A list of ways Junkrat has tried to steal one of my orbs:

  • While meditating by the cliffs this morning, he crept up behind me and took an orb from its orbit. I let him get nearly back to the base before I recalled it.
    • Unfortunately, he did not manage to let go of the orb in time, so I ended up accidentally dislocating his shoulder. He became Dr. Ziegler and I’s first patient for the day. In addition to the dislocated shoulder, we found:
      • 1 small cut on his chin
      • 3 large abrasions on his hip, shoulder, and knee (from being dragged five feet across the ground before he finally clued in and let go of the orb)
      • 1 mysterious bruise
      • 8 miscellaneous burns
  • He tried to snatch an orb on his way out, but this time, I stared him down until he released it.
  • While I was preparing Dr. Ziegler’s lunch, Junkrat tried to pick-pocket an orb while walking past. I waited until I was leaving the kitchen before I recalled it, the orb rocketting out of his pocket and toppling him over in his chair.
  • After he picked himself up, he tried a dash and grab, but tripped over his own bootlaces before he made it three steps.
  • Let it never be said that Junkrat is not clever: just around 3pm, he realized that if he draped himself across my back and distracted me with cute animal pictures, I would be completely vulnerable.
    • He very nearly got away with it, but Dr. Ziegler pointed out that how odd it was for Junkrat to behave that way towards me. I had to chase him all the way to the engineering workshop, and tackled him through the doorway, but I was able to successfully retrieve my orb.
      • Junkrat had to return to the infirmary because he cracked his head rather hard and I worried about a concussion. His head was fine, but we found more scrapes, bruises, and minor burns.
  • Dinner arrives. Junkrat tries to replace an orb with an apple, but Hana sees him. Soon, everyone is sticking random objects into my orbit. This lasts past dinner and continues until Torbjorn storms in demanding to know where his scrap metal is. It is in my orbit, along with:
    • several spoons
    • a coffee mug
    • the apple
    • a bag of D.Ritos
    • Snowball
    • Genji’s faceplate and several shurikens
    • an entire case (unopened) case of Mt. Dew
    • five grenades
    • twelve rainbow colored gel pens
    • a cellular phone
    • Hanzo’s hair ribbon
    • Hanzo’s arrows and the quiver (separate)
    • four Pachimari keychains
    • and one very confused and unhappy Ganymede
      • Reinhardt grabbed Torbjorn and tried to add him to the cloud, but I told him that it was either one angry dwarf, or many small objects, but not both.
      • They chose one angry dwarf.
      • I am so sorry, Torbjorn. I should not have laughed, but I did.
  • Junkrat tried to take an orb while Torbjorn was floating in angry circles around me, but Lena caught him and made him give it back.

There is still time tonight that he might yet try again, but it is getting later, and there are now several people in the room with me, so hopefully he will give it a rest. He looks very absorbed in a Rubik’s cube at the moment.

Teddy Lupin x Reader: My Girl

AN: I have never written for the new generation of Hogwarts kids, nor do I really follow their personalities or plot devices. I haven’t read Cursed Child, and not sure if I plan on it in the future. But this was fun to write, and I kind of made up my own ideas of what I think the newer generation would be like, so I hope you enjoy this and forgive any discrepancies. 

Request: @whovianaurthor

Warnings: Very small blood mention

Y/N found Teddy Lupin breathtaking. He smelled sweet, like bubblegum, and his lips were a blushed shade of bitten red. He had long, brown eyelashes that seemingly swept others away, and for someone who had ruler-straight teeth, his smile was perfectly crooked. While his hair would be a different shade by the hour, Y/N liked it best as a cool-toned gray or shocking pink. It made his hazel eyes practically pop out of their sockets.

Y/N was quite a looker herself. She had beautiful y/h/c locks, and a cute button nose. Her laughter was like a windchime tinkling in the breeze. Y/N’s eyes were warm and full of life, and when she grinned, little crows feet crackled on the top of her cheeks. Her skin was smooth, and she was a vivid, but kind soul – always helping others get back on their feet when they fell.

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“threshold of a dream” - fic

Because I looked sadly at my dash, then looked at my wrist bandage, then went “hell with it.”

fandom: Star Wars

characters: Jyn Erso, Cassian Andor, Davits Draven; Jyn/Cassian

length: 2.8k

stuff that happens: Jyn manages that narrow escape from Scarif that we were cruelly denied and finds herself alone in the galaxy once more. Sort of.

(aka Rebelcaptain Appreciation Week, Day 1: Family)

Could a droid be one with the Force? She hoped so, not just for Cassian. The Force united everyone, didn’t it? Kay had been nothing if not someone, and now he was gone, like Papa and Saw. Like Bodhi and Baze and Chirrut, almost as certainly. The soldiers she’d hardly known, but who had believed in her, or in Cassian’s belief.

Everything had ended as it began, back on the streets of Jedha. Crowds of strangers, and the two of them, alone together. Jyn and Cassian, Cassian and Jyn.

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Batfam X Reader- Cheer Up

Peeling your uniform off, you placed it on the table after neatly folding it, not wanting Alfred to scold you again.  You had let Joker get away while you were saving the civilians, allowing him to escape and spread even more chaos.  Bruce was still out there, searching for the monster you failed to apprehend.  Trudging to the stairs, you managed to walk up to the manor without tripping on your feet for once.  The cool atmosphere of the Cave didn’t provide the sense of comfort it usually did, so you left to go to the living room.  In times like this, you just needed to burrow yourself into a blanket, but not just any blanket, THE blanket.  It was always kept on the couch after an argument over who it belonged to, but it was worth it.  Dick would have stolen that blanket if Alfred hadn’t budged in, saying that it was staying on the couch.  

