of the vast

[dr]OUTLANDER Drabbles. Love at Leoch.

Anon: What if Claire was more aware that Jamie was in love with her at Leoch ?

Thanks for the ask, Anon. I hope this floats your boat. You’re all legends and thanks for all the lovely messages of support and love over the last few weeks. I’ve had some epic wee messages.

Mwah.


Closing her eyes, Claire laid her head in the long grass, letting the distant sound of the children’s laughter wash over her.

Blue.

The colour flashed before her eyes; a vast ocean of vibrant surf that surged over her, towing her along with the ever flowing tide.

The wind ripped through the field, sending the blades of grass fluttering against the bare skin of her legs as the vision dissipated as quickly as it had risen.

Rolling herself over, Claire laid her ears to the ground, tracking the slight pulse of the ground as the horses nearby rattled the earth.

It was serene; peaceful in the rush of highland life and it was just what Claire needed.

That she’d seen the colour blue was no accident and that thought brought her mind straight back to Mr. MacTavish. Jamie. If his massacred back told one story, his endless sea-blue eyes told another.

She’d noticed him, of course. The way his eyes followed her around the room. The previous evening he’d gotten himself beaten in the great hall and Claire had the distinct feeling it wasn’t wholly to save Laoghaire from the shame of being flogged –as he had told her.

Butterflies soared and flopped in her belly, making her skin prickle with goosebumps at the distant wonderings that spiked in her mind at this new revelation.

As much as he had captivated her, making her seek him out randomly for reasons she hadn’t fully admitted yet, she had enchanted him much more deeply.

“Mistress…?” Rupert called, breaking her train of thought as the broad Scot kicked at the dry ground with the toe of his boot. “It’s about time ye got back now, aye?” he said, no room for argument in his statement.

Pushing herself up, Claire brushed stray pieces of detritus from her skirts and she righted herself. Marching down, she studiously ignored her guard, eager not to have him –or Dougal– rule her every move. Part of her felt rebellious. Throwing her head backwards, she fanned out her loose hair in the breeze as she made it under the portcullis, its large spikes hovering over head as she passed under it.

The scent of the stables, the straw that lay along the path leading up towards the entrance to her rooms holding the scent of the fillies, brought back the image of Jamie to her subconscious and she smiled automatically, his under-appreciated innocence buoying her dulled spirits.

Forgetting herself for just a moment, she allowed herself to bask in the past glances he’d bestowed upon her.

*Love*

The term brought her up short as she pushed the door to the surgery open and began to make her way down the steep staircase, ever aware of Rupert following closely behind her.

Could he possibly, in such a short time, have developed such deep feeling for her?

It was plausible, of course. She’d seen instances of it during the war. Those couples who’d –in the midst of such painful tragedy and horror– taken one look at the other and fallen under a spell to which they’d gladly succumbed.

Claire knew lust. That *feeling* certainly didn’t elicit the kind of baleful stare that Jamie had given her at the news of her leaving.

Just for a instance, he had seemed despondent. His smile had slipped as she’d cleared away and checked his face for any lasting damage. At the time she hadn’t given it much thought. But now, upon processing every interaction from meeting under the stones at Craigh Na Dunn, the pieces all clicked into place.

Jamie had been the one to track her and bring her back to the Mackenzie party. He had held her close through the ride, ensuring her safety as well as her captivity.

On arrival at Leoch, he had put himself forward as her protector, revealing much more of his history to her than he had to others within the castle walls.

If this was to be believed then even his closeness as she’d nursed his immediate wounds was to be analysed. He *had* come close to kissing her. She hadn’t just imagined that.

Claire’s heart skipped a beat as she tapped her fingers against the small wooden table by the fire, the jagged rhythm of her nails against the coarse wood echoing through the small chamber.

“Jesus…H. Roosevelt Christ!” she muttered under her breath as the full picture immersed before her eyes like a completed puzzle.

He loved her.

Truly.

Rupert busied himself in the background, perplexed by Claire’s odd behaviour but not brave enough to pester her about it. She was where she was supposed to be and that’s all that mattered to him.

Swallowing back the warmth that crept through her body at the thought of young Mr. Mactavish (whom she knew a lot about, but not his real name) falling in love with her, Claire steadied herself.

No matter what, she concluded, he must not be allowed any opportunity to act upon his feelings.

Placing an apple to one side, Claire gazed into the blazing fire, her mind made up.

She had to escape. Returning to the stones wasn’t simply now just for her benefit, but for Jamie’s too.

Unable to reconcile herself, Claire batted the thoughts away.

He must not be allowed to fall any deeper, she realised, far far too late.

