my father is a legend

Kai as a new father
  • Kai: *Walking around holding his baby 24/7*
  • Tenzin: Kai, may I have the honor of holding my granddaughter?
  • Kai: No.
  • Tenzin: Excuse me?
  • Kai: I'm sorry, it's just that I'm more comfortable when I'm the one holding her.
  • Tenzin: You are aware that I have four children, correct?
  • Kai:
  • Tenzin:
  • Kai: Yes, but this one's mine.
  • Admiral Ackbar: Finding you indispensable to the defense of the New Republic, I must refuse your resignation.
  • Han Solo: Now, just a blasted moment --
  • Admiral Ackbar: However, I also find that your current assignment does not make the best use of your experience and abilities. Effective immediately, I order you placed on detached duty, assigned to the president of the Senate as liaison for domestic defense. You are to assist her in whatever way she sees fit. Do you understand?
  • In which Admiral Ackbar helps Han become stay-at-home Dad and full-time husband, Before the Storm, Black Fleet Crisis #1

The latest Petillo WAVE archtop jazz guitar in blue. Featuring the Petillo Point, invented by my Father (Dr. Phil Petillo). This body shape was used by Jazz Legends Tal Farlow and Chuck Wayne. Check out the inlaid/hand filed paua abalone binding trim and “Blue Moon” color burst on the sides of the body.

  • The Laws Of The Timeline: It's a horrible shame that Leonard Snart is dead, but nothing can be done or else the timeline will be dangerously altered...
  • The Laws Of The Timeline: sometimes we think we can still hear his voice...

WTT…wondering where this will end?  

Yeah…me, too.  Hope you enjoy!


When Jamie woke in the morning he registered three things.  

First, his left hand was cupping the lovely pink clad arse of one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.  

Two, he had an erection.  Again.

Three, Claire was soaking wet which meant her fever had broken.  

And for good measure he counted a fourth.  He’d never slept better.  

He let his lips brush gently across her forehead, and started to get up. Claire stirred, and like new butterflies slowing opening their wings, her eyelids fluttered open.  She took in their position and her eyes widened.  

Jamie attempted to soften the shock, “Seems as if yer fever’s broken, Sassenach.  Yer a sweaty mess.  How do ye feel?”

Claire dipped her head and took stock.  She met Jamie’s eyes again.  “Better, actually.  Hungry.”

“Lucky for you, Sassenach, I make a mean scotch woodcock.” And he rolled out of bed quickly before she could feel the state of his manhood.  He definitely needed the island and the cooktop between himself and Claire.  

“A what??”  She sounded horrified.

He peeked back around the door frame.  “Relax. Scrambled eggs on toast.”  

After breakfast in which Claire proved she could, indeed, eat a lot, she announced she needed a shower and some fresh clothes.  Jamie agreed she would be more comfortable in her own bathroom. When she announced she’d be back in an hour, his relief surprised him.  He wasn’t ready to let this go.  

He couldn’t quite put his finger on why, other than that Claire intrigued him. She was this angel of mercy who came into his life and left a mark on his heart. She was honest, and straight-forward.  She worked hard and never complained.  For God’s sake, she was going into work with a fever!  

The one and only girlfriend he ever had was the most high-maintenance of women.  Annalise needed constant attention and when he couldn’t give it, she constantly pouted.  Always dressed to perfection, he’d never seen her without makeup.  In contrast, he’d never seen Claire with makeup wearing anything other than her scrubs. Well, her pink knickers were nice.  He’d be willing to take a second look at that again sometime soon.  

Showered, dressed in jeans and sweatshirt, feet bare, Jamie set up his work for the day.  Even though he was CEO of Fraser Distillery, he was also its graphic designer.  As the company grew he was constantly being told to hand it off, but he refused.  He needed his creative side to stay sane. And because it was his name, he would also be responsible for the face it showed.  

Today’s task – labels for the new wines.  He knew the shape of the label, and using his template for the lettering he started work on his computer.  Having carved out the space for the artwork, Jamie started to sketch.  Deep into his work it was a while before he realized Claire wasn’t back yet.  Pocketing his mobile, he went upstairs to her flat.  He knocked on the door.  Nothing.

“Claire?”  Nothing.  

Banging now, he shouted, “Claire!”

Holy God.  What if she fell in the shower?  What if she decided to go to work?  No.  No, she would have come for her pocketbook.  He paused and knocked again, louder.  Dammit. Nothing.  

Sprinting down the stairs to his flat he tore through the lounge and lifted his window.  Freezing November air caught him in the face.  Heedless of his bare feet he sprinted up the fire escape to her window.  Cupping his face to the glass he breathed a sigh of relief and fogged it up.  He stepped back, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.  Heart rate decreasing, he tried the window.  Locked.  Okay. She was okay.  

He took out his phone and texted her.  Bloody cold out here Beauchamp.  Help a guy out?  