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anonymous asked:

I was in a bar this weekend and saw a guy with red suspenders, red docs and white laces, with what seemed like an anti-fa shirt. I come from a place where the boots, laces and suspenders codes meant something to POC (get to somewhere safe FAST or die). I confronted him and he pretty much said I was too sensitive and he was anti-fa. My question is: is it habit for anti-fa to wear nazi stuff with anti-fa stuff?

Ah, the old “laces ‘n braces” code!  For those of you who missed the 1980s/1990s, skinheads used to identify their political affiliations (if any) by the color of their bootlaces or suspenders (aka braces).  The trouble was that this was pre-internet and pretty difficult to coordinate what color meant what political allegiance among skinheads in one city, let alone in every city around the world.

Since skinheads tend to be a bit transient, what would happen is a skinhead wearing, say, white laces & braces would leave a town where it mean they were a racist bonehead (and tbh not a skinhead at all) and visit another town where it meant they were a trad or what-have-you.  This happened for pretty much every color you can think of.  Most famously, redskins (who are inherently anti-fascist) would signify by wearing red laces & braces, then run into people from places where those colours meant you were a nazi bonehead.  

This whole system fell out of favor by the late 1990s and skinheads mostly wear what they like now and everyone has a much more difficult time discerning actual skinheads from their racist bonehead imposters.

For a historical/academic take on this whole phenomenon, have a look at this paper.  

【13】Commando? Commando. - Daryl and Mike (Part 1/ 4)

“Keluar Baris!” The Sergeant Major gave the command to fall out the boys.
“Left, Right, Left! Commando!” The boys fell out. After a 2 hour long foot drill session, they boys were shagged out. The Commandos, the Elite unit in the SAF. Everything has to be the best in there. Nothing lesser. With the intensive trainings and “hell weeks” the boys had, it’s not surprised to find ripped and pumped boys all around the camp. The officers were even hotter.

Daryl and Mike rushed to the toilet immediately after they were fallen out. They had been holding their bladders since the start of the drill session. The “hentak-kakis” wasn’t helping their bladder a single bit, whenever they lifted their legs 90-45 (degrees), their pee felt like it’s gonna burst out. Daryl ran into the toilet to the nearest urinal, unbuttoned and started peeing. Mike stood beside Daryl, peeing as well.

“Wa. Cb. Never wear underwear sia. Dirty boy!” Mike teased. Daryl stared back and commented “Fuck off la, you also never wear still dare to say…” Daryl used his right hand to squeeze Mike’s balls cheekily. Daryl buttoned up and fled, while Mike chased after him. What naughty boys.

Daryl and Mike were best brothers. They enlisted together on the same date and had their BMT in Hendon Camp. There wasn’t anything they did without each other. Eating in the cookhouse, getting confined together, bathing together during times when time was limited during their BMT, getting scolded together, getting fit together. They were inseparable brothers from another mother. Nothing both of em never seen of each other. Daryl knew that Mike was cut, shaved while Mike knew Daryl was uncut and he had a forest below. He tried to convince him to trim or shave it, but Daryl thought it was too “sissy”.

There were nothing the boys don’t talk about, except their sexuality. Daryl was gay, but in denial, he always thought it was a brotherly affair. Mike was gay too. As he grew up and understood more, he slowly came to an acceptance to it. Nothing happened between Daryl and Mike because both of them were afraid of crossing restricted boundaries which would end their friendship.

Finally, the routine orders were read and they fell out. They could rest for the day. Daryl was tired, he took off his shirt and unlaced his bootlaces. He kicked his legs in the air to fling his boots out, took out his socks and threw it aside as well. He laid in his bed in his no.4 pants. Well, if he took it off, he’ll be fully naked. He waited for more people to head for the showers before he quickly took off his pants and covered with a towel. Daryl liked to free ball, but was afraid of people judging him.

Mike in the meantime, was browsing his Grindr. Though Hendon Camp was a red zone, he still has a pretty decent non-camera phone to scroll his Grindr app. Daryl was a gay in denial, which obviously Mike wouldn’t find him there. Mike always hoped that one day, he would find a profile 1m away, so that he could probably make a first move.

Daryl washed up quickly and came back, donned on his PT shorts and his green commando singlet and laid on his bed, scrolling his phone. Under that PT pants was a flaccid, uncut dick in a forest. Mike took his toiletries and walked pass Daryl’s bed. What a poor boy. Perhaps tired from the day, He fell asleep using his phone. NSFs should know that how short are those PT pants… The fan blew, the opening of Daryl’s pants flipped up. Daryl was going commando. Mike cheekily stretched inside his pants and gave him a few jerks.

Daryl woke up in shock, realising it was Mike.

(to be continued) 

Part 2

demonoflight  asked:

Shepard interacting with children (maybe refugees on the Citadel during the Reaper War?) and making Garrus think "I want to have/adopt babies with that woman"?

“I don’t suppose you have any idea who this little monster belongs to?”

Garrus, crouched beside the cot of a wounded turian soldier who was trying very hard to give him a report, glanced over his shoulder, lifting his brow plates. Faint query turned into genuine astonishment when he realized Shepard was toting a tiny turian on one hip. The child blinked at him, her huge amber eyes so reminiscent of his missing sister’s his breath caught, frozen somewhere between loss and grief and desperate hope he’d see Solana again. 

