i do but i love bree more

2

LGBT+ MASTERLIST PROJECT BY ROCIO @nuevayor​

Week One: TELEVISION
Week Two: MOVIES
Week Three: BOOKS
Week Four: POETRY
Week Five: MUSIC
Week Six: COMICS
Week Seven: DOCUMENTARIES
Week Eight: PODCASTS
Week Ten: HISTORY
Week Eleven: RESOURCES
Week Twelve: THANK YOU + GOODBI

Week Nine: Hello again and welcome back to the LGBT+ Masterlist Project!

I had originally named this post ‘BLOGS + VLOGS’ but after the overwhelming amount of suggestions specific to YouTube channels, I figured to dedicate this week’s post entirely to YouTubers. Voilà, here we are!

The genres vary this week, as always. We’ve got beauty vlogs, lifestyle vlogs, cooking vlogs, music vlogs, talk show set ups, and a bunch of other types of content! One thing is for sure, and the whole point of this entire project: these are all LGBT+ YouTubers. A lot of them are here on Tumblr too! So I added their @’s for you as well. 

If you think I’ve mislabeled someone (as in, if I have put them in this list or in the gifs above when they aren’t LGBT+), please tell me immediately as there’s nothing I value more than accuracy - I will be sure to follow up. In addition! If you’ve got recs, don’t hesitate to send them my way (particularly LGBT+ YouTubers who are people of color - I was underwhelmed to see the vast yet not so diverse YouTube vlogging landscape when it came to popularity.)

Next week: LGBT+ HISTORY - a compilation of academic journals, articles, autobiographies, YouTube videos, and other types of media that cover the long and too often glossed over history of the vast and diverse LGBT+ community. If you have any recommendations, send them my way!

Enjoy: LGBT+ YOUTUBERS

  • Pero Like - “Pero, like… You know what we mean. Weekly videos of tu vida.” A Latinx-oriented vlog in which one of the YouTubers is Salvadoran and gay, but LGBT topics are not the main thing they vlog about
  • Shannon @now-this-is-living​ & Cammie @the-2nd-star-to-the-right on their channel nowthisisliving - A lesbian couple who are “just sharing [their] story/love/life with anyone who wants to listen”
  • Claudia Boleyn - A bisexual YouTuber who makes videos about mental health and social justice issues
  • Miles Jai  (giffed above) - Posts improv sketches, parodies, “beauty tutorials”, as well as vlogs
  • Kat Blaque @katblaque (giffed above) - “Opinion Vlogger, Children’s Illustrator and Thrift Store Addict”
  • Sara @rnashallah(giffed above) - Totally not putting her up here because we’ve been mutuals on Tumblr for like mad long and I’m just very fond of Sara as a person. She vlogs about her life and tbh that alone is worth a sub in my book!
  • Eileen W. @peeves(giffed above) - Another good friend of mine (let me live). HILARIOUS, sarcastic, honest, and is pretty much always there to Validate You, so support her and subscribe!
  • Marina Watanabe @marinashutup​ (giffed above) - “Part time feminist vlogger, full time sass machine. Biracial, bisexual, bipedal.”
  • Kid Fury @signedfury - “Born in Miami and raising hell in New York City, Kid Fury is a media mouthpiece with a whole lot of nerve. This channel is one of many avenues Fury uses to cover life, pop culture and more with a unique and sharp flare of truth, shade, and fuckery.”
  • AriFitz @itsarifitz - Lifestyle + style vlog

Keep reading

@thatwetwomaybeone asked: We know Murtagh dies at Culloden ,I can’t recall Jamie talking much about him after although he must have missed his god father terribly .Could we have a story about Jamie and Claire talking about Murtagh and how much they miss him in their life .


They stood at the edge of the field, neither wishing to be the first to set foot on it.

“Have ye been here… then?” Jamie asked quietly, as though his voice would disturb someone but there were no living creatures to be seen in the short scrubby grass that unevenly covered the terrain.

“I went once before I ever came here,” Claire responded. “Before I knew anyone who…” but she couldn’t finish her thought.

Their horses stamped impatiently from where Jamie had hobbled them. They were on their way to Lallybroch, having fulfilled their duties escorting the body of one Simon Fraser home to Scotland. Neither had thought much about how close their journey would take them to Culloden Moor until they were practically upon it. Had they been on their own instead of together, neither would have had the strength to face it.

“Is it as desolate in yer time then, Sassenach?”

“In my experience, battlefields––no matter how far removed from the fight itself––are never cheerful places again,” she told him. “There will be cairns and markers. I don’t remember quite where, but for each of the clans… probably where their men were buried.”

Jamie looked around. It was sunnier than it had been the last time but he could still see the echoes of men on either side right down to the desperation and willingness to die on some of their faces; he hadn’t seen it but he knew he’d worn the same expression that day. He took a halting step forward and then another.

“We came down this way,” he said flatly.

Claire followed slowly behind him, willing herself to see what he saw but also shying away from it.

“Then, I moved… this direction––had to… there was such a press of men…” He wandered a little towards the right and down into a slightly lower pocket of growth, not large enough to be a true gully but it had offered a little protection from the canonfire, the angle too much for them to handle.

There were still large gaps in Jamie’s memory of that day. He didn’t recall seeing Black Jack Randall except after the man was dead and lying on top of him. He didn’t recall the face of the man who had slashed his leg and nearly killed him––for all he knew it might have been Randall to do it. He didn’t recall who it was that had struck the blow that eventually killed Murtagh.

But he knew the spot where it had happened as soon as he set foot on it. A chill went up his spine and then he felt a solid hand rest reassuringly on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw Claire watching him from several feet away.

He spoke quietly and used the Gáidhlig so that Claire wouldn’t hear him.

“There are so many things I wish ye could have lived to see, though I dinna ken that ye’d have been patient enough to wait for them all… I nearly wasn’t,” he murmured with a smile. “She looks like my mam… my Brianna does. Takes after her in other ways too. And her wee Jem… Though he puts me in mind of Willie, I ken ye’d have more stories of how he’s a devil like I was at his age.” Jamie’s smile faded and he swallowed hard. “I think their lass, Mandy will favor Claire and heaven help them if she takes after her grannie in finding trouble. And there’s my lad… William––though… callin’ him ‘mine’ still doesna feel quite right… Ye’d have a thing or two to say on the matter, I’m sure. Ye’d have plenty to say on all of them…

“I hope ye ken how I’ve tried to keep ye wi’ me, always…” Jamie’s voice grew thick, the words harder to say. “I was in such pain losin’ Claire… but losin’ you too made it harder. Not havin’ ye there to talk to… I did try to think what yer advice to me would ha’ been… though I’m sure I got it wrong from time to time… I hope I’ve done ye proud, though, and I want ye to know… I ken I’m a better man for having had ye at my side for as long as I did and I’d be better still if ye’d been there longer. Thank ye, for all ye did for me and mine. I’ll no let ye be forgotten.”

The feeling of weight left his shoulder and something within Jamie felt lighter.

Claire watched Jamie with his head bent and his hands cradled in front of him, his lips whispering a quick prayer.

They didn’t speak of Murtagh often the same way they didn’t speak of Faith often. The pain of such loss was simply a part of them the way the scars on Jamie’s back were a part of him or Claire’s curls were a part of her.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say a proper goodbye,” she whispered to the low breeze, hoping it would carry her words wherever they needed to go. “I sometimes wonder what things might’ve been like if we hadn’t gone to Paris; if we hadn’t gotten involved in affairs the way we did. I don’t know that what we did was entirely fair to you.” Tears pricked unexpectedly at her eyes and she reached up to wipe them away. “You deserved more––you deserved better than to end up here on that day… If I’d been here I might’ve been able to do something… If I’d never come at all maybe neither of you would have been here that day… But I don’t regret any of it and I’m sure you understand––you loved him too… Thank you for keeping him safe, for protecting him and watching over him when I wasn’t there. I wish I could have done more for you, that you could have seen Bree and the children… Or maybe you can… They wouldn’t exist if not for you.”

She blinked back the remaining tears in her eyes. Jamie had made his way back over to Claire and slipped his hand into hers. It was still a slightly awkward fit without that third finger but they held tightly to each other all the same.

With a solemn nod, they redirected their steps toward the horses. They had seen enough of Culloden Moor.

@ask-your-captain-levi asked me to post a tutorial on how I design the headers for the daily pages in my bullet journal (see this post) and I was more than happy to do so. (Disclaimer: I was largely influenced by the gorgeous Bree Berry! Check out her blog and instagram @breeeberry)

Please just remember that your bullet journal does not have to look perfect - after all, it is a planner and it is meant to be used as an organizational tool. That being said, feel free to jazz up this method in all kinds of ways and tag me in pictures of your headers and fonts, I would love to see them! x

@gifsourcefed made a little post detailing about how she felt about all the hosts and I thought it would be a good way to show my appreciation as well! 

My story is pretty much like every others, I started way back in 2012, right around the time of the fall, and from then on my life was forever changed. SourceFed has always been my home, some place I could leave for a bit and then come back and things were a little different, like the furniture had changed around and maybe we got some new members, but it was still home, it still had the heart and the love that I always remembered.

Lee Newton, the sweetest, funniest, dinosaur loving woman I’ve ever seen. I connected with her Make-A-Wish story and being sick and having surgeries all the time as a kid with my own past being similar, and from then on she felt like a new mom, one complete with hilarious voices and a bright smile.

Joe Bereta, the dad I wish I had, so athletic and fearless, and Joe knew how to tell a story like nobody else, I always wanted to learn how to tell a story like Joe Bereta, even if he did almost die in half of them.

Elliott Morgan, the dry humored, silly guy who had the tendency to go a little dark, Elliott was filled with endless talent and entertainment, there truly was nobody like Elliott Morgan, and never will be. 

Steve Zaragoza, this silly, joyous, funny, fantastic man. I love Stee, even when I disagree with him, because Steve is so magical, so special in the way he exudes happiness. Zabagoobler has always been the kind of guy I wanted to be friends with.

Trisha Hershberger, this small, dramatic, tech loving woman. I love Trisha Hershberger. Trisha reminded me of myself, in drama and wanting to be an actress, and so very tiny and optimistic and loved games and technology. Trisha is the sweetest little lady, and I know she’s going to be a fantastic mother.

Meg Turney, this red haired force of nature. Meg was hot and quick and full of life, so casually cool and fun it almost hurt. Meg seemed so effortless in everything, like that being that amazing was just easy. She made being a nerd girl in a t-shirt be hot.

Ross Everett, although far from a favorite of mine personally, always added a little spice. I actually did come to miss him when brought up the last few days, missing the dynamic he had, and I think that’s how Ross shined: he was good with people, good with bouncing off of them, good at creating a fun energy and a good time. I could only hope to have that much energy as Ross.

And then came our first round of newbies. Admittedly, these are probably my favorite hosts, ones I connected with the most.

William Haynes, the unpredictable, creative, wild Naruto Shippuden loving boy. I had a crush on Will when he first popped up on Anime Club. Will was awkward, but well spoken and characteristic, and funny? Will was so funny. And he changed, right before our own eyes, Will went from this awkward boy, to this amazing, cool, funny man. Will showed me that even in the void, you can always find the light at the of the Tunnel (Vision). Speaking of Anime Club…

Reina Scully, this small, beautiful Asian woman. God do I love Reina Scully. Reina was small, just like me, and loved anime, and was actually pretty disgusting and lewd, in the best of ways, things that I was afraid of showing, but Reina brought me out of my shell. Reina is by far my favorite host, coming into her own from sitting quietly at TableTalks to yelling to my favorite soft chicken boy. Never did I have to think about liking Reina, because she was so likeable right from the moment she popped up. Somebody else that brought me out of my shell?

Sam Bashor, meek and sweet in the beginning, now a still sweet, but amazing man who is so full of ideas and passion that he seems like he’s going to burst. Sam was also somebody I had a crush on, the old Doctor Who outfits were so charming, and the privilege of seeing Sam (and Will) grow from boys my age to these incredibly talented men who are living their dreams and their passions, has always given me hope and something to strive for, that you can change but still be yourself at heart, especially if deep down you’re actually just the Flash.

Matthew Lieberman, this boy! God I love Matt. It was so popular to dislike Matt, but I loved him. I love the crazy stories Matt always brought to the table, and he always knew how to tell them, the details and specifics, and in story reactions almost unbelievable and amazing. And cooking! The man can cook. Amazingly so. I’m so upset we never got to see more of Matt’s skills, and that SourceFeed is never going to happen now. And on top of that, an actor and a writer? Matt is so talented, and I especially loved him on Nuclear Family.

Around late 2014 early 2015 I fell off SF, but not for long. I came back home, just like always, and there were even more new hosts. 

Bree Essrig, this feminist fireball, Bree is everything I wish I could be. Talented, outspoken, funny, beautiful. Bree is the complete package, topped with hair just as fiery as she is. Bree’s skills were brought to the forefront on Nuclear Family, and not getting to see those anymore makes me so sad. God damn do I love Bree Essrig. Know who else I love?

Maude Garrett. Maude. Fucking. Garrett. When Maude Garrett enters a video, enters a single frame, this is Maude’s show now. Maude brings the light to the room, draws all the attention in with that tall blonde Australianness that only she could exude, somehow contained in a Star Wars dress. Maude is so ridiculously funny, you might as well just sit back and let her go at it. The dynamic with Sam is so amazing, so perfect, lightning in a bottle that could never be recreated. I can’t wait for the Smaudecast.

Steven Suptic. This soft chicken boy. This boy grew on me. I watched SPF for Reina, she’d always been my favorite, and now she did games? Full time? Hell fucking yeah I was in. But then this boy came in. This weird white boy with greasy hair who said all the wrong things. I don’t know how long I wouldn’t watch a video that didn’t feature somebody else that involved Suptic. But somewhere along that way, that boy got a haircut, and I’m pretty sure some new glasses, and eventually found his voice and his stride, and GOD do I love Steven Suptic. Suppy is a grower, somebody that’s so bombastic you’re off-put by him. But then you watch more, and you realize that boy that jokes around all the time? Is sentimental, and kinda sweet, even if he still says the wrong things sometimes, but now it’s a little bit endearing, especially if his dick is just, y’know. Out.

I was pretty consistent with keeping up from now until the end, and luckily, I’d already been keeping up with a few of the new hosts.

Ava Gordy, a sweet, funny, short haired lady with legs more bendable than I thought possible. Ava’s been somebody I knew since 2012 as well, I saw a video she did for Taylor’s Swift’s “RED” album reviewing it, and had been watching “HALT, I am Ava.” ever since. Seeing Ava here was a surprise, a good one, Ava’s talents finally having the coolest of platforms I could think of to be shown off. Ava is funny, her timing and storytelling impeccable. Ava Gordy is a masterpiece.

Mike Falzone, this sweet, funny man was also somebody I knew, having been around the YouTube block, knowing of Tonjes and Gunnarolla. Mike was like Steve, hilariously funny, always doing something to get a laugh, and this man is so genuine it seems almost impossible. Mike is so sweet, so good to this world, and so funny on top of it all. The world does not deserve the Calzone, but we get to enjoy him anyways.

Candace Carrizales. Oh Candy. Candace is someone that took the most to grow on me. Her humor is so different from the others, her demeanor so unexpected from this office that’s known to be out of this world loud and exuberant. Not Candy. Candy’s just hear to be here, and have a good time, and to give a laugh. I wish I could’ve appreciated Candace sooner, seeing her grown more comfortable and more into her voice and comedy has been amazing, and I wanted nothing but to see her more, considering she’s made me laugh so much in the last few months than I ever expected.

Yessica Hernandez-Cruz, God damn do I love this lady. Yessica and Will were dynamite, bouncing off each other, feeling like the PBL duo to SFN’s Maude and Sam, it was impossible to not smile seeing these two do magic together. Yessica on her own, is even more magical, proud of who she is and unapologetic, and holy shit can Yessica make me laugh. I’m going to miss Yessica, but I have hope for the PBL trio, considering John’s promises. Speaking of…

John Ross, I love this man. John is somebody I want to hang out with, to teach me all that he knows about food and camera work and everything he’s familiar with. John has such an aura about him, so friendly and positive, John is the calming member of this amazing trio, just wanting to spend time with his friends and have a good time and make amazing content. John Ross is a gift.

Whitney Moore, another gift, was the perfect person for Nerd. Whitney was a slightly familiar face, and she felt just so right to be there. Whitney brought a cool meal edge to the channel, her slightly darker tones of interest so contrasted with her bright and bubbly personality. I always smiled when Whit was on screen, so funny and cool, ready to take on the world. 

Filup Molina, the biggest surprise for me, was just on Nerd one day. Just hanging out. And I’m glad that he did, that hat wearing, funny boy. Filup’s always been slightly out of place for me, in the best way, his references falling on deaf ears because they didn’t make sense to others, jokes that the viewer caught going unnoticed by others, I loved him. Filup was a breath of fresh air for the channel, a sparkling gem that I feel not many noticed.

