pokin out

The Games We Play

A wee one shot of Jamie and Claire set around MOBY.

“Sassenach – do ye think me a fool?”

“Not often. Why?”

“I was just wonderin’ on account of the curly wee bits o’ green pokin’ out o’ my mashed potato.”

Claire sighed and rolled over, squinting to find the outline of her husband in the moonlight.

“It’s wild spinach…”

“It’s pigs weed …”

“And it’s incredibly …”

“Good for me. Aye, I ken. But ye ken I dinna care for it.”

One large hand crept across the space between them and settled pointedly on her bottom and Claire gave it a withering look over her shoulder before responding

“Which is why I went to the bother of chopping it up and mixing it in with your mashed potato, the same as Marsali does for Joan.”

Claire saw the glint of pale light on red whiskers as Jamie smiled, though the hand on her backside tightened ever so slightly.

“I am no’ a wee lass …”

“Well the fact that you need to say it …”
Claire laughed and felt Jamie quivering with suppressed laughter himself, though when he spoke his voice managed to remain stern.

“I dinna like ye hidin’ things in my food.”

“And I don’t like the thought of you fainting due to an iron deficiency or losing teeth through scurvy!”

“Would ye still kiss me?”

The amusement in his voice shone through this time and Claire smiled to herself.

“I expect so.”

“Ach, weel then! I’ve no need to worry, have I?”

Jamie patted the rounded swell beneath his hand and rolled onto his back, snaking an arm around Claire’s shoulders and drawing her close.

“I can’t believe I finally locate a decent green, edible leaf in good supply in the middle of this jumbled forest and you won’t eat it!”

She huffed nuzzling in close to him and lightly nipping the flesh of his chest

“It isna ‘decent’ and edible is questionable too…”

“Next time I’ll grind it to a paste and stir it into your tea!”

“Do that an’ I’ll take ye wee pestle an’ throw it into the next lake we pass.”

Jamie grinned and kissed the crown of her head.

Claire snorted and rolled on top of him, deftly hitching his nightshirt up around his hips. As always she had a small start of surprise at the leanness of his flanks and the pointed arc of his hip bones beneath her fingers. Never a fat man even in middle age, Jamie had definitely lost too much weight on the road and it alarmed her to feel it.

“Dinna fash Sassenach, I’ve a wee bit o’ cushioning left yet.”

His fingers brushed through the curls at her temple and she turned her face to kiss his wrist

“We’re getting too old for all of this, General Fraser.”
She smiled ruefully and felt rather than saw Jamie nod

“Aye we are. I think I may be ready for a wee blanket at my knees and a graceful dotage.”

Claire wrinkled her nose
“I don’t know about that, but a proper bed and some good food wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Ah, so ye do admit that feedin’ ye husband weeds is no’ verra nice!”

Jamie sat up and Claire’s legs wrapped around him, keeping her balance as she shifted them in the little tent.

“I admit that if I could find a carrot to stop your fussing it would be a welcome change!”

Jamie laughed and slid his hands up Claire’s shift, feeling the nobbles of her spine and her ribs pressing against her skin. He sighed and rested his forehead against her shoulder

“Aye, and ye are in need o’ a wee bit more sustenance too Sassenach.”

Claire shook her head gently and lifted his face to kiss his lips
“I’m fine. I have you.”

“That ye do lass …”

Jamie gasped as Claire proved her point and began to gently rock against him

“Oh dear God, ye truly do Sassenach.”

Claire paused and was gratified to hear a noise of distress emit from his throat

“Will you eat the spinach?”

Jamie growled but after a moment of hesitation nodded

“Aye, I’ll eat whatever ye decide to stick in my supper here but …”

He thrust his hips impatiently, grinning at the contented squeak Claire gave

“…when we get home ye are to stop feeding me weeds. Agreed?”

“Agreed!”
Claire moaned, digging her fingers into the curls at the base of his skull.
*
The next morning, as Jamie tried to eat around the flecks of green in his porridge, he raised his fingers to the faint scratches his wife had left on his neck and grinned to himself. Looking down at the pestle and mortar at his feet and the as yet untouched cup of tea at Claire’s elbow, his eyes narrowed to mischievous slits as he waited for her to take her first sip.

Two could play these games and he wondered, with a faint shiver of anticipation, how she would even the score tonight.

