but enjoy..

9

#happyhansolday! ♥

happiest of days to beloved frog prince, passionate dancer and favorite sextuple scorpio ji hansol! there’s so much i want to say to you, how PROUD i am, how relieved, at how far you’ve come with only the power of your determination and raw passion. i have always been 100% positive that you can make it anywhere if you just put your mind to it let your wit and well-mannered, optimistic demeanor guide you on the way. i love you, and i couldn’t be prouder that you chose your own path and that you’re walking it without regrets, bright and cheerful, as ever. watching you grow makes me ecstatic! happy birthday, hansol.

Angus McDonald normally wears his hair buzzed down pretty close to his scalp. It’s easier to manage that way. But in recent months he’s been very busy, with school and new cases and making sure to spend as much time as he can with all of his new family, and now it’s much longer.

Lup told him yesterday that she liked his little ‘fro, but Angus can’t shake the feeling that this particular hairstyle is not conduscive to inconspicuous detective work. He’s with Taako and Kravitz for the week, and is just about to buzz the whole thing off, when he hears the familiar tearing noise that means Kravitz is back, and gets another idea.

“There you are Angus, Taako told me you’d be here, I’m sorry I wasn’t around to welcome you home last night,” Kravitz says when Angus walks into the living room downstairs.

“It’s alright sir! But, umm, actually I was wondering if you could help me something? It’s alright if you can’t or don’t want to I imagine it takes a long time and lots of work and I know you’re probably tired and-“

“Angus,” Kravitz interrupts, “of course I’ll help you. What is it?”

“Um,” Angus tugs at his curls for a second or so before answering. “I was wondering if you could help me do my hair… so that it’s like yours…”

Kravitz blinks, and then smiles.

When Taako gets home he finds the pair of them in the living room, Kravitz is sitting on the couch with Angus between his knees on a little cushion. While Kravitz is carefully parting and twisting together Angus’ much shorter locs, Angus reads aloud from the newest Caleb Cleveland novel, squinting a bit without his glasses. It looks like they’re about halfway done. In the doorway of their little house, Taako’s heart swells (twice over, actually, when he spies the little pile of enchanted silver beads Kravitz is picking from every now and again).

They haven’t noticed him yet, and so Taako loudly clears his throat, and says, “I suppose this means you haven’t started dinner yet?”

They both look up and give almost identical sheepish grins and Taako is nearly floored by the domesticity of it all.

“Sorry Love,” Kravitz answers. “He asked for my help.”

“No, no it’s fine, I’ll just do everything around here like always,” Taako replies, strolling towards the kitchen to make those little personal pizzas that are Angus’ favorite, that he’d already been planning on making anyway.

Kravitz is a section away from being done with Angus’ hair by the time dinner is ready. When he’s finished, Angus darts up the stairs to the bathroom mirror and comes back down a minute later wearing a smile so big it looks like his face might split in two.

“Thank you so much Mr. Kravitz sir! I love it!”

eclecticstarlightconnoisseur  asked:

In episode 8, Claire tells Jamie that whenever she heard birdsong she would pretend that Jamie was talking to her. Could we have a fic where Claire hears birds singing and she is talking to Jamie. Maybe while in a park with Brianna. Thank you for all your hard work and your wonderful stories. I just love the stories

The had sea raged since sundown, our modest ship flung from trough to crest without the slightest thought for her passengers. As a result, any snatch of rest was compromised by the Artemis’ constant tossing, my cabin thrown about like a helpless plaything. My limbs hit the hard planks of the walls, and the sudden loll of my neck—once jellied by deep unconsciousness—brought me into a painful wakefulness. I moved my legs, trying to stretch the stiffness out of them, but my knees met something more solid than wood: Jamie, lying beside me.

At some point in the night, he’d crept into my bunk, disregarding the fact that his stepdaughter lay just above us. Not that he was inclined for anything beyond sleep. No, the only thing my husband was capable of on stormy seas was retching into the bucket kept within his reach. Presently, its lack of odorous contents indicated that he hadn’t made full use of it—yet.