Shepard hitched the child up, settling her more firmly on her hip. The little girl gave a pleased chirp and snuggled closer, one arm wrapped tight around Shepard’s neck while the other clutched at the fall of red hair. As Garrus watched, the child gave Shepard’s ponytail a tug and stuck the end in her mouth, mandibles flicking into a satisfied smile. Shepard made a pained face, but her eyes shone and she made no attempt to extricate her hair from the child’s ministrations.

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Lover, Fighter

Originally posted by imaginemiddlearth

part 1 

Warnings: little steam, fluff

Pairing: Thorin x reader ( wolf skin-changer )

Part 2


bunnanunê = my tiny treasure
azaghâlithûh = my young warrior
nadadith = younger brother
zirak grimm = silver wolf
uzfakuh = my greatest joy

Sun had hardly even started to peek over the horizon when you woke up. You stretched yourself like a cat and turned to look Thorin who was sleeping peacefully beside you. You took your opportunity to admire his handsome features. Very gingerly so not to wake him, you brushed a few of his tresses from his face. What did you to do to deserve to be loved by this dwarf? You couldn´t believe your luck. You couldn´t help but to recall how did you meet your lover few months ago.

When you had first time stumble upon Thorin Oakenshield´s company, they had just started their travelling toward The Shire. They were clearly little afraid of you at first, well who wouldn´t be, you were in your enormous wolf form at the time, a fresh kill, a dead deer lying in front of your feet. Your jaws were covered in blood and you kept staring at them head low baring your teeth with a low growl emerging from your throat. But when you had noticed that the dwarves didn´t make a move toward your kill, you relaxed and sat down licking your lips tilting your head little curious. What a bunch of dwarves were doing in these parts? They had continued their way eventually although some of them had been peeking over their shoulders making sure you weren´t following them. What you of course did, after you ate your fill, but without them noticing that. Tracking down 13 dwarves was a piece of cake, even if you didn´t had that good sense of smell, not to mention hearing. They were quite smelly and loud group. 

One night though Thorin noticed the wolf´s presens. He waited that his eyes was getting used to the darkness and gradually the animal´s silvery white shape was forming in his sphere of vision. She was laying down under a pinetree about 30 feet away from the camp, it´s sharp muzzle on her front paws. Wolf´s eyes were dilated, capturing whatever little light was casted toward it by the fire and only the tip of her tongue was moving, when she moistened her nose time to time, so that Thorin´s smell would come across clearer through her nose. It was almost intoxicating and she had to control herself not to run over to him. Without her innated self-restraint she would have died long ago if she had act upon every little whim she had. But something about that dwarf was very alluring and she was determined to find out what exactly it was.

Thorin couldn´t figure out why the wolf was following them. It wasn´t because it couldn´t hunt for herself and besides, the animal that size hardly had any natural enemies to worry about. So why did that huge wolf was following them?
When the others had learned that she was on their trail, they were nervous, to say the least. But little by little they became accustomed to it when they noticed that wolf didn´t do anything, only followed them.

 And then it happened, when everyone else was fast asleep and Thorin was at guard duty for tonight, he saw it…small, young looking woman heading his way cautiously. He had beckoned her to come closer and when she had sat down next to him and started talking Thorin had learned that she was the wolf who had been following them all this time. More she talked, more he felt that unfamiliar tugging in his chest. He didn´t know what it was or what it meant but he sure wasn´t pushing it down. Something was pulling him toward this young and beautiful woman and he wanted to find out what it was.

So you joined his company, this time in your human form and quickly became friends with Fili and Kili, Bofur was like the fun uncle you never had, Bifur, Dwalin and Gloin were your protectors, much like big brothers, Dori, obviously was the mother hen with you and Ori, which was little annoying, Bombur liked to feed you because he thought that you were far too skinny, Balin accepted his role as your grandfather and teaching dwarven culture to you, Ori was….you didn´t know what he was to you yet, he was quite shy and liked to focus on his sketchbook. Oin wanted to hear all about skin-changers healing skills of course and then there was  Thorin….He was quite the force to reckon with.

 You finally learned that your feelings toward each other was mutual and that he was now sure, that you were his One which ended up, with little push from his best friend Dwalin, that he asked for your permission to court you. So by the time you reached The Shire you had beautiful courting braid in your hair with his beads holding it together.

But you didn´t want to be intrusive and had told him that while he was with his company taking the meeting in the hobbit´s home, you would go ahead to make sure the path they would be taking was safe. Reluctantly Thorin had agreed to this. And that ended up to be your routine through out the journey and somehow even if the company saw you from time to time, you managed to avoid the halfling from seeing you. You didn´t want to scare the poor lad, he was clearly unaccustomed to the wildlife outside the Shire.

Smiling to the memories you kissed Thorin´s nose and chuckled when he wiggled it lightly and the movement reminded you of a bunny. Slowly he opened his eyes, still half-asleep but soon his gaze fell upon you. “Good morning, love” you purred as you layed on your stomach resting your head on your arms. Thorin smiled lazily and turned fully to his side and moved his arm to rest on your back and started to circle his thumb soothingly. “Morning bunnanunê.” His eyes shone brighter now that finally he had the chance to wake up next to you. You stared at his sapphire blue eyes and enjoyed the feeling of his hand on your back. You could stare those eyes for days and get lost to their gaze with ease. This quiet and intimate moment was rare and you wanted to savor it as long as possible. But all too soon rest of the company started to wake up and Thorin moved to get up. Sighing you followed and went to help Bombur to start making breakfast.