  • Qrow: Hey kiddos! Whatcha doin?
  • Jaune: No.
  • Qrow: Come ooon! Lemme in on your lives!
  • Ren: We would... It's just...
  • Qrow: What!? Huh, is it cuz I'm drunk!? Or cuz you don't like my hair!?
  • Nora: No, you're not wearing pants and it's like schlong everywhere dude.
  • Ruby: Ommigod Uncle Qrow please!
  • Qrow: Hey you're right! My little birdy is pokin out!
  • Jaune: Please never call it that again.
Long Time No See

I should be studying for finals, but

——

“W͢HO͠ DA͜R̴E͘S̢ ̵ŞUM͡MON̶ M͠-̴ w͞e҉ll, h̡ello ̀t̛h͟er͢e͘!̡ Long͜ tim̀e͠ n̴o͢ ͟s͝e͝e!͘”

Dipper stared down at his summoner- a regular- who categorized as a very distinct character for calling himself, “Dat Egnarts.” Of course, Dipper knew who he really was (Little Odd, 45, born February 24, lives in the town of Phad in the Megrez Island in the California Islands region, a famous artisan chef who was the star of a popular cooking series, often made deals for rare spices and seasoning, no one knew demonic deals were behind his success, will die in four minutes and 59, 58, 57, 56 seconds…) but this summoner tended to know a lot about demonology. Through a bit of digging through his omniscience, he’d realized that Odd’s dad was a very famous demonologist whom had taught his son one or two of his own tricks.

He’d always seen that frighteningly small countdown on Odd’s informational details, and had always wondered what would be the cause of it. It looked like he was now going to experience that scenario firsthand.

This was no lighthearted deal, however; this was A Basement. Dipper knew better than anyone that basements were No Good, not ever, and always lead to something or another that would never be an ideal happy ending.

His surroundings were out of the usual cult- huh, he didn’t really peg Odd for a cultist- berobed, ominous figures, stark against the glow of the candles. With an unreadable expression he swept the light from the candles and replaced it with his own eldritch flame- the cyan, blue flicker of a malevolent presence.

And presence was important now, because someone was going to die.

A poker face was immediately molded onto his mask-like stature. “Do ͝yo҉u ̵w͝is̶h̕ ̧to̡ ̢mak͜e͡ ̕a ̨dea̛l?̀”

Dipper’s voice was quiet, but dangerous.

Odd stammered. Was he breathing? “Th-ey, er, want me to-” Odd couldn’t continue. Instead, he broke out into a worrying fit of coughs and gasps.

Dipper examined Odd’s aura for the first time upon his arrival, and was surprised to discover that he was terrified. He didn’t usually get this from cultists, beyond the usual first-time jitters. This was fear that tasted good, delicious anxiety and waves of panic.

So Dipper mentally corrected his moral compass. If he demon side thought that something was a good thing, it wasn’t about nine out of ten times. He read deeper into the situation. What was really going on?

And something he hadn’t noticed before caught his eye.

In the corner of the room, a child struggled against the will of two cultists. He had duct tape over his mouth, but wasn’t making any noise (a silencing rune was placed on his forehead.) He was clearly unwilling to be there, and very clearly being held against his will. With a stretch to his memories, Dipper got his information via omniscience and a laser-focus rendition of what had just happened to him.

This was Tavon Odd, the fifteen year-old son of Little Odd. He and his father had been kidnapped after his father jokingly mentioned on an interview that he was ‘super-tight’ with Alcor the Dreambender after he was questioned on his uncanny use of hard-to-find herbs. A joke like this had gone unnoticed by the rest of the world, except the convenient empath who was the leader of the Cult of Evasive Hymns.  She quickly realized that Odd wasn’t actually lying. Her goal was to get someone who could easily provide the cult with what they wanted by forcing him to summon and word a proper deal, so  they could have nearly guaranteed success. It also was a bonus that, she reasoned, that Odd Little was a frequent customer of Alcor’s.

 The pair had been taken at the airport, where they were heading off to a leisurely vacation in Bermuda. Odd had come out of the struggle with a hard-hitting, panic-induced asthma attack, barely alive and breathing. He’d broken his right hand and also his jaw in attempts to give his son time to flee.

 

Dipper smiled. Well, it was nice to meet a familiar soul in this dark environment! These weren’t the ideal conditions to introduce himself, but it’d have to do.

He’d already wasted a minute of Odd’s time thinking. Dipper needed to get them out of this situation before they both died, or the boy would be fatherless.

He wanted to just slaughter the cult, but pl͠ay͠i͏ng ͞w̧it̷h͜ ̧t͏h͘em͡ w̛o̕ul͟d͞ be so ̸m͜u͝c̨h ͞mo͘r̨e ̴fun!

Dipper willed the rune and duct tape off of the boy’s mouth. And just then, an unexpected cry erupted from Tavon Odd’s mouth. “Wait! I can make the deal!”


The cultists laughed jeers that were taunting and ugly.

