but look at that wee face

Bashful Beauchamp - Teenage AU

Finally! We got to see Jamie over for dinner with Claire and Lambert. Now we get to see Claire meeting the Fraser clan! How will she do? Will they treat her kindly? Read on to find out! 

Shout out to @diversemediums for helping me edit this and @outlandishchridhe for helping me with a new title!

Catch up on Jamie’s dinner in Flustered Fraser


Jamie had worn his kilt when he’d come to dinner with me and my uncle. Now it’s my turn to impress his family. So I’m standing in front of my wardrobe, trying to decide what a sensible English girl would wear. Uncle Lamb is in the living room, waiting for me to dress so we can leave.

I have my red dress, a black dress, and a blue dress all laid out on my small bed.

“Uncle Lamb!” I cry, my voice sounding frantic to my own ears.

Keep reading

Chapter Thirty-Five

JORDYN

Indecisiveness could have very well been a diagnosable disease.

At least in that case, it would make the world of sense as to why I was still glancing between two dresses.

I’d forgone the plan of getting ready with Kennedy because I had yet to make a decision on the dress I wanted to wear. And I was completely aware that if I showed up with both dresses in my hand, there would be a riot.

Instead, I did my own hair and makeup with the direction of Cass over FaceTime and it came out really well.

I was proud of myself.

I luckily didn’t have too much on my face, only a wee bit of foundation and concealer. My eye shadow was dark and definitely made my eyes appear browner than they were. I lost the fight with Cass on wearing eyelashes, but I had to admit it looked nice. Overall, I looked the same but… augmented a bit.

My hair took longer to do because I was rolling around in bed all morning and it didn’t help that Kai had distracted me the majority of the time I spent on it in the morning. There wasn’t anything special to do with it, it was just straight and hit around mid-back which was a pleasant surprise.

I did like how straight hair brought out the facial structure I had.

Despite this, I continued to glance between the dresses that hung on the back of my door.

I just needed to make a decision and we’d be on our way.

But I was being bogged down by indecision. And Kai’s pleas to hurry up, but it was mainly indecision.

Keep reading

At some conventions there are artist-related events because literally every nerdy fandom attracts a number of artists in various stages of aspiration. One such event at Indy Pop Con was the Drink ‘n’ Draw- where we all met up at Scotty’s for brews and had a drawing session. 

I didn’t really read the blurb, I just kind of wanted to hang out with other artists and talk about cats. So I did certainly not know that it was a competition- first prize gets a free artist’s table at next year’s show. Runners up get a bag of goodies with a sketch book and some nice pens. Judge faves get a sketch commission.

Now I am not a competitive person. Like… I’ll participate in friendly competition if it’s a thing I like doing, but I’m not in it to win it. So I was just like… pff whatever, I’ll make someone else look good. 

But you have to adhere to a theme. And this year’s theme was ‘The Last Battle.’

And it could be anything you want within that theme. Mostly they were looking at things like storytelling, composition, and technique. 

I wasted about fifteen minutes of the hour and a half that we had, trying to figure out what I wanted to do. I’m awful at open-ended themes all the time and I mentally rattled off a list of subjects that would be good to work with before I finally landed on one that I wanted to do. 

Barney the Purple Dinosaur. 

And I know what you’re thinking:

“What?”

But literally every kid I know grew up twisting the theme song to Barney and turning it into some morbid collection of ways to end the dinosaur’s reign of terror and all of them involved tying him to a tree. 

‘With a knife in his back and a gun to his head-

Woopsie-daisy, Barney’s dead.’

And I figured like… since I’m not really here to win, I’m at least gonna have a good time. So I skipped past the pencil stage and went straight for the sharpies and went to town on this piece of paper. 

And I was not gonna hold back. 

With ten minutes left, the event runner walks by my table and has this ‘what in the fuck is this’ look on his face.

“You know… like in the song?”

“…what song?”

Okay so this is the first person I have met in my life that has not indulged in the honored past-time of recounting the Death of Barney through song. So I start singing the song and he’s still just a wee bit perturbed. 

He walks away, shaking his head, but he’s definitely amused by it. 

Time is up, drawings are in. 

I’m just chillin’ over in my corner with a Pepsi and one of the other artists at my table keeps eyeing the judges because she came to WIN.  She nudges me and she’s like “they keep looking at yours, man.”

“They’re probably trying to dry it off because I spilled Pepsi on it.”

“I dunno… they look intrigued.”

Intrigued is an… intriguing word to describe the faces they were making at my hot mess of a doodle. 

The winners have been decided. 

They get through their personal faves and start listing the runners up. The artist that was checking the judge reactions got one of the judge’s favorites prizes. My girlfriend gets a runner-up for hers. They get to the last one of the runners-up and say:

“Okay, this one came REALLY close.” He holds up a drawing. “Who did this one?”

My hand shot straight up.

“Is that… is that BARNEY?”

“OH GOD WHY?”

“What the fuck?”

I am SHOCKED at this point because what kind of a childhood did y’all have? A fucking nurturing one? “Come on guys, it’s like that song. You know… tie barney to a tree…”

No?

Nothing?

Come on!

So that’s how I won a free sketchbook and came to be known as the chick that ruined everyone’s childhood at Drink’ n’ Draw. 