Everyone was ready to continue as they packed their bags and made sure nobody was left behind. Fili and Kili came over to you giving a hug and a kiss to the cheek. “Be safe Y/N.” Kili said quietly as you hold him close to you. You smiled, as there was Fili´s turn to hug you. He buried his face into crook of your neck and tightened his hold on you. You and Fili had even closer relationship than with Kili who was always testing your patient. Way too many times you had to stop him to get himself into trouble with his pranks by carrying him from back of his tunic like a pup back to others in your wolf form and literally sat on top of him and wait him to calm down.
But Fili was more reasonable one and enjoyed walking with you and learn about the culture of the skin-changers. And now, when you were gonna go to patrol ahead of them, he was clearly worried. “ Make sure to call for us if you get yourself into dangerous situation. ” he whispered. “ Promise me…”
“ I´ll promise Fili. ” you answered and stroke his back slowly to calm him. You knew why he was acting like this. He missed his mother and you been the only female in the group made you kinda the mother figure to the boys, not that you had anything against it. You cupped his face when he finally pulled back from you. “ And you….azaghâlithûh…” you whispered and saw that small proud smile forming to his lips when he heard that word. “ Promise me you keep your uncle and your nadadith safe for me.” Fili nodded. “ I promise zirak grimm.”

When Kili and Fili made their way to stand beside Dwalin, Thorin came to stand in front of you and gave your courting braid a gentle stroke. “ I hate when we have to say goodbye…even if it´s just for a few days.” he said with low and quiet voice so others couldn´t hear him. You gave him a sad smile, you knew how he was feeling, because you felt it too. “I´ll be joining you again in a week or so. Don´t worry. I´m a big girl, even tied my bootlaces all by myself.” you gave him a wink. Thorin couldn´t help but to laugh. Even when the moment was sad and serious, you managed to make him laugh with your witty comments. That was one of the reasons why he loved you so much.
Just when you were about to turn around to walk into the woods to change into your wolf form, Thorin grapped you by the waist and pressed his soft and demanding lips onto yours like his life depended on it. He poured all his love and longing toward you into that kiss and by the time he finally pulled back and let you go, you were a heavily breathing mess. Damn that dwarf! He knew exacly what that kind of kiss was doing to you and now he was leaving you with that smug smirk on his face. Oh no you don´t! You thought and took hold of his furcoat and slammed your mouths together with a burning fever. Your hand wandered in the back of his head gripping tightly his hair into your fist while your other hand travelled down south. Thorin was quick to recover from his shock and snaked his arm around your waist again making sure you weren´t going anywhere. His left hand went to your neck and he deepend the kiss with hungry, almost desperate movements of his lips. His lungs started to burn from the need of air but he didn´t want to let go, not just yet. Then he felt your hand on his groin and he sucked the air through his nose while his hips unintentionally bucked at the feeling of your touch. Only then he pulled back and grapped your wrist in a firm grip giving you a warning look. “ Don´t start what you can´t finish amrâlimê.” he purred into your ear with the most alluring, honey dripping voice he could muster. A low growl was escaping from your throat and he knew he had hit the jackpot. “Now now, my little wolf…not here.”
You huffed and took a step back. Looking at Thorin you saw that even he had hard time to calm himself down but now that there was a little space between you two, your brains started to function normally again. “Yes you´re right uzfakuh.” Thorin smiled at that and lifted his hand to stroke your cheek. “Be safe and come back soon.” he whispered before turning and gving everyone the order to move on.

You watched as the company and your lover disappeared into the forest, then took a long, deep breath and changed into your wolf form.
You stretched your legs and gave yourself a good shake feeling the urge to run, that was the feeling of freedom and you loved it. You tilted your head back and gave a long, deep and strong howl. It´s was time to take your leave and watch over the Durin´s sons.

Tagged: @fizzy-custard @xxbyimm

anonymous asked:

Prompt: Obi and Shirayuki stumble across a village where the people speak in riddles and shed their clothing from dark until dawn in a trance-like state. Shirayuki has to figure out what is going on because now Obi is running around naked with them

Lyrias has not brought tribute for months.

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When Paul came in[to the band], things started to get a little bit more serious. Paul’s father had actually had a band, Jim Mac’s Jazz Band, so Paul was much more aware of the career possibilities than any of the rest of us were, because here his own dad had had a band. So things got a lot more structured and serious when Paul arrived. You can tell that by looking at the photograph of us in July ’57, when we were at St Peter’s Church, a bunch of guys in checked shirts, and in November ’57, when you have John and Paul in smart white jackets and everybody in little bootlace ties. I mean, already Paul’s influence was evident, you know?
—  Rod Davis (of The Quarrymen), interview w/ Gillian G. Gaar for Goldmine: Before they were Beatles, they were Quarrymen. (November 28th, 2012)

anonymous asked:

you're so generous! could you please write 32 (for desus fic challenge)? you don't have to, but if you want u3u i love your writing and your stories so much!

Sorry this took a long time to finish! And thank you so much, glad you’ve enjoyed the ficlets :)

“I locked the keys in the car.”

Jesus and Daryl’s first run together was not going well at all in Daryl’s opinion, despite the fact that the small farm was mostly unlooted and only had a few walkers wandering around the barnyard. Aaron had found the place while out scouting and had drawn them a map so they could return with a truck for seeds, tools, and food.

Usually Daryl was good at shit like this: efficient, logical, and deadly when crossed. He’d even stupidly thought maybe he could impress Jesus a little, but no, apparently he turned into a disaster when left alone with the handsome man.

Still, Daryl didn’t get that embarrassed when he realized he’d lost the map. It must have fallen out of his pocket when they stopped to piss. It wasn’t a huge problem–Jesus said he remembered the map well enough to guide them. Yeah, they made a couple of wrong turns, but that was fine. They’d warned the folks at home that the run might become an overnighter.