Dipper bared his teeth in what probably looked menacing, but was meant to be reassuring, smile. “A̵n̶d҉ w͜hy͞ ͞w҉o͏u͜ld̴ yo̢ù do͘ ͝t͢h̢a̧t?”

2:32, 2:31, 2:30, 2:29…

“Well, think about it guys. My dad here, he can’t breathe. I know pretty soon that he’s not exactly going to be able to word any deal for you, much less the one you would want. His hand’s injured, too, and that means he can’t write either. I’m pretty sure I’m your only hope.” The kid was hesitant, yet bold. Dipper had to admire that.

A random cultist sneered. “I doubt that a stupid kid like you can word a deal properly. You were too thick to even realize we’d put a rune on your forehead.”

The kid was clever, and his army of readied insults was trained and well-prepared for battle. “Well then, who’d like to volunteer instead? Hm? ‘Cause I’d love to just sit here and watch the show.” The kid slid down to the floor, smirking at the baffled cult members. “No, seriously. I would not mind at all. Take my place, go on.” He looked around in mock-shock. “Wow, no takers? Pretty, ironic, the kidnapee is the only one who actually knows how to make a deal with a demon.”

Another dirty-looking cultist with a southern drawl reared up, stretching out like a snake preparing to strike. “I’m warnin’ you kid, one more word, an’ this knife ‘ere’ll be so far up your daddy’s ribs his lungs’ll be pokin’ out ‘is throat.”

Tavon grinned, but in the unnatural way an actor would put on a show for a camera. He held up his middle finger jokingly, but Dipper could tell he was getting increasingly worried about his dad. Odd, the one closest to the circle, was now on the floor, face turning a funny shade of purple. Tavon kept sending shifty-eyed glances towards Odd, and the demon, as expecting him to do something. He was afraid, and Dipper needed to do something about it.

2:00, 1:59, 1:58, 1:57…

“I'͞d̢ ̢b͟e͜ wi͘ll͠i̴ng͜ ͢t̶o ͠m͘aḱe ͞a͞ ͡de͘a̡l wi͘t͜h ͝the k͠i̕d̢.̷”

Everyone in the room turned towards him.

Tavon sensed the urgency of the situation. “I’d-um, I’d like-”

Dipper (and Odd) didn’t have the whole day. “T̶̶͝I̴̵͘C̢K̀͘,͘͢ ̡̛T̕͞O̢̧͡C̀K̛͟͞,̕ K̛̛Į̴D̀̕!͘”

Tavon collected himself. “Out of this basement for both my dad and I in exchange- for- ”

Dipper was desperate, too much so. “H̷̨͏u̵r̵̀r̶̢͟y̛͝ ͟u͘͟p̢,” He gestured down at Odd as if to say, Come on kid, don’t you see he’s dying?

He’d seen a lot of death. He just didn’t want this particular kindred soul to be fatherless.

Also the sputtering sounds coming from below were making him really uncomfortable (He preferred quick deaths, and if it had to be slow than it was better gorey than suffocation, of all things..)

A voice carried on the final verdict. “All of their lives.”

It was totally an unfair deal. The lives of eight whole people (and all the delicious pluses that came with having a body!) for a small favor of teleportation? That surely was not an equal value. But hey, that was what the boy had offered and it wasn’t like they all weren’t going to be dead by the end of the incident, anyway…

He didn’t even have time to bargain or negotiate.

A cultist, in the middle of dissing Tavon, was saying, “Oh please, like Alcor would ever take that deal, you stupid, mortal piece of du-”

He blipped to the kid, who offered him his hand. A flash of blue fire later, and each cultist began choking and gasping, quickly turning purple.

“H̵̴̸ey̡͠͡ g̶͝u̕͝y҉s̸͟,̶ ̡͏̴év̀ȩr ͘h͠͏͢e̴a̵̴r̨͞d o͘f͡ ͜͝K̢̡̛A̷͝R̛̀M̧A͏?̀?҉ ̀Ń̨ex̶̕͟t̢ ̢͟t̨̛i̶̢m̶͜ȩ̧,͏́ d̸҉o̴ǹ͜'͜҉t̨͜ ̵̵ḱ͠i҉̀l̡͢l̸̢ ͞so̷̡̧m̧e̴o̶͠ńe̢͘ ͠i͏ņ͞͡ ̧͠th͢͟͞e̡ ̀͠sec͘o͏n̨͘d̶̴̵-͢mò̸st͏̕ ͞҉pà̸i͞n͝f̨͝uĺ͠ ̸̡̀wa̴y͜͏͡ ͏̶̶t̢͢o̧҉̶ ̵̨͏d̶̵i̕ȩ͘!”