He watched as Claire looked at her phone, and turned sharply from her kitchen sink to the window.  Thank God for notification sounds.  

She grabbed a towel to dry her hands and hurrying over to the window, she fumbled with her phone and took out her earbuds.  “Bloody hell, Jamie!  What do you think you’re doing?”

He felt stupid now that he was in her flat.  And he couldn’t think of anything cool to say.  So, he blurted out the truth.  “Ye said an hour.  I was worried ye’d fallen or somethin’.  Yer still somewhat weak.”  

He gestured helplessly as he looked down at the floor.  “I mean, yer fever just broke last night and ye havena eaten in days.”  

Claire was touched.  And now that he mentioned it, tired.  But her flat was such a mess.  It’d been ages since she’d cleaned and when she walked in earlier it seemed like she should take care of it.  “My laundry’s a fright, Jamie. And my flat is disgusting. I work so much…I thought the music would keep me awake long enough to put a dent in it and….” She let the sentence trail off.  

Jamie nodded.  “Here.  Let’s do the laundry at my place.  The rest we’ll tackle when yer feeling stronger, aye?”  

She nodded.  Jamie gathered up all the sorted piles of clothes and tossed them back into her overflowing basket.  He turned to carry it out the window and she laughed.  

“Come on, Sassenach.  Make sure the front door is locked.  Since it’s only us who share this escape, we can trust yer window to stay unlatched.”  Checking the door, and grabbing her key, she shut the window after her, and followed him down the short flight that separated them.

Stepping into the warmth of his home Claire asked, “Jamie?  “What’s “Sassenach”?”  

Jamie set the basket down, and closed the window.  “It means English woman.  Well, someone who isna from here, who isna from Scotland.”  

He turned to see her standing with hands on hips, a somewhat stubborn look on her face.  Her freshly washed hair framed her face in a riot of curls. Those whisky coloured eyes washed over him.  She smelled sweet and clean.  

He’d never seen a woman more beautiful.  In that moment, she was all the folklore, all the legends, and all the superstitions of his culture wrapped into one.  He was completely under her spell.  “My father used to tell us the legend of the woman who was stolen by the fairy folk, who traveled through the stones from faraway lands.  They’re rare. Unique. Fascinating. Other-worldly.”  

Claire shivered at his voice. It was low and soft, mesmerizing, vibrating with emotion.  And his sky blue eyes pierced through her as he spoke, almost at a whisper. “A Sassenach is spritely. And spirited.”  

Claire had never felt such a pull of attraction.  God, was he handsome. And that mop of red hair was dark auburn, and thick with golds. But it was more than his looks that called to her. It was his soul. The soul of him that set her nerves buzzing. He licked his lips. Claire’s breath shuddered.  He gave her that half smile again and said something.  

She shook her head.  “Did you just say “with ears like the wings of an elf”?”  

He shrugged.  

“Elves don’t have wings!” she admonished.

“Scottish ones do.”  

And she lunged at him, only to be caught in a bear hug.  She fake struggled, and he fake pretended she hurt him, and it was really only a way to flirt and touch and they both knew it.  So when she wrapped her arms around his middle and laid her head on his chest, he very naturally brushed his lips across her forehead and hugged her back. And when they parted, it felt like they’d hugged a million times before.

The moment was broken, but not forgotten.

Jamie set to work on his designs while Claire started her laundry.  They made pasta for lunch in an effort to get some weight back on Claire, and Claire ate two bowls.  Jamie took a phone call and when he was finished he noticed Claire had fallen asleep. Good.  Lord knows she needs the rest. He took his spare blanket and covered her on the sofa.

By the time she woke up in the late afternoon her last load was in the washer, Jamie was making pizza, and had pulled out the bottle of red wine he’d taken from the tasting.  And Claire was pleasantly surprised to see that a gentle snow had started falling.  They ate together, lights out, on the leather sofa that Jamie dragged over in front of the window that led to the fire escape.  

With only the street lamps to cast a soft glow into the flat, they talked quietly of their childhoods, and shared stories of how their parents had passed.  Jamie was surprised to hear of Claire’s travels with her Uncle Lamb, the archeologist.  And Claire was surprised to hear of Jamie losing his brother, Willie.  He even showed her the little wooden snake with “Sawny” etched on the back that Willie made him.  She smiled at the nickname.

Hours passed.  

Eventually the black iron of the fire escape turned into an ever changing white sculpture.  And just as slowly, they moved towards each other. Her feet in his lap first, his hand across the back of the sofa, her sitting up to place a head on his shoulder, him stretching a leg so that eventually she was sitting between his legs, her back to his front.  

When she half turned to smile at something he said, the kiss that followed seemed as natural as breathing.

anonymous asked:

fatimama i kno u love m'chael and bruno, so what r ur feelings towards stevie wonder? this is so random but honestly i'm curious 🔍🗿

i love him hez my uncle.. a legend n icon like my father 🤧 he makes masterpieces uponington masterpieces