At the back of her mind, buried deep enough for Claire to ignore for the time being, a spark began to burn, its tiny orange pulse expanding outwards.

Whether or not she wanted it, the part of her that had finally succumbed to the knowledge of Jamie’s situation had inadvertently and inextricably linked them together.

As Claire curled under her blankets that night, dedicated to acquiring her freedom once and for all – her heart beating slowly, quietly beneath her rib cage – her unconscious mind reached forward into the not-too-distant future and penetrated her dreams.

– –

Soft hands tugged at her laces, pulling the intricately sewn stomacher from the front of her bodice. As the material dropped, freeing her breasts and exposing them to the cool air of the room, his lips ran damp patterns over her needy skin.

Keening, Claire thrust her chest forward, her fingers tangling in his long red locks.

Taking her nipple into his mouth, Jamie obeyed her lascivious –silent– request, arching his body closer to hers.

“I love you…” she whispered into the dark, her legs falling open as the invisible weight of him slipped between her thighs, his spectre pinning her to the lumpy mattress.

2

“I do not wish to…that is.…I do not mean to imply.…” He looked up suddenly and smiled, with a helpless gesture. “I dinna want to insult you by sounding as though I think you’ve a vast experience of men, is all. But it would be foolish to pretend that ye don’t know more than I do about such matters. What I meant to ask is, is this…usual? What it is between us, when I touch you, when you…lie with me? Is it always so between a man and a woman?”

In spite of his difficulties, I knew exactly what he meant. His gaze was direct, holding my eyes as he waited my answer. I wanted to look away, but couldn’t.

“There’s often something like it,” I said, and had to stop and clear my throat. “But no. No, it isn’t—usual. I have no idea why, but no. This is…different.”

He relaxed a bit, as though I had confirmed something about which he had been anxious.

“I thought perhaps not. I’ve not lain with a woman before, but I’ve…ah, had my hands on a few.” He smiled shyly, and shook his head. “It wasna the same. I mean, I’ve held women in my arms before, and kissed them, and…well.” He waved a hand, dismissing the and. “It was verra pleasant indeed. Made my heart pound and my breath come short, and all that. But it wasna at all as it is when I take you in my arms and kiss you.” His eyes, I thought, were the color of lakes and skies, and as fathomless as either.

He reached out and touched my lower lip, barely brushing the edge. “It starts out the same, but then, after a moment,” he said, speaking softly, “suddenly it’s as though I’ve a living flame in my arms.” His touch grew firmer, outlining my lips and caressing the line of my jaw. “And I want only to throw myself into it and be consumed.”

I thought of telling him that his own touch seared my skin and filled my veins with fire. But I was already alight and glowing like a brand. I closed my eyes and felt the kindling touch move to cheek and temple, ear and neck, and shuddered as his hands dropped to my waist and drew me close.

anonymous asked:

i'm a vegan (yes, yes, found the vegan, cut the jokes) and i'm new to the solarpunk movement. i noticed that the question of our eating habits isn't discussed much (or at all) and to me, a solarpunk-future is only possible if we cut meat, dairy products and eggs out of our diets. it's probably only because i choose this lifestyle for me and it seems so obvious to me, but why no one talks about this? any thoughts or ideas about this?

I think veganism makes a lot of sense in relation to solarpunk, but I think it’s not the only reasonable approach to diet – particularly because of the social, cultural, and survival implications it can have for a lot of marginalized groups and individuals. 

I do think that it’s absolutely necessary to end industrial-scale production of animal products, and that a more heavily plant-based diet for the vast majority is the only sustainable way forward. 

There are people in solarpunk who are vegan, and who advocate veganism as part of what it means to them to be solarpunk. There are also people in the community who are critical of veganism, for its connection in some cases to efforts to suspend cultural practices of marginalized communities, or the insensitivity that some vegans have shown to people whose economic constraints or health needs complicate the matter.

Personally, I’m not vegan – I’m a weekday vegetarian – but I support vegans and veganism. I feel a bit iffy about the way that some folks treat it as a personal moral responsibility, because acting like systematic harms can be solved by lots of people just individually making extremely complex decisions perfectly is a really good way to diffuse and undermine activist energy. (It also can have some purity undertones that I think are counterproductive to ethical decisionmaking.)

But I think veganism as a movement is effective as a boycott, creating a sustained and systematic demand for alternatives to animal product dependence which over time makes those kinds of choices easier and easier for more and more people.

There has been some conversation back and forth about diet in solarpunk, but I think it’s been a while since it came up, and it’s not always super easy to find histories of thought on Tumblr. 