Despite my daily cups of ginger tea, it was acupuncture that had ultimately alleviated some of Jamie’s sickness. Tonight, I knew his coming hadn’t been driven by nausea, but by a feeling that had become my own steadfast bedmate since our onboard separation: a homesickness for the heart and flesh.

Until now, I hadn’t minded that Jamie had tip-toed into my room, laying himself clumsily beside me. But my cramped quarters were claustrophobic enough without the addition of his sharp elbows, which kept thumping my abdomen with the relentlessness of a jack hammer.

I sat up, trying to adjust myself into a more comfortable position, when I heard Jamie’s sleepy voice rise above the ruckus.

“Yer awake, Sassenach?”

“Hard not to be,” I said. “It’s like a bloody tsunami out there.”

“Aye, it just may be,” Jamie croaked. One eye opened, peering owlishly through the dark, to see me narrowly avoid a collision between my head and my bunk’s ceiling. “I feel as though one’s starting to roil in my gut, at least.”

“Please,” I said, nodding towards the available bucket at his side, “direct any bodily tsunamis over there.”

“Dinna fash. Willoughby has set me straight—for the most part.”

“The other part is what I’m fashing myself about,” I said, nudging him gently away. He smiled, though I noticed the sudden pensiveness of his expression when my face caught the glare of the moonlight, lancing through the grated windows.

“Are you all right?” he asked, a concerned hand finding my thigh. The weight of it, warm and reassuring, dispelled the lingering memories that had disturbed me in my dreams. “Ye look…”

“It’s nothing,” I said, all too unconvincingly. Even without the lit lanterns, I knew Jamie could sense my lie, and felt his grip tighten, as if to urge the honesty out of me.

As always, the security of his touch—the dichotomy of its firmness and the way it pried me open—made my words come easily.

“I told you, at Lallybroch, about the birds?” I said now, softly.

“Aye. You said you used to speak to them, as if you were speaking to me.” Again, his touch seemed to respond to my own subconscious will for confession, and I melted into it. If someone were to ask why I loved him, I would cite this moment: the way his tone indicated no trace of scorn, or disbelief, in my bizarre behavior.

“And I told ye as how a plover mourns,” he continued. “Condemned to the grave by the death of their mate.”

I sighed and nodded.

“I was wondering if perhaps…well, if it wasn’t just the romantic sort of mate. Or if it wasn’t only plovers that felt grief.”

“Ye mean—”

“I mean: I mourned for you. Of course I did. But that wasn’t the first time I had felt, I don’t know, heard by a bird. It had happened before when—” And here I swallowed, wanting to say her name without faltering. My voice betrayed me, though, cracking as soon as it formed on my tongue. How could it not? 

“When Faith died,” I managed finally. “Even then, I saw birds. Not a plover, not that time, but a blue heron—and I didn’t feel quite so alone then, either.”

“Claire…”

“It’s been over 20 years, Jamie; I’ve stopped grieving for her. If that sounds terrible then at least I know it.” I tried to hide the sudden sheen in my eyes, but Jamie refused to let me turn away. He held my chin, witnessing my guilt and sorrow with understanding, not judgment.

“The awareness of her loss hasn’t gone away, of course. It’s more of a hollowed presence now, or an emptiness that’s been normalized. But a bird would come to my windowsill every now and then, and I swear she’d be there, listening. And I could hear her too somehow.” I paused, before adding quietly: “All the sounds she never made.”

“What ye have with Faith, Sassenach—what any parent has with their child—it’s beyond what can be explained. If ye feel it, it’s real.”

“You sound like the crew mates.”

“The crew mates’ beliefs may no’ always be logical, but there are things that canna be explained by logic. You, of all people, ken that.”