And I suspect I might have actually won the table if I’d made it clearer that the shadowy figure walking off into the sunset is Baby Bop. 

the gangsey as scottish tweets
  • gansey: im at the age where people r askin "so what u doin with ur life" n im like mate am genuinely jus here for a laff x
  • blue sargent: issue wi males that think it's acceptable to comment on how a girl looks when she's buzzin am not oot tae be stunnin am oot tae cut mad shapes
  • ronan lynch: i deh trust the dentist when they start talking in code about your teeth to their wee pal, you got suhin to say say it to ma face prick
  • adam parrish: maw n da tryin to shout it ye when ye crack yer phone sayin ye dont look after it aye right fs this hing means more tae me than use do fs
  • noah czerny: had a sick weekend but ad be telling big fibs if a said a didnt feel like a common toe nail
  • henry cheng: imagine the week before yer wedding ye came home fae work early to surprise yer bf and walked in on him wearin bootcut jeans
5

oh god im sorry i stalked your blogs for references for like 2 hours 

@drawinggheys @raythrill @objectionable-code @terror-in-the-dream @bocitena @juuria @halpdevon @lauwurens 

so uh… how do i words , uhm… a lot of you dont know me– hell i think only three people here know who i am, but i really really like your art (and art styles) and i look up to all of you a lot, and i look for inspiration from you guys almost every day so uhm… oh my god everyone is just so beautiful, the style, the colors, the line density, the face shapes– I COULD KEEP GOING ON AND ON REALLY—- but i cant because this post is long enough as it is

there’s so many more people i want to add and thank for being such a wonderful sources of awe and inspiration but my shoulder is killing me and its currently an ungodly hour of the wee mornings so i ask for pardon

ah– anyway, bottom line, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BEING AN INSPIRATION keep doing what you’re doing and i hope you continue to grow and be happier with your art every new day that comes your way!

-Celi <3

P.S. btw if you’re uncomfortable with me putting up your style there please message me and i’ll take it down im sorry;;;;;

Emotional Cheating

“Hiya love.”

Harry greeted from the doorway of your shared bedroom, his eyes looking discreetly at the clock that stated it’s 1 AM in the wee hours of morning.

“Told you not to wait up for me.”

He took his polo off that was slightly damp from his swear along with his jeans, leaving him in his boxers, going to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, feeling the extra fatigue come to his system once he felt fresh from having been tired in the studio and having a few drinks in the bar.

He went to your side of the bed and pressed a kiss on your cheek, a downgrade of what used to be a long kiss on your lips or a hug in where he’d nuzzle his face on the crook of your neck, completely inhaling your scent before pressing little kisses.

“How was your day?”

“’S good, finished some backing vocals. Had a few drinks with Nick and Kendall.”

Your stomach slightly felt queasy at the mention of her, but the feeling lifted for a second to realize that Harry’s your boyfriend, not her’s.

You weren’t blind to not see the older pictures of Harry and Kendall every time you scrolled down your feed of any social media account, nor the times Hardy made clear and evident that she was just a friend yet with him being a bit more talkative when she was there.

Yet deep inside you, you had the assurance that Harry loves you, yet not eaxactly as much as expressive as you are.

“You tired, baby?”

You asked, your hand going through his hair which made him release a sound of comfort, his head pressed upon your palm, humming out an answer you expected.

//

“Baby!”

You immediately relaxed once you heard Harry’s voice the moment he accepted your call, the bass of the loud music as his background not going unnoticed.

“Where are you, love?”

“O — oh! I forgot to tell you this morning! It’s Kendall’s birthday today!”

The plan of spending a special night with Harry crumbled underneath your fingertips, making you take a deep breath to control yourself.

It was supposed to be a night to be spent completely between the both of you, especially now that you were promoted a rank higher in your job, something that you’ve hoped for ever since the start.

“What time are you going home, H?”

He hummed, the image of Harry probably looking at his watch striking in your mind, making you wait anxiously.

“Maybe a few minutes after midnight? And Y/N, baby, I told you not to wait up for me. ’S the reason why you’re always tired in the morning.”

“God forbid I get tired, Harry. Wish her a happy birthday for me, will you?”

“Will do, love,” he almost shouted since he couldn’t hear himself through the music, the sound of his name being called by probably one of his friends being heard by the both of you.

“Okay. I love y-…”

You were cut short with the line being completely dropped, upsetting you maybe a bit more than it should, making you turn your attention to the drink in front of you.

//

“Cheating. They call it emotional cheating.”

“What?”

Harry’s eyebrows immediately furrowed from what you were saying, stopping himself from putting some clothes in his duffel bag that would last him for a day and in his toiletries, his attention completely turning towards you whose arms are crossed and standing in the doorway.

“Love, what the hell are you saying?”

He asked, nearing towards you and putting his hands on your shoulder, a concerned look on his face.

“Is this about your birthday tomorrow? Baby, I told you I would make up for it. You know I promised James I would come to his baby shower. Which happens to be in a yacht for a day.”

“Harry.”

“Y/N.”

“I would be lying if I tell you that I didn’t notice how invested you are in Kendall. Every time you see her, the picture; the conversations.”

Harry breathed out since he noticed you lately of you changing your habits slightly, of how your eyes looked tired.

Yet beyond that, he didn’t seem to notice on how much you compromised. On how much you adjusted your life around him so you could be simply with him.

“Love, it just happens that James invited Kendall too. It isn’t my decision.”

You stared at your feet, feeling the hollowness in your heart for what felt alike in the past few months, your hands being put on top of his shoulders.

“You love me, right?”

“I do.”

//

It was obvious.

The moment Harry appeared on the door from the night after James’ baby shower, he already knew that you knew it.

And in fact, you already knew it, if it wasn’t for the people tagging you on posts numerously that your phone blew up with notifications, nor the text James sent saying that he’s sincerely sorry because if he knew, he wouldn’t invite either of them and even scold Harry.

He was looking at you expectingly, the tears already flowing out of his eyes as his heart dropped on the sight of you sitting silently on the couch, cussing himself silently of how much he messed up.

“Please say something.”

His voice cracked, pleading for you to say anything, whether it would favor him or not because at that moment, the silence was killing him slowly. He knew how well you could give a silent treatment and remembered a promise to himself long ago that he wouldn’t cross you again because he hates it.

He hates every single bit of it.

“That’s a nice birthday present.”

His heart tightened of what she just said, regretting the things he’ve done faster than when he did it, fully knowing that you can’t and you’re not looking into his eyes.

“I’m giving you a choice. So you wouldn’t think of me as being selfish.”

You stood up, looking down the floor until your feet was a good ruler away from his shoes, making it as a basis so that you wouldn’t get close to him.

“Five days. First choice is I stay here and not talk nor do anything that has to do with me interacting with you. Second is that I stay in a hotel and we could talk. On the phone, one call. Five minutes a day.”

“Love-…” Harry cut himself short, clenching and unclenching his fist at the weight of the moment he carries.

“It would kill me to not either see you nor talk to you.”

You wanted to fight him with what he said, but you took off the urge, your gaze still fixed on the floor.

“Pick.”

Harry gulped, desperately wanting to fix what he caused in the first place.

“Y/N-…”

“Fucking pick.”

He knew it. He knew it better than anyone should to not break your trust. Especially when you cussed at him while fighting. And yet again, he brought it upon himself. The both of you suffering.

Harry hiccuped out his answer amidst his tears, feeling the pain sear right through his seams that he felt shitty to say the least.

“Second.”

Would he use his five minutes now?

It was less than thirty minutes after you left the house on the same day he went home, bringing yourself and nothing else but your car, your keys, your phone and your cash.

You figured that you would buy clothes in the mini botiques the hotel has once the air gets too suffocating in your room.

You figured that you would rely on the hotel’s complimentary incentives for the toilteries.

You figured that you would have a drink or two from the mini bar they consider that’s in their mini refigerator.

Harry thought of it for a moment if it would be a good time to use his five minutes. Even better is what’s he going to say.

Your commitment is hanging on by five phone calls he’s going to make, your judgement, and maybe includes his prayers for you to be back on his arms.

2 - https://pendantstyles.tumblr.com/post/162186715656/emotional-cheating-2

tom dating a fan

what it would be like being a fan of tom and ending up dating him!
request more!


  • probably meeting on instagram
  • you making a post about him, him reposting it and you joking in the comments like “wow, tom i see you lurking on me” and him replying like     “i thought you’d never notice ;)”
  • him dming you and cracking jokes about reposting your post about him, him liking it 
  • you send him an app so he can repost it without the terrible cropping
  • him wanting to keep up the conversation because he became really fond of you
  • texting into the wee hours of the morning
  • “did we fall asleep whilst texting” “i guess we did, wanna go to sleep?” “no, i like talking to you”
  • him asking for your number after 2-3 months of talking
  • he wanted to wait and see what you were like before asking and giving out his number to you
  • skyping lOADS
  • like he just lovES looking at your face
  • facetiming (if you don’t have facetime google duo is good) when he’s practically falling asleep
  • following you on instagram, twitter and other social medias and your friends freaking out and you being like “wHy WouLD hE fOLloW mE” ;)) but you know why
  • you probably wouldn’t tell anyone you knew each other til you got his permission because you want to keep his privacy
  • only telling your closest friends
  • him bragging to harrison about you
  • “she’s just- she’s just so different ya’know haz” “yeah, tom. i know, because you talk about her 24/7 now what do you want for lUNCH!”
  • skyping at the weirdest times and places
  • like, he’ll have a bath - and just decide to skype you and you’ll be in bed on your laptop 
  • it gets pretty regular because the only down time he has is when he’s eating, sleeping or showering so he uses that time to talk to you
  • harrison going on toms laptop and skyping you without his permission and getting to know you as well
  • basically befriending all his friends and tom literally having no idea because they all want to know the special person who gives him serious butterflies in his stomach
  • being very overprotective of him when paps follow him around
  • being like a mini mom to him but still having a crush on him 
  • him always looking very concentrated when you talk because he just loves to hear your voice
  • him teasing you about liking him “tom i run a fan account about you” “yeah, but still :)))” 
  • its like april and andy “aww babe you had a crush on me :))” “we’re married andy” “stil,, :))”
  • absolute freakin child
  • will call you at the shittiest times
  • 3am for you? oh well, tom’s needy and wants to hear your voice
  • i mean its not that bad until he finds out you set an alarm for when he regularly calls you 
  • when he found out he got all pouty but you promised that it didn’t effect your sleep (even tho it did)

leaving you on a cliff hanger ;)) sorry for not posting so much ive had this for WEEKS but ive had a major block and i still sorta do so don’t expect much ://

request part 2 | other writing 

Jealousy

Originally posted by mizlat

Ivar Ragnarsson x Reader (Requested by Reader)

Hello! How are you? Can I request a jealous ivar fic? The plot is up to you because you’re an amazing writer!

You loved Ivar, you really did; but sometimes, he was too difficult to deal with. He had his anger issues and his insecurities, just like every other viking. He had a way of ‘throwing a fit’ when he didn’t get what he wanted and sometimes, he was just too much for you.

You weren’t dating him or anything, although you sometimes wish you were. You had grown up with Ivar; going around as kids. You would pull his little wagon that he sat in behind you as you went and scared other children or followed his mother around. You had grown up like siblings and were still incredibly close.

You stuck through with him and helped him cope with his disability and his brothers always picking on him because of it. After the death of his mother, you seemed to be the only one who was truly there for him, besides his father. But eventually, his father had died too. You were with him when he got the news and you will never forget his reaction.

You seemed to be the only consistent thing in his life at the moment. So, when Sigurd had started to hit on you, you couldn’t help but notice Ivar starting to act strange. You had tried to confront him about it, but every time he would just ignore you and crawl away. Until today. He had tried to crawl away and had gotten a pretty far distance when you shook your head and ran for him.

Keep reading

Tracing (Grayson x Reader)

Summary: Based off of THIS MASTERPIECE.
Word Count: 1,474
Warnings: None.
A/N: THANK YOU CASS for giving me this idea! HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY. It’s 7am and I was about to go to sleep but y’all bet your sweet asses that I powered up my computer to write this. ENJOY. Also listen to this, because feels feels feels.


It had been quite an adventurous day for you and Grayson. It had started with you both waking up before the sun was even up, finding Ethan awake and alert in the kitchen - which had made you laugh. You had then decided on ordering some breakfast to go so you could drive to the beach, sitting on the sand while the sky turned orange as the sun peeked from the horizon. It was a peaceful moment, until the boys had decided that swimming in the freezing cold ocean was a good idea; Gray slinging you over your back, ignoring your protests as he rushed toward the sea, Ethan in town.

Then you had helped the guys with filming a new video, which consisted of them just tasing each other and acting like two children. It had made you laugh and you all had to shoot different takes, which took a while.

It wasn’t until midnight when Ethan had left you two alone, yawning like a little lion cub and complaining about being tired. You had shared a secretive smile with Grayson, knowing that he’d just shut himself inside his room and edit until the wee hours of the morning. But you kissed him on the cheek as goodnight, waving as he disappeared down the hallway to his room.

Keep reading

Looking at that nighttime picture of the Lady Washington, and I never noticed the outdoor shutters and how they’re operated?

And now all I’m picturing is Killian and Emma snuggled up on that wee little bunk all cozy and warm, and as the sun begins to rise, Emma shoves her face into the crook of his neck and makes this kind of pathetic whimpering sound – he kind of freezes and holds his breath hoping that tucking her face into the pillow will have been enough to lull her back to sleep. But after few seconds of silence, a groggy whine just barely loud enough to hear through the bedclothes: “…sooo briiiiiiight”; and he can actually hear her pout and can’t help the fond smile that twitches across his lips.

So he carefully extricates himself from the octopus tangle of limbs and sheets, looks around the cabin and can only spy his leather pants, and you know what? It’s five thirty in the morning on a Sunday. Fuck it.

Up he goes, absolutely starkers, and kind of half crouches across the deck as some kind of vague nod to privacy and begins unhitching the ropes and gently lowering the shutters – nice and slow as to not slam them shut. And in the slowness of it he kind of gets lost watching the sunrise and maybe straightens up a bit and takes in the morning breeze, still cool and crisp without a hint of the midsummer heat that he knows the afternoon will bring.

Until a gruff “Oh come on, you don’t own the docks, pal” interrupts his reverie and he blinks into awareness to Grumpy scowling and very pointedly making eye contact.

And you know what? No. There are only so many times someone can insert themselves at just the most inopportune moment until Killian Jones aggressively does not give a fuck, and Leroy’s counter ran out somewhere in Camelot.

So Killian takes the rope of the last shutter that he has in his hand and very deliberately lowers it at a painfully slow rate all while maintaining a narrow-eyed staring contest with the dwarf, straightens up, and practically sashays back across the top deck to the descending stairs, bare arse to the breeze.

And when he gets back down, he opens the door silently, steps around the squeaky floorboard, and is about to gently let himself back into bed, when Emma pops her head up and lifts the sheets to let him in.

“Thought you’d have fallen back asleep, love,” he murmurs into the spot on her head that he’d just kissed

He can feel her smile against his air-cooled skin as she burrows against his chest. “And miss the traumatised yelling about how pirate booty is supposed to be hidden? No way.”

A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Five)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?

My own Jamie,

Almost six months ago, I learned that you survived Culloden. You made history, my darling! Q.E.D.

As many nights as I’ve lain awake in those months cursing myself for not having looked soonerI know I shall thank God every day of my life for the series of events that led me at last to the right pages, to you. When I fully realized what it meant— that you had been spared the death you faced so bravely that April morning, the death that has haunted my thoughts and my nightmares for so long— It was like a wound, the oldest and deepest scar ripped back open, inch by inch. I was completely laid bare from it, from the storm of emotions warring within me: such joy, such anguish for the lost time (how many more years could we have had, Jamie, had I looked?), such fear—and then joy again, because the years of grief could now be ended, and *against all reason!* I could see you again.  

Likewise will I thank God every day for the small voice in my head that nudged me at the very last moment to go first to Lallybroch, rather than to your shop in Edinburgh. Please thank Jenny for me. She explained everything. 

It is for the best, that it happened this way; easier, I think, for all concerned. Perversely, despite the shock, I find myself smiling in this moment: for we promised there would be no lies between us, remember? It is a promise I make to you again, today. You can know, then, with absolute certainty, that it can be no lie when I tell you that I am glad glad and on-my-knees grateful to Heaven that you have found true happiness. 

After all the pain and the loss, the war and the hunger and the suffering you’ve endured, to know that you have a wife with whom you’ve found something new and wonderful; that you have had the joy of holding your own children in your arms, to have seen them be born and grow? It is a balm, Jamie, a comfort to know that despite all the cruelty fate has dealt you—dealt us— you have been blessed with such great and abundant joy. Never would I wish anything less for you, just as I know you would not for me. 

It is my deepest prayer that as you read these words, you will know the truth of them, will be able to feel my heart through the page, and KNOW that from its very depths, I wish you every happiness with your wife and your daughters. 

And yet I couldn’t leave, couldn’t go back from whence I came, without telling you about another little girl, who was born the 23rd of November the year of Culloden. 

I hope the contents of the brown packet, here enclosed, tell you more than any words could about your daughter—our daughter—Brianna Ellen.

Jamie was shaking—no, he was — crumbling

Every breath wrenched through him, agonizing, and the tears were falling, blurring his vision. He had to sit back on his haunches to keep them from dropping onto the page and blurring her precious words. 

Her words

CLAIRE’s

His hands were quaking with

November

with EVERYTHING

Jesus, GOD in 

Couldn’t

He COULD NOT think

Thoughts, words, they were—

They failed him, simply abandoned him as he shook on the study rug. Only his body seemed to know the way, for he was snatching for the parcel, tearing at the string binding the paper. There was an oily, unidentifiable wrapping within, then a layer of soft flannel, and then —   

The sound that escaped him—He didn’t even know there existed such a sound within him. It was terrible and beautiful at once, and though it was in no language, what he felt, his lips over and over formed a word, the only word he could muster: “No….NO….” 

For as though a great knife had cut through those terrible, looming stones on the accursed hill, Jamie held his infant daughter, newly-born, sleeping there in the palms of his hands. The portrait—picture?—painting?—was all in shades of grey, and yet somehow lifelike as a true bairn in miniature before him, like peering through a spyglass straight into that distant life.

He had not a single thought to spare for how, or by what means…

He could only trace the bitty wee fists curled on the blanket, the sweet wisps of hair on the tiny skull.

“Oh, mo chridhe…” 

He couldn’t look away, could not even blink, though tears were coursing downward. 

God, the child —this very child — 

—delivered safely into the world and into the arms of her mother—her mother.

The babe had lived—LIVED.

The pad of his thumb caught slightly as he caressed her cheek, and the portrait slid upward just enough to reveal — “Ohh…Jesus…”

She was grown to a toddling child, eating a cake that was smeared all about her face. And damn him if he didn’t LAUGH amidst the weeping to see just how pleased with herself she looked for it, a cuddly toy raised in triumph like a sword, four wee teeth visible as she giggled out a victory cry.

There she was again, older, standing in a great snowfall, naught but wee cheeks and grinning eyes visible under the great padded suit she wore against the cold. 

Older, still. Three? Four? Sitting proper-like in a pretty frock with her hair combed smooth. 

Such a sweet face—

Older, still, standing with a wee box in her hand beside a giant something with wheels, proud and eager, eyes bright.

And then he was gasping as the spyglass world ignited into blazing, brilliant colors. He saw his daughter’s hair, red and victorious and shining against the black coat of the huge dog she hugged tight; saw the pink flush of her cheeks, spread down her neck as it always did his, when he was happy and exuberant.

On and on flashed the paintings, these captured moments of his daughter’s life.

Going fishing and doing a damn fine job of it. 

Playing uproariously in the sea-surf, splashing and laughing with complete abandon.

Absolutely lovely as as she grew out of girlhood, and God, how vividly he could see Claire in her, as she did—in the lines of her, the way she held her mouth, tilted her head—that broad, clear brow that begged to be kissed, reverently—

Laughing, carefree, safe

Braw and strong as she chopped wood. Good lass!

Gazing softly out a window, seeming not even to notice her image being captured. 

On 

and on

and on 

until he was gasping and looking at the last portrait, of an achingly beautiful young woman sitting on a rock before a fire, making camp for the night, perhaps. Her face was cast in the same golds and red as her hair; the dreams of her heart seeming to dance across her eyes—as they always did her mother’s. His daughter…grown.  

The paintings were strewn all around him on the carpet, a tableau of her; her life. On his knees he bowed over them, overwhelmed and shuddering with great sobs as he looked, and looked, and looked.

She was—

She would be

…..she was well.  

The child HAD been safe.

It hadn’t been for naught. 

He fell, then, and sheltered her like a cloak, keeping his child, his daughter, safe and shielded from the world for just one moment; safe…his….

Brianna


It was only sudden, ripping, screaming panic that yanked him out of the quiet calm, searching wildly, fumbling with desperate hands—

But relief tore from his throat just as suddenly as he found a second page: 

Not everything can be captured in a photograph, of course (that’s what they’re called. Did I ever tell you about them?), and there’s so much I long to tell you about this wonderful person.

Will you believe she’s been taller than me since the age of thirteen? She carries it like a queen, though, like I imagine your mother did. She doesn’t slouch or try to hide. Not Bree. 

Oh, yes: most people call her Bree, for short. 

She bites her nails, when she’s thinking hard. I don’t even think she notices when she’s doing it.

She’s absolutely brilliant, Jamie, studying at one of the top universities in the world to be a historian. You would be so very proud of her. 

She’s not perfect, of course. Perhaps her biggest flaw as half-Scottish is that she HATES whisky, haha. I’ll do my best to win her over, though, don’t you worry. 

She’s a spectacular artist, another way in which she takes after her grandmother. She captures you, completely. 

That statement, actually, is true in more ways than one. Our Brianna is captivating, in every way. 

She’s an absolute wonder with maths and figures —as natural to her as breathing, it seems, just like they are for you. 

She smiles in her sleep, just like her father. 

She’s so like you, Jamie, it breaks my heart. 

After Frank died—But Lord, I haven’t said anything of him. 

It was two years ago. He had a good, full life, and he loved Bree more than anything in the world. He could have been cruel, could have taken out his anger upon the child, the very breathing manifestation of the ways in which I’d betrayed him—but he didn’t. From the moment he first held her, Frank loved her as his own, and while things between he and I were tenuous, to say the least, I will always love him for the father he was to her, for the sacrifices he made for her. I hope that is a comfort to you, and not a blow. 

After he was gone, after giving her time to grieve, it felt important that Bree should know about you, about the stones. It took—well, it frankly took a bloody lot of luck and a jolly good miracle to get her to believe, *but she does.* She loved Frank with all her heart, but she knows now that Jamie Fraser was her father. IS her father. 

You should know that she was instrumental in finding you. She persisted when I would have faltered under the doubts and the fears. As ecstatic and overjoyed as I was at the news that you were alive, I was so afraid Jamie, for you, for me, for Bree. 

Even though I know she, too, was plagued with fears, she remained strong; and she kept ME strong. Even at the very stones, when I was so wracked with guilt over leaving her forever that I would have stayed, for her sake, she was there to strengthen me, to tell me not to look back. She said that she was giving me back to you, and that if I didn’t go, *she* would. ‘Someone has to find him and tell him I was born,’ she said, and she meant it. 

THAT is the kind of person your daughter is growing to be, Jamie: determined, and brilliant, and selfless for the sake of those she loves; *and that includes you.* She asked me to give you a kiss, just from her. I’ve left it here, on the page, for you to keep, always. 

Brianna has been the greatest joy of my life since we parted, a joy that would have been richer only if I had been granted the grace to raise her with you at my side. Thank you for her. THANK YOU for making me go on, for her sake. Despite everything, it has been a good life. Even in those long years of grief, I had the joy of seeing you every day, of seeing your spirit, there in the child of our love. And I’m so very grateful. 

I’ll keep telling her about you. There wasn’t enough time, before I left. She’ll be able hear everything, now. I promise. 

Jamie shook his head hard, fast, feeling for a third page that wasn’t there. “No…” 

Be happy, Jamie Fraser, and LIVE. 

“No,” he moaned. his eyes clinging to the fleeting words, even as he begged them not to stop. “Claire…”

Love, always

“Mo nighean donn, don’t —  

Claire


Those next seconds were everlasting, each terrible, catastrophic truth echoing in his soul like the toll of a great bell, over and over. 

She had been here

Claire had been here

She left

Claire left

Because Jenny—


She was sitting at the bottom of the staircase, crying hard into Ian’s shoulder. When the study door crashed open, her head shot up and she jumped to her feet, her face pure terror. “Jamie, mo ch—”

“When?” He snarled it, and Jenny convulsed with a deep sob like a swallowed scream, and covered her face with her hands. 

Jamie was thundering toward her, a veil of red over his vision as he demanded, “WHEN?” 

Ian—in a shockingly deft and smooth movement given the leg—shot to his feet, shielding Jenny from Jamie’s rage with his body. 

In all truth, the rational parts of Jamie’s mind were glad for Ian’s presence, for that was the only thing keeping the blood rage from taking control, from taking revenge. “WHEN was she here, woman?” he bellowed over Ian’s shoulder,  “How fucking long did ye see fit to keep—”

Ian shoved him, eyes blazing. “You’ll NOT talk that way to—” 

Mor—ning—”Jenny sobbed, her voice a strangled whisper, “—gone before—Jamie! Oh, JamieI ken I’ll—never for—give mys—for—” 

HOW MANY MONTHS?”  he roared, overtaken by despair, overtaken by rage, becoming a nameless beast under it. “HOW MANY YEARS, JENNY?” 

“This morning—” she wailed, “To—TO—DAY—” 

Nothing. 

Silence. 

And then a great wave, tall as a mountain, rose up within Jamie, blasting out everything within him in a single cataclysmic moment of clarity. 

Today

T O D A Y

Then she was—

She could be no more than—

He vaulted up the stairs four at a time, paying no heed to Janet and Wee Ian and the others who were gathered at the top of the staircase, wide-eyed and pale and gaping.

Less than a minute later, he thundered back down past them all, breeks only half-laced under his boots, traveling bag on his back. 

“No,” Jenny moaned, grasping at his sleeve as he passed and trying to hold him back. “Jamie, ye canna—Ye CANNA catch her, she's—GONE—she’s—”

He shook her off, hard enough to knock her off-balance, and ran to the kitchen, shoving what food he could lay his hands on into his sack and moving straight to the door, so crazed with determination he could barely see what it was he took. Food didn’t matter. Fatigue, already tugging at him, didn’t matter. Claire was— 

“Jamie, she’s nearly a day ahead—” Jenny caught the handle just as he did, eyes absolutely wild. “Ye dinna even ken where she’s bound or—” 

He spared his sister one look, and let all the hate and contempt, the rage and the betrayal show there as he growled, “I ken precisely where she’s bound.” 


~Guys, guuuys...

I’ve just learnt that Ben Affleck:

- has taught himself Arabic

- speaks Spanish and French too

- is so good at doing impressions that when he did one to Morgan Freeman, it was so accurate Freeman told him, “You ever do that again, I’ll kill you”

- won $356,000 by winning the California State Poker Championships in June 2004 - defeating some of the best poker players in the world in the process

- filmed four movies simultaneously in 2001: Pearl Harbor, Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, Changing Lanes, and The Sum of All Fears 

- began an intense two-hour a day workout regime the day after he was cast as Batman

- received a lifetime ban from playing blackjack at the Las Vegas&#146; Hard Rock Casino due to his ‘counting cards’ skills


Which tells me:

1. He’s fucking smart. I mean, he can pick up/learn languages pretty well (one of which is Arabic, Damian are you listening and he majored in Middle Eastern Affairs in college) and he is a boss at poker/blackjack.

2. He’s a workaholic. Look, I’ve never made a film (or even a short video) in my entire life, but he did 4 in one year at the same time and I bet he’s done similar workloads throughout his career. Also, see: two-hour a day workout regime for more evidence.