Aside from the hosts, I wanted to note a few BTS staff:

Rickey Mizuno, handsome, talented Rickey boy, beautiful behind the camera and in front of it. This man exudes charisma, and we didn’t get to see him nearly enough. Dani Rosenberg, the HBIC, funny and badass, Dani was one of my favorites to see. She really made SF what it was, and I want to see her do more awesome shit. Sophia Lorena, that curly haired beauty, dealing with Will’s shit every day was truly a lot for her to deal with, and I think for that alone we should be praising her. Also, have you seen her blog? Sophia’s amazing. Starline Hodge, the beautiful, talented graphic designer, Star’s vlogs and art have never not caused me to smile. Star was always subtle in things, but I always wanted more of her. And Audrey Davy, hearing Reina scream her name in SPF videos was always hilarious, and seeing her in Phil’s vlogs and in the Drunk Co-Workers series confirmed that Audrey is a dime a dozen, hardworking and sweet, Audrey was one of my favorites always.

To all of those in this list, and on staff, thank you for these 5 years. They were wonderful, and funny, and God, I will never forget them or the people that made them. And I will never forget the amazing community that thrived from it. I love every single one of you. 

See you, you hot little daddy’s.

Gemma | Minimalist character poster

 This took me so long. Not the poster itself because the drawing was easy and fast to do. But the idea behind it. I’ve been thinking about Gemma for so long, but how to portrait a character like her? I knew I wanted to highlight her love for Mathematics but it was more challenging then I thought. Until Solve for i.

Bear in mind, this poster is pre Solve for i, so that’s why the half heart.

Book : Under My Skin | Author : A.E. Dooland (asynca)

Min & Bree | Henry | Sarah 

youronlyastory  asked:

I love your blog! It's amazing! I just wanted to ask how you felt Jasper and Rosalie's relationship is like? They're given the role of both being Hale's but other that their hair colour and perhaps their resistance (in terms of staying hidden) to humans, I struggle to see how they would interact with one another and if they would at all. Any thoughts? I'd like to think they're closer than they look but I'd love a second opinion. Thanks!

I tend to think they’ve developed some sort of sibling bond because I don’t think Rosalie would let just anyone use the “Hale” name. It obviously means a lot to her, she’s kept it all this time, even when everyone else was using ‘Cullen,’ even after marrying Emmett multiple times.  So I don’t think she’d just be “whatever” about someone else using the name as part of their cover story, I don’t think she’d let Jasper use it if she didn’t like, trust and respect Jasper. 

I think they’re sort of the “ruthless” ones of the family.  Carlisle and Edward have their morals and ideals, Alice and Esme are mostly rays of sunshine, Emmett is all Hakuna Matata about everything. I think Jasper and Rosalie bond over being more practical, less idealistic, more willing to do the dirty work to protect the people they love. Carlisle doesn’t want to kill anyone–doesn’t want to kill Bella to protect the secret, doesn’t want to kill James, doesn’t want to kill the newborns (witness giving Bree asylum), doesn’t want to fight/kill the Volturi. But Jasper and Rosalie saw Bella as a threat and were willing to do what they thought needed to be done, not out of any malice toward Bella, but to protect the family. I think that’s sort of the place where they really “get” each other in a way maybe their partners even don’t. 

I think Rosalie vents to him when she’s upset with Emmett, and they both grumble about Edward together, and roll their eyes at Carlisle’s naive idealism. 

Love Has No Labels

Beca groaned. They were NOT having this conversation again. “Jesse, no.”

“Jesse, yes!” Sitting across from her was her dorky, goofy-grinning best-friend-slash-ex-boyfriend, being as persistent as ever when he wanted something from Beca.

In this case, for her to admit she was in love with her roommate. Who was a woman. A certain, specific, gorgeous redhead. But still.

“Beca, you can’t deny that you have a certain attraction–”

“Actually, Jesse, I can. Because I’m not gay.” Beca sat back in her chair and let the breeze play with her hair. New York was nice, but she couldn’t wait to get back to LA. It was warmer, for one, and she missed the beach, and her own studio. The one they had here for her was nice, but it wasn’t her equipment. Idly, she took a drink of her smoothie and watched Jesse toy with the ring on his finger. “Dude, I can’t believe you and Aubrey are getting married.”

Jesse smiled his dopey, lopsided smile, like he always did when he was thinking about his fiancée. “Well, when you’re in love.” His smile morphed into a grin. “And love has no labels,” he added pointedly, making Beca huff in exasperation.

“Jesus, are you some kind of gay advocate now or something? Do I need to get you a rainbow tattoo?”

“Actually, it’s Jesse.” Beca groaned and dropped her head onto the table. “And no to both of those questions, thank you. I just know love when I see it.”

“Says the guys marrying my freshman year drill sergeant.”

Jesse laughed, warmly. “Beca, have you even actually thought about it?”

“No, because there’s nothing to think about. I don’t think about Chloe like that. I don’t.”

“Uh huh. That’s why your ears are turning red, right? And your neck?”

Beca shrugged her jacket higher over her shoulders, trying to ignore him. Even so, she muttered, “Because this conversation is embarrassing. And unnecessary.”

“No, it is necessary. You’re at least bisexual, Beca, and it’s okay to accept that.”

“Even if I were willing to admit to that,” Beca said, irritation coloring her voice now, “that is awful pushy of you.”

Jesse sat back, his expression contrite. “Sorry. I just – it’s hard to watch, you know. The pining thing you do when you’re away from Chloe.”

“I’m allowed to miss my best friend, Jesse,” Beca shot at him, and he raised his hands in surrender.

“Becs, it’s not the same thing,” Jesse said, and his voice was oddly strained. “You get this look in your eyes when you talk about her, or look at her, and I recognize it, okay? You used to look at me like that, and somewhere that changed. Just because you’re a hot shot superstar doesn’t mean that’s changed about you.” Beca grumpily stirred her smoothie with her straw; she felt Jesse’s eyes on her, contemplating her for a minute before he spoke again. “You tell me, then.”

“Tell you what?”

“About Chloe. How’s things in LA? You guys live together, don’t you?”

Beca’s lips quirked upwards in a reluctant smile. “Yeah. It’s a nice arrangement. As quiet as it can be with Chloe in the house.”

Jesse smiled at that. “Still singing?”

“Every chance she gets. I wanna surprise her with the opportunity to record with me soon, my boss and I’ve been discussing it.” That made Beca grin, thinking about how quickly Chloe would light up at the idea of performing again.

Jesse grinned his impish grin again. “Okay, so tell me if this sounds pretty accurate.”

“Jesse–”

“Bear with me, Bec, c'mon.”

“I’m gonna tell Aubrey you’re being mean to me.”

Jesse rolled his eyes. “So out in public–and I’ve seen you guys do this, you can’t deny it–hand-holding, flirting–”

“You can’t count that,” Beca said quickly. “That’s just Chloe.”

Jesse shrugged. “I’ll take that. She did run up and kiss me once.”

Beca sat bolt upright. “What?!”

That set the man to laughing. “Your little green monster is not helping your case, Becaw.”

Beca felt her face heat. “Shut up, Jesse. And stop messing around.”

Jesse attempted to control his outburst, but his grin remained in place. “Anyways. So you work mostly from home, don’t you?”

Beca refused to look at him, glaring at her smoothie instead. “Yeah, usually.”

“And I know you can cook, so I would assume you probably cook, have something on the table when Chloe walks in the door?”

“Well, she’s gotta eat too, doesn’t she?”

“Okay, grouchy pants,” Jesse retorted. “What do you usually do after dinner?”

Beca thought about it. “Chlo helps me clean up. Then we usually watch a movie or something.”

“Or something. Beca, you hate movies.”

“So?” Now Beca was being defensive. She really didn’t like the points he was making; she didn’t have any argument against him, and that scared her.

Jesse could see he was winning; he changed tack. “Beca, how many times in eight years have you told the woman ‘no?’”

Uh oh. “Jeez, Jesse, I don’t know.” Except she did. She could literally count them on one hand and Jesse knew it. But so what? Telling Chloe no was like kicking a puppy, you don’t do that, what’s wrong with you?

Jesse smiled that winning smile again. “D'you enjoy that though? Spoiling Chloe, especially now that you have the money to?”

“Well yeah. I mean, it’s nice to see her light up and smile and it just–she’s just –”

Realization slammed into Beca with the force of a wrecking ball.

The smiles. The touches, the cuddling, the flirting. The way Beca’s stomach flops every time midnight eyes meet crystal. The dancing in the front room after too much wine. The heart-beat-turns-into-a-bassline when Chloe is nearby. The I’ll-play-with-your-hair-because-you-like-it.

Jesse smiled gently. “See.”

Beca rubbed her face. “I don’t … Does she know? Is she… I mean, can I even tell her about this? What do I do?”

“I think you should talk to Bree,” Jesse said. “She and Chloe are closer than you think.”

“Okay.” Beca nodded. “Yeah. Sure. But uh, I need to think. This is…”

“A lot. I know.” Jesse pulled his wallet out and got to his feet, tossing a twenty onto the table. “Take what time you need, 'kay? Just remember Aubrey locks the door at eleven.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Beca watched him as he headed down the street and out of sight.

Well fuck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, so I believe @misspelled-url was the one who wanted #10? I think so. Here you go, love. Stay tuned for more!

anonymous asked:

I love the Brian and Ellen AU! Can you do a continuation of the last post of it? Thanks!

anonymous asked: I’m greedy, I want more about wee Faith! Your previous prompts featuring her made me even more sad that she never lived, that Claire and Jamie never got to have her in their life and that Bree never got to have a big sister.

Brian and Ellen AU

Faith listlessly propped her elbows on a windowsill in the cottage, holding her cheeks, squinting through the wavy glass at the empty moor beyond.

She was still annoyed that Mama and Da hadn’t let her come along to help gather some of Mama’s wee herbs – and she couldn’t understand why Grandda and Grannie had laughed when Da told them where he and Mama were going. Normally that was her job, holding Mama’s basket while she crouched to pluck leaves from bushes or dig roots from the peaty soil.

But Da had asked her to care for Brianna while they were on their walk – so she did, the sleeping baby nestled in her basket at Faith’s feet. Grannie had asked if she’d like to help her with the knitting – a blanket for the bairn that was still in Auntie Jenny’s belly – but Faith had refused, wanting to keep watch at the window for her parents – and anyone, or anything, that could possibly hurt her sister.

“If ye keep looking out that window, they’ll never come back,” Grandda chided from across the room.

Faith turned as he stood up from adding another log to the fire, reaching high for the ceiling to loosen the stiff bones in his back and shoulders. He let out a funny sound as he stretched, and Faith couldn’t help but giggle.

“Are ye laughing at me, lass?” Grandda teased.

“Noooo!” she insisted, though she was sure Grandda could see her smile from where he stood, hands on his hips.

“Mmphmm. Do ye want to help me wi’ the supper, then? It will be nice for yer Mam and Da to have something to eat when they get back.”

“God knows they’re working up an appetite,” Grannie remarked, head bent as she unspooled a length of yellow yarn.

“Hush, you – mind the bairns,” Grandda hissed.

Faith tucked the blanket tighter around Brianna and carried her basket to Grannie’s side, gently setting her down beside the bright piles of yarn. “It’s all right, Grandda – I always get hungry when I go on a walk with Mama.”

Grannie snorted, settled the half-knit blanket in her lap and reached down to Brianna, tucking her tiny cap closer around her ears.  “I think there are some bannocks and cheese in the parcel from Mrs. Crook – can you help Grandda find them?”

Faith scampered over to the small, rough-hewn table in the corner, where Grandda had deposited the saddlebags after they’d arrived earlier that afternoon. “Was it in this one?”

Brian knelt beside her, gently separating out the bags. “Let’s see – this are fresh clouts for yer sister, a book for yer Da to read, some bandages from yer Mam – here!” He tugged a rough sack free from the tangle and handed it over to his eager granddaughter.

She undid the twine at the bag’s neck. “Bannocks!”

“Aye,” Brian smiled. “Will ye help me warm them over the fire?”

And so they passed several quiet, content moments – finding the iron pan, gently placing the bannocks on them, swinging the pan over the fire, and cleaning off the table in preparation for a simple but long-awaited supper.

“Grandda?” Faith sat up on one of the chairs, her tiny legs idly swinging back and forth.

“Aye?” Grandda used the end of a blanket to carefully touch the iron pan, examine the bannocks, and then gently push the pan back over the flames.

“You said that Da has to live in the cave and stay in this cottage because he wants to protect us, aye?”

“I did.”

Her dark brows furrowed. “But I dinna understand how him staying away from us is how he protects us. Because when he asked me to protect Brianna, he told me to keep her near me, always.”

Grandda sighed and knelt to be eye-level with his inquisitive, fearless granddaughter. “You know that the redcoats want to capture yer Da, aye?”

Faith’s curls bobbed as she nodded, eyes wide.

“So. Yer Da knows that if he were at the house, and the redcoats came by, looking for him – they might harm other people.”

“Because they’re mean.”

He smiled ruefully and lay a gentle, gnarled hand on her shoulder. “Because they’ll do what they must. And because yer Da loves you and yer sister and yer Mam something fierce – and he loves yer Auntie Jenny and Uncle Ian and yer cousins and me and Grannie, too – he doesna want anything to happen to us.”

Realization dawned on Faith’s soft features – already so much like Claire, she’d clearly inherited her mother’s glass face as well.

“So – sometimes the best way to keep the people you love safe is by being away from them. Do ye understand?”

Faith nodded. “Aye. But I dinna like it.”

Brian drew her close to him, and she disappeared in his embrace. “Oh, lass. I dinna like it either.”

After a long moment he drew away, hands still clasping her tiny shoulders. “Now then. How about a bannock while I keep telling ye the story about Wee Maisie?”


Jamie twisted one of Claire’s curls around his finger, delighting in how it sprung back into place amid the damp tangles of her hair. She sleepily shifted against him, atop the soft warmth of her cloak, nestled in the hayloft beside the crofter’s cottage where he’d been staying for the past weeks.

“I’d expect Brianna to do that – but she doesn’t know any better,” Claire murmured, stretching lazily like a cat, touching the glorious skin of her naked body all along the contours of his.

“Oh, I do know better, mo nighean donn,” he breathed into the shell of her ear, delighting in her shiver. “I dream of this – holding you, smelling your hair. Being joined with you.”

Softly, gently he ran his free hand up her quivering belly and between the valley of her breasts. Her breath hitched, and his smiling eyes met her hooded ones. Slowly he kissed the bead of milk pearling on her nipple. She arched, and he hummed in pleasure against her.

“Again?” he whispered against her sternum.

Her legs wrapped around his. “But your parents –“

“Can wait. My wife, however, can’t.”

7

Alas I HAS A NEW COMPUTER. AND IT WORKS WONDERS. :D It’s been too long since I posted anything up! Here’s some of the finshed Curiah City I was able to get done, including the very late bday gifts for Bree an Vixen! Some of this I am still working oin, but do expect more stuff!! :)

Bonny © Britterbee
Sneed and Lunar © Vixengal
Geronimo and Pj and Art © me

My return to France

My thanks go to @lenny9987 for being my editor.  I appreciate the time she took, no end.  And if @mybeautifuldecay hadn’t badgered, this wouldn’t have been written, so blame her :)  cheers dude.


God damn bloody bastard!”

The rain seemed to start without warning and I found myself alone, navigating the streets of Paris without an umbrella. Quickly I ran through the streets, bag in hand, ignoring the stares from the chic Parisians. It was at this moment I wondered if it had been right to come back.

It had been a decision quickly made and still I wasn’t sure if it had been the right one. My work with some of the faculty of Boston University’s medical school on treating soldiers post return home had been published in the Lancet and I had been asked to attend the French Association of Surgery’s annual conference. As the only person in the group who had a working knowledge of French, begrudgingly my colleagues suggested I go. I suspect many of them wanted to go but as the conference offered no translators, I was deemed the best person. So I hoped my French was up to scratch as it had been a long time since any prolonged time in France.

Bree had been a combination of proud and non plussed over the invitation. Frank was concerned about the length of time I would be away and I suspected, the closeness to Scotland, but he was persuaded given the uninterrupted sleep he was guaranteed by my absence.

In truth I was glad to be away. Things had been strained at home and I had thrown myself into work more than normal. I was beginning to fray at the edges. I fervently hoped this conference would refresh me.

But as soon as I landed I felt as if something or someone was watching me. It was an odd feeling, one with no basis. I tried to shrug it off and continue on to my hotel. No doubt it was the effect of being on my own.  I wasn’t used to travelling on my own anymore and certainly not outside of the US.. It had been a long time since I was in Europe. And I longed for the place I once called home.

It was as I thought. My french colleagues had been stunned to see that Dr. C. B. Randall was, in fact, a woman, and the conference was as expected; the room smelled stale, of cigarettes and testosterone. The room was full of men jostling for attention and prestige for attention and prestige with only a smattering of women.

After all the years being the only woman in a room full of men, jostling for position, I was used to the lack of respect but, in truth, Paris had unnerved me and while the city I had once lived in bore little relation to the napolenonic boulevards and alleys, I still felt a haunting unease as I navigated the streets. Towards the end of my second day, I began to feel as if I was being watched again, or at least under scrutiny and so I began to long for a change.

The men had arranged to dine and, as usual, the invitation to the evening entertainment did not include me. I could only imagine where they were going for the evening and for this, I was grateful. I wondered if this was typical of medical conferences or whether Frank also did the same when he went away. It bothered me but, did I have a right?

I was looking for somewhere to dine and despite the myriad options, found myself wandering quite aimlessly, as if drawn to no particular place yet it was almost like there was somewhere I needed to be. The rain put heed to my wandering and so I ducked into a quiet restaurant. Once ensconced in a quiet booth, I started to relax. The room was cosy, with heavy drapings. Couples dined, luxuriating in each other’s company. Friends laughed and exchanged views. I delighted in the smell of raspberry with tobacco and caramel and perused the menu. But, while waiting for my meal to arrive, I watched everyone with my solitary glass of wine and felt a slight tightening in my stomach.

This had become an increasingly common feeling when I saw people enjoying themselves. I could not remember the last time I had felt whole enough to completely enjoy myself. I loved Bree but even at our most joyous I found a part of my soul missing. Of course I knew why but I was not going to give that thought any more time than I could. To do so would hurt beyond any pain I imagined and once opened would never close.

The rain eased, I ate and left somewhat drier if not more on edge. I needed to rest, to put my head together. I thought it must have been jet lag catching up with me. I’d managed to not feel it so badly and it must have caught up with me. I searched for somewhere quiet and saw a small park just a short way up the road. I ducked in and with gratefulness saw a bench.

An old cemetery. How ironic I thought, that when I tried to put my past to bed I should seek solace in a cemetery. Still, the air was cool, smelling of the freshness of rain, mixed with the cooking of the apartments overlooking the area. Curiosity got the better of me and I began to look at the names on the tombstones, studying each one in turn. One caught my eye and I shook my head in disbelief. Yet, the closer I got to the stone, the more I was sure I knew the person. Letters were missing and age had not treated the monument well but surely I could not have been mistaken. Mere superieure Hildegaard.

I needed to sit down, and found a second bench closer to close to the tombstones to gather my thoughts.
I had lost myself once. Torn away from myself and the person that most resembled who I was truly. Torn away from the man loved above all, whose soul had been ripped away from me with a cruel and heartless butchery. It was in the walls of her domain that I began the path back to myself in a world of chaos and intrigue. It was her words of encouragement that buoyed me when it seemed I I was becoming an anchorless vessel. When I had felt the same after Bree’s birth, desperate to find solace and a place for my soul, it was her words that helped me through the pain. Once more I grieved for a person lost in time.

In truth though, I grieved for that lost part of myself and for those I loved as keenly. My soul, torn in two, no longer to be whole again.

‘May I sit with you madame?’ The words came as shock, lost as I had become to my thoughts. I had not noticed the change in time and the fading light of June.
‘Of course, please do’.
‘English?’
‘That obvious?’
The young man gave me a lopsided smile and my heart skipped a beat. ‘Not at all, I only noticed when you spoke’.
My new companion had sat down next to me.

I couldn’t quite place his accent. I had a feeling I should be able to place yet, it was peppered with inflections I that evaded me. I moved to accommodate him. I was unnerved, he had a strangely familiar feel and a scent I couldn’t quite place. Despite all this, I felt my shoulders relax and sink closer into the bench.
‘The stones, it’s almost as if they draw you in is it not? I visit here a lot. It is a place of suffering yet love. Do you not think?’
‘What an odd way to put it. I suppose that’s true’. I was intrigued by this young looking man, earnestly examining the graveyard with a calm intensity. 'What makes you think that? I can think of love lost, but why suffering?’
'Ach, well, I don’t think I know of anyone who has died that has not meant something to someone. As much as we might find it hard, even the cruellest bastards have someone who loved them’.
Blue eyes focussed themselves steadfastly on me.
I smiled wryly, how true that was, and such insight from such a young man.
'And have you lost someone, young man?’
'In some ways. I miss my parents, they are not dead but I haven’t seen them for a while.’
He turned, his face away from me, homesick I guessed and did not comment.
'They have done so much for me, and I was intent on staying with them, but my Ma told me to go out and see the world, connect with my roots and wider family.’
'And have you?’ I cocked an eye at him. If he was anything like Bree, or a lot of the young men I saw at the hospital, his days were spent trying to break away from family bonds, not travelling around trying to strengthen them.
'I suppose so, aye. Though I’ve done quite a bit to enjoy myself as well. No harm in it eh?’ His eyes twinkled with mischief and I found myself increasingly liking this cheeky lad.
'No, none at all.’ I smiled.
We sat in companionable silence as the night tried to make its presence felt. Before it got too dark, I stood up and made my way to leave.
'Are you going? So soon?’
'It’s getting late, I should try and find my hotel before I get completely lost!’ For the first time he looked awkward and scared, as if he had missed something or was frightened about my leaving.
He shifted. Without realising it I softened my body and lent into the bench once again, elbow on the headrest.
'Tell me, what’s troubling you?’
'Nothing, it’s just. You seemed so sad before and it was nice to be in your company. I got used to it, it felt like home. Were you thinking about people you’d lost before? About people who’d died?’
'Well yes, I suppose I had’
'Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll see them soon.’ And with that he abruptly got up.
'Excuse me? ’
'Oh nothing  just that those we love with us are always there.  In some ways.  Anyway, I’d take a quick stroll over in that direction, there are some lovely tombs.’
And with a quick, muffled goodbye, he marched straight out.
How odd I thought and watched his broad frame dash off, wisps of red hair I hadn’t noticed before escape from his cap. My heart stopped, only to regain itself with a sad, monotonous beat
And so I walked, barely any light to guide my way, the dusk a glorious colour and peace once more descending upon me. It was the flowers that caught my eye first, in such an unkempt and old graveyard, the burst of colour stood out like a sore thumb. I was intrigued. I had begun to study the medicinal use of plants again in my spare time. The distance of time since I had used and studied previously, allowed me the space to think clearly. I moved towards the grave, careful not to disrupt any others. Their blueness shining out amongst the dark green of the moss and grass dominating the landscape.

I knew what they were. Staring at me, in an almost taunting fashion. Forget me nots. I ftered as I moved towards the stone. My heart was in my mouth. Whatever calmness gained was quickly lost. 'No’ I said out loud. I shook my head, it couldn’t be. Yet, my body knew otherwise. The one thing I had not spoken about to Frank, to Mrs. Graham, to anyone else. She was here. Faith.

anonymous asked:

I don't know how I have missed 9 whole chapters before I finally discovered Our Story. Love does not begin to cover it. Please say they are many more chapters to come!

Thank you (and I am very glad you’ve discovered it, hehe)! 

I would say there are maybe 5 chapters left. Ideally, there would be 4—I now understand why DG was like, “Fuq dis, I’m skipping 20 years,”—but I know that people probably want to see some of wee!Bree, so I’ll throw an extra chapter in there.

canadianheartgirl  asked:

Did I tell you already how much I love this ficon verse?! It's a LOT! I'm in awe with everything you and Bree created and even more with you taking your time to answer our Q! I was wondering...we got to see Nate really angry bc Felicity was hurt during a mission and he blamed his father, but will we get to see him witnessing Oliver saving felicity or risking his life for her? If its a yes,how does he feels about that? Does he thinks it's Oliver's obligation to do so or is he proud his dad? xo

Thank you!!! I love answer questions, even if it sometimes distracts me from writing I’m supposed to be doing (oops). We… might see Nate witnessing Oliver saving Felicity or risking his life for her. It surely happens, of course, given what they do. Nate’s shielded from some of that, but he can’t be shielded from all of it. I think he would (will?) feel very conflicted. His dad seems larger than life to him, invincible, and anytime he’s forced to recognize that’s not true would skew his worldview and be really hard to process. He loves both of his parents, but I think to Nate his dad just seems unbeatable, tough as anything and a guy who always wins… like maybe he can control the world. His mom seems more vulnerable to him and that’s part of why he got so upset about her getting hurt. It feels like he should have been able to prevent it. 

anonymous asked:

Hi! I never really do ship requests but here goes. 5'2, history major. Shy at first and very homemaker-ey. (Loves to cook etc). Very stubborn and hot headed and I absolutely love my cats. Male from MCU please! <3 Thank you!

I ship you with…

You love to cook, Clint loves to eat. He’ll really like that you’re more of a home maker because when he isn’t Avenging he likes to just kick back and relax. Building a home with you will be at the top of that list. 

He won’t mind at all that you are a little hot headed, he’d actually find it cute in a way, especially when you are pissed off at him and trying to tear him a new one. He’ll have a lot of trouble keeping a straight face and while he is extremely sorry for anything he might have done he’ll just wrap you up in his arms and wait out your anger. 

Your stubbornness might be more of a conflicting issue. Clint would want you to be safe and out of harms way, even if the issue wasn’t life threatening. You would be fighting with him constantly over it, telling him you’ll be fine and not to worry but it’ll fall on completely deaf ears. 

SHIP REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

Why’s There A Stocking On the Door?

@lynnialljohnson asked: Can we please have J/C on the ridge being constantly interrupted durring steamy make out sessions until they finally just lock everyone out of the house for a bit? Maybe Ian explains to an embarrassed Bree why they’re locked out? At Christmas?

I don’t have the words for how much I love this!!! Also when I finished writing it, I realized I forgot about the Christmas aspect of the act. So, I’ll do another one, because I have a really really fun modern plan for it. Hope you like that one too!


“Sassenach!”

I whirled around, alarmed by the tone of Jamie’s voice.

“What is it? Who’s bleeding?”

“No one!”

I frowned up at him.

“Then why are you yelling for me?”

His eyes glittered.

“The house is empty.”

“So?”

“So our house has been overrun wi’ people for two bloody weeks and I havena had ye properly in all that time.”

“So your daughter and her children are ‘overrunning’ our house?”

“Aye. When she and her husband and bairns sleep so close to our room, I canna take ye the way I want.”

“And how do you want to take me?”

Those full lips pulled into a mischievous smile.

“Screaming.”

Gathering me into his arms, he sat me on the table in my surgery and kissed me hard. I heard a rustling of fabric as he fumbled with my skirts.

“The first time in two weeks and you want to make me scream, so you decide make love to me on the table in my surgery?”

He shrugged and nipped at my ear.

“Weel, if ye’d been in the kitchen, I’d take ye in the kitchen. Ye just happened to be here.”

I moaned softly as his teeth moved to the side of my neck. His hand snaked between my legs, making me gasp.

“Auntie!”

Jamie puled back and glared down at me, silently commanding me to keep my mouth shut.

“I have to,” I whispered.

“It canna be life or death,” he muttered, gently probing my hot flesh.

“I’m the doctor here, Jamie. There isn’t another healer about for miles.”

“Aye, I ken that.”

We heard the boards creak as Ian came closer to the surgery. Jamie muttered a few choice curses in Gaelic and stepped away from me. I’d just gotten off the table and righted my skirts when Ian came in.

“There ye are, Auntie.”

“What can I do for you, Ian?”

“I was wondering if ye had some o’ that tea to help wi’ a woman’s monthly? Poor Rachel canna hardly stand.”

“Of course.”

Jamie was glaring darkly at his nephew as I pulled bottles and jars from various cupboards.

“Brew as much of it as you can, you can always warm it later.”

“Thanks, Auntie. Sorry for, ah… Interrupting.”

Jamie’s ears burned pink. 

“It’s alright.”

Ian’s request for tea reminded me that I had something of my own brewing in the kitchen.

“Where are ye going!?” Jamie demanded as I followed Ian out.

“I have to check on my pot in the kitchen.”

“Damn it Claire!”

I had to admit I was having a little fun teasing him like this. His angry footsteps stomped along behind me, though he didn’t try to stop whatever I was doing. He knew better.

After checking that my latest experiment was progressing well, I turned to him.

“You said you’d take me in the kitchen?”

He didn’t answer, just pushed me onto the heavy wooden table he’d built me. His mouth found mine, eager and demanding and tasting faintly of whiskey.

“Christ ye taste good, Sassenach.”

“I was just thinking the same of you.”

While he kissed me again, I felt him tugging at the ties of my bodice.

“Granny!”

Jamie let out an audible growl.

“What do ye want, Jeremiah?”

Jem stopped short and stared at the two of us, eyes wide.

“Mam sent me to ask if ye-”

“I dinna care what yer mam asked. I’m having a conversation wi’ your granny just now. Come back in an hour.”

“But mam said she needed Granny to look at Mandy’s rash. Da thinks it’s no’ a bad one, but-”

Jamie’s mood was getting worse.

“Jemmy, darling,” I said before Jamie did something Bree would scold him for later. “If Mandy hasn’t got a fever, she’ll be alright. I’ll be down in an hour when I’ve finished with your grandda, alright?”

“Mam’s no’ gonna be happy about that.”

“I dinna care a bloody bit if she’s no’ happy,” Jamie grumbled in my ear.

“Tell her you tried, but your grandfather is a very stubborn Scot. I’ll be by as soon as I can.”

“Aye, Granny.”

Jemmy scampered away and Jamie got up, slamming the door closed behind him.

“Come wi’ me. Now.”

“I thought you were fine taking me anywhere?”

“Aye, I am. But I dinna want to wake up in an hour on the ground. My back canna handle that, aye?”

“So are we going to our room, then?”

“Aye. And bolting the bloody door. I’ll no’ be interrupted again.”

I followed him up the stairs to our room but paused at the door. I kicked my shoes off and pulled one stocking down.

“What the devil are ye doing, woman?”

“Making sure Bree doesn’t come barging in on us in the middle of our love-making.”

Jamie barked a laugh, puling at the ties of his shirt.

“She wouldna!”

“Oh if she’s angry enough, she might…”

“So why do ye put the stocking on the door?”

I smiled.

“It’s something Bree learned when she went to university. It’s just a signal. Never you mind.”

I closed the door and bolted it shut. That made Jamie smile even more.

“Come here,” he said, hooking his finger at me.

Walking slowly, I pulled loose the laces of my bodice, sighing in relief when it came free.

“Stop!”

I froze, hands on the back of my skirts ready to let them go. He was glaring at me.

“What?!”

“That’s my job, Sassenach!”

“Undressing me?”

“Aye! Like unwrappin’ a present.”

Hands on my hips, I grinned at him.

“I didn’t know you were quite so fond of that. But you know that means you can’t take off your kilt. That is strictly my job.”

“Aye, and so it is, my own.”

His arms slid around my waist while he lowered his mouth to mine. Hands moved down and gripped my buttocks hard. I waited for the exclamation that would come as it always did.

“Christ, ye’ve the fattest arse.”

“Like clockwork,” I muttered, tangling my fingers in his hair.

He had me out of my gown and standing in only my shift in rather short order. While he might enjoy unwrapping the gift that was me, but he was clearly not ready to wait longer than he had to. I felt him begin to pull the hem of my shift up, but I stepped back.

“My turn,” I panted.

He muttered darkly and stood waiting, hands balled into fists.

I walked around him, much like I had on our wedding night all those years ago. When I was back in front of him, I pulled at the belt holding his kilt on.

“I know how much you love my fat ass,” I said slowly. “But I adore your kilt.”

“Oh aye. Easy access. Dinna have to fiddle wi’ laces and whatnot.”

“That’s part of it. But I get to see your legs more. And sometimes I can catch a peek beneath it.”

“Ye naughty thing!” he said sharply. “Trying to see beneath a man’s kilt. And a marriet man, no less.”

“A married man with a very nice bottom.”

He pulled off his shirt and grinned at me.

“A nice bottom and a verra stiff cock,” he said.

“How would you like me, darling?”

His eyes moved up and down my body, assessing.

“The bed. Wi’ yer arse in the air.”

“Shift?”

“Leave it.”

Grinning, I crawled onto our bed and tucked my knees beneath myself, sitting up like a stinkbug.

“Holy God…”

I felt two large hands squeeze my taught backside before the bed creaked as he knelt behind me.

“I dinna like servicing ye so quiet. I like to hear ye scream.”

“So you’ve said. Think you’re up for the task?”

He grabbed my hand and pulled it behind me. I snorted when he pressed it against himself.

“What say ye?”

“Definitely up for the task.”

“Oh aye. But are you?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

He teased me for a moment, making me grip the quilts with white knuckles. Then he pushed slowly home, my body trembling as he did.

“Oh God…”

“Oh Jamie.”

“I mean to hear ye screaming for me, Claire.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Apparently he was waiting for my permission. As soon as I gave it, he let loose. My whole body jerked when he slammed against me. I was screaming like mad, giving myself fully over to the sensation he awoke within me. I felt bruises forming beneath his fingers where he gripped my hips.

We fell over the precipice together, crying out for each other. Jamie caught himself just before he collapsed on top of me. He lay down on his back, broad chest heaving. I scooted over to him and rested my head where I always fit.

“Ye ken I’ve only ever loved you, right?”

“Yes, I know. And you know that you’re the true love of my life?”

“Aye, Sassenach. I ken it verra well.”

***

Ian saw a flash of red hair and kent it wasna his uncle.

“Bree! Ye canna go in the house!”

“And why not?! I sent Jem to get Mama and she said she’d come when she could?!”

“Ah… The shutters are closed in the surgery.”

Bree fixed him with a glare that rivaled both her mam and her da.

“And?”

“And I reckon the door to the kitchen’s bolted too.”

“So?”

“So I think they forgot to bolt the main door. Ye dinna want to go in there just now.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously. It was a look he’d seen often enough on his own mam that he took a step back.

“I don’t care what she’s doing. I need her!”

She started for the house and he grabbed her arm.

“No, cousin! Ye canna! If the doors are bolted it’s because Auntie’s, er… Busy.”

“With what!”

“Uncle Jamie!”

“What does-”

Bree stopped suddenly before her eyes widened. He watched the red creep up her neck just like it did wi’ Uncle Jamie.

“Oh God! They’re…”

“Aye.”

“How do you know they’re…”

Ian’s brows went up and he tried hard not to laugh at her.

“Uncle Jamie loves Auntie Claire a great deal, aye? He canna help himself. And I’ve lived around them a while. I ken how they get.”

“Well, in that case… I suppose I’ll just go wait for Mama to… ah… finish.” 

Bree cringed at her choice of words and left quickly. At least he’d stopped her from seeing, or hearing, too much.

I would really like some more writing partners

Soooo…. Here are a few of the test muses I want to be trying out:

Elijah (fc: Dom Sherwood) He’s the son of a Mob Boss and has recently become second in command so his life is complicated..

Roxanne “Roxy” Brooks (FC: Candice Patton) She’s been a bit sheltered for most of her life but is now ready to live on the edge and experience a ton of new things

I also have other muses that I just want to use more like Naomi Forrester (Laura Vandervoort fc)

Bree Thomas (FC: Melissa Benoist),

 and I want to take my baby Aiden Sanders (FC: Colton Haynes) off of Hiatus….

If any of these muses interest you, or if you think you might be into one of the other ones I have, feel free to check them HERE and then hit me up or tag me in a starter or whichever you want to do loves….

PLEASE WRITE WITH ME!!!
I PROMISE TO LOVE YOU FOREVER IF YOU DO!!!!

Christmas Scenes (2 of 3)

Mod Bonnie : Flood my Mornings 

[Flash forward to December 8, 1950]

Claire’s face appeared over the top of his book—The Age of Electricity, tonight— and bent down, smiling, for a kiss. He let the book fall at once, and reached out to cup her buttocks. 

“I could kiss ye forever, Sassenach,” he said, unable to keep a smile from disrupting their kiss, “Warms me right to my toes.” 

“Oh, good! That’ll come in handy in a moment,” she said, nipping his neck before straightening and putting her hands briskly on her hips. “Will you help me get some things down from the attic?”

He followed her to the hallway between the bedrooms and watched as she reached upward to pull a wee chain he’d never noticed before, bringing down an equally surprising hatch door. 

“Jesus H. CHRIST,” she laughed as a freezing downdraft hit her. “I THINK it just might be winter!”

A ladder—cleverly hinged to fold in upon itself—came into view, and Claire hopped nimbly up the rungs, disappearing into the darkness beyond.  

“I didna even ken there was another room up here,” Jamie said, climbing up onto the third rung to peer into this unknown part of his home.  

Well,” Claire called, her voice emanating ghoulishly from a corner to his right, “I’d hardly call it a room, but it’s sufficient for keeping useful miscellany out of the way: off-season clothing…tools that won’t fit in the shed…” Jamie didn’t understand the next words she uttered, the sound muffled as she bent over facing away from him.

“What was the last, Sassenach?”

Her outline appeared from the gloom pushing a large box toward him. “I said, ‘and Christmas decorations!’” 

There were just four boxes in all, and not heavy ones, at that; it took no more than two minutes to get the lot down into the living room. Even this short exposure to the frigid attic space, though, had left her shivering. Jamie —firmly dissuading Claire from adjusting the Heating—quickly built up a fire in the hearth. It was nothing like a fire of his time, to be sure—this one, with its wee, store-bought pine logs, was meant to burn for only an hour or two—but they both sighed as the warmth flooded the room. 

“It smells nice,” Claire said, kneeling on the hearth next to him with mugs of tea and smiling a little wistfully. “I’ve missed it: the smell of woodsmoke.” 

“As have I.” They sat quietly for a time, holding hands, breathing in the quiet and the past and the memory. 

“What does one use, to decorate for Christmas, then?” Jamie asked to banish the ghosts of Lallybroch.

Most of this is garland for the front window boxes and railings,” she said, pulling out vast ropes of green Plastic fashioned to look like fir branches, festooned here and there with red flowers of the same material. 

“Very bonnie,” he said, though he felt a bit baffled by the notion, which seemed to entail a great deal of unnecessary work. What other (strange) things did Claire typically do for the Christmas holiday? He voiced this question. 

“Oh, well we…” She stopped and blinked, looking suddenly strange. “Nothing.” 

“Nothing?” 

Her voice was halting. “I feel as though I…barely remember the last two Christmases.”

Jamie made a small sound, but said nothing, just waited for her in that way the two of them knew so well. Only when you’re ready. I’m listening, love. 

“The first one,” she said at last, “was only a month after Bree was born….I think listening to a Christmas record while breastfeeding was the full extent of my holiday festivities,” she said with a laugh that held more sorrow than mirth. 

“Ye didna have Penelope until earlier this year, aye?” At her nod, he said gently, “I canna say that I’d have had much desire for festivity, either, all alone wi’ a new bairn.”

She gave a small smile before continuing. “Then last year about a week before Christmas, a neighbor– but bear in mind, this was back on Fury Street, not here– knocked on my door and pointedly asked when my decorations would be up. She ‘didn’t want me to be embarrassed by being the odd one out’ (as if I weren’t already, the foul hag). So I caved and decorated the outside of the house enough to look presentable.” 

“Ah,’ he said, understanding, “ye dinna seem the type to take it to mind to affix wee baubies to the house wi’out sufficient reason.” 

“It was rather pretty,” she said, taking a sip of tea, “but I… I still wasn’t feeling in the spirit, really. Didn’t feel worth it to put up a tree, as it was just the two of us and Bree too small to pay much attention in any case…” Claire pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her free arm around them. “It just felt…” She shook her head, not taking her eyes from the fire. “…Sad. I knew I was supposed to make it some sort of magical Christmas world for her…knew that I ought to build the fantasy of it for her sake… but I just couldn’t seem to muster myself for it.”

Jamie set down his mug, reached across, and gently squeezed her knee. “Ye didna have such a thing yourself as a wean, aye?”

She looked up, surprised, then shook her head. “I barely remember ever having a proper Christmas. I suppose my parents might have, when I was small; but Christian holidays barely registered for Uncle Lamb. We were hardly Currier and Ives material spending Christmases sweltering in the desert.”

Jamie didn’t even try to guess what precisely she meant by that, but leaned in and kissed her, cupping her head in one hand, gently and comfortingly. “Does it make you sad, a nighean? Not to have had the ‘magical’ Christmas?”

“A little…” She made a scoffing sound in her throat. “And then I feel foolish for being sad over silly sentimental traditions.”

“It’s no’ foolish,” he said. “and it’s no’ wrong that ye didna have them the last few years. In fact, I think it’s even better that you didna do so.” 

“Why should that be, Jamie?” 

“Because we’ll be able to create our own silly, sentimental traditions, now,” Jamie said, smiling. “Everything will be brand-new for all three of us.”

“Oh…” she said, smiling back with at last her usual spark. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” 

“I’ve few preconceived notions as to what a proper modern Christmas ought to be like,” he said, “but I’m in favor of as many foolish things as you like.”

She raised her eyebrows with a mischievous grin. “Will you dress up in a red suit and white beard and squeeze down the chimney with presents?”

Jamie laughed aloud. “If that’s what’s done, then yes: I will gladly play my part in carrying on wi’ the baffling nonsense of the season.”

They laughed and Jamie bent her head back gently, needing no warmth there before the fire, but letting her touch and the touch of her banish all traces of cold, present and remembered. His own holidays–his everydays–had been bleak, these last years, as well, had they not? Lonely? Hopeless? 

But everything is now new. Everything is now good. 