All that said – I hope you feel welcome, and I’m glad you’re getting into the community!

smolsoftkarkat  asked:

You're not faking it just because you have a fuck ton of canons/timelines/kintypes. In the multiverse theory, in this vast existence, you having a lot of lives isn't weird or dubious. Yeah you want to carefully explore each kintype because it's part of you and you want to make sure it's you, but it's okay to make mistakes, and you're not fake for being an "old soul".

Gabe’s Favorite Sweets

Originally posted by lucifersagents

Pairing: Gabe x Reader
Word count: 259

Part 4 of 4 of Caramel and Honey


Your daughter was turning 7, and it was by far the best birthday she’d had to date. Not only was her father there, but his hand was laced with yours. Seeing you and Gabe together, she giggled and ran off to chase Sam. Not long after Gabe was back in your lives, in walked Cas, Sam, and Dean.

To say that your reunion had been emotional would be a vast understatement. While Cas was so engrossed in a story that Van had been telling him, the boys had bombarded you with questions.

You were still fearful for the life of your daughter,  but not enough to run. Not again. Van now knew the truth- about angels, demons, monsters, and everything else.


“Merry Christmas!” Van laughed, jumping up and down on your bed. Why she felt the need to wake you up before dawn when Gabe was in the living room watching tv was beyond you.

Rolling over, you grabbed her sides and tickled her. “You’re lucky you’re cute!” You teased her. “I’m up, I’m up. Go tell Daddy to make some coffee.” You yawned.

She jumped off the bed. “He already did. Jack woke up and daddy said you wouldn’t be ‘far behind.”

“He’s right.”

“I thought I heard my beautiful wife.” Gabe chuckled from the doorway, your one year old son on his hip.

You sat up and smiled at him. “No. I’m not having another kid any time soon, Gabriel.” You teased, knowing he wanted as many as possible.

His face lit up. “Too late, sweetcheeks…”

Keep reading

vibrant words

immemorial (adj): originating in the distant past; very old.

visceral (adj): relating to deep inward feelings rather than to the intellect.

albatross (n): a very large oceanic bird related to the shearwaters, with long narrow wings. 

encroach (v): advance gradually beyond usual or acceptable limits.

drift (n): a continuous slow movement from one place to another.

presence (n): the state or fact of existing, occurring, or being present in a place or thing.

vast (adj): of very great extent or quantity; immense.

soliloquy (n): an act of speaking one’s thoughts aloud when by oneself or regardless of any hearers, especially by a character in a play.

lagoon (n): a stretch of salt water separated from the sea by a low sandbank or coral reef.

mirrored (adj): having a surface like a mirror; reflective.

phoenix (n): a unique bird that lived for five or six centuries in the Arabian desert, after this time burning itself on a funeral pyre and rising from the ashes with renewed youth to live through another cycle.

inspiration (n): the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, especially to do something creative.

saturation (n): the state or process that occurs when no more of something can be absorbed, combined with, or added.

luminous (adj): full of or shedding light; bright or shining, especially in the dark.

phosphorescence (n): light emitted after exposure to radiation, or produced by something that doesn’t produce flame or heat. 

negligible (adj): so small or unimportant as to be not worth considering; insignificant.

arboreal (adj): relating to trees.

incandescent (adj): emitting light as a result of being heated.

anonymous asked:

Hey, it's me, the Stargazing S/O anon person, and I'm here to say that they were very cute! Could I also get Fort Max and Ultra Magnus?

I’m glad you liked it ^.^

Fortress Maximus 

  • Max thinks you’re absolutely precious and gushes over your when you get excited about the stars. He can’t help but pick you up and cover you in smooches.
  • He cuddles with you next to the window and you make up constellations together.
  • When he’s being especially romantic he calls you “Starshine.”

Ultra Magnus

  • You make his spark skip a beat with how cute you are. 
  • He’s eager to tell you about all the places he’s been and what he’s seen. His tales are enrapturing; he has a perfect story-telling voice.
  • He convinces Rodimus to steer just a bit off course in order to show you sth prettiest places, galaxies that swirl like liquid rainbow and shooting stars raining across the vastness. It’s beautiful- but not as beautiful as you.

Obviously, free-bleeding discourse is dumb but I’m amazed at people who claim that freebleeding is an urban legend made up my MRAs because those people have evidently never read cringe-inducing 90s feminist classic Cunt by Inga Muscio, in which the author talks about just kind of chilling with an old towel between her legs when home alone and then sometimes dripping blood on the floor.  

