quill-work

anonymous asked:

Jamie is the towns local vet, he is about to close the practice for the day when Claire rushes in with a sick/injured Adso! Sparks fly between the two.

Jamie closed the last chart of the day and stretched, enjoying the soft rock playing over the clinic speakers. It had been an unusually long day, but his paperwork was finally done, and he was ready to close shop for the weekend.

Just then, a cloud of curls burst through the doors, looking about as distressed as the woman who bore them and, for that matter, the wee cheetie she was holding carefully under its belly. It wore a crest of painful looking porcupine quills; the work of a half-hour at least.

Yet his protest that it was a minute to closing died on his lips as he met with the woman’s golden eyes.

Dumbstruck as he was, it took him a minute to connect the crisp English accent to her.

“I’m terribly sorry for bursting in so late, it’s just that it seems there are no other veterinarians open at this hour, nor for the weekend, and I came home to find that Adso had picked the wrong fight -“

The kitten narrowed its eyes and let out a rumble of displeasure, as though remembering its foe and their undoubtedly bitter battle.

“Nae trouble at all!” Jamie said a tad too enthusiastically. “Ms…”

“Beauchamp. Claire Beauchamp.” 

“Jamie Fraser. Call me Jamie.” He replied, standing back and motioning the way to one of the exam rooms.

She visibly relaxed and followed him back. “Thank you so much. Lord knows the little fool deserves it -“ was it Jamie’s imagination, or did the “little fool’s” rumbling get louder at that? - “but I worry he’d hurt himself more if I left it for next week,” Claire continued, placing the cheetie on the exam table; either unfazed by its behaviour, or used to it.

Seems ye’ve caught a witch, Jamie lad. He stymied his thoughts before they could say any further stupid things.

“A porcupine, ye say? Weel he’s luckily he didna get it worse then.” Jamie commented as he placed a hand on the cat’s fluffy rear in an attempt to stabilize him.

Lightning-fast, he pinched the quill near its base and tugged, simultaneously freeing it and producing a loud yowl from the unfortunate critter.  

“One down, about seven more to go.” Claire beamed at him.

“Ooch the first is the easiest,” Jamie explained, “these last ones, weel it depends on the beast, but I dinna think yon cheetie will let them go without a fight.”

He was somewhat embarrassed to find his Scots accent deepening in her presence, and he wondered if she noticed.

“Shhh wee cheetie, dinna fash” he murmured reassuringly, petting its unquilled lower half as he slowly lowered his hand towards what currently resembled nothing so much as a sentient and very angry dustball.

A quick paw reached out and batted his hand away, hissing.

“Adso!” Claire admonished the cat, strikingly like a parent castigating a small child, “let the nice man help you.”

Jamie couldn’t hide his grin as Adso reluctantly lowered his paw, as though he understood his human’s words.

Weel if she is a witch, I’d let her enchant me any day.

She turned an apologetic gaze towards him, “I’m so sorry, he’s really normally sweet…”

“Aye, it’s the pain doing it. I’ve had it happen with horses, so a cheetie’s no trouble.” He reassured her.

“A horse? Really! I’d wouldn’t imagine they would be so foolish as to take on a porcupine.”

She shot an accusatory look at Adso, and he looked away with as much dignity as he could muster in the situation.

Jamie couldn’t help but smile even more broadly. He was uncomfortably aware that he’d been smiling far more than was normal. Complete dolt, that’s what she thinks of ye, lad.

“Not generally, but some sometimes the two startle each other and there’s a wee stramash.”

Claire laughed, and Jamie felt oddly proud to have achieved that. When, he wondered, had he become such a bonehead around women?

He returned his attention (or at least his eyes) to the kitten, gently questing for information as he divested it of its painful ornaments.

“Ye’re not from here, I think?” He asked.

“No, I’m new to Inverness. Moved here to… finish up my medical residency.”

Caught by the sorrow of her tone, he didn’t get his hand back fast enough, and found it instantly mauled by the offended feline.

Claire let out a huff of laughter, but the echo of sorrow was still there.

Jamie extracted his finger from the beastie’s wee claws and tentatively pushed her on it.

“A sassenach in Inverness? That’s an odd choice, if ye don’t mind my saying.”

For a moment she looked as though she would brush him off, but then she let out a breath and something about her seemed to relax, to accept whatever it was she had to tell him.

“I don’t, it’s just… I’ve just gotten divorced. Wanted a fresh start and all that. Some distance.” She looked past the room as she said it, but returned to the present after a moment, meeting his eyes in a manner that had a hint of a challenge to it.

Jamie held her eyes, hoping he was managing to convey sympathy instead of the pity he imagined she often received.

