her glass. though she prefers red, they only had white wine in the house, so they mixed some up with lemons and limes, topped with mint from their garden. cold and refreshing, the drink demands another sip.

“if i were to put any less on,” she counters, taking her glass from him, “i’ll turn into a lobster. which would you prefer?”

leaning back on his forearms, he purses his lips, says, “depends. would there be melted butter involved?”

“mulder.”

“would i be in maine or germany at the time?”

“mulder.”

“have you ever had german lobster? i haven’t, but i doubt it’s as good as-”

“mulder!”

then, he quiets, pours himself a glass.

though summer has reached its peak, the day isn’t too hot; a light breeze drifts by every so often, swaying the tall and golden grasses around their picnic blanket, and the sun is blocked from severity by a partly-cloudy sky. she wears a blue cotton sundress, one she bought before they were even together, and the skirt bellows out around her knees, a brassiere a foreign idea when the dress is so much more comfortable for her without it. with the handmade basket she’s had forever, they packed a lunch that morning, one of brie and pellegrino and whole grain crackers, along with homemade fig jam and grapes. he braided her hair while she packed it all up, and as little pieces of her hair fall toward her freckled face, he smiles.

she’s so beautiful.

“we might need a new blanket,” she frets as she opens the basket, takes out the crackers. “this one’s taken a beating.”

she made this blanket ages ago, hand-stitched it and reinforced the bottom so that they could use it on wet grass, and ever since, it’s been a staple in their lives, a traveling companion and a memorable friend. next to his foot is the hole they burned in it when they went camping six years ago, mulder’s fire-building skills having gone south. on her side of the blanket, there’s a little patch she sewed on after a particularly raucous dave matthews band concert, one that proved that scully, alcohol, and high heels weren’t a good combination. the green blanket is half stains and half restitched tears; certainly, it’s taken a beating, but he can’t bear to think of making a new one.

“this one’s fine,” he rationalizes. “pass me a cracker.”

obliging, she hands him a couple, and as he bites down on one, another breeze comes, rustling up her hair. in the sun, she looks warm and luminous, like a beacon. then, she lies on her back, sangria in one hand and her book in the other. a teenager at their library had recommended scott westerfeld to her, and to mulder’s surprise, scully was reading a third book of his.

“c'mere,” he says, lying down and motioning for her.

confused, she sits up, scoots over toward him; then, he taps on his stomach, so she understands his hint, rests her head on his belly as she lies down again. her hair is warm against his shirt.

while she reads, he watches the clouds move by overhead, wonders what each one looks like. that first one, it’s definitely an elephant; he can see the square body and the little trunk with ease. the next one is a harpsichord, but he may be wrong, for he’s unsure he can remember exactly what a harpsichord looks like. then, he squints, looks closer and sees a heart there instead, the simplest of shapes to see in a cloud. laughing to himself, he disturbs scully, makes her ask, “what’s so funny?”

“this cloud,” he says, pointing up, “looks just like a heart.”

shielding her eyes from the sun and staring up, she says, “no, it doesn’t.”

“why not?”

“there’s no aorta,” she says, then goes back to reading.

to his surprise, she’s not joking, so he shakes his head, goes to pick up his own book and read. as she flips her page, he notices that his pen-marks from last night are still on her skin. with his pen, he tapped her forearm while they got into bed.

“these remind me of something,” he said as she settled in.

“my freckles?” she asked. “of what?”

“cassiopeia, the queen,” he explained, uncapping his pen. “do you mind?”

she shook her head, then watched as he traced from one freckle to another.

“here’s ruchbah,” he pointed out as he connected two freckles. “the next one is shadir, then caph.”

she remembered the constellation, watched as he finished it across her skin. though she hadn’t seen in the constellation in a while, the resemblance between the sky and her skin was remarkably close; the angles were the same.

“did you know that this constellation shines 40,000 times brighter than the sun?” he asked.

“really?” she asked, surprised.

“yeah,” he said, lazily kissing her wrist. “just like you.”

though she hasn’t showered yet today, he’s surprised she hasn’t washed it off yet, but he likes that it’s still there. he likes the constellations within her, even when those constellations get mad that he put her wool socks in the dryer.

“scully?” he says, interrupting her book once more.

she hums a response, stays focused on her page.

“i love you,” he says.

softly, she smiles, then turns to sloppily kiss his stomach.

“love you too,” she says. “now, let me read.”

“okay,” he gives.

he swears he can see cygnus on her shoulder, but he saves that thought for another time.

2

Names like pain cries, names like tombstones, names forgotten and reinvented, names forbidden or overused. Your name like a song I sing to myself, your name like a box where I keep my love, your name like a nest in the tree of love.

Sonic Fans:
  • Before the 25th Anniversary party:Generations is such a great game! It truly showed that Sonic still has the same charm he had in the 90's!!
  • After the party:GENERATIONS IS HORRIBLE. GOD SEGA GET IT TOGETHER. UGH YOU GUYS NEVER KNOW HOW TO PLEASE US JUST GET IT RIGHT.

omegastation  asked:

Question Time! What is your favorite Kaidan moment? The one that you want to point at and say "this, this is why I love him"? :)

Oh my gosh. You’re expecting me to choose. one. favorite. Kaidan. moment? 

I’m honestly not sure if I can do that, lol. There are so many moments I love, so I’ll try to narrow it down to ten!

Here goes:

I love that little smile he gives Shepard in the med bay after Eden Prime.
I love his slip of the tongue on the Citadel in ME1 when he indirectly tells Shepard he thinks she’s beautiful.
I love his dry comments when you take him along groundside in ME1 and his snarky remarks when you talk to him back on the Normandy.
I love how annoyed he looks when Joker interrupts that almost-first kiss in front of the lockers.
I love that tentative smile he gives Shepard at the beginning of ME3.
I love that strut when he comes to Shepard’s aid in the Citadel DLC together with that smirk and the “Looks like you’re having a bad day, Shepard.”, and his smirk after asking the volus to open the gates for them on the Cision Motors skycar lot.
I love the entire Citadel DLC dinner.
I love his “Next time … wake me.”
I love the love and admiration you can see in his eyes when he comes to Shepard’s quarters before the assault on Cerberus headquarters. And his “I lied. I didn’t come here for a quick drink”, and the grin on his face when he carries Shepard toward the bed.
I love how his voice wavers but doesn’t break when you talk to him in London and how he doesn’t care that everybody can see them when he kisses Shepard good-bye.

Damn, that’s ten already. Sorry, but I just really love Kaidan Alenko.

Originally posted by vorchagirl

What I love about “The Naked Time” is the implication that, when Sulu gets a few drinks in him, he doesn’t just get a bit tired or horny or mean or nerdy like a normal person does; he just literally rips his shirt off and starts running around cackling maniacally and LARPing an old-time swashbuckler

September 15 2015

Throbbing

a crippling metaphor about the time we spent together
followed by some gut-wrenching idea about love.

Constant, physical pain
hinders me from coming up with the
words to describe what I am feeling/
who I love.

ocean waves, cigarettes, time passed over and over again,
broken lines and broken promises and broken stanzas to symbolize
wholeness.

I wish I could tell you how tired I’ve been.
I wish I could tell you how much yearning comes with pain and silence.

1 am Undertale doodles give me life

I love the OUAT cast so much.

Seriously. What a bunch of perfect, precious cinnamon rolls. I want to meet them so bad :(

And I am so thankful for all the people who post here, on Facebook, on Twitter, etc. and make me feel like I am at comic con even though I’m not physically there. Thank you so much! I love this fandom!

anonymous asked:

i have a really big crush on one of my friends. i know i'll receive a "go for it" but i kind of already tried? it was reciprocated with an "i like you too. you are a great friend and companion." i didn't have the spoons to reiterate. now i cry.

Haha, believe it or not, I wouldn’t recommend going for it, especially if he signified he’s not ready for that. I’m sorry it’s not working out now, but only time will tell!

What’s that one proverb? Don’t awaken love before its time. If it’s meant to be, it WILL happen. Sorry if I just sound cheesy. I really hope it works out for you, anon <3333

Send an Ask About Yourself

So I’m a college student and there is this library around where I live that has 4 pokestops in it.
It is now THE place to go for Pokémon, there’s always a lure at every stop in the library, and all the stops are available outside! So hundreds of college students sit outside all day and night and play Pokémon!!!
What a time to be alive!

P.s. This picture was taken at 10:00 PM on a Sunday night. There is usually x2 as many people! Not even joking!

you know what, luke gives a lot and he tries really hard and i think sometimes people forget he’s not always in a position to come to his own defence, he can’t always explain himself or his life to us and he shouldn’t always be expected to. but he tries and i know a lot of us know what it feels like to try and have that not be enough, to not be able to explain ourselves. imagine that on the scale he deals with shit.