Which, 1)is just a more detailed and slightly more intense version of the free-bleeding that the vast majority of adult women have engaged in, the form also known as “who the fuck cares about these black sweatpants anyway?” and 2)is the least weird, least twee anecdote in that godawful book, and definitely less bad than the overall thesis of the chapter it’s found in, which is that, by staring at the moon and giving up ibuprofun you will become so in tune with your menstrual cycle that you’ll never have to worry about unplanned pregnancy again, because, actual quote, “you will be that hip to yourself.”

anonymous asked:

Honestly I don't know why people keep defending suicide squad's winning?? It seems pretty obvious that Beyond had better makeup...

Purely because they love it. 

Their argument also is Croc. Who is good. NO ONE is saying that Croc isn’t good. Anyone can see that was wonderful and skilled make up.

But Star Trek, with it’s VAST numbers of aliens, again, 56. How can you say that this one, out did the many. Lol almost a Star Trek quote.  (here is an article about the aliens LINK)

What most worries me about this is that the SS fandom are ignoring the pure sexism which was applied to their film and too Harley Quinn (margot robbie) which has been proven here [Source].

The main character was reduced by the Oscars to nothing more than a sex symbol.  (And yes the Oscars do this a lot. Don’t forget they are often racist too)

If Star Trek won because they said the same shit about Uhura I would be FURIOUS. Especially if there was a film which clearly had put THOUSANDS of hours into so many creations. I would lose my mind. Heck, when the people who made the JJ films said that kinda of thing the whole fandom LOST THE PLOT and called it out. 

Skill in film making will last forever and can even change the face of film making. Sex appeal, does not last. 

If you respect what you love, you would be outraged by any of the actors and characters being reduced to sexual appeal. 

SS might of won, but they didn’t win through respect. And that should make someones skin crawl. It would mine (and i will say it again. If Star Trek was beaten by someone else for skill alone, fair play it has happened a lot. Always fair play. But if Star trek beat someone else on a characters sexual appeal, I would go mad)

Better Than Words (Phillipa Soo x Reader)

Write-A-Thon: Day 2 (Femslash)

Summary: At 3 am, the world is asleep and your best friend has dragged you up to the hotel rooftop to stargaze- but the stars reflected in each other’s eyes are far more captivating than the ones in the sky will ever be.

Words: 2166

A/N: here’s day 2 of the write-a-thon ft me being a hoe for space and sneakily putting in quotes from skam



You’d always loved stars, and space as a whole for that matter. Whether it was simply to gaze at them or to study them, you always found a sense of blissful happiness in the gleaming beacons of light scattered across the formidable vast darkness of the sky.

The planetarium, to say the very least, had been a colossal disappointment, although perhaps that was to be blamed on the fact that you’d set your expectations far too high. But even by lower standards, it was a vastly overrated show.

Perhaps the artificial pleasure of the planetarium was sufficient for some people, but you much preferred the real stars, not a flimsy projection.

You drew out a slow and heavy sigh. In the frigid air, it seemed unnatural not to see the puffs of your breath hanging in the air before you, but the visual had been stolen away by the darkness.

Pulling the stiff blanket tighter around your shivering body, you made one last attempt to let yourself fall into the restless sleep that often came with sleeping away from home, especially in hotels such as this one.

Given the choice, you would have stayed home, but you weren’t granted that luxury. School trips were mandatory, and this overnight stay in Ashland was no exception. At least the school had been kind enough to put you in a hotel room with Phillipa Soo, the only classmate who you felt comfortable enough with to speak to.

“Pippa?” Your voice was a mere whisper, swallowed by the reigning darkness, but it somehow reached Phillipa’s ears.

“Yeah?” she breathed, rolling over in her bed so she could face you.

The night was illuminated only by her eyes, sparkling with a new light as if a fire had been ignited in her, world erupting in forever ardent flames.

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted, your words clinging to the tip of your tongue like a secret that wasn’t eager to be told.

More than anything, you wanted to go home. Back to your own mattress, your own sheets, your own bathroom. To burnt toast in the morning rather than the freshly prepared hotel meals. You longed for the feeling of belonging that lingered behind those walls. The only thing that lingered in the hotel room was the sense of a false comfort.

“Me either,” Phillipa whispered, her voice wavering in the still night.

Your eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness and you could just barely make out Phillipa’s face. Dark hair falling around her pale face in waves, lips turned upwards in the teasing hint of a smile. She was ethereal, almost, as if she’d been sent directly from heaven.

“I barely sleep,” you confessed to her, not intending to speak in a whisper, yet the night demanded hushed tones. “But it’s worse here.”

“Sleep is the cousin to death.” She spoke in soothing tones that greatly contradicted the nature of the statement. “It’s only natural to fear it.”