“I understand, though for what it’s worth, I’m surprised any man would willingly part from you.”

He felt the heat rise in his face once more. Ye damn clumsy fool. She’s being open with ye and ye decide the best response is to flirt? Ye should be happy if she claps yer ears and walks out. No less than ye deserve.

Yet she did not clap his ears, nor indeed did she walk out. Jamie seized on the silence to make amends.

“I’m sae sorry, that was rude of me, I-“

“No, no. It was fine, really.” She seemed to hesitate over her next words, and Jamie held his breath.

“It’s just been a while since… I don’t know, since such advances were welcome, I suppose.”

Jamie felt as though he was bolted to the spot. He knew he should say something, but his mind had gone completely blank.

Strident rock chords broke their bubble.

“HEAVY PETTING / COME UP BREATHING” growled the singer  

Jamie looked as though someone had dropped him in a boiling pot. Ears glowing bright enough to rival a phone booth, he leapt out of the room and fumbled with the computer, mumbling something about “damn playlist,” and “Alec’s nephew, wee sod.”

Claire burst into laughter at this sudden spectacle, gasping for breath and earning an inquisitive “mrrp?” from Adso that perfectly matched the expression Jamie turned towards her as he re-entered the room. This did nothing to help with the breathing situation, which was becoming quite dire, all sound having been cut off in her mirth.

“Are you laughing at me?” Jamie asked, grinning as he leaned against the door frame.

“Yes, I most certainly am!” Claire gasped, trying to regain her composure.

Jamie found himself unable to resist laughing with her.

Another delicate bubble of silence enveloped them as they recovered.

“I should be on my way. Weekend clinic tomorrow.”

“Oh, aye. Of course.” He agreed, clearing his throat and trying to hide his disappointment. And what did ye think ye’d do, hey? Invite her to yer home just after meeting her? Along with her cheetie?

Claire picked up her unhappy but now de-quilled kitten, tucking him in the crook of her arm to prevent him from squirming too much as he saw her to the door.  

She opened her mouth, her face seeming to indicate something was on her mind. But she seemed to decide against it, simply smiling, thanking him, and bidding him a good night.

He beamed, transfixed by the warmth of her smile; a heat he felt right down to his bones.

“Nae trouble, Claire. Good night to you as well.”

Jamie stared at the door for some time after she left, enjoying the flittering of butterflies in his stomach before he realized he’d not thought to ask for her number.

The following week was one of the rare busy weeks at the hospital, and as such, Claire pushed her plans to meet the hot vet once more to the back of her mind. Yet as luck would have it, life intervened to give her another chance.

A plaintive howl emerged from behind the nurse’s desk as Claire walked up to it, eager to confirm her shift was indeed over so she could go home for the weekend.

Nurses Hildegarde, Fitz and Duncan were crowded around its source.

“I dinna care if it’s ill, it’s a mangy dog, no’ a person!” Geillis griped.

“Oh no, is Bouton under the weather?” Claire asked, leaning over to get a look at the miserable dog. Affectionately known as the “petit docteur,” Bouton was a familiar presence on the ward, beloved by the patients and staff (save for nurse Duncan, who seemed to be the only person in the world he didn’t get along with), and known for catching things that even the doctors missed.

“I am afraid so. He has been under the weather for the past few days; I am concerned for him.” Nurse Hildegarde explained, casting a sympathetic look at the poor beast.

“I’ll bring him to a vet!” Claire offered, rather too hastily.

At the nurses’ raised brows, she tried to amend her enthusiasm. “It’s just that I know a very good vet, and I live close… well, close-ish…”

Seeing her rising blush, Nurse Hildegarde hid a smile. “That would be so kind of you, Claire.”

“No trouble at all!” Claire hastily threw on her coat and rushed out, bearing a somewhat startled terrier.

“A vet, then? Geillis grinned slyly. “Think that means he likes it doggy-style?”

Nurse Fitz whacked her with a chart.  

Imagine Peter watching you train and seeing your power for the first time…

“Wow!” Is all Peter can manage by the time you look over at him.

You try and fail to stop yourself from blushing. “It’s really not that cool…”

“Y/N, that shit’s literally wack. You’re awesome!” Peter tells you honestly with a grin.

Quick Quill Cutting Tutorial

Originally posted for the OWS server on Discord. 
There are many different ways to cut quills, this is just how I do it.

Okay, so supplies I use:

  •  Turkey feather (Craft stores sell bags of real ones that are treated/painted so you don’t have to be THAT person with the geese in the park.)
  •  Jar for Tempering: Tempering is just exposing the “writing” part of the feather’s shaft to a low, slow heat/cooldown to strengthen it. Some people will bake sand and stick the feathers in standing up and take them out when the sand has completely cooled. Some do this in a crockpot. I use a jar, a lid with holes to suspend the feather and tea candles. I am impatient, and love fire.
  •  Matches or a lighter: Lights candles/burns off stray down. 
  • Sandpaper: Around a 320 grit, helps file down nib points and is used kind of like a “pencil sharpener” when writing. Points also have to be re-cut over time.
  •  Exacto knife: Sharp thing with a straight edge. Pen knives are more traditionally used, but I don’t have one of those and a good blade is a good blade. Used for shaving the feather and carving out the nib.
  •  Not pictured and optional: Tweezers. Can help pull out the membrane inside the feather to make a better ink reserve. The knife and your fingers will also work. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hi ladies! Love everything you do? Can we get something with Claire doing something badass and Jamie being scared for her yet proud and impressed cuz, ya know, she's HIS foul mouthed, badass Sassenach :D

Mute: Part Eight:

Find other parts: HERE.

Yawning, Claire hiccuped, the lasting taste of whisky coating her tongue as she shifted her weight delicately against the straw pallet.

Against her back, Jamie wrapped his arm fully around her waist and pulled her close.

Claire stilled, panic slowly slithering down her spine as repressed memories sparked behind her eyes. Slinking out from beneath Jamie, she clenched her hands into fists as she stood, pacing the length of the quiet barn.

The sun had only just begun to rise and the subtle shades of deep orange filtered through the panels of the wood, sending eerie shadows floating across the straw coated floor. The cold bit at her nose as she wiped it delicately on her sleeve, trying desperately to ward away her past.

Murtagh, awoken by her pacing, leaned up on his elbow and watched as Claire walked off her anguish. He could see the tense set of her shoulders, and although he wondered what had set the lass off, he let her be. Knowing that she would come to either him or Jamie if she needed to work through her concerns with them.

Her eyes, unfocused as they were, failed to notice her erstwhile voyeur as he kept watch over her. Unable to rest, she grabbed the sweeping brush and began to brush the stray straw into tiny mounds at one end of the stable. With nobody to talk to, she needed to keep her hands busy.

Jamie, suddenly overcome with a chill, opened his eyes to find Claire gone. It didn’t take him long to find her, huddled up the corner clutching the battered broom between her fingers. Sensing her nervousness, he walked slowly forwards, wrapping his bedraggled kilt around his hips as he went.

“Claire,” he whispered, knowing she wouldn’t be able to read his lips in the darkened space. Reaching out, he let his fingers rest idly against her frozen hand.

Dropping the brush, Claire flopped against Jamie’s chest, exhaustion filling her from head to toe. She had only been up a matter of hours but the effect of her panic was showing.

“Hush now, a nighean,” Jamie soothed, rocking her backwards and forwards, his mouth resting softly against her ear in the hopes that she could actually hear, if only wee bits of his speech.

Pushing herself upright, Claire pulled back, needing another moment to herself. Slipping her hands beneath the fabric of the skirts of her shift, she fiddled with the inner hem, plucking at the thin fibres that held the loose fabric together.

Jamie could tell she wanted to talk, but his limited knowledge of sign language would make much more than a sentence difficult to comprehend.

“Murtagh?” He called, certain that his godfather would be awake by now.

Shaking her head, Claire moved further back, her feet shuffling along the –now clean– floorboards.

Bringing her hands up, she began to sign, clearly still on edge as Murtagh came up behind Jamie, his brows drawn together in confusion.

‘It was a long time ago now, Jamie, don’t worry…please.’

Jamie shifted his focus from Claire to Murtagh having only caught a few words in her hand gestures, nothing that he could be certain was right.

Waiting, Jamie held himself at a distance whilst Murtagh addressed Claire, trying to keep up with their silent conversation. Claire blushed and dipped her head, letting her curls fall loose over her face as she communicated with Murtagh.

“She’s, well…” Murtagh began, reticent to tell Jamie what she had told him. “Claire’s engaged –or was–, t’ an Englishman.”

Shocked by the news, Jamie took a step backwards, swallowing as he absorbed the news. It shouldn’t have hit him as harshly as it had. It had been clear to him from the beginning that she’d more experience than he. Appearing out of the blue without any noticeable proof of where she’d come from, he should have guessed she either had a distinctly grey passed or was running from something.

As it was, swept up in their whirlwind of their feelings for one another, he had thought little about it.

Until now.

He watched as she brought her head back up, tears brimming in her eyes as she signed some more and waited for Murtagh to translate for her.

“She wants me to tell ye that she doesna love him, that she left him-” he paused, