mind in revolt

How is it I’ve felt the dancing of life in my womb

Not even once but twice

And still believe that life should be allowed to be torn from existence?

How can I possibly look into pale blue-green eyes mirroring my own

A person I made behind them

And my heart not wrench at the thought of eyes not even given the chance to develop?

How my body and mind and soul would revolt if my child’s life were snatched away

As if they were nothing

And yet here I am, the ties between me and the ones I love severed by this barbaric idea I hold

That those who would take life from their wombs still matter and still deserve their autonomy

That a life lived hungry and unloved

Might not be a life worth living, might not be a life to force on anyone for the sake of “living”

Still today, my heart aches to once more feel life grow within me, to be a vessel for another being

To have the privilege of raising part of our earth

Yet if I had to choose between the pain, and suffering, and fear, and loneliness that child might feel trying to find a home

Or simply protecting that child before they even emerge from my womb

I don’t think the decision would be a hard one

Because while I might be able to protect my children tooth and nail when they live in my home

While they are in my care

That says nothing for children under the “care” of the government. Taught and fed and loved the bare minimum for survival

Denied homes and love and a family because they can’t pay the thousands required of them

It also says nothing of the children born to mothers who try to raise them despite what they feel

The pain. The resentment. The fear.

If you’ve never looked into tiny eyes and listened to a screaming mouth and wanted nothing more than to turn them facedown into the mattress

Begging for silence

Then I do not expect you to understand why I believe a death within the womb might be better

Than death at the hands of an exhausted, sobbing, shaking mother

Who only wanted the best for their baby

Who could not bear to make them suffer for 18 years just to be thrown out like garbage

Who could not take the weight of life on guilty, tired, unprepared shoulders

And who wasn’t allowed to simply avoid that pain for everyone involved with the swallow of a pill or slice of a blade

Because someone thinks that somehow one life is more important than another

That somehow this mother no longer matters because sperm has met egg inside them

That somehow it is better for a person to suffer for “a chance at life”

And that somehow being ripped from this horrid world we live in before it could even begin

Would be a bad thing

And not a blessing on its own.

thelioninmybed replied to your post: gurguliare replied to your post:      crocordile replied…

   if everyone in the silm gave fewer shits…idk we’ve feel like I’ve stumbled on the ultimate ‘things go better than canon’ AU                

i mean is not the entire plot of the silm 100% dependent on the fact that a) melkor and b) feanor had no chill


Glyph ( ♅ )

Ruler of Aquarius
Exalted in Scorpio
Detriment in Leo
Fall in Taurus

Time Spent in a Sign: 7 years

Mythology behind Uranus
Uranus, in Greek mythology, was the primordial God of the Sky. Creator of all is he; Uranus. He would kiss and mate with the Earth, Gaia, every night. But Uranus loathed the children they made, yet they made plenty. Cronus, asked by his mother Gaia, castrated his father Uranus and the severed testicles plunged to the sea; eventually giving life to Aphrodite who emerged from the sea.

Uranus in Astrology
Uranus: most well known for its rather unusual and unexpected turn of events in our lives. Wherever Uranus is placed in the chart, expect to rebel in that area. Unlike Saturn, Uranus knows no boundaries and no limits. It is freedom and constant ups and downs. You really never know what to expect with this planet. Uranus is innovative and creative and it’s no wonder that this can usually lead to madness, but where do we draw the line between madness and genius?

Uranus in Aries
Revolution is key here with Uranus in Aries. But it all begins with the self. Uranus in Aries wants what it wants now and what it wants is change.

Uranus in Taurus
Uranus is in fall in Taurus. People with Uranus in Taurus want to be free to do anything, but the only thing holding them back is themselves. Money and their personal possessions can fluctuate a lot in their lives.

Uranus in Gemini
Uranus in Gemini gives people a super quick wit and can often find themselves coming up with creative, maybe crazy ideas. They can find that their mouth gets them in trouble.

Uranus in Cancer
Uranus in Cancer natives can find themselves seeming somewhat unpredictable to their friends and their loved ones, in general. Events can greatly impact them more than others.

Uranus in Leo
Uranus is detriment in Leo. People with Uranus in Leo may struggle between wanting to express themselves in an enthusiastic way because of their internal desire to remain “cool” and “detached” as well.

Uranus in Virgo
Uranus in Virgo people may struggle between wanting to stick to what’s “natural” and breaking free from the old and into the new and modern. They can easily organize their ideas if they allow themselves to.

Uranus in Libra
Uranus in Libra people have unconventional ideas and they can draw people in with their unique way of thinking and approaching situations. They may have the “shocking” factor when it comes to partnerships.