“I don’t fear it.” You drew out a sigh, selecting your words carefully as if plucking them one by one out of the air. “It’s never come naturally to me, I just can’t turn my brain off. And when I’m far from home, it’s worse. There’s just too many thoughts in my head.”

Phillipa seemed to consider your words for a few moments. “You like space, don’t you?” she asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

You nodded, unsure of where she was heading with this.

“That planetarium exhibit was awful.” She kept her tone light, adding another layer of comfort to the night, and perhaps, you thought, perhaps you could even get so comfortable with the soothing sound of her voice that you could drift off.

“Yeah…” Your voice was muffled, hesitant, not quite daring to make eye contact.

“Hey…” Phillipa spoke softly, struggling to hold your gaze. “How’d you like to look at some real stars?”

“Real stars?” You wrapped your lips around a smile, daring to ask the question. “And how exactly would you go about showing me some of those?”

“Mmm…” Phillipa flashed a small smile, speaking with the kind of unbreakable confidence that you couldn’t deny intimidated you, but the gentle warmth was ever present in her eyes. “What if I told you I knew the way up to the roof?”


You followed Phillipa to the roof, wishing with every step you took that you’d thought to bring a jacket. The frigid air cut into your skin like knives.

You tucked your knees into your chest as you sat just far enough from the edge of the roof that there was no danger of falling. Even with Phillipa sitting right next to you, you could barely see her face: her hair fell in a sheet concealing her from your view.

“How many floors are in this hotel?” you murmured, daring to glance down at the world below you. You immediately regretted it. Your stomach seemed to drop from the top of the building, and your heart rate sped up.

“Don’t look down,” Phillipa advised, her gentle voice washing over you like the tide. “It’ll only freak you out.”

“Too late.” You cracked a smile through your nervousness, but Phillipa could still see the fear in your eyes.

“Look up at the sky instead,” she told you, pointing upwards. You followed the direction of her finger and gazed up at the stars like scattered diamonds against the night sky. You found your worries dissipating as you searched for constellations among the thousands- millions of stars against the pitch black curtain draped over the sky.

You fought back the urge to smile, biting your lip in resistance. You resigned yourself to silence, letting Phillipa fill the quiet. She was good at it: she always laughed the loudest, smiled the widest, and her eyes gleamed the brightest.

“Look at them,” Phillipa continued, referring to the stars. “They’re so small from here, but each of them is even bigger than our sun.”

You nodded, sucking in air as if you were afraid to speak.

In the silence, Phillipa continued to talk, and you let her. You let her lead you farther in, allowing yourself to get lost in her words.

“Imagine it. Those stars, they could have their own planets just like ours circling them. Planets with life.” Her voice floated through the near summer breeze, giving it an almost sing song tone.

“I’d like that.” Voice timid and shaky, you let yourself speak. “I think…” You trailed off as you felt Phillipa’s eyes on you, waiting for you to continue.

You tilted your head up towards the sky and let yourself lose your mind under the stars. Your breathing came in trembling waves. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

“I think I’d like to see one of those planets.” It took a few moments but you finally finished your sentence as you focused your attention solely on your breath.

“It’s easier to pretend that they don’t exist.” Phillipa let herself fall back against the rooftop, lying next to you with a lazy smile dancing across her face.

“I disagree.”

Phillipa raised her eyebrows, amused by the notion. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” You didn’t elaborate, simply letting your words stand alone with no explanation needed. Why disrupt the peaceful silence with meaningless words?

“We can’t possibly be alone in the universe.” She spoke with a reassuring tone, though you couldn’t tell whether she meant it to be directed towards you or herself. “But I think that it would make things easier if we were.”

“Mmm…” You thought for a few moments, waiting to see if Phillipa had anything else to add. “It would be worse to be alone. We’d be so… helpless. Just a tiny little rock floating through space. Isn’t it better to have that constant reassurance that there’s someone- or something else?”

“What good does it do us to believe in life elsewhere?” Phillipa’s voice almost shocked you: you weren’t expecting it to have such bitter undertone. “It’s not like there are aliens here. On our planet.”

“Maybe in some alternate universe there is,” you mused, thinking out loud more than putting real consideration into your words.

Phillipa smirked lazily, letting her lips part slowly. “Don’t tell me you believe in alternate universes as well as aliens.”

In that moment, you had never been more grateful for the darkness: it hid the blush that slowly flooded your cheeks. Even so, you turned away from Phillipa so she wouldn’t see. “Maybe.”

Phillipa spurred up a soft chuckle, the sound ringing out clearly in the still night. She wasn’t mocking you though, you were sure of that.

“The thing about alternate universes,” she began, in the same soothing voice. It seemed as though no matter what she was saying, her voice carried that same gentle undertone. “The thing about them is that the whole concept is just the product of wishful thinking.”

“Wishful thinking?” you repeated, trying to figure out how that could possibly be the source of alternate universes.

“Yeah. Because that’s what people would like to think exists.” The words rolled smoothly off of Phillipa’s tongue as she filled the gaping silence of the night. “If something goes wrong, they have that to blame it on. They can think that the only reason things are going badly is that they’re going fine in some other universe.”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged off Phillipa’s theory in favor of your own. “I think they’re real. I think that somewhere far away, in another universe, everything is exactly the same except… I don’t know.”

“You really believe that there’s really the same Pippa and the same (Y/N) on the same rooftop but you were smart enough to bring a coat?” Phillipa laughed softly, but the sound died off when she saw just how cold you were. “Sorry. Here-” She slipped her own jacket off of her shoulders. “Wear this.”

You pulled her hoodie around yourself and smiled gratefully. You found yourself getting lost in Phillipa’s eyes, and the way the stars up above reflected in them. It was as if you simply lacked the capacity to care about anything but her star sprinkled eyes.

“Y/N?” Phillipa’s voice drew your attention back to reality.

“Yeah?”

“We should probably get back inside before someone notices we’re gone.” You could almost detect a hint of disappointment in her voice.

“Yeah…” You trailed off, knowing she was right. A quick glance at your watch confirmed that it was almost 3 am, and you couldn’t even fathom the amount of trouble you would get in if you were caught out of bed at this time.

Yet, neither of you made any move to get up. You continued to lie next to each other on the roof, eyes staring into one another’s, and both seeing much more than simply a face in the dark.

“Hey… um…” Phillipa stumbled over her words, cheeks flushing a deep red.

You raised your eyebrows in concern: you’d never seen Phillipa so lost for something to say.

“I don’t actually know that much about space,” she confessed, biting her lip anxiously. “I just… I may have looked it up before we got here. I… well, I knew that you liked space and I thought…” she trailed off.

You’d never felt as much at a loss for words as you did in that moment, and never had there been a worse time for you to forget how to speak.

“I thought it might impress you,” she finished, regaining a small shred of confidence.

“Oh.” You knew that one word wouldn’t suffice, but you didn’t quite know how to respond to a confession like that.

The smooth and confident Pippa from mere hours ago was gone, replaced by the blushing, insecure girl before you.

You reached out across the void for her hand, letting your fingers brush up against hers. You drew out a smile as she slipped her hand into yours. They felt like ice in your hands.

“I just… I’m sorry, but I-”

“It’s okay,” you interjected, cutting her off mid sentence. “I promise.”

She smiled gratefully, letting her eyes flutter shut.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep,” you warned. “We’ve got to get inside. You’re freezing.”

“Mmm…” She smiled sleepily, resting her head on your shoulder. “Would it be wrong to kiss you?”

You faltered, unsure of how to respond to a question such as that one. “It wouldn’t be wrong.” You dragged your words out, giving yourself time to consider what she’d said. “Maybe… you could.”

Her smile widened considerably, and her eyes lit up with a fervent light you’d never seen in her before. But despite it, she still giggled nervously, cheeks flushed pink.

“You can kiss me,” you decided, meeting her gaze. “I’d like that.”

Gently, she pressed her lips against yours, and you swore you saw stars- though perhaps it was the ones up in the sky.

As you kissed her, you found that the best part was that you hadn’t even lied.

Overthinking

In solitude and nightfall

my thoughts are adrift

floating through the vast 

endless spectrum of this existence

without destination or time frame

pondering eternity 

and the infinite variables

this life has led me to

or that it could possibly lead me to

and in those moments

I feel overwhelmed

yet somehow content as well

anonymous asked:

You said "Mycroft put up with younger siblings who had a vast array of mental and emotional issues along with his own", what sort of mental and emotional issues do you imagine Mycroft to have ?

For one it would be an immense sense of paranoia considering he’s committing treason, felonies left and right coupled with this hair thin line of keeping one step ahead of those who oppose him and would rat him out in a heartbeat if they had the evidence to spare.

There’s also his superiority (toward those who are not family or his superiors) and inferiority (toward his family as evidence through Mummy and Eurus Holmes about his self worth) that leads to his stress eating, drinking, and sleepless nights.

Its this rotten combination that makes it difficult for Mycroft to be happy even if he exercises because his job makes it exceedingly difficult to find time for such maintenance and his siblings constant movements do not make it any easier.

He may seem omniscient and godly but Mycroft is just a man. A big brother trying his best to keep the family together and out of jail.

The way his family treats him deteriorates his self worth in vast chunks that he finds his only reprieve in surrounding himself with goldfish in order not to feel stupid and unwanted.

He craves that validation that he hardly receives from his family and finds it in his job where Mycroft has made himself irreplaceable.

Sherlock finds Mycroft’s desire for attention to be in poor taste and will bug the shit out of him for it which then leads to self destructive behaviors like over eating and drinking when he should be sleeping.

Trust issues would be another part of his list of problems as well as being an insomniac. This leads him to be forgetful and messy at times and you simply can’t have that in his line of work which leads to more self-loathing and stress related eating.

Whatever Mycroft had for “self love” died with his fencing days and it makes him more upset every time he sees himself naked in the mirror.

With the amount of shit Mycroft deals with its no wonder his hair line is starting to recede.

Okay, so what’s this? It’s only a map of over fifty waffle-related institutions throughout the continental United States. It’s for a little something I like to call “The WA-FL Waffle Tour”, which – yes! – is pronounced “The Waffle Waffle Tour”. 

Here’s the idea. In a zig-zagging yet planned route, I will drive in a van through all forty-eight contiguous states in order to not only travel this vast and ridiculous land in almost toto, but also to try the waffles at one particular and notable culinary nook in each states. Why? Because road trips and waffles are great. That’s not up for debate.

I’ve broken down the trip into five legs: Red (from Seattle, WA to Syracuse, NY) is the Northern Leg; Yellow (from Killington, VT to White Sulphur Springs, WV) is the Atlantic Leg; Green (from Louisville, KY to Los Angeles) is the Midwestern Leg; Blue (from Las Vegas, NV to New Orleans, LA) is the Southwestern Leg; and Purple (from Jackson, MS to Miami, FL) is the Southeastern Leg. 

The black points are the endpoints. At the end of this trip, should it happen, I will have eaten waffles from the Emerald City of Seattle to the Magic City of Miami. It will be glorious. It will be delicious.

The map with the list of places is here. Should you decide to embark on this waffling trip before I do, let me know; I’d love to hear all about it.

British Expeditionary Force to Carry Out French Orders

British PM Lloyd George and French PM Aristide Briand, pictured in 1921.

February 27 1917, Calais–Lloyd George had been horrified by the months of carnage on the Somme, and placed the blame for it entirely at Haig’s feet.  However, he did not feel he had the political clout to get rid of Haig, nor that any successor would be a vast improvement.  He was, however, very impressed by the new French commander-in-chief, General Nivelle, who promised to break through the German lines with a swift offensive–and, most importantly, said that he would call the offensive off within two weeks if it did not prove successful.

At a conference in Calais on February 26, called ostensibly for the purpose of discussing railroad logistics for the upcoming British offensive, Lloyd George unexpectedly brought up the topic of a single command for the Allied armies in France:

The enemy has but one army.  The Entente Powers should secure for themselves the same advantage, especially in battle.  If we do not do this we cannot hope for complete success.  Let us speak with the utmost frankness.  Let no one hesitate to give his opinion as to the best organization to adopt for our common action.  All personal considerations must be laid aside.  There is no room either for circumlocution or false delicacy.

Here, Lloyd George hoped that Nivelle would put forward a specific proposal in which Nivelle would be placed in complete command of the Allied armies in France.  Nivelle did indeed make such a suggestion, but attempting to keep plausible deniability, did not immediately put forth a prepared memorandum outlining exactly what this would mean.  He did so eventually later in the evening, but made it seem like he was being forced to do so by his government.

The French proposal was breathtaking in its scope.  It would basically turn the British Expeditionary Force into a French Army Group.  Haig would have to follow Nivelle’s orders, and would not even be able to protest to London about it.  All coordination between the British government and the BEF would take place through a British Chief of Staff attached to Nivelle’s headquarters (who would presumably be Sir Henry Wilson).

The British generals were understandably horrified by the proposals, and objected strenuously.  However, Lloyd George was adamant, and only allowed a few modifications to it before it was signed just before noon on the 27th. The arrangement would only last until the end of the upcoming offensive (as determined by the respective governments), and Haig kept the right to protest to London if he felt that Nivelle’s orders “would compromise the safety of his army.”  Haig was allowed “to choose the means to be employed an the manner in which his troops will be utilized,” but would still have to follow Nivelle’s orders.  

Today in 1916: Austrians Conquer Albania
Today in 1915:  Moulin Rouge Destroyed by Fire

Sources include: E.L. Spears, Prelude to Victory.