3. He can do good enough impressions to freak the fuck out of God™.


Ergo

= Ben Affleck is well on his way to being Ultimate Batman

All Hail the mighty Bat!

Originally posted by ageofsuperheroes

(edit: someone didn’t like my previous gif-use due to literal-Superman-bashing, and I agreed. Sorry, I didn’t see Supes little face on the wee gif-screen. Here’s some batfleck just being the best Bat he can)

ignore me creepy internet researching the fuck out of him to get my hands on this info. i needed it to defend myself from absolutely no one. fucking fight me

Love Has No Language

Request by @belle6026 to do a story where Draco learns how to sign in order to talk to his crush

Requests Open

Warnings: None

Word Count: 725

Originally posted by daisiesanddraco

Draco rarely found himself so infatuated with one person, or so curious about their life. Most of the time he would come to know people from gossip or talking with them and decide they weren’t worth his time. He had a strange feeling that this wouldn’t be happening this time. There was this girl, Y/N, Draco had known her since year one at Hogwarts, yet had never spoken to for obvious reasons. He could only imagine what it was like for her, probably like watching the world behind a sheet of glass or some other obstruction. Everyone on his side could interact and communicate freely, while on her side things were much more difficult. He knew many didn’t dare try and cross that boundary separating her and the rest of the world. There weren’t many people at Hogwarts who even knew what Sign Language was, let alone knew how to sign.

               It was one rainy day in November that Draco found himself sitting opposite the girl during one of their class study sessions. He looked across and waved, smiling when she returned the gesture. He took out a piece of parchment and scribbled on one corner, “Hello, how are you?” before sliding it over to her. He could almost see the drop in her expression, and it made his entire heart ache. He watched as she scribbled a response before sliding it back to him, “I’m alright, how are you?”, he saw just under his writing, in beautiful script. He frowned slightly looking up as his mind started to race. There was no way they could have meaningful conversations like this, and Draco was determined to get to know this girl. There was something about her that drew him in, something about her that made him want to break down that barrier. He held his hand up in a sort of ‘Wait’ gesture before standing up and disappearing back to his dorm. She would probably be waiting awhile, but he was going to do it.

               On their next trip to Hogsmead, Draco made a beeline for the bookstore and looked through everything until he found one small, old book on sign language. He was honestly surprised to find one at all. Returning to Hogwarts with his prize Draco spent weeks studying the hand gestures and workings of the language. He practiced well into the wee hours of the morning. He started with simple things such as, “Hello, how are you?” and responses, before moving on to more conversational tools. It took about two months before he felt comfortable enough to possibly hold a conversation.

               The next morning, he walked up to her in their first class with a big grin on his face. His heart beating rapidly, he signed, “Hello, how are you?”, and he swore he could see her face light up. Almost too rapidly for him to understand she signed back, “You know sign?”. It took him a moment to figure out what she said before responding, “I’m still learning. I wanted to talk to you properly. This is what you were waiting for”. Draco would have done anything to see her smile the way she beamed at him then. He must have been one of the first people to even try and learn her ways, instead of make her learn theirs. “Thank you”, was all she responded. After class that day the two joined up outside the castle. They spent hours teaching him new words and perfecting his signs. Now whenever he wanted to talk to her, he could. He learned that she loved to draw because it was a way she could express herself in ways others could understand. He leaned all about her family and her life, and for once he didn’t get bored, but rather just became more infatuated every single day.

               He told this story at their wedding, explaining to the crowd of people in both English and Sign Language that love could break any barrier. He explained that sometimes if you really cared about a person, it didn’t matter what you had to do, you would do it, and even if your first attempt was horrible, they would still appreciate the effort. The way she lit up that day was still burned into his mind, and he worked everyday to bring that same smile to her face.

anonymous asked:

Harry basically just confirmed haylor was a thing soooo... Idk how to respond

“Conf-”

Oh lord. 

Okay I’ve literally not looked at social media for most of the day because I’m working somewhere where I deal with sensitive information and therefore cannot have my phone at my desk. 

So I have no idea what anyone thinks of that article aside from @vocabularryonthemind , @mellygrant and @nautilarrie who I text on the reg during my breaks to be like, “VASS HAPPENIN SELENE???” But today was an exception because I was trying to Focus™ and thus I really have no concept of anyone’s reaction to this article. 

I read it in my uber to work and almost threw my phone out the window because, being the darkest fucking Larrie possible, I live in Laurel/Larry Canyon and this diner he speaks of is where Choe ( @vocabularryonthemind) and I go to write when we don’t want to upset my housemates with our witch cackling writing sessions. And THE COUNTRY STORE IS WHERE I GO TO GET MY UK NECESSITIES EW HARRY LET ME LIVE. I can literally throw a rock off my balcony and hit the Country Store so I was all kinds of, “WHAT FUCKING SORCERY IS THIS???” when I read that article. I moved to LA and had naht a clue about what was what and just chose this place randomly and honestly after having a job across the street from where Liam lived in London I never thought shit could get weird like that again but here I am. Destined to be forever fuckin reminded of what trash I am for 1D because they’re literally in my goddamn face.  

Actual footage of me trying to leave the 1D fandom:

What the hell were we talking about? Never underestimate my ADHD and ego’s ability to literally make anything about me. 

Oh yeah! Haylno. 

Look mad props to Tay Tay for her successful career and such, but Harry couldn’t have swerved that question harder than if he literally went for a wee and never came back. This was probably him on that super long wee break:

“Uhhhh Jeff what should I say?…Yeah I’m not gonna say that, bye.” *click* … “Lou they’re asking about her…” And Louis was all

Just kidding…this guy was never just going to like flamboyantly jump into the spotlight all

Omg jk again because lol

Harry be like 

I’m sorry, but Harry didn’t get the fuckin bee for you to be a weak Larrie. 