Uranus in Scorpio
Uranus is exalted in Scorpio. There are no limits with Uranus in Scorpio and the goal is to explore the deepest part human can go; the unexplored. These people are usually highly intuitive and aren’t afraid of digging extra deep to unearth hidden knowledge. They go where others are afraid to.

Uranus in Sagittarius
Uranus in Sagittarius people aren’t afraid of questioning anything and everything and fighting for it as well. They challenge many beliefs and might shift more towards spirituality. They hate to be tied down and have a label slapped on them.

Uranus in Capricorn
Uranus in Capricorn people can be ambitious, strong-minded and grounded… or at least may strive to be. But because this is Uranus, people with Uranus in Capricorn can be scattered and impulsive, but not afraid of a challenge.

Uranus in Aquarius
Uranus is domicile in Aquarius. Uranus in Aquarius people challenge, question and go against traditional beliefs. They are humanitarians concerned for the rights of everyone and don’t mind revolting against society.

Uranus in Pisces
Uranus in Pisces people are fascinated with the occult and the unknown. Usually they have a lot of imagination and can almost feel “psychic” because of their intuition. However, they can be detached and flighty as well, not knowing what they want.

Free Mind / Open Spirit- Hundredth

(Not my photo, my edit)

Pretty Bird, Pt 11 (Yoongi, Angst)

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 |


BTS members: Namjoon POV/ Min Yoongi

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 1.815

Summary:  You are Big Hit’s newest trainee, and you have the luck to be tutored by BTS. But the thing is no one asked them before installing you in their dorm. They’re mad, but you’re stronger than you look.

Originally posted by bangtannoonas

When he finally fell asleep he let his head fall over your shoulder, his nose tickling your neck with each breath. You stiffened in your seat, looking around confused. Luckily, all the boys were absorbed on the screen and didn’t notice the change in your posture.

You didn’t want him to wake up abruptly, so you tried wriggling your shoulder delicately, but he only adjusted himself, nuzzling against your neck.
He sighed, satisfied.

And your world was upside down, it had been for a long time, but now you were finally allowing yourself to notice it.

It hurt.


‘God, this movie is so predictable…’ He thought, yawning loudly. His eyes were focused on the screen, but his mind was wandering, thinking of new strategies to come closer to her. It had been a mistake to think that a direct approach would work on her. He had probably scared her away and he was still cursing himself for that.

He didn’t understood what had gotten into him, why he couldn’t take his eyes off her, why he kept dreaming night after night about her. She was all he could see, his voice the sound that accompanied him to sleep and the image of her bright eyes the first thing he evoked in the morning.

He hated it.

Keep reading

Sometimes I write things to cheer myself up. This is one of those times.

I just really, really like Black*Star, okay. Also Maka. And Soul and Tsubaki and Blair… and everyone. I love everyone. Continuation of this. 


As it turned out, Tsubaki’s date hadn’t gone so well. 

Black Star was as smug as expected (“I KNEW IT, no decent mortal takes a girl like Tsubaki out mini golfing”), but the girl didn’t seem too deterred by Maka’s brother’s enthusiasm. She merely pat his head, laughed politely (and sadly, maybe?) before changing the subject. Maka had been more than ready to dwell on it and offer her sympathy and advice, but Tsubaki shook her head and shrugged her pretty shoulders.

It occurred to Maka later that she wouldn’t of had any worthwhile advice to give, anyway. She was a few years younger than her best friend, and though she spent all of her time with boys, she had never been on a date. And the boys she spent time with were Black Star and Soul – one was her brother, and the other spent so much time over her house that he might as well of been related to her. Of course Tsubaki hadn’t wanted to hear what Maka had to say on the subject. She didn’t know the first thing about romance. 

She was still having a hard time looking her Papa in the face. There was no way she’d be able to have a full conversation on the inner workings of healthy relationships and attraction. Maka had just recently graduated into training bra territory (a feat that Black Star found both endlessly hilarious and disgusting, and a feat that Soul kept his nose strictly out of). 

No wonder Tsubaki didn’t want to talk boys with her. Maka was an everything virgin.

Which meant Maka had to do some research, and probably some studying. And at the age of thirteen, that meant she needed to either ask some questions, or get her flirt on. And Maka had no idea how to flirt.