Meat Market: Female Flesh Under Capitalism by Laurie Penny

“Feminists – even prominent ones with big platforms to shout from – do not get to be the gatekeepers of what is and is not female, what is and is not feminine, any more than patriarchal apologists do. Intrinsic to feminism is the notion that such gatekeeping is sexist, recalcitrant and damaging. If feminists like Greer, Bindel and Jan Raymond truly believe that having a vagina, breasts, curves, a uterus, being fertile or sporting several billion XX chromosomes is what makes a person a woman, it clearly sucks to be one of the significant proportion of women who have none of these things.

There are women all over the world who lack breasts following mastectomy or a quirk of biology; women who are born without vaginas, or who are victims of female genital mutilation; women who are androgynously skinny, naturally or because of illness; women who have had hysterectomies; women who are infertile or post-menopausal; or the vast spectrum of women who are biologically intersex, who make up 0.2% of women worldwide. Is the female identity of these people under question too? If it is, feminism has a long way to go.”

She’s using women who are victims of female genital mutilation to justify trans identity and insinuating gender critical feminists don’t believe FGM victims are real women, ignoring that women are subjected to these things because they are female.

madnessmadness said: I want 500 words by Monday Sargent!

This is a little more than 500 and it’s NOT GOOD I AM SORRY

“I’d like to borrow your cat.”

Miriam sets down the gravy boat heavily, watching me as if she wishes she had something else to look at. She’s an impressive woman. She owns the tavern on the ground floor, and a small collection of cigarette boxes she bought from a visiting Chinaman, and her vast stores of good sense. She’s been a dear friend since my arrival, and kind enough to invite me to dinner, knowing I survive off the grocer’s slightly soft peaches and bread from the innkeeper’s wife, who pities me.

“Why would you want to do that?” She asks after a moment.

“I intend to speak to her.” I’ve always been impertinent. Hard to break that habit.

“Who?” Miriam does a passable job at acting, but her gaze is too hard.

“The woman who lives in the woods.”

Keep reading

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For the past 24 years, Patton has enjoyed a close and creative partnership with the decidedly non-Californian composer and performer John Zorn. He introduced himself to the saxophonist at a gig in 1990, offering up a Mr. Bungle demo tape. Zorn later was to help mix and produce the group’s first album.

Since then, Patton has established himself among Zorn’s vast array of collaborating musicians, appearing on many of his albums and releasing two discs of his own on Zorn’s label, Tzadik (1997’s Futurism-inspired PranzoOltranzista and 1999’s Adult Themes for Voice).

Patton and Zorn even have a continuing group together: the electronics/sax/vocals improv trio ;“Hemophiliac” with Ikue Mori.

Under that banner, they’ve released a limited-edition two-CD set and a live CD from one of Zorn’s birthday gigs at defunct New York performance space Tonic.

The Hemophiliac project has taught Patton what he calls an important lesson;

“that aggression is fine, but it’s not necessarily a panacea. Zorn and I felt it was really important that we have a great language, we play duo all the time but it’s much deeper and more intense to have Ikue there,” he explains, "There really is a difference in approach from the female improvisers that I’ve played with and the males. And over time, Ikue taught me that it isn’t always about attack, attack, attack. What that meant to me in Faith No More…I don’t think I knew it then. I was teenager. I think by our second record, I had it figured out, that there’s a world out there and there’s a whole lot of other ways to approach what you do.”

Day 178 Turangi to Taupo 56K

Lazy day today, easy ride into Taupo taking the route around the lake. Stopped for coffee twice and each time I met people who I had chatted to along the the way. One couple I had met on South Island a few weeks back. The last couple gave me water when I was short a few days back. Camper vans are two a penny here, where as crazy guys on bikes are far and few.

Lake Taupo is stunning, crystal clear water and a real vastness. The houses that back straight onto the lake have an amazing view and about the same price as a semi in Essex. Taupo township is a buzzing place, easy town to kick back for a few days. I am off to eat Indian tonight, must remember not to eat with my hands.

Tomorrow I go white water rafting, stage 4. I understand 5 is the top scale, so should be interesting. It will be nice to do something different. Apparently, we will be on the raft for nearly 3 hours, seems a long time to be thrown around like a rag doll! .

All is well.

anonymous asked:

So you kinda gettin smashed in that suicide squad post huh? Kinda makin you eat your own balls huh?

i mean, not really? i’ve been checking and most of the reblogs are my original version or with additions continuing to make fun of it. most of the comments are whiney makeup fans/whiney dc fans, but the vast majority of reblogs aren’t additions, because most people know how to take a fucking joke

edit: and a lot of the additions are about how star trek should’ve won