And Daryl was only a little flustered when he made an ass of himself by tripping over his own feet in the barn and landing in a haystack. Jesus had picked pieces of straw out of his hair with delicate, quick fingers, eyes sparkling and teeth digging into his lip to keep in laughter, the fucker.

Daryl did become a bit more exasperated with himself when he missed an easy shot at a mossy-looking walker lurching towards them from the forest. He flinched when Jesus dropped a box of metal tools into the bed of truck, making his bolt go wide by several yards. Jesus had quirked an eyebrow and asked “Jumpy, Dixon?” in mock concern as Daryl got the dead bastard with a second bolt.

Jogging to retrieve the bolt from a walker’s skull–the other one had flown far off into the forest–Daryl admitted to himself that he was jumpy. Jesus just had that effect on him. The idea of being alone with the man for the day was appealing, but now that he was such a fucking mess, making mistakes at every turn, Daryl wished he’d come by himself. The always-graceful, always-collected Hilltop scout probably thought he was a bumbling moron, he realized dejectedly, returning to the farmhouse basement to continue loading up homemade preserves.

Daryl made it the rest of the afternoon without being a goddamn spazz as he and Jesus packed up some clothes and toiletries in the main house.

The locked truck was the straw that broke the camel’s back, though.

“I locked the keys in the car,” Daryl said, nonplussed, staring in disbelief at the keys in the ignition. The two men were ready to settle in for the night, but their packs sat in the middle of the pickup’s bench seat in the cab of the truck. The locked cab. “I never fucking lock doors behind me anymore, what the fuck- why would I have- wait, why is your side locked?”

“Oh, I always lock up. Habit. Never known when some asshole is going to try to steal your hard-earned sorghum.” Jesus grinned, leaning against the door as Daryl stared past him though the window at the keys.

Daryl felt himself blush deeply, eyes falling to the ground. “Yeah,” he said, feeling utterly defeated by the whole goddamn day. “I’ll go get a wire or something.”

Jesus sighed a tiny little sigh under his breath. It had been a fun day, and he did love to tease his grumpy companion, but now Daryl looked totally disgusted with himself rather than merely ruffled. Like locking keys in the car was an unforgivable offense or something.

A small wave of guilt settled over him. Damn it, it wasn’t his fault that Daryl was just too fucking cute when he was off kilter and embarrassed.

Jesus chewed the inside of his lip, frowning, fingers fiddling with Aaron’s map in his jacket pocket. As Daryl walked towards him with an unbent wire hanger, Jesus’s eyes flicked from the other man’s red face, to his still-loose bootlace, to the crossbow that was missing a bolt, and finally to the belt loop that had, an hour ago, been firmly clipped to a set of keys.

“You know, I just remembered, I’m pretty sure I’m the one who locked your side of the car when I got that granola bar earlier,” Jesus said, his tone sincerely apologetic. “Sorry, old habits die hard.”

Kirsten and the Thief, by Janet Shaw

(Typed transcript from American Girl Magazine)

A rumbling stomach and a stolen cookie land Kirsten in a surprising dilemma.