“Well when you put it that way,” I said, my eyes drifting towards the moonbeam, which still creeped down the walls with a trickle of water. “It’s the same with Brianna, you know—I can’t stop thinking about her. Envisioning all the pieces of her life that I’ve lost.”

“And the birds?”

“There was an cormorant flying alongside us the other day. And it was like Brianna was next to me, trying to tell me everything that I’ve missed.”

Jamie turned onto his back, silent, but still kept his arm wrapped around me.

“I’ve no’ met her,” he said after a while. “And I’ve no’ seen her either, save for the photographs ye showed me. But I think I feel her too sometimes. When it’s neither day nor night. When it seems as though time doesna exist, and it’s only me and whatever lays out there, within and beyond the sea. A world that I’ve no’ seen, but that I ken—I feel. She’s there, somewhere, I’m sure of it. And I wonder if she feels me here, too.

“Whatever happens when we pass, or when we canna be wi’ the ones we love…I think there’s something that remains, always. That’s why we can mourn, or can feel the lost ones when they’re gone. Our greatest loves—well. I dinna think they can be broken by something as simple as time or place.”

I hummed into his shoulder, and then raised my face to his.

“I suppose we, of all people, should know that.” I said, echoing him and resting my head against his chest.

“Aye, Sassenach. I think we do.”

And as the Artemis continued her rough passage through the night, I no longer minded the constant upheaval, or the crowdedness of my bunk. I knew that when time and place had taken their final tolls, I would miss the imposition of Jamie’s body—though it would never stop pressing itself into my own, letting me know that Jamie was there long after he, or I, was gone.

Today was my first internship day in a middle school music class.
What I observed : 

The youngest have baby faces and are so adorable
The second/third year can be a bit restless but they’re still attentive & participative
The oldest seem to lack of energy xD

if tomorrow never comes

summary: Of all the reasons why Shiro had missed their date, time travel is the last thing Keith expects to hear. A Sheith fic, expanding on this.
A fill for @blackpaladinweek, Day One: time/space.

excerpt:

Shiro comes Back a few hours later, stumbling through the door of his dorm room like he’s had a little too much to drink. Matt and Keith both leap up from where they’d been sitting - Matt in his desk chair, Keith on Shiro’s bunk - but Shiro waves them back down.

“Where this time?” Matt asks.

“Dinosaurs,” Shiro says, taking the bottle of water Matt hands him. Shiro uncaps it, drinks half of it in one go.

“Really?” Keith blurts.

Matt snorts. “No. Don’t believe him, Keith, there’s nothing prehistoric about our Shiro. He’s been saying ‘dinosaurs’ as long as I’ve known him.”

(Read the rest here!)

Jon & Sansa parallels 9/∞ : Traitors

Not only a bastard, but a traitor’s bastard.” - Jon, A Game Of Thrones

You are innocent of any wrong, we all know that. And yet you are the daughter of a traitor.” - Sansa, A Game Of Thrones

youtube

Here’s Nogla’s video (the H2OVanoss clip is from 0:28 to 1:41)

Thanks for submitting this @tizmoa! <3

anonymous asked:

How'd you learn to write so beautifully?

I’ve been doing this for sixteen long, long years, and I practice almost every day. I would be hugely, crushingly disappointed if I hadn’t developed a couple neat tricks by this point.

anonymous asked:

On phone destroyer, what's your lvl and pvp lvl? I'm lvl 8 and pvp 20

0 AND 0!!!!!

My phone is in a weird state where it’s a Verizon phone with T-Mobile service so my OS is outdated lmaooo. So i have to plug it into my computer and let it update with the new verizon OS in order to play phone destroyer…..

and i keep forgetting to get around to it whenever i’m not doing stuff on my comp lol

2

a quickie sketch comic based on the first few lines of “All i wanna do is make love to you” By Heart. the rest of the song does not apply to harringrove at all  (it also came out in the 90s sooo ya) i just liked the beginning hence this lil thing

click on image for better quality