Keep reading

christtinedaae  asked:

“Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”

SHIPPY STARTERS (( 𝓪𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 | SELEC ))

the change of the masked man’s features is immediate as that knowing purse of her lips is shown, evidenced by her words. she has caught him in a moment of unawareness. even he was ignorant to the upward twitch in his lip. it must have been a disgusting sight. yet she triumphs over him. he lowers his gaze, ducking his head. golden eyes which had danced in amusement back to the parchment script on his lap, feigning the notion that he is studying the text. his voice is low, intoned firmly. ❝ i did no such thing.❞  damn his weakness, he is slipping !  she melts his resolve so that his own mind revolts against what he knows better than to allow himself show. he knows she’s still looking at him. that blasted, knowing gaze that brings the color to his pale cheeks and not all of it can be concealed by his mask. he looks upwards again. ❝alright. yes. perhaps i did. is it so  appalling that i might not be immune to lightheartedness once in awhile? ❞  irritably he shifts in his seat, the cushions of the shared sofa suddenly seeming to envelop him — trapping him in a proximity much too close to such insufferable scrutiny. ❝you just…i suppose it is the way you were reading the script.  your acting is improving greatly. i meant no offense. ❞ eyes retreat to the parchment once more, which he props vertically upon his knee in hopes that it might conceal what is portrayed by his expression.

Can we all just agree that Mind in Revolt is really kind of terrifying?

Not because Daisy managed to convince Dr. Pinchot to help her break out of the facility. But because Dr. Pinchot wrote this–

The scientist in me searches for ways to expunge these thoughts from my mind, but to treat such innate behavior would require the most radical and extreme methods possible. It would demand the transformation of Comstock Center from research facility into some kind of “reeducation center.” The mind reels at thoughts of treatments bordering on torture: patients strapped into chairs, presented with elements both audio and visual catered to reinforcing the proper kind of thinking. Watching until their minds forget all thoughts but the right ones…shocked in cold baths and by electricity, then given nourishment by a mothering figure…given brain surgeries to ease worry and doubt… And what would remain? Most likely a grinning imbecile, content to blindly follow the slightest suggestion.

–and then after he died that’s basically what happened.

His colleagues took all his notes, read how he feared that torturing people into blindly loving Columbia would become a thing, and then all said, “Yeah, let’s totally make that a thing.”

And they did.

That’s some scary, fucked-up shit right there, you guys.


BioShock Infinite Mind In Revolt Book Autographed Personalized

This was available on the IG Store shortly after the game released. I missed the opportunity to buy it. It was limited and sold out very quickly. I pleaded with IG to restock. Couple weeks later I received a copy in the mail free of charge. It’s signed and personalized by Zoe Brooks, Joe Fielder, Ken Levine and Jorge Lacera. IG really went above and beyond to make a fan happy and whom ever is responsible for making this happen I’m eternally grateful. Very fortunate to have this in my collection.

kristinamurin  asked:

006 fluffy prompt pleeease 😍😘

006: “I will always be there protect you.“ 

(It’s fluffy, I swear. I’m trying to find my writing bug again, so I’m catching up on old prompts.)

“I will always be there to protect you.”

Gun shots.

That was the last thing he remembered - the sharp cut of a gun going off followed by the heavy spray of bullets as someone fired into the crowd, shouts and screams filling the air… no, not into the crowd. At him. They’d been firing at him.

And they’d hit her.

“No,” Oliver breathed, the world coming back in a heady rush. His eyes snapped open, instantly shutting again when a thick shaft of light from the spotlights sliced through his head. He could hear a helicopter hovering somewhere, and people talking - everywhere, they were everywhere, surrounding him - and tears, so many tears, someone was crying, sobbing…

Had someone died?

Had she…?

His mind instantly revolted.


She’d saved his life. She’d saved his life, his worthless, meaningless life, and he hadn’t told her, he hadn’t gotten the chance to tell her. And he’d had time, he’d always had time. He was Oliver Queen, he could buy time, but he’d always thought he’d get his moment.

That moment had disappeared the second he’d heard the guns and then she’d been throwing herself in front of him, her body wrenching at an unnatural angle when the bullet slammed into her chest.

“I will always be there to protect you.”

He’d had one second to scream - not her, not her not her - when a bullet had hit him, grazing his temple while another had lodged into his shoulder, pulling him away from her as darkness had fallen around him…

Not her.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

How about a 'message in a bottle' story?What if,when Jaime was missing Claire after she left,he wrote her a letter(maybe one for his unborn child too?),sealed it and left if somewhere where he thought if could be preserved for centuries for Claire to find?(maybe he left a note on it to open it in1948 and it was passed on in the family as curiosity and when her story makes it to the newspaper someone remembers the name on it?).What would he write?What would Claire do if she found out he survived?

Anonymous asked: Have you ever consider doing a prompt from 2 different writers with different points of view about the same subject? It could be interesting. Love what you do here. You have skills, ladies :)

And @imagineclaireandjamie said…. sure!  After a bit of discussion and a very intense coin-flip session to decide on a prompt:

We present for your amusement, each of our takes on the same prompt. A verra Happy Thanksgiving to all our readers who celebrate it! Here is our wee gift in thanks of all of you:

Gotham’s part:

It came with the afternoon post – tucked underneath bills and catalogues and the miscellanea of their move to Boston. The return address was marked Edinburgh, care of a solicitor’s office. Thinking it to be some papers Frank had requested for his book, Claire almost ignored it – but the baby chose that moment to kick. And she collapsed into the stiff dining room chair as soon as she slid the envelope from under the pile.

It was addressed to her. Or, rather, Claire Beauchamp Fraser Randall.

Claire’s hands trembled as she carefully slit open the envelope. Three items dropped out – a single typewritten sheet, an incredibly battered and fragile package – and a small wooden snake, with “Sawny” scratched on the underside.

No. It couldn’t be –

Quickly she scanned the solicitor’s letter. The two items had been discovered at the bottom of a trunk in a warehouse owned by a recently bankrupted Scottish bank. The envelope holding them had disintegrated when the collection agents touched it – but the name on the package had been enough for the solicitors to track her down.

Claire’s heart stopped as she recognized the careful, painstaking scrawl on the front.

Claire Beauchamp Fraser Randall – Oxfordshire – to be opened after 1945

Claire shook her head and gingerly unwound the twine holding the package together – and the paper unfolded like a musty flower. Five – no, ten sheets. All covered in Jamie’s distinctive handwriting.

She rested one hand on her belly – grounding herself – and gently picked up the top sheet.

Lallybroch, 1748

My dearest Wife –

As you can see from the Location and Date of this Missive, I am indeed Alive. Whether by the grace of God, or the stubbornness of my Sister, I endured the calamity on Culloden Moor and have lived on our Estate these two years past.

There is again a Price on my head, so I have chosen to live in the Cave behind the main house, where I remain close to my Family but am safe from Danger.

It is cold and quiet but I treasure the Solitude. I now write to pass the time and reflect. You are at the front of my mind at every moment of every Day, and I often find myself speaking aloud to you when the Silence becomes too much to bear.

Know that I love you with every ounce of my Being and long to feel you safe within my arms. But if you succeeded in crossing through the Stones – and the bairn was born healthy and strong – then I cannot regret any part of the choice we made. Seeing you in my Dreams will sustain me…

Claire’s vision blurred – and she realized tears had been silently streaming down her face. Her thumb traced the faded ink, longing so desperately to see him, touch him –

Find him. He was still alive. He had survived. And she could return to him, to Lallybroch. To her true life.

Strengthened with fresh determination, Claire carefully rose to her feet and hurried to Frank’s study. Those notes about the Jacobites and Culloden were in a manila folder on his desk…

Wheel’s bit:

“There was one more thing,” Roger said, watching Claire as her eyes drank in the scrawled handwriting on the pages laid before her.

“More?” she asked, looking up and blinking as though to bring herself back into the present.

“You’ll love it, Mama,” Brianna said, beaming at her.  “It’s wonderful!”

“It’s a wonder it exists,” Roger corrected.  “Someone must have put it aside or accidentally packed it away for it even to have survived.”

“Who cares HOW it came about?” Brianna asked, making Roger’s academic’s mind revolt slightly.  “It’s proof.  Absolute proof.  At least for anyone who knows her!”

Roger grinned at that.

Claire continued to sit, watching the pair of them spar as though at a tennis match.

Her right hand- that adorned with a silver ring given to her by a man 200 years older than she- rested lightly on the two handwritten pages before her as though, by touching them, she might touch the man who had written them.

“I beg your pardon,” Claire said politely, cutting across the pair now cheerfully arguing about the nature of ‘proof.’  “But what on Earth are you two on about?”

Brianna snatched a folder from the desk and held it out to her mother, a wide smile on her face.  “This, Mama.  Look at it!”

Claire complied, taking the folder from her daughter’s hands looking bemused.

She flipped open the cover of the folder to find a photocopy of a typewritten page.  She glanced up at her daughter and Roger to find them still watching her eagerly and bent to examine it closer.

Upon inspection, the page was not typed, but printed.  It looked like a practice page intended to test a new press or some enhancement or repair made to an old one.  There were phrases and sentences all down the page, mostly in Latin.

“Aquila non capit muscas,” she read, then glanced up at Roger and Bree again.

They both continued to look painfully excited, so she continued.

“Per ardua ad astra,” she continued.  She didn’t speak excellent Latin, so she skipped over a few she did not recognize.

“Timor mortis conturbat me,” she read, thinking how appropriate that was.

Suddenly her eyes stopped.  Her whole body seemed to still like a waxwork.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she whispered.

For that was what was printed on the page.  The last phrase on the test sheet.

Roger watched her with curiosity, wondering what she would say.  This, more than anything else, proved that it was her Jamie they had found.  This proved that he was there- that she could go back to him.

“You beastly great Scot,” she said, suddenly, and burst into tears.

Eloise’s piece:

As it often was when he returned, Lallybroch was silent; the bairns now fast asleep. As usual, he could see a faint light shining through the doorway – Jenny doing some chore or another to occupy herself as she waited up for him. 

Unusually, she didn’t look up as he walked in. She was writing a letter, and the candlelight caught a glint of wetness on her cheeks. Writing to Ian then. He’d been gone long this time – long enough to miss much of his wife’s pregnancy and his newest son’s birth – and Jenny was sorely worried about him, though she rarely let it show. Christ he knew that feeling all too well. 

The sight stirred something in him – a half-forgotten dream, perhaps, for it could not be a memory. It was an image of Claire, exactly as Jenny was now, though he hair was unbound, tumbling around her tear-streaked face, and the light was not that of a candle (where it came from exactly, he could not say, for it was unnaturally steady). The sorrow etched on her face came back to him with great clarity – was it her he was seeing, or just his own grief reflected back at him? 

He longed to know that she and the child were safe, as Ian would know that his wife and children were safe. As he dwelt on the dream, a thought came to him that shook him to the core. If they were safe, would Claire want to know the same of him? 

He may never know of them, but they could possibly know of him. If he were to write to Claire, was it possible that she would receive it? It was such a small thing, it seemed all too likely that it would be lost in the flow of the years, and she wouldn’t be looking for it. But if there was a chance…  

Over the subsequent weeks in his cave, he wrote to her, putting his love to letter as best he could. Yet a small voice reproached him with his own selfishness. He could not deny it, a substantial part of him was writing in the hope that Claire would to find the letter and realize he was alive. That she would then return to him, she and the child, and they would be a family again. 

Yet could he leave her with the horrible choice between returning to him despite the danger, and staying in her time, for the safety of their child? 

Yes. He had promised her honesty, and as such, he could not keep his survival a secret from her. 

What was more, he owed her the choice. He had left her no choice but to return to the future after Culloden, yet now the situation was vastly different. She alone was capable of knowing whether or not she and the bairn could safely return. 

The best he could do to protect them was to tell Claire of the hardships of the present, to make sure she knew as much as possible in order to make the best choice for their child. If there was a way that Claire and the child could return, she would find it. If this time was too dangerous for them to return to, then they would endure the separation. His choice was made. 

He tucked the letter into the inside breast pocket of his thin coat. It would not leave his person until he found a suitable place for it. 

Until then, it would be safe there - they would be safe.


Frank delicately laid the paper down, unable take his eyes off of it. It was so thin he could make out the wood grain of his desk through it - as ghost-like as the man who’d written it, and just as present. He’d felt Fraser lying between them since the moment Claire had returned, though he’d then believed the man had been from the present. And now? 

Claire using a historical figure to support her mad story was one thing; it could easily be believed that she’d run off with some man, and then he’d died and she’d gone mad. This, however; a historical figure supporting her story from across the veil of time… 

The rational side of him rejected it, but a small, niggling voice becoming louder by the minute argued that the description of her physique and manner were unsettlingly accurate, far too accurate to be a coincidence. And the reference to ‘her time’ was far to clear to be ignored.

The historian in him could not help but be excited. Yet the husband in him seethed, cursing his colleague for sending him the box of post-Uprising prison documents for his research, cursing the young, sentimental Ardsmuir guard who’d taken and saved the letter from the new inmate, and most of all cursing James Fraser for writing it.

A slow, creeping fear chilled him as he contemplated the letter. If Claire were to find this…

She’d come out of the horror of the war bolder and stronger than she’d entered it, but when she’d returned after having been missing for not quite three years, she’d been utterly broken. If she knew Fraser was still alive, he had a nasty suspicion that she would return to him. And if she returned, she would take his darling Brianna with her, destroying their family. 

His scholarly nature would not let him destroy the letter – the only proof the Claire’s story was true – but he could not risk her finding it. 

He locked it deep in one of his filing cabinets, in the file marked ‘1753’. Claire had never shown any interest in his work, and that hadn’t changed since her reappearance. 

It was safe there - they were safe.