0:35, 0:34, 0:33, 0:32…

Before blipping out, he grabbed both Odd and Tavon, and changed to a more human form before he would appear next to the nearest hospital.

 He entered the stretcher and was dragged towards the hospital enterance. There, he was shoved into a room.

0:09, 0:08, 0:07, 0:06

I just need you to breathe with me, ok?

Sir, he isn’t responding.

The heart monitor isn’t giving good feedba-

0:04, 0:03, 0:02, 0:01

0:00

BEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPP

—-

Dipper cringed. He’d felt the end in full force. 

In the waiting room, a very human-appearing Dipper sat a seat away from Tavon, tapping his foot impatiently. This is only because you’re you, Tavon. I seriously do not want to deal with this right now.

He’d already sensed the flatline. It had happened right on time, just like his internal countdown had predicted. He didn’t want to be the bearer of bad tidings and tell Tavon of Odd’s untimely death, but rather wait for the doctor to come deliver the news.

And, now Tavon was going to start asking questions. Last time, you weren’t so goddamn curious all the time!

“Is he going to be ok?”

Dipper sighed. “I don’t know. But hey, nice wording back there with the deal you’d made.”

“Really? Thanks!”

Dipper smiled. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Thomas Strange.”

Tavon frowned. “My name’s-”

Dipper hid his grin behind his hand. “Oh, I know your name, Tavon Odd. And I think you’re going to make a fine demonologist one day.”

After this, Tavon is handed off to another person, a wealthy, kid-friendly guy with a doctorate in demonology who Dipper happens to be very friendly with. He was one of Dr. Strange’s best students. You can guess the career path he chooses. Also, Dipper stops by on a regular basis to check in with the flow of things. Tavon’s sad, but life does go on. Eventually.

anonymous asked:

idk if I'm alone in this, but I don't think shaming fat people will solve anything. Same thing goes to thin people. Eating disorders, genetic disorders, etc. is something that can affect anyone, and calling someone with ugly names will just make them feel even worse.

Shaming people, in any way or form, about the way they look, is bad. Someone can have 750lbs of fat and you shouldn’t shame them. Someone can be so skinny their bones are pokin out and you shouldn’t shame them.

What we DO need to stop is the whole “healthy at every size” bullshit. If you’re obese, your body suffers from the extra weight and fat. You are way more likely to develop certain cardiovascular diseases, get diabetes, just to name a few. The same counts for hella skinny people. You’ll break bones more easily, your digestive system gets fubbernucked, it’s unhealthy.

But shaming someone? Fucking no. Get a life you sods.

~ Mod Jewel

2

“Chamillion gave me the bitch, she was already a star. Now all these niggaz wanna fuck my car. She a video hoe, the bitch make big money. Like to let her hair down when the sky get sunny. You can catch her in the Dub or the King magazine.
Young red bitch, pussy wet, five screens. Now watch her fat ass drop, fifth pokin out and the trunk gets popped.” Pimp C

So I keep my circle small, you need reduction
Never too much friends, what is your circumference? - The intro about nothing

Cause the same hand heal you might cut you
Whatever, tell ‘em it’s whatever
Wanna see me good but never see me better? - The Helium balloon

And that’s a lot that can get to ya
When you’re not sellin’ drugs but the outcome is similar - The white shoes

But why complain about the man
When a nigga with my skin
The same problems with them I had
Is out there killin’ niggas too? - The pessimist

Fightin’ for my respect, receive it or nothin’ else
Preachin’ and geekin’, I kinda think that I’m Malcolm X - The middle finger

George: Nobody wants to be with someone who loves them
Jerry: No, people hate that
George: You want to be with somebody that doesn’t like you
Jerry: Ideally
George: I am never saying 'I love you’ again unless they say it first - The one time in Houston

We’re all living with small demons
We’re all sinning, it’s all similar - The girls on drugs

Stand close to my rivals
Like you got a job they would kill for
It’s all good cause the flow is to die for - The God smile

Is it me, or is you cold?
Cause the feelings you ain’t showin’ pokin’ out your clothes - The need to know

Graduated from school just to live on their knees
And wonder why the undergrads don’t wait for summer for heat
Cause a drug dealer’s destiny’s still reaching that key - The success

Want everything for everybody 'round me
I’ve been doing my own thing
And we said we’d never change
And I pray we stay the same
Fame changin’ everybody 'round me - The glass egg

And there’s no judgement here, love, you are free
To be as wild and crazy as you wanna be
So baby let me see you bloom for me - The Bloom

I’ll admit it, let me be hypothetic
The day I find a woman I prolly be scared to share it
The idea of me finding love would run somebody off - The matrimony

Sex is her weapon, my snake in her garden
So know when I’m not here the viper is on - The body