This “confession”…

As Michael McIntyre said, “They are media. Trained. Super stars!”

Harry might be bangin on the closet door but he can hardly just casually mention that the most heavily manufactured and public relationship he’s ever had was fake. I mean, I try to take everything Harry says literally but the man actually dresses up teddy bears to send coded messages and the irony of his cheery, “I’ve been completely honest with you *WINK*!” parting words weren’t lost on me. 

So you’re telling me that for 20 months, when we have actual proof (FROM LOUIS AND HARRY VIA THEIR OWN MOUTHS AND TWITTERS) that Louis and Harry were living together, Harry slept on a mattress on the floor in Ben Winston’s attic? 

I mean they’ve been trying to rewrite that part of history for ages, and who knows why? Not me. 

I don’t doubt he was a regular guest, but I hardly believe that he was this hobo that the Winstons make him out to be. 

Anyway, I’ve been saying it for awhile, but “Style” is about John Mayer, not Harry. (x

Harry continues to be classy about how he approaches this issue, which is WAY more than anyone can say about Taylor Swift. It was almost F I V E  Y E A R S ago and she still allows everyone to speculate that every song she writes was about a one-month bearding stint, whereas Harry has talked about it literally once, and probably as a necessity in toeing the line in this new solo venture. 

What better way to keep his aggressively private life private than by vaguely acknowledging a four week “relationship”…if you’re trying to tell me that an entire album was forged from that then maybe you should be talking to a Taylor Swift blog because I don’t believe that shit for a second. 

Harry did mention that the entire album was for a “she”. He also said…

and

…am I the only one who thought he was talking about Anne?

Anyway, I saw this as a very significant step away from the “lothario” and “womanising” image that was created around him throughout the entirety of the first few years of One Direction. I thought the article was honest and served its purpose. And proved once again that Harry is more of a show than tell kind of guy. 

And that he is one

SHADY

BETCH

Coach

Summary: He always knew Dicky was different. Not bad different, just not like the rest of the boys in the neighborhood. A glimpse into the relationship of Coach and Bitty, and how Coach comes to terms with it all.  Also on AO3

Originally posted by harrimaniac27

“So, Dicky. Do you want to watch a movie?”

Coach was happy to have Dicky at home. His visits had become far and few between, a rare thing, ever since… well, recently. Suzanne was out with her bowling league, so it was just the two of them for the evening.

“Sure, Coach. What do you wanna see? I think Predator is about to start,” Bitty replied as he grabbed a bag of Brother Kane potato chips from the kitchen and settled into the couch.

He then took the remote and was browsing through the channel guide.

“Also Rocky III is on, uh… Casino. What else…”

Coach watched his son and smiled listening to the movie choices being offered to him.

He always knew Dicky was different.

Not bad different, just not like the rest of the boys in the neighborhood. When he was younger and the other coaches had their boys in pee wee leagues (already drilling the eye on the prize mentality into their heads: “One day you’ll be the star quarterback, son!”) he would look at Dicky and sigh knowing that wouldn’t be his son’s fate.

And he made peace with it, for Dicky was always kind, always helpful, always wore a smile on his face and a smudge of flour on his cheek.

Keep reading

mythaelogy  asked:

what were your favourite quotes/those with the most impact that you read this year?

 i’m expanding this to talk about poems and collections too because i am That Guy. 

POETRY COLLECTIONS and CHAPBOOKS

POEMS 

QUOTES

Sephora (Ethan Dolan/ Fluff)

Summary: Requested by anon: “can you do a fluffy imagine where you go into a sephora w either of them? like at first he’s against it but once he see’s how happy you’re that he’s willing to let you put makeup on him he’s all for it. just like swatching lipstick and stuff. it can be with gray or e idrc. thx”

Warnings: None, Fluff

A/N: This is short but I think it´s kinda cute! Requests are open so whatever you want me to write just leave it on my box. annnnd the gif isn´t mine!

Originally posted by thedolangifs

“Ethan it will just be two minutes I swear!” I whined at Ethan as we got closer and closer to Sephora.

Ethan and I were out at the mall, because he wanted to pick something up from the nike store. But I could see Sephora and E never wanted to go in with me, and at this point I don´t blame him. I could spend hours and real hours walking around the store, swatching, staring and just trying out and looking at all the makeup. E thought it was really boring.

“But y/n you always say it´ll only be a minute and we end up staying till closing time” Ethan responded.

“But ethaaaan” you looked up at his brown eyes, trying to make puppy eyes, for him to give in. “E-tee-wee-tee pleaaaase”

“y/n I´ll just wait outside if it´s only a couple of minutes” Ethan finally responded.

I walked into Sephora and my face lit up like a kid on Christmas day. I turned towards the glass doors were Ethan was standing holding a couple of our bags and I grinned from ear to ear. I turned back around and went to the first aisle. Lipsticks and Highlighters. Then I felt two arms bring me into their chest and I knew it was Ethan.


“This place makes you so happy huh?” Ethan whispered in my ear.

I turned to look at him and just smiled and nodded. Ethan pulled me in and kissed me and smiled after the kiss.

“Fine we can stay as long as you like, only because it makes you this happy” Ethan said to me with a smile on his face.


I turned around and saw a beautiful rose gold super glittery highlighter. I turned to Ethan with the highlighter in my hand, swiped my finger across it and smiled at him asking for permission. He just nodded and smiled and I swiped my finger across his cheek, testing the glittery product.

“How does it look baby?” Ethan asked, while smiling and putting his hands on his hips, posing for me. I laughed and kissed him.


“I love it E but its not my favorite lets keep on trying.”