“I did make one gesture toward the season last year,” she said suddenly, pulling back from the kiss and turning to the last box (smaller than the others) and pulling out a parcel wrapped in brown paper and twine. She unwrapped it to reveal the colorful fabric within. “You’re meant to hang a stocking by the fire on Christmas Eve so Father Christmas can fill it with sweets and presents. ”

She handed him the parcel. While they would never do as serviceable garments, they were very lovely, made of colorful felted cloth, decorated with shimmering thread. One said “Brianna” on the cuff and showed three cheery men that Claire said were wee ginger biscuits customarily eaten for holidays; the other, “Claire” with an evergreen tree dotted with colored baubles.

“You made these?” he asked, surprised and impressed. She nodded, a little shyly. “They’re wonderful, mo chridhe. Very…fun!” he said, feeling foolish over using so flippant a word for something she had clearly put her heart into. He reverently traced the outlines of the whimsical patterns.

“I shall have to get started on one for you,” she said, glowing in the firelight. “A Fraser stag, maybe?”

“Do they eat venison at Christmas, then? Now, I mean?”

“No… but seven flying reindeer pull Father Christmas’s magical sleigh–-and those are rather like stags!”

He leveled his gaze at her. “For all your contentions that the twentieth century is less mystical than the eighteenth, my Claire,” he said, kissing the very tip of her nose, “I dinna believe it one bit.”



Mod Gotham: Brian and Ellen AU

Six-year-old Faith Fraser took careful hold of her corner of the trapdoor.

“When I say heave,” their grandfather instructed, “yer Grannie and I will help ye. All right?”

Three-year-old Brianna Fraser nodded, her red curls bouncing in the light cast by the lantern.

“All right! One – two – three – heave!”

After a few moments the trapdoor opened. Brianna curiously peered over the edge into the gloom – and Ellen extended a careful arm to prevent Brianna from falling into the root cellar.

“It’s so dark! Why do we have to come out here when it’s so dark, Grannie?”

“Because it’s the only way we ken the Redcoats won’t be about.” Jamie set down his basket and handed the lantern to Brian, who held it above his head as he descended into the root cellar. Once Jamie had carefully stepped down almost past his shoulders, he effortlessly picked up a giggling Faith and hoisted her into the dark, then took the lantern from Brian.

“Here ye go – pick out enough potatoes to fill the basket, aye? There’s a good lass.”

Faith dutifully crossed to the far corner of the root cellar – full of shelves of dried fruit, dried meat, herbs, jars and jars of preserved vegetables, and enough potatoes and apples to feed all the hungry mouths of Lallybroch throughout the long winter.

“How are we doing, Jamie?” Brianna tugged on Ellen’s skirts, and she lifted her granddaughter to her hip, blessing her with a quick kiss to the forehead. “Will we need to try for another harvest?”

Brian stepped around his wife and held tight to the opened trapdoor as he carefully descended into the cellar, standing shoulder to shoulder with his son.

“We may have to,” he mused, glancing around at the half-full baskets. “Do ye think the ground is too hard to try at that softer patch?”

Jamie shook his head, keeping an eye on Faith as she carefully selected the potatoes.

“It’s been a bit warm these past few days – and we have to look, at least. Canna hurt. It’ll be a lot of onions and neeps and potatoes this year, but we should do well. And I may be able to bring home a stag or two, God willing.”

Brian silently slung an arm around his son’s shoulder – so proud. “It’s settled – we’ll take a look in the morning.”

“I’m done!” Faith piped up from the corner. “I canna lift the basket, Da – can ye help me?”

Brian crossed the packed-earth floor to examine his granddaughter’s work. “Good work, *a leannan*. Can ye help me wi’ a boost?”

“Watch yer back!” Ellen’s voice drifted from up above. “I dinna want ye throwing it out again.”

Brian sighed theatrically, and Faith giggled.

“That’s what ye gave me a son for, am I right? To help his puir Da in his auld age?”

Jamie stepped to Brian’s side, and together they hoisted the heavy basket of potatoes to their shoulders. Jamie pushed Faith in front of him and held out his free hand against her back as she negotiated the stairs to the surface.

“Auld age, my arse,” Brian muttered. “I’m fit as I ever was.”

“Mmphm. Keep telling yerself that, auld man.”

“Mama! We’re home!”

Faith tore through the door to the Laird’s bedroom and jumped up on the bed. Claire carefully settled one-month-old William Fraser against her shoulder and extended her other arm so that her eldest daughter could snuggle happily against her side.

“How did your little expedition go?”

“Well enough,” Jamie replied as he stepped into the room and closed the door, a sleepy Brianna nestled against his neck. “The stores are a bit low, but Da and Ian and I will go walk the potato fields tomorrow. We’re bound to fill up a basket at least – it’s been a while since we’ve been out.

Jamie stepped out of his boots, gently set down Brianna beside Faith, and stepped to the other side of the bed. Carefully he reached a tentative finger to stoke wee William’s brow, before bending to give his wife a kiss.

“How’s the wee lad, then?”

“He just finished his supper before you arrived. We’ll be good for a while.”

“Mmm. Move over a bit?”

Claire handed William to Jamie, then shifted over on the bed. Brianna and Faith took this as an invitation to crawl over their Mama so that they were safe between her and Da.

Jamie carefully lay William, swaddled in one of Claire’s spare arisaids, against a pillow, then slipped under the covers. In the dim light his arm crossed over his three children – and his fingers met and twined with Claire’s.

“Happy Christmas,” he whispered.

“It will be the happiest of Christmases, won’t it?” she replied.

“Will ye tell us a story, Mama? Maybe the one about mice?”

“There werena any mice, Bree! Remember, the mice were all sleeping?”

“Hush – that’s right, Faith. Not a creature was stirring – not even a mouse.”

“Can ye start from the beginning, then?” Jamie asked quietly, thumb tracing the bumps of Claire’s knuckles. “I want to hear it all again.”

The logs crackled in the fireplace. The wind picked up outside. The world was full of such uncertainty – but not here. Not in this room. Not on this night.

“Twas the night before Christmas…”


Chronicles of the book re-read: Voyager

Voyager was one of my favourite books in the series the first time I read them, but I found myself oddly apprehensive to re-read it. I’m not quite sure on the impetus for this fear. Perhaps that re-experiencing it with an awareness of the imminent adaptation of the material for season 3 of the show would paint it a different way in my brain? Perhaps just that I had remembered it wrong? This turned out to be partially true: I had forgotten quite how crazy the final third is. But I am delighted to report that overall I still loved Voyager the second time around. I also re-read certain sections multiple times immediately after reading them, which is why this book took me longer than Outlander or Dragonfly In Amber. Yes, I am a ridiculous person.

Keep reading

thescopeoftheresolution  asked:

Hello bree! Let me start by saying I love your blog. I'm very new to this and have yet to perform any magic. I would like to begin with something to alleviate my father's chronic nightmares. Do you know any good sweet dreams spells for beginners?

Hello, witchling! :)

Nightmares are a PAIN. There are some spells that can help alleviate them, or at least help the person to have more restful sleep, but they work best when accompanied by mundane medical or psychiatric treatment (which I’m hoping your dad has tried already).

A very simple paper charm can be done this way.

You will need:

  • A sheet of paper
  • Something to write with
  • A key phrase (see below)
  • Dried rosemary (from the supermarket is fine)
  • Lavender oil or flowers, if you have them
  • Article of your father’s clothing

Write your father’s full name on a sheet of paper. Mark out a rough circle around the name (it doesn’t have to be perfect), choose a spot on the circle, and begin writing your key phrase.

The key phrase here is the intent of your spell. It describes what you want the spell to do and gives the magic a direct to work in.

It can be something as simple as “Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite” or similar things we’re told as children, or it can be something more personal and complex. Use whatever words feel strongest to you. Whatever you choose, the phrase should signify safe, restful sleep.

Turn the paper in a circle and keep writing the phrase over and over until you’ve made a spiral of words that stretches to the edge of the page.

Sprinkle a few pinches of dried rosemary in the center of the paper. Add a spoonful of lavender blossoms, or a couple of drops of lavender oil, if you happen to have these things handy. (If you don’t, it’s okay, just use the rosemary. Lavender just adds a little extra punch for a good night’s sleep.)

Fold the paper into a packet, being careful to keep the herbs inside. You can secure it with a piece of tape if you wish. In a band around the outside, write that key phrase one more time, making sure that the end of the phrase is close to the beginning, so that there’s no significant gap.

Wrap the paper charm in some article of your father’s clothing. I’d suggest using something he won’t miss. Discarded socks whose mates have been lost in the laundry are ideal for this. Tuck the little bundle away somewhere that it won’t be disturbed.

If it can be put under your dad’s bed, that would be perfect, but if you think it might be found, you can put it somewhere in your room that it will remain undisturbed. The spell is keyed to your dad by his name, not the location where it is stored.

Hope this helps! :)