contemplative activism

Productive Lunar Cycles

Act during masculine (Yang) moons, and react during feminine (Yin) moons. Yang is for doing, Yin is for being; mimic the tide by rolling in with the masculine phases & receding with the feminine phases. Go with the flow.

NEW MOON | Yang
Instinct, force, intention, initiation, projection, will, wishes, new ideas, birth, spontaneity, risk, hope, impulse, inspiration, beginnings. This is a time for brainstorming and starting new projects, but resist the urge to jump in head-first because this phase can be dark & murky – it is the very beginning of the cycle and there’s likely to be truths that have not yet been illuminated. Instead of wasting your energy on potential accidents or mistakes, channel it into plans & desires that you can follow through with at a more appropriate time.

Most comfortable for Aries, Sagittarius, and Capricorn moons.

CRESCENT MOON | Yin
Observation, activation, relaxation, contemplation, collection, inspection, reflection, appreciation, perception, intuition, interpretation. This is a time for pausing to analyze the facts and reflect on the known information. Intuition is your main tool during this phase; feel your way through the shadows – begin to understand what they’re made of with patience & self-control. Attract rather than seek. The moon is still young as a Crescent, so settling, acceptance, decisions, and finality should be avoided. Reach, but don’t grasp.

Most comfortable for Pisces and Scorpio moons.

FIRST QUARTER MOON | Yang
Preparation, support, clearing, unblocking, building, direction, adjustment, solving, answering, advancement, progress, improvement. This is a time to work out the kinks in your plan, desire, or intention now that you have become intimate with its essence. Eradicate the flaws to make room for new, better methods or routes. Use this phase to build upon your current course and prepare for the favorable end result in a productive way. Make the necessary steps toward completion; don’t rush, and don’t worry about the details just yet.

Most comfortable for Gemini and Virgo moons.

GIBBOUS MOON | Yin
Integration, acceptance, tolerance, openness, maturity, insight, organization, connection, correspondence, cooperation, patience. This is a time for buckling up & enjoying the ride. Continue to allow your energy to flow into your plan, desire, or intention, but relax knowing that it has been set into motion. Spend this phase reflecting on the ideal course of action, and remain hopeful but realistic in your mindset. Align your expectations with the current likelihood.

Most comfortable for Taurus moons.

FULL MOON | Yang
Culmination, amalgamation, climax, full awareness, insight, manifestation, finality, completion, momentum, truth, answers. Your plan, desire, or intention has been fully initiated & followed through to this moment, the perfect opportunity for full force, definite action – this is where the process completes itself & all the truth comes out. Every detail is available to you now; everything is ready; everything is illuminated & conscious. The results will reveal themselves & you will know whether it is a success or a failure.

Most comfortable for Leo and Aquarius moons.

DISSEMINATING MOON | Yin
Gratitude or disappointment, new hope or resignation, contentment or complacency, satisfaction or dissatisfaction. The results are manifesting independently of you & action on your part is no longer necessary. This is the time to be grateful for the fruition, to recollect yourself, to come to terms with whatever consequences, and to accept the outcome of the process. Inner peace and/or conviction must be achieved before the next phase.

Most comfortable for Libra and Pisces moons.

THIRD QUARTER MOON | Yang
Fairness, bargain, repayment, showing gratitude, making up for mistakes, correction, elimination, readjustment, cleansing, making way. This is a time for giving back what you have been given & balancing the gifts/rewards (or unfavorable circumstances) between forces. Settle the score & clean up the lingering energies to clear a path for the next lunar cycle. Regroup, review, recalculate, do not dwell. Begin preparation for the next New Moon.

Most comfortable for Libra, Scorpio, and Taurus moons.

BALSAMIC MOON | Yin
Reflection, rest, restoration, recharging, incubation, closure, surrender, moving on, putting everything to rest. This is the time for letting go & allowing energies to return to you so you’ll be able to use them in the next lunar cycle. This is a perfect time for meditation; there is no need for any action or deep analysis at this point, this is the very end, where everything is meant to be quiet and peaceful. Calm yourself – your soul, body, heart, & mind – and just be.

Most comfortable for Pisces moons.


All lunar phases are comfortable for Cancer moons.

Applies to natal moons, lunar transits, & natal moons during lunar transits.

just imagine sportacus flippity-flipping over to robbie with a banana in hand and just-
  • sporty: hey robbie you should eat this banana!
  • robbie: *contemplates the hyper-active sports elf before shrugging* okay
  • robbie: *drops to his knees*
  • sporty: *confusedly and innocently holding banana* robbie what are you doing??
  • robbie: *looks up at sporty* oh you meant /that/ banana

anonymous asked:

If you don't mind can you explain what you mean by your post about 13 reasons why? I would like to hear your opinion on it

i don’t mind but im hiding it under a read more to TW for description suicide, examplse of suicidal ideation, and for self harm in the form of cutting. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Top 5 ships with Deidara??

                               Hate to break it to you, my dude, but I don’t ship Deidara with anyone. I even think Deidara and Sasori are overly fetishized to the point where even contemplating the ship makes me extremely uncomfortable. Actually, I think my son is overly fetishized too, so I honestly don’t even actively contemplate or consider ships for him. I didn’t really make this account to ship anyway. I just love Deidara, I’ve written as him before, and I wanted to rekindle the connection I had with him and share that with other writers.

                                Anyway, I appreciate you taking the time to send me this question.

anonymous asked:

Imagine that Jamie and Claire had only met later in life, when they're both divorced or widowed

Renewed: This is set in, on, or around the 1960′s. Jamie is 40 and Claire is 45.

— – —

Part One:

She came in everyday, sometimes with a colleague or too, usually alone, but always there. He would sit, his back to the window, disinterested in the random hoipolloi that wandered the streets of Glasgow in the early hours, observing only her.

She was a doctor, he surmised, from the scrubs she occasionally wore. Probably a surgeon. He’d had the unfortunate pleasure of being introduced to some of the staff during some odd printing accidents. The surgeons had worn blue, he’d noticed. She’d only worn them once, but once was enough.

Smart then, he concluded. And beautiful with it.

He’d been coming to this particular cafe ever since his move to the city, two years previous. It was a comfort more than anything, a place that smelt faintly like his sister, Jenny’s, kitchen.

Here he could pretend he wasn’t alone.

The plumes of coffee wafted through the air, filling his senses as he sat and read his crisp newspaper. He’d printed the broadsheet himself, a perk of the job.

He wasn’t sure how long she’d been coming here, but it could have been her sanctuary long before his. Either way, she wore a wedding ring, a large gold band that she twirled unconsciously as she waited in line. It was almost as if she knew he was watching, waiting. A sign that she was not to be touched.

That didn’t stop him from wishing.

Two whole years.

It struck him, in that moment, how perverse it seemed. He hadn’t originally intended to become a voyeur, but loneliness does strange things to a person.

He, himself, had never been married. He’d come close once, but in the end he knew it wasn’t right and had said as much. Jenny had been incredibly angry with him, having worked hard to set up the union, but something inside him had rallied. She was not the girl for him, and he shouldn’t marry her.

And he hadn’t.

Now, at just over forty years of age, he was sure he’d found her. But in a twist of fate, she wasn’t free for him to pursue her.

Karma, he thought, was not his friend.

“Just a shot of espresso, please.” Her voice carried across the mostly deserted cafe, the sweet dulcet tones warming him faster than his steaming drink.

It’s of no matter, he reasoned, most women his age were taken. He shouldn’t have hoped for anything different.

– –

Why she’d chosen that day, she didn’t really know. The ring had been a prop for just over a year, a ploy to keep the handsy male staff members away. If they’d known her and Frank had separated –well, it was an unfortunate fact that the doctors and the surgeons had a pool on the single females members of staff.

She *would not* end up on that list.

Being a tenured MD gave her certain privileges, it meant she worked the shifts she wanted, with the staff *she* requested.

She liked nights, finishing before the sun rose meant she could meander the city whilst most people still slept.

*He* didn’t seem to sleep, she liked that. She liked that he was always sat in the cafe in the wee hours of the morning, nursing his hot chocolate and pouring over the business sections.

But still, she hadn’t built the courage to speak to him. She knew he watched her, that he contemplated talking to her but never had. She knew that was all down to her.

At first *she was* married, but even then, she enjoyed feeling his eyes on her as she waited to order. After her and Frank’s split, she did actively contemplate removing the ring *just for him*. But every morning she chickened out.

Her shift had ended badly. Someone knew, and that someone had announced, loudly, Frank’s *indiscretions* to the entire night staff. She’d been utterly humiliated, and she needed something, *anything* to make her feel good again.

The moment she’d seen him, sat at his usual table by the window, she knew what she wanted to do.

This time she would be brave.

– –

She left, as she always did, just as the sun began to rise, its sharp glow illuminating the sodden streets. He watched as she strode off in the opposite direction from the hospital, eager to be home he suspected.

He should do the same, he normally did. But today his mind was somewhere else entirely. He realised, belatedly, that she hadn’t even touched her left hand. Normally she fiddled with the band, openly adjusting her wedding ring.

Today she hadn’t.

He couldn’t be sure, but he hoped, rather cruelly, that something had changed.

For now he would have to wait. He’d sat for two years, he could wait a day more.

– –

Two days.

Two days in two years.

She’d never missed a morning at the cafe. But since she was skipping work, she could hardly walk brazenly around the neighbourhood.

Instead, she’d lost herself in daytime television and a rather large bowl of ice cream.

– –

She hadn’t shown the next day.

Or the day after that.

His heart sank deeper into darkness as he trudged home.

Spring was in the air, the damp nights turning warmer, even Scotland had some heat. Still, he pulled his scarf tightly around his neck, hiding himself in it’s thick woollen depths.

Normally he’d go straight home, but today he wasn’t in the mood to be alone. Instead he returned to work.

The steady hum of the printing press, the heavy steps of the day team walking across the wooden boards above him, all of these things kept him focused on anything but the ghosts of his past. They kept him occupied enough that he almost forgot about –her.

– –

On day three she caved, and she returned to the hospital.

Work had been difficult. Most gave her mournful looks, some whispered as she passed them by, and the odd few made cutting comments (almostly silently, discrete enough but still loud enough for her to hear).

*She couldn’t give him children, of course he had to go somewhere else.*

*You know it’s because she works, she spent all that time away and on courses to work her way up the ladder, no wonder he left her.*

*I’m just surprised it took him so long, and to wear that ring for –a year– afterwards!*

She signed herself out and rushed off, holding back her tears. Whatever she felt, she wouldn’t let them see her cry.

Head down, she walked briskly out and away from the hospital, desperate to be anywhere else.

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she failed to notice the tall Scot stood against the side of the building. Crashing directly into him, she jumped as he wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m s-so sorry,” she managed to stutter out, her hands shaking as she held onto him whilst she righted herself, “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Dinna fash, miss. I’m in the business of rescuing damsels in distress.” His voice sent pleasant shivers down her spine, the deep burr vibrated directly through her chest.

“It’s you,” she knew from the moment he spoke, recognising his voice, “from the coffee shop!” Looking up, she confirmed her suspicions.

“Ye ken me?” He seemed more amused than shocked, his eyes alight with mischief.

“Y-yes, I know you. You’re always there, sat facing away from the window.”

“Ha! Ye even ken where I sit. I am impressed, sassenach.”

– –

He paled, all the colour draining from his face as he said the word. He knew she was English, of course, and it was something he’d called her in his head ever since he’d discovered the fact.

He could tell she hadn’t appreciated it, by the way she pulled herself free of him and wrapped her arms around her middle. Her eyes were red and puffy, he’d been so happy to see her that he hadn’t been paying attention. He’d only closed his eyes for a moment, and the next thing he knew, she was solidly plastered against his chest.

“I’m sorry, I didna mean to upset ye. I’ve been watching ye for so long, and I dinna ken yer name…” he was babbling, nervously attempting to keep her there with him, “I didna mean it in a mean way, I promise.”

– –

He sounded so sincere, she couldn’t help but giggle.

She *had* been insulted, at first. But his abashed ramblings had endeared her.

“Honestly,” she began, placing her hand over his, “don’t worry about it. I’m not offended, and thank you, for holding me up.”

“It’s my pleasure…” he stopped, unsure of how to address her.

“It’s Claire, Claire Beauchamp. Pleased to meet you.” She lent him an olive branch, a small smile breaking through her sorrow.

“Weel, Claire, Claire Beauchamp. I’m Jamie, Jamie Fraser. And I’d love to take ye for a drink, if yer amenable?”

Claire blushed, dipping her head as she licked her lips and nodded.

Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all.

…to be continued.

lovebug1313  asked:

Okay first I want to say that I've spent the last 2 nights going through your list of blurbs. WOW, I'm amazed. Second, I have one for you (if you're still taking requests). You and Harry (or Niall) are really getting into it backstage but you guys forget to lock the door and one of the other boys walk in on you. I always find this hilarious and you seem like the writer to do that :)

You hadn’t seen Niall for at least two months when you stepped off the plane in Sweden to meet up with him on tour.  You were disgustingly excited.  So much so that the guy next to you on the plane had sighed in frustration more than once as you rocked around in your plane seat.  He wanted to sleep but thanks to your mexican jumping bean routine that wasn’t happening.

You were practically at the plane door before they even opened it.  

Waiting for the town car to pick you up was torturous to say the least.  And it couldn’t have been longer than five minutes.  But by the time the driver pulled up you were ready to throw your bag into the window and jump in after it.  However, you kept control and politely allowed him to take your bag.

And now you were finally at the venue.  With the show less than an hour away, the building was already buzzing with activity.  You contemplated rolling the window down to wave at some people but let it go.  Your mission was clear for the moment.  Find Niall and kiss the hell out of him for at least 20 minutes.

Keep reading

My response to the many SQ brotp #nohomo posts:

I want to start off by saying that the amount of privilege heteros are afforded is staggering and I say this as a straight person. LGBTQ representation is so fucking important, so when y’all coming prancing in with your ‘Why can’t these two just be gal pals?’ or ‘Why do you gays have to make everything romantic?’ it makes me want to weep at this level of hypocrisy, because heteros do EXACTLY the same thing.

These days all that needs to happen is for a boy and a girl to share screen time, where invariably people are going to ship it and I assure you fewer people will bemoan others for seeing romance where they only see a platonic relationship simply because the pairing is hetero. But as soon as this equation changes, suddenly a sub-set of people are up-in-arms over how a relationship has been ruined by romance.

A&E said so themselves that a LGBTQ romance had to be ‘earned’. Like everything LGBTQ people isn’t fought for tooth and nail as it is. Like the power imbalance between straight and LGBTQ people isn’t still so vast. Straight people are so heavily steeped in privilege that sometimes we don’t see how important LGBTQ representation is.

I get that we’ve been conditioned to think in strict heteronormative terms and it’s very difficult to see past the structure that’s so heavily ingrained in our society, but if you’ve been informed and educated, if you know that there’s a faction of people out there who perceive a non-hetero relationship as romantic where you only see friendship and ask ‘Why can’t you see they’re just friends?’, this is a form of erasure. If you say that LGBTQ people should be happy with what they’ve got, this is a form of erasure. If you tell them that OUAT isn’t the show for them because they’ll ‘never go homo’, this is a fucking form of erasure. STOP IT and NO you don’t get a free pass if you happen to have a friend who isn’t straight.

So before you make another indignant post shaming others for supporting a pairing with two women that you only perceive as platonic, think again because it makes you look like a homophobe or an asshole or both.

Keep reading

Secret Santa Ficlet: Claire’s 12 days of Christmas. Day Eleven.

Welcome to the penultimate chapter, day eleven. For you @captaingothgirl1996 from the genius of @moghraidhjamie

(This chapter is an homage to the ever beautiful and glorious @gotham-ruaidh from the bottom of my heart, you are so lovely and I’m grateful you’re at the forefront of my fandom life and real life too <3) 


Other chapters found: HERE.


On the eleventh day of Christmas: In which auld ghosts give fate a helping hand:

Claire surveyed her empty house. The floors sparkled and the whiff of bleach and lemon flash hung in the air as she rung out the mop one last time.

“Have ye finished in here, Claire?” Jenny sing-songed, prancing into the kitchen/dining room swinging the duster between her fingers. “I think I’m done wi’ the bedroom and the bathroom is shiny like a new penny.”

“Yes, I think so. What do you think?” she queried, unsure of her own cleaning skills, but trusting Jenny’s.

“Aye, beautiful job. Now though, Claire, I think we should be getting home. The dress fitting will be soon and ye dinna want to stink o’ detergent when the lassie gets to us, ken?”

Claire dipped her head and chuckled. Jenny had enough energy to support a whole army, and as well as her other many jobs, she had taken hers and Jamie’s wedding on. Nobody had slept for more than a few hours since she had accepted the proposal, all of them swept up in the excitement.

Feeling slightly nervous, Claire tapped her foot against the clean linoleum.

“Are you certain, Jenny? About the dress I mean,” she questioned, remembering the handful she had been presented with on their first visit to the bridal shop. “I’ve done white before. Isn’t it more *proper* to have something less…virginal bride?”

Taking the keys from Claire’s hands and sweeping her out of the door, Jenny rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“So this is what has been bothering ye all these days? Silly thing, ye are, Claire Beauchamp,” Jenny berated, a lightness to her *mild* castigation. “Ye ken Jamie is dedicated to his faith, aye?”

“Y-yes…” Claire returned, her cheeks tinting pink as they walked, arm in arm, back to Jenny’s wee car.

“Weel, I didna want to spoil the surprise, but since ye insist on being –Debbie Downer– in relation to the grandiose nature of yer nuptials, I think I should let you in on the secret.”

Brushing a loose curl away from her forehead, Claire gave Jenny a withering look. “Oh dear, what has he done?”

Biting the inside of her cheek, Jenny started the engine and pulled away from the little house for the very last time, all the while trying desperately not to burst out laughing at Claire’s trepidation.

“Ye ken fine that to wed in a church ye have to attend for three weeks and have the priest announce the ceremony afore hand. Jamie, being a staunch Catholic, and in good relation wi’ our good friends at St Andrew’s, has managed to twist the arms of those concerned, Claire.”

“But, I thought?” Claire murmured, her gloved hands clenching in her lap as she tried to process this massive news.

“Aye, we were meant to have it at home. And he would have been happy to do it. But, considering, he thought he might –try.”

“Even though I’m…not?” Words seemed hard to come by, and so, Claire, her mind racing so fast she thought it might implode at any given moment, opted for as few as possible. Jenny knew what she was getting at.

“Yer to marry a Fraser, Claire. Ye will be, won’t you?” Jenny glanced sidewards as carefully as she could as she drove through the snow filled streets and out of the city. Knowing Claire for such a short while, the subject of religion had yet to come up. She might be a solid atheist for all she knew. Not that it mattered either way; she could see the love the pair had for one another, but it *was* a major part of Jamie’s life.

Biting her lip as she smiled, Claire lost herself in the view as the car skirted the edge of Loch Ness, Urquhart Castle coming into view as they approached Drumnadrochit. “I assumed as much when he braved these roads in thick snow to make an appearance that Sunday when we first met.”

“Dinna think me daft, Claire lassie,” Jenny broke in on hearing her side of their introduction, “because I amne. But…”

Twisting her head as they drove past the myriad of Nessie sculptures that lined the wee hotels through the village, Jenny paused and waited for Claire to nod before she continued.

“…whether ye believe in the Lord or no’, the man has a way of bringing the right ones together. Jamie wasne supposed to go to church that morning. Wee Jamie had been sick and I was filled wi’ cold too. Him and Ian were supposed to take the weans off to do the weekly shopping. I think we both could sense something.” Tapping her fingers against the steering wheel, Jenny shook her head, a humourous lilt to her voice as she went on, “He came to me. I dinna think we even said anything to one another, but he came and I nodded and then he left.”

Claire’s mouth opened and closed, as if willing something sensical to come, but it didn’t.

“When he came home, he told me about you. He jokes about my feeling of our father in this house, Claire, but that day, I felt it, and he felt it too. Whether that be God’s work or Da, I dinna ken, but something played a hand in it…and now yer to be marrit.”

Taking her hand from the wheel for one moment, Jenny grasped hold of Claire and held her fingers tight.

“Whatever it is that ye truly believe, Claire, a large portion of Jamie’s heart and soul is rooted in his faith. In *our* faith. That’s why he debated yer first kiss for so long. It’s also why he willna take ye to his bed afore you take him as yer husband.”

Having been moulded by her uncle, an avid fact-finder and illustrious archaeologist, Claire’s thoughts on God had been limited and shallow. She had been taught to admire all of the articles found in relation to Christianity, but had failed to have a connection with anything deeper. Now, however, she had been forced to reevaluate her notions of religion…at very short notice.

She hadn’t even actively contemplated Jamie’s lack of sexual advances. Being an amorous youth, Claire hadn’t waited for marriage for her first sexual encounter. This internal admission made her heart skip a beat. Luckily, it wasn’t a topic she felt like discussing with Jamie’s sister, no matter how close they had become.

“Do you think they would have approved, your parents?” she asked, worry lining her tone as she swept away the stray bits of dust that still clung to her skirt.

“I have nay doubt about it, Claire. Mother would have loved ye. And Da, he kent that he loved Mam the moment he laid eyes on her. A trait, it seems, he kindly passed on to Jamie himself.”

Resting her now free hand on the thin band of gold that lay on her left hand, Claire shifted her knees together in the small footwell. “I would do anything for him, Jenny. He rescued me from crippling loneliness at a time when I didn’t even know that I needed saving.”

“He’s a special one, Claire. There arena many men around like Jamie Fraser…” leaning in to her nearly-sister-in-law, Jenny snorted and bumped shoulders with Claire, “…no’ even Ian, aye?”

Claire laughed, her chest lighter for the comedic injection.

“But, Claire, so are you. If he’s one in a million and he’s chosen ye as his bride, lass, then ye have to be something special too, ken?”

Before Claire could downplay Jenny’s high praise, the car pulled onto the long winding drive that lead up to Lallybroch and the women fell silent. As they rolled around the final corner, the big house came into view, it’s outer arch covered all the way around with tiny candles –all lit and flashing together in solidarity.

“A beacon in the dark, aye? A flame to welcome us home,” Jenny whispered, bringing the car to a standstill and watching as the men exited the house side by side and came towards them, twin smiles plastered across their faces.

“Dinna fash about the white, Claire. Ye are purer than ye give yerself credit for.”  Jenny breathed in the calm air of the heated car, patting her softly on the knee before bending across to give her the smallest of pecks against her flushed cheek. “Make it count, mo phiuthar. These are moments that auld ghosts have deigned important enough to gi’ fate a push wi’. Make them count.”

A federal hearing is set for 10:00 a.m. on Tuesday, April 5 for admitted Charleston Church shooter Dylann Roof.

At the hearing, the federal government could announce whether they will seek the death penalty in this case.

Former South Carolina Attorney General Charlie Condon told it is highly unusual for a case to be tried on both the state and federal levels.

Here in South Carolina, in Charleston, we have this unusual situation where both systems are contemplating active capital cases which, of course, are time consuming and very expensive. And I believe the reason it’s happened this way is because of the gravity of the crime, alleged crimes. You’ve got 9 folks killed at a church service and it’s got a clear racial motivation” said Condon.

Roof waived his right to appear at Tuesday’s hearing.

His friend, Joey Meek, also has a federal hearing today. He is charged with withholding information about Roof’s plot from investigators.

News 2 will have a crew in the courtroom. 

Mute. Part 5.

Please continue the story where Claire is deaf!
@justgingernotirish

You can find the other instalments: HERE.



The nightmare had been so intense, she’d shaken, cried out –albeit silently– and clung to the damp bedsheets as the bombs had, seemingly, dropped around her. 

Jamie, snoozing in the corner of the half empty barn, had noticed her struggle as she’d kicked out and knocked over a small basin left too close to her palet. The loud clatter had forced him awake and he’d immediately dashed over to comfort her.

Claire thrashed, her limbs flailing and then clenching tight as she’d tried to run for cover, lost deep between the falling debris as walls collapsing around her.

Metal flew through the air.

Sirens wailed all around her.

Then, as if by magic, nothing.

The ground still rattled beneath her feet, and the world still crumbled around her. But she could no longer hear anything.

*“Hush, mo nighean donn, yer safe. Shh, please, Claire. It’s me, it’s Jamie. I’m here.”*

A deep Scots burr cut through the deadly quiet.

A beacon in the dark.

She clung to it, desperate to find the person to whom the voice belonged before it was cruelly stolen from her once more. 

In her panic, she gripped his shirt, so tight that her fingers had gone white at the knuckles. Her lips searched for his, she needed his touch. 

Jamie, as if sensing this, leaned forward. She still hadn’t opened her eyes and he was unsure of her level of consciousness. But he already felt a deep connection with her, and he’d do absolutely anything to soothe her.

The moment they met, her mouth finally colliding with his, she pulled him deep under the covers, their limbs entwining and becoming one in almost no time at all.

She was frenzied, desperate for the contact, desperate for *him*.

*‘Jamie’* she mouthed, wriggling her hips against his as she tugged at his (already half askew) kilt, pawing at him as if she couldn’t get enough.

There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room.

He could barely breathe as she sucked and nibbled at him, his lips sore as her tongue tasted every inch of his mouth.

Her shift had slipped from her shoulder, exposing half of her top half, the bottom having ridden up in the furore.

He should stop this.

He shouldn’t allow her roaming hands.

He shouldn’t --he thought absently as she finally pulled the material of his kilt aside-- thrust his aching cock against her bare crotch.

She wasn’t in her right mind. She was half-crazed, pulled under by the grips of an intense nightmare. If he took her now, like this, he’d be no better than the barbarians who’d robbed her in the forest before their first meeting.

All of these things ran through his mind at once, in a matter of seconds, but it was all to no avail.

In her panic she’d achieved a physical strength he hadn’t thought possible.

She had him where she needed him, and it was almost impossible for him to resist.

“Claire,” he whispered, “Claire, it’s alright, ye…Ah Dhia!…” he gasped, well aware that she couldn’t hear him. She certainly wasn’t looking at him to read his lips.

Running her hand along the newly exposed length of him, she shifted her hips downwards, readying herself underneath him. Opening her eyes, finally, Claire looked straight at Jamie, pure passion embedded deep beyond her firm blue iris’.

He was done for.

He shifted his hands to rest on either side of her head and rocked his hips, gently, against hers. The warmth of her surrounded him almost instantly as he joined with her.

Any worry that she didn’t want this, really, that she wasn’t ready –that *he* wasn’t ready–, dissipated like dust on a summer breeze as he sank deeper and deeper inside her.

They melted, together.

She basked in the dead silence that surrounded them, sensing every wisp of sound that left Jamie’s lips as he began to move above her. Remembering the steady grunts men expelled during sex. Claire envisioned Jamie and how his voice might resonate and echo through her ears, should she be able to hear him. That thought alone sent shockwaves of desire through her.

Memories of the intonation of the voice in her dream came back to her as she clenched her thighs tightly around his hips.

He felt Claire’s hands grope for his arse as he pulsed his pelvis against hers, the damp sound of their intimacy reverberating around them.

He felt her small nails dig into his heated flesh as she rose to meet his every thrust.  

Picking up his pace, Jamie moved faster, spurred on by her writhing below him. Her breasts rose up to brush across his, now, half bared chest. He hadn’t recalled her tearing at his shirt, but she must have done for the laces lay open and the slight 'V’ at the neck had been ripped a little.

Her lips found his neck as she shuddered and arched her back. The salty sweetness of his sweat coated her mouth as she lapped each drop up, along and under his chin and back up to his lips.

Reaching up, she slipped her hand under his tense one, tickling him a little as she allowed their fingers to intertwine.

’*Don’t stop…*’ she said with a sly jerk of her hips.

He felt the hairs on his thighs prickle as the telltale throb began in his balls, the heat of her soaking through every inch of him as he moved against her over –and over.

Claire knew he was close when his movements became erratic, his arms shaking with the effort of holding him up. Biting, gently, against the soft skin of his lower lip, she closed her legs around him, trapping him.

One roll of her bottom.

And then another, her feet wrapped around his calves kept him a lost flush with her. Just enough room, she’d calculated, to have him at her mercy, to make him see stars behind his eyes as he came to her.

She heard the faint murmurings of his pleasure as his chest vibrated against hers. His fingers gripping tight at her own as he bucked and stilled.



They lay panting, him still inside her, as they finally came back to earth.

Nuzzling her nose against his, Claire lifted her hips a little, coaxing him to the side before wrapping the blankets around him and allowing her leg to drape over his hip.

Half-conscious, Jamie allowed her to cocoon him up as he gazed upon her with a sort of hazy wonder.

She was a beautiful angel, he mused, a blast of light in his wee simple world.



She watched him sleep for hours, running her fingers, softly, through his soaking curls as he settled into his dreams.

Licking her lips unconsciously, she allowed her eyes to close briefly.

If there were a time to be able to talk, she thought with a sort of wistful sadness, this would be it.



Jamie shot up only a few hours later, his subconscious telling him something was amiss.

“Ifrinn!” He muttered, feeling Claire’s supple form at his side. He was still coated in her, the tang of their activities covering his skin, the musky scent of their mingled sweat filling his nose as he shook himself off.

As carefully as he was able, he slipped from her bed and righted his ruffled clothes.

How had he let that happen?

Had she done it before?


If she hadn’t, he’d just taken her maidenhead!

All of these thoughts and more rushed through his head as he paced the length of the silent stables, wanting to leave but not wanting to simply steal away like a thief in the night.

She didn’t deserve to wake up alone, not after that.

Unable to relax, Jamie started clearing away trinkets and bottles that she had scattered around her wee stall.

Anything he could get his hands on.

Anything to keep busy.



He’d tired himself by sunrise, and had perched on the ledge by the small window, scrunching himself onto the tiny shelf as he watched the sun appear through the rippled glass pane.

So lost in thought, was he, that he didn’t notice Claire rise and walk towards him.

He was beautiful, she thought, with the deep orange of the dawn glowing behind him, setting his hair aflame.

Reaching out, Claire ran a lone finger along the expanse of his upper arm, the fabric of his shirt was cool, but she could feel the slight heat of his skin beneath.

He turned slowly, swivelling his bottom against the slabs of wood that formed the window ledge.

She didn’t actively contemplate her movement, but the lust that had encased them during the night seem to hang in the air still and she’d crawled into his lap before she knew it. Her thighs rested either side of his as she bent to kiss him.

Claire; she was as light as a wee faerie, and as enchanting as one, Jamie pondered as her mouth moved fluidly against his own.

The caw of the crow knocked him from his bliss and he jerked quickly away from her, lifting her and placing her on her feet as he put some distance between them. Guilt reared its ugly head.

Ah Dhia, Claire! I shouldna ha’, Christ!” He stood in front of her, his hands clenched tightly by his side.

What had he done?

*’Shouldn’t have? You –didn’t want me–?’*

His brow scrunched tighter as he tried to understand her signs. She’d taught him some, of course, but he was still learning.

“It wasna right, Claire. I should ha’…” his eyes flittered nervously around the ever shrinking room, “I shouldna have taken ye so.”

Even as far away as he was, she could feel the deep rumble of his voice as he spoke, a low burr that seemed to vibrate through floor and up into her through her. Reading his lips as he spoke, her heart picked up as she realised what he was insinuating.  

Two fingers of his right hand rubbed lightly over his breast, right above his heart. A familiar gesture, something she’d noticed previously. Something she’d unconsciously started doing herself.

She clenched her jaw, anger flowing through her as she let him blether on, unwilling to even decipher his speech as he babbled. Her anger grew like a huge ragged flame trapped underneath her ribcage.

Claire let him continue until she’d worked herself up into such a lather. Stamping her foot she gripped the closest item she could get her hands on (which happened to be a small, thankfully empty, potion vial) and hurled it with renewed vigour at the floor.

Jamie jumped, his eyes wide as he finally looked at her.

Her cheeks were flushed the most glorious red, her pupils dilated so her eyes looked pitch black in the glow of the new day.

*’Just. Get. Out.’* 

She signed, pointing towards the open door once she’d finished, her heart hammering in the confines of her chest. Pulling the laces at the neck of her shift, she held the thin fabric around herself as best as she could.

Jamie’s chest tightened. He’d hurt her, he could see the pain lingering behind her eyes.

He wanted to stay, to make it right, but he saw the stubborn set of her shoulders and kent it would be to his detriment if he stayed.

“I’m so sorry, Claire.” He whispered as he turned and fled, shame following him like a suffocating fog.

themistocles38  asked:

You support pro choice which gives women the right to get an abortion. But do you know what else is a choice? Suicide. But I bet that you are someone who would urge someone to reconsider and contemplate the outcome of their actions. That is what pro lifers are trying to do. Get people not to turn to drastic measures in times of trouble. I understand "my body my choice" but no the government should be allowed to control people's actions if they cause harm to themselves and others.

First of all, equating being pro-choice with being pro-suicide is so far out of line that I don’t even have a response…

But moving on, let’s be clear:
Pro-lifers are NOT trying to “urge someone to reconsider and contemplate” their decision; they’re actively working to make it so that there is no decision to make.

Pro-choicers on the other hand give women options; we don’t force abortions, or even advocate for them! Instead we support organizations like Planned Parenthood that give women information and services so they can make their own [non-drastic] choices– whether that be an adoption, raising babies themselves (with access to proper medical care!), or having an abortion.

Pro-choice ideologies advocate precisely what the name suggests: a choice. It means supporting women with their own reproductive choices– regardless of what they are.

Inside the Huddle of Voices

When we are awake and slip into those moments of contemplation, a buzz of activity goes on in the deeper labyrinth of our minds. It is a gathering of voices in a huddle engrossed in an animated conversation. It is easy to make out who these voices are by listening to the conversation - the voice of reason (VoR) is full of conjunctions when it speaks -  because, unless etc.  The voice of emotion (VoE) usually predicates itself when it speaks and throws in a good amount of adjectives. There is another regular to these huddles - The voice of morality (VoM) that is trying to steer the conversation  with non-committal verbs - may be, likely etc.

Occassionally, there is an uninvited guest that jumps right into the middle of the huddle. It comes from no where,  lurking in unseen shadows, indescribable and waiting to confront, beyond our sense of physical and philosophical. A voice that keeps resurrecting, especially whenever there is a self conflict or great human tragedy, in spite of the best efforts to mute it, forces you to think and re-think. It is the voice of self-understanding (VoS), often taking sides with the elephant in the room and trying to push it to the center of the conversation.

VoS is often chided by other voices in attendance as out of whack and not in tune with the reality. “We have been working hard dealing with this shit all along! Where were you then and why now” is the retort. ‘Oh! well, hmmm..’ , VoS sounding apologetic  - 'I thought you guys were doing it right and now I realize your actions may cause harm.  The voices of self-understanding recently had a global conclave  and we all felt if we had played our role well we could have prevented world wars, nuclear disasters, genocides and global hunger. We found out that the root cause starts from 'self conflict’. We now want to contribute more effectively by analyzing individual actions and reactions to avoid  potential human disasters’.

'This is nuts!!’ - exclaimed VoR,  'What do we have to do with world wars and world hunger?’. 'Do I need your approval for everything I wanna do? - said VoE. 'No, I just want to make sure that the decisions that we make are right for us. We cant predict the outcome of every decision that we make but making a decision and being cognizant of its impact is what I am asking for.  Not satisfied,  VoR says 'It sounds complicated, we will never be able to take a decision if we keep analyzing the likely impact of our decisions on self and humanity in general’. 'May be we should take a vote on every decision that we have to make and avoid a conflict’  VoM interjecting into the conversation. 

VoS -  'Yes, this will eliminate the conflict that the self has to bear because of our internal bickering’ . 'Since we are just four of us what happens if there is a tie’  - said VoR reluctantly agreeing to the idea. 

VoM -  'In case of a tie we will ask 'Self’, the moderator, to cast the deciding vote’. All voices agreed and raised a toast. Mind suddenly felt calm as the clouds started clearing out opening up an expanse of new awareness.    

OCT 28, 2015

Wednesday, 28 Oct 2015

This is a good time for solitude, quiet, or contemplative activities and rest. Your spirits may be temporarily depressed, so take some time for yourself. Others may criticize you or show little emotional warmth at this time.

'Ghràdh, Bithbhuan' - Marie Stopes.

This chapter would not have come together as it has without major intervention from @londonerbecky who is my go to for anything political/historical politics/feminism in general. I wanted 60′s Claire to definitely teach Jamie a thing or two about his new era, so THANK YOU Becky, you’re a true gem and I’m so utterly grateful. High five, partner in crime.

As for the idea, it wouldn’t have grown as it has without the plot bunny from @dingbatland, I shall send you all the tea and hedgies! Mwah! 

– — –

This fic isn’t chronological. This chapter takes place about six months after Jamie falls through the stones. A month or two after their first kiss (which is coming up, I promise).

– – —- – – —- – –

Part One, Part Two

– – —- – – —- – –

The leaflet lay open on the countertop, mocking him with its content. How could she actively contemplate this? His morality threatened to rear its head, a small part of him whispered, ‘this isn’t your time, be careful how you proceed’, but the larger part of him didn’t care about that, surely this was wrong?  

“I’ve put some salad in the fridge, Jamie. You need to eat more vegetables with your meat, will you remember that.” She chirped, walking into the sitting room behind him.

He didn’t move.

Back rigid he stood, his hand resting gently on the table, just to the left of the pamphlet. Claire’s eyes flittered over his still form, the smile falling from her lips as she saw what he was staring at.

“Oh, that.” Clenching her teeth she prepared herself for battle. It was obvious, from his stance, from the fact that he hadn’t even turned to address her, that its content had perturbed him.

“*That*? Claire, ye ken what this says?”

“Of course I do! I brought it home, didn’t I. Did you think I hadn’t read it?”

“I’d hoped…” he began, before words failed him.

“What? That I wouldn’t be involved in such things?”

“Yes.” He answered, too quickly.

It left a bitter taste in Claire’s mouth. A fire lit within her, and she forgot that he was a man lost in time, that he wasn’t from here and that he didn’t (fully) understand, yet, how the 20th century worked. All of those facts evaporated from her mind as she heard the same, mindless, patriarchal monologue.

“What should I do then? If you’re such an expert on the matter!”

Jamie turned, finally, a dark fury behind his eyes and he took one brisk step towards Claire. But he didn’t touch her.

“Ye canna be serious, Claire? This…” he spat, reaching around to grab the thin sheets of ‘harmless’ paper. The middle sections flew out, having not been secured, falling in waves at her feet. “…blasphemy! It’s against the principles, the very heart, of Christianity. It. Is. A. Sin, a mortal one.” He snapped, the muscles standing firm in his jaw, his shoulders shaking with such rage.

“Oh, a sin, is it? That’s rich!” Claire, being in no mood to take it lying down, grabbed the remaining sheets from his fingers and threw them, with as much violence as she could, against his chest. “Coming from you, at least.”

“From me? What is that supposed t’ mean, sassenach?” Wiping his brow with the back of his sleeve, he took a step backwards, away from her firm glare.

“You know exactly what I mean, Jamie, you don’t *understand*.”

“Oh I understand, I understand verra well, Claire. Ye mean to prevent bairns, wi’ this…this…–devil magic–”

“Contraception, Jamie. Not magic! You see, you don’t understand.” She retorted, her hands forming fists at her sides. “You think you do, but you don’t. Magic doesn’t exist.”

“It must!” He yelled, his voice rocking her to the core. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be here, would I? Can you explain that, Claire? Can you?”

An intense quiet descended on the household, Jamie and Claire, not done by any means, both standing facing the other as they gasped for breath.

“No, I can’t. But that doesn’t mean anything, and it bares no relation to this.” Still stubbornly set, Claire admitted defeat on his miraculous appearance in her life, and -only- that.

“Aye, it does. Fate and God are one, Claire, they brought me to you, I believe it to be so. So his words, the bible, faith, they *matter*. The sins *matter*. Ye canna stop weans, it isna right!”

“*Contraception* has been pioneered because, after the war there was, and still *is*, a massive baby boom. A boom that isn’t always supportable by *poor* families! It is there to prevent death, poverty, *abuse* and all manner of other things. Reasons that I’m sure you and your eighteenth century methods haven’t actively considered!” She took a large breath, continuing without allowing him chance to reply. “Jamie, in your world, our electricity would be seen as magic, as something sent from God. You can’t reduce everything down to its most basic form and then explain it away by ‘God’. It just doesn’t work that way.”

“So my faith isna important then? Is that how ye reason lying wi’ many men, Claire?”

“What?” She paled, all of the blood draining from her body. Had he really just called her a slut? Her mouth opened and closed, like a fish, as enraged tears filled her eyes.

“Ye heard me.” He voice was low, dangerous.

She slapped him before he’d even seen her hand rise, so caught up in his indignation. The sting of his shocked him.

“Is that what this says to you?” She whispered, her words laced with absolute hatred. “Is that what you think of me? That I *whore* myself out? I sleep with anyone that comes along?  What, that after our kiss I would be easy game?  That you think you have some sort of…” she strode towards him, tilting her head backwards in order to maintain eye contact, “magic penis!?”

Seeing the utter devastation on her face, Jamie regretted his words. “N-no, no Claire, I dinna think that, I’m s-…”

“Don’t say it, Jamie! Just don’t. I don’t want to hear it.”

“But Claire, ye canna…” he stuttered, trying his best to appease her, but not quite knowing how. “Don’t ye see. I dinna think yer a whore, but I know you. What about other men, how would they see this?”

“Other…men?” She swallowed, audibly, as she wiped the tear tracks from her face. Tears shed in anger, not sadness. “Oh, I see how it is.” Pulling her cardigan around her chest, she was taken by a sudden calm. “Men, the master race. Those who must be obeyed? What *must* they think? Is that all we are to you? Somewhere to stick your -cock- into whenever you feel the urge?”

Her language pulled him up short, not prepared for profanity he balked and shifted backwards, another step away from her. The short gap between them, now more like an ocean than a few metres of carpet.

“It’s my body, should I not have the choice? Hmm…”

She paused, but didn’t wait long enough for him to answer before continuing, she already knew what he’d say. “Men are the ones who roam around –spreading their seed–, doing what they see fit. *They* don’t have to deal with the consequences. *They* don’t have to deal with the horrid names, the loss of a good ‘reputation’, *the unwanted, unsupported pregnancies*.

She was shaking, he could see the subtle vibration of her shoulders as she tried to reign in her acrimony, and failed. Her finger was pointed towards his chest, an accusatory move that caused him to swallow back his vitriol.

“Fuck you, Jamie Fraser. Fuck – you.”

The air swirled around him as she fled, the door slamming with grim finality behind her. In one last ditch attempt to destroy the foul demon that lurked with those dreaded parchment pages, Jamie scrunched them and threw them into the open fireplace, watching as the flames swallowed them whole.

But as the paper singed to ash, her final words to him still echoed through his brain, endlessly.

“Fuck.”

“You.”

NOV 18, 2015

Wednesday, 18 Nov 2015

This is a good time for solitude, quiet, or contemplative activities and rest. Your spirits may be temporarily depressed, so take some time for yourself. Others may criticize you or show little emotional warmth at this time.

anonymous asked:

Of all the Q's, I think it can reliably said that Mutsuki is the most observant of Haise. There are a couple of panels that I recall offhand where Some mannerism of Haise caught Mutsuki's attention. The time in the RE cafe, something about Haise made him feel uncomfortable (pulled his jacket because he had "eyes" on Touka), and chap 43 Mutsuki actually reacted to Haise touching his chin. Ishida wouldn't waste a panel on the latter for no reason, there must be significance. Are there anymore?

I think Mutsuki in general is just an extremely empathetic person, and is in tuned with not only Haise, but everyone’s emotional signals. He knew that Urie wasn’t angry, but distressed over his failure at the auction, and could even understand where Torso’s turmoil was coming from. He’s also very receptive to new ways of thinking (ie: Juuzou’s little speech over “fear” and the subsequent courage it granted Mutsuki), which is a telltale sign of an emotionally in-tune person. 

Plus, Kaneki/Haise has always worn his feelings on his sleeve, so it probably doesn’t take much for him to notice his quirks (like rubbing his chin). Going full Black Reaper must’ve been a huge red flag, to have such a genuinely kind, receptive person suddenly clam up and lock everyone out.

Everyone noticed the difference in Haise after his fight with Eto on the roof, but I think Mutsuki is the only one who has actively contemplated why he changed, rather than what changed him. I have a feeling that somewhere down the line the Q’s will be ordered to level Kaneki, and Tooru won’t be able to do it (he may even side with him, or at least be torn between the two parties). He noticed that Haise has been struggling with something secret for a very, very long time, and will most definitely empathize with killing his father over the desire to escape.

SEPT 12, 2015

Saturday, 12 Sep 2015

This is a good time for solitude, quiet, or contemplative activities and rest. Your spirits may be temporarily depressed, so take some time for yourself. Others may criticize you or show little emotional warmth at this time.