 “Papa, can’t you make Blackie trot any faster?” Kirsten called over the clatter of hooves on the dirt road.  “Let’s hurry!”
    "Be patient, Kirsten,“ Papa said.  “Blackie’s got quite a load to pull."  But moments later Papa clucked and snapped the reins, and Kirsten could see that he was eager to get to Maryville, too.
    It WAS a big load for Blackie to pull.  The entire Larson family was crowded into the wagon.  Kirsten, her cousins Anna and Lisbeth, and her brothers Lars and Peter sat with baskets of food packed tightly between them.  Toward the front, Mama held baby Britta on her lap and Aunt Inger clutched the family Bible.  Uncle Olav rode on the wagon seat beside Papa.  
    The Larsons were on their way to the special Sunday gathering with the other Swedish settlers.  The visiting pastor hadn’t been able to come to Maryville all winter, so today there will be two weddings and three christenings to celebrate.  When the prayers and hymns were over, everyone would share a special dinner.  Then the children would play and the parents would visit until it was time to start home again.  To Kirsten, this Sunday seemed almost as exciting as Christmas.
    "I can’t wait for dinner!” Anna said.  “We’ll have cookies and cakes, won’t we?”
    Peter pressed both hands to his stomach.  “I’m already so hungry my stomach hurts.”
    Mama reached into a basket and held out a handful of dried cranberries.  “I bought these for a snack,” she said.
    "I want something sweet, not sour berries,“ Peter said.
    "You’d better take them,” Mama said firmly.  “You know we won’t eat until after church.”
    "Why can’t we have our dinner before we have church?“ Peter complained.
    "Because food for the spirit comes before food for the stomach,” Mama said.  She held out the berries again, and this time Peter reluctantly took a few.
    Lisbeth nudged Kirsten’s arm.  “None for me.  I’d rather wait.  How about you?”
    Kirsten nodded, but the truth was that her mind was filled with the scent of ginger from the basket by her feet.  All week she’d helped Mama bake cookies.  Now their sugar-and-spice aroma was making Kirsten’s mouth water.  She leaned over to tighten her bootlace and peeked at the mound of fragrant cookies wrapped in a clean napkin.
    No one else seemed to notice the cookies.  Lisbeth, Anna, and Peter had begun to play a counting game.  Lars sanded a wooden whistle he’d carved.  Mama and Aunt Inger chatted with each other and cooed to baby Britta.
    Kirsten sniffed the ginger cookies again.  They were awfully tempting!  When everyone else turned to look at a deer leaping across the road, she slipped her hand into the basket, broke off sugary bite, and quickly popped it into her mouth.
    "Kirsten’s sneaking a cookie!“ Peter yelped.
    Mama’s stern gaze fell on Kirsten.  "Kirsten Larson, I’m surprised at you,” she said.  “You know those are for sharing with our friends.”
    Kirsten felt herself blush.  She knew she shouldn’t have sneaked a cookie before dinner.  But Peter, that tattletale, hadn’t done a single thing to help with their meal, while she’d grated and measured and stirred right along with Mama.  Didn’t she deserve just one bite?
    Kirsten’s face was burning with shame and indignation when suddenly - crack! - the wagon lurched hard to the left.  Everyone was jolted against the side, and Papa pulled Blackie to a shuddering halt.  “Now what?” Papa said.  He climbed out of the wagon with Uncle Olav right behind him.
    "Some spokes came loose in the wheel,“ Uncle Olav said after a moment.  "Everyone out while we take it off and fix it.”
    Kirsten and the others piled out of the wagon while Mama and Aunt Inger began to straighten the tumbled-over baskets and jugs.
    Suddenly Mama cried in a low voice, “Oh, no!  The basket with the ham and bread isn’t here!  I was going to put it in last, but I forgot it!  What could I have been thinking of?”
    Aunt Inger patted Mama’s shoulder.  ‘With so many things to remember, it’s a wonder we forget more,“ she said gently.
    Mama looked as if she might cry.  That ham was special.  The Larsons were lucky to eat ham once or twice a year.  Last autumn Papa had salted two hams and packed them away in the bin of oats to dry.  Mama had cooked one for a holiday dinner.  A few days ago she had unpacked the other ham, soaked it to draw out the salt, and boiled it.  Then yesterday she stuck cloves into the ham and baked it till the cabin filled with the appetizing scent of spicy meat.  This ham was to be their offering to the celebration dinner.  But if they went home to fetch it after the wagon was fixed, they’d miss the church service.  They couldn’t do that!
    Then Kirsten had an idea.  If she went back for the ham while the men fixed the wheel, surely Mama would forget her displeasure at the stolen cookie.  "Mama, listen!” Kirsten cried.  “I can ride Blackie to the cabin while you wait.  I’ll be back with the ham by the time we’re ready to go! We’ll be on time for church and have your ham for dinner!”
    To Kirsten’s surprise, Mama didn’t argue.  Instead, she looked relieved.  “Lars has to help the men, or I’d send him,” Mama said.  “You’re a good rider, Kirsten, but don’t gallop when you’re carrying the basket.  It could spill.”
    "I promise, Mama!“ Kirsten said.
    Papa unhitched Blackie and gave Kirsten a leg up onto his back.  Then Papa slapped the horse on the rump to signal, ‘Get going’.  And Kirsten was on her way.

It wasn’t long before Kirsten saw the cluster of little log buildings huddled under the gray sky.  Already she felt how grateful everyone would be when she rode up with the loaded basket.  She was picturing Mama’s pleased face when, to her surprise, she saw a dark figure round the corner of the cabin.  The figure paused at the door and, after a moment, went inside!
    Kirsten reined Blackie to a halt by some scrub pine and peered through the branches.  Who had cone into their cabin?  She knew sometimes Indians helped themselves to food.  She’d heard sometimes men stole guns and bullets.  Was a thief in their home?  Kirsten’s heart stuttered with fear.
    She slid off Blackie and crept up to the cabin.  What could she do to frighten away a thief?  If only Papa or Uncle Olav were here!  She shivered, but kept going until she crouched under a window and peeked in.
    No lamp was lit inside, so it was hard to see clearly.  Kirsten could just make out a thin figure in a skirt with a  bundle on her shoulder.  Kirsten watched as the figure moved to the table and bent over the big basket they’d left behind.  She was going to steal the ham they had all looked forward to since autumn!
    Anger flared in Kirsten’s chest.  Forgetting everything but the ham, she raced to the cabin door and burst inside.  "Stop!” she cried.
    Instantly, the woman crouched behind the table as though it would protect her.  Kirsten knelt, too, and found herself face to face with a very young woman, almost no more than a girl.  Her eyes were wide with alarm, and in her hands was a loaf of bread.  The raggedy bundle she clutched against her shoulder whimpered.  It was a baby.
    Kirsten stood.  Now the last of her fear disappeared.  “What are you doing here?” she said indignantly.  Her voice sounded like Mama’s when she scolded.  The girl rose and silently put the loaf of bread back into the basket.
    Kirsten lit the lamp.  As the flame leaped up, she saw the girl more clearly.  Her wrists were bony, here hair was matted, and she wore a dress so soiled it was the color of dust.  Her lips were cracked and dry.  She looked only a little older than Lars, but her face was wrinkled like a dried apple and her eyes were exhausted.  “Who are you?” Kirsten said.
    The girl didn’t answer.  Her gaze went to the framed paper on the wall that certified the Larsons were Swedish citizens and had been educated in reading, writing, and Holy Scripture.  Then it moved to the woven cloth covering the table, the candlesticks, and the butter box of split birch.  She looked at Britta’s cradle and Peter’s painted wooden horse and the extra shawls hanging neatly on pegs.
    "You don’t need to know my name,“ the girl said at last.  Her voice was sullen.
    "So you DO speak English!” Kirsten said.
    "I went to school, too!“ the girl hissed.  "That’s a school paper, isn’t it?"  She nodded to the certificate on the wall.
    "Yes, it’s our permit to leave Sweden,” Kirsten said with a frown.  What right had this strange girl to ask questions of her?  “Where do you live?” she demanded.
    "We live a few bends up the river, in a cave, like a den of foxes!“ the girl said bitterly.  "We don’t even have canvas over our heads.”
    This girl’s family was so poor they didn’t even have a tent or a sod house!  Papa had told Kirsten about down-on-their-luck settlers like these.  They were forced to live in caves or dugouts.  Some had so few farming skills that they had nothing to eat but wild game.  Kirsten was curious in spite of herself.  “Where did you come from?” she said, a little more politely.
    The girl jiggled the baby but couldn’t calm its whimper.  “Our name is Rynd,” she said.  “We came from Moravia.”
    "Have you been in this country long?“ Kirsten asked.
    "Too long!” the girl said.  “We should have stayed in Moravia!  We had a cottage there.  We had chairs and a table and a bed.  We were as rich as you!”
    Rich? thought Kirsten.  Before the Larsons came to America they had gone to bed hungry almost every night of their lives.  They’d arrived in Minnesota with only two trunks and a few bundles.
    "Do others from your homeland live here, too?“ Kirsten said.
    The girl shook her head.  "There’s only me, my husband, and my old mother,” she said.  “Listen, I didn’t do any harm.  I’m leaving now.”
    But Kirsten wasn’t ready to let her go so easily.  The girl had taken their bread.  She would surely have taken their ham, too, if Kirsten hadn’t caught her.  “You were stealing from us,” Kirsten said accusingly.
    The baby pushed its face against the girl’s shoulder and began to wail.  “We’re hungry,” the girl said.  “We had some potatoes, but they’re gone now.  We don’t even have salt.  I came to beg for scraps, but no one was here."  She sat and rested her head on her fist as if this speech had taken the last of her strength.  "Could I have a drink of water?”
    Alarmed, Kirsten filled a cup with water from the jug.  Is the girl ill from hunger? she thought.  Quickly, she cut two thick slices of bread and put them beside the cup.  The girl drank and ate greedily.  As Kirsten watched, she remembered the taste of Mama’s ginger cookies on her tongue.  How terrible it would be to beg for food, she thought.  Her throat tightened with sympathy.  The girl swallowed the last bite and said, “That was good.”
    "Can I give bread to your baby, too?“ Kirsten said.  The little thing was sucking desperately on its fist.  Kirsten thought of baby Britta with her healthy, plump face.
    "My baby’s too young for solid food,” the girl said.  “She cries because I don’t have enough milk.”
    Kirsten pulled a stool next to the girl’s and sat down.  She tried to imagine living with a baby in a dugout cave without any food.  “What will happen to you?  How will you live?” she said.
    "I don’t know, and that’s the truth,“ the girl said.  "This winter we had to eat our seed potatoes so we wouldn’t starve.  Now we have nothing to plant.”
    "You’ve been living up the river from here all winter?“ Kirsten said wonderingly.  "But I’ve never seen you.”
    "I’ve seen you from a distance,“ the girl said grimly.  "You were a wool sweater and leather boots."  She rubbed her eyes.  "Do you know what I think about every day?”
    "What do you think about?“ Kirsten said.  Would the girl say 'food’ or 'home’?
    The girl rested her head against her baby’s.  I think about the day we came here,” she said.  “The boatmen put us and our few things onto the shore.  My mother sat on our one chair.  My husband helped push the boat back into the current.  I turned and looked behind us.  There was nothing but prairie and sky.  Nothing.  We were all alone.”
    Kirsten remembered her own family’s long, long walk from the boat landing to Uncle Olav’s farm  she also remembered the warm welcome they’d received when they got here.  They had never been truly 'all alone’ - not for a single moment.  Gazing around, Kirsten saw how cozy their cabin was.  It was filled with good things Mama and Papa had made.  It smelled of the delicious food.  Like the girl’s family the Larsons had come with very little, but look how much they had now!
    "You’ve had a hard time,“ Kirsten said.
    "Yes.  But until winter we had hope,” the girl said.  “Now that’s gone, too.”
    "Oh, don’t say so!“ Kirsten cried.  "you can find hope again if you don’t lose heart!  My mama says never to lose heart.”
    The girl gazed at her with narrow eyes.  “We can’t even find food,” she said.  “Where can we possibly find hope?”
    Kirsten bit her lip  What should she do?  The girl and her family were starving.  Kirsten could give them bread, but that wouldn’t go far.  What about the ham itself, with its crisp, spicy skin?  Meat would be the most nourishing.  Kirsten imagined her own family waiting for her on the road to Maryville.  Mama was already cross with Kirsten.  Wouldn’t she be angry if Kirsten didn’t bring the ham for the family and all their friends?  And it did smell so delicious!
    Kirsten struggled another moment, then made a decision.  She stood, seized the basket of ham and bread, and shoved it toward the girl.  “Take this to your family.  It will give you strength.”
    The girl’s mouth dropped open in surprise.  Then she grasped the heavy basket and, without a word of thanks, rushed to the door as though she feared Kirsten might change her mind.  She ran awkwardly into the trees with her burdens and was gone.

Kirsten let Blackie gallop.  When she got close to the others, she saw Mama shadowing her eyes to watch her come.  She knew Mama was wondering where the basket was.  There were going to be lots of questions, and maybe there would be blame as well.  As she jumped off Blackie, she said, “Don’t say anything until I tell you what happened, please!”
    Everyone crowded close as Kirsten told about surprising the hungry girl and her baby in their cabin.  As Kirsten spoke, she looked anxiously from Mama to Papa.  Papa was frowning thoughtfully.  Mama glanced from Kirsten to Aunt Inger and the others.  Peter’s face was red and unhappy.
    "Are you awfully angry with me?“ Kirsten said hesitantly.
    Mama put her arm around her.  "What kind of people would feast while their neighbors starved?” she said gently.  “If I’d been there, I’d have fed them, too, Kirsten.”
    "But maybe not our ham!“ Peter wailed.
    Mama took Peter by the hand.  "It isn’t always easy to share,” she said, “but it is always right.”
    Papa stroked his beard as he considered the situation.  “You gave them one good meal, daughter,” he said.  “But they’re much worse off than I’d have guessed.  They’ll go hungry again if they don’t have better luck farming.  I’ll ask the men at church to pitch in.  We’ll give them what help we can.”
    "We can take oxen to plow,“ Uncle Olav suggested.
    "We can get them started with rutabagas, carrots, and onions,” Papa added.  As he spoke he hitched Blackie to the wagon.  “Come on everyone, climb in!”
    Anna sat beside Kirsten.  “Tell us more about the girl,” Anna said.  “She must really be nice!  You wouldn’t have given her the ham if she weren’t really nice.”
    Kirsten thought a moment.  “No, I don’t think I’d call her nice,” she said.  “Anyway, I didn’t give her food because she was nice.  I gave her food because she was hungry.”
    She scooped up a few of the dried cranberries from the bottom of the basket and slipped one into her mouth.  As she bit into the sour berry, she imagined the girl and her family eating Mama’s bread and ham, and though her stomach rumbled, she was satisfied.

Thank you so much for this summary @platypusbutt! This is my first time reading this particular short story, so this is greatly appreciated!!

On a side note, I tried to put the summary under a read more, but tumblr is a mess and won’t let me add that to submissions!! I can edit the text around, but I can’t add it under a cut…tumblr’s a mess I swear…

why do we do this to ourselves?

Spot/Jack - ao3 link - co authored by @spotsies

hi everyone, i’m back from not updating my multichap works to upload a oneshot. it’s actually another RP, but a para one this time- so yeah, perspective p much switches every paragraph if you have a problem w that :P

anywayssss the lovely spot to my jack @spotsies wrote for spot and i wrote for jack! love u!

Jack couldn’t help but feel incredibly tense as he walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, headed towards the docks. Tension, he’d found, was an emotion strongly associated with Spot Conlon. To the other guys, he made tension through his intimidation. The rumours that he’d beaten people up on a ride at Coney had flown around for years, and they were founded in Conlon’s very real soaking ability. But as Jack reached the docks and spotted (hah) him, he knew it wasn’t that tension that he got when he was with Spot, particularly not when they were alone. Oh, no. It was a very different kind, and one that Jack had been keeping to himself for years because of the risk associated with it.

“Conlon,” he called out with a wave and a grin as he walked towards him, spitting on his hand and holding it out.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Some shidan and garrack ;w; discussing, drinking, just more of them and maybe have shidan ACTUALLY kiss the lady. Uhh idk if you’ve incorporated them modern au but if not canon verse is good! :)


Garrack’s TA startles, and she stifles a laugh. He’s a high-strung kid, more limbs than sense at times, but a hard-worker nonetheless. He doesn’t have the natural aptitude of Ryuu, or the studious heart of Shirayuki, or even Obi’s gift of lateral thinking, but he’s the sort of kid that doesn’t give up. He’ll throw himself against a wall before he’ll walk away from it – or, she can’t help thinking a bit uncharitably, go around it.

Listen, they’ll be hand-pouring gels for month to make up the cost of the boxes he went through only to realize he was using the wrong fucking ones. For fuck’s sake, they have a chart.

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anonymous asked:

Fic Request if your still taking them!!-The Potters live and Harry takes Ginny to visit his parents as his girlfriend for the first time and James and Lily pretend to be surprised

Harry’s palms were sweaty. Ginny had already tried to lace her fingers through his only to recoil, a grimace plastered on her face. “Would you calm down? Bloody hell, Harry, it’s not like they don’t know who I am.”

“Right, right,” he muttered. Still, he had to wipe his hands on his jeans before opening the cottage door.

“Mum?” He heard a thud from the kitchen before Lily came rushing out, flour in her hair. Footsteps upstairs echoed against the ceiling.

“Harry! We were supposed to pick you up from the station,” his mother said, giving him a hug. “Honestly, as soon as you lot start learning Apparition, it’s all about independence and no communication… Ginny! For Merlin’s sake, you two, your hands are all red. It’s snowing out, you might at least wear mittens.”

“Percy kick you out of the Burrow for throwing Quaffles against his window again?” James inquired, a broad grin stretching across his face as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Er, well… Ginny’s actually here for a reason,” Harry said, nearly tripping over his undone bootlaces in his haste to face his father.

Two pairs of eyes swiveled to look at him. Ginny looked down, hiding a smirk at Harry’s quickly reddening face.

“Er… that is, she’s… well, Ginny and I - ”

“Snogged me, he did,” Ginny interjected breezily, hanging up her coat and brushing the flour out of Lily’s hair. 

“Did he?” Lily replied, looking like she was containing a smile herself. “Well, what a surprise that is, I would never have - James, stop laughing.”

“Merlin, Harry, it’s about time. I had to hear all that prattle about Cho Chang for ages, Gin, thank you for saving me - “

Harry made a noise akin to a gurgle. Ginny gave him a wink before disappearing into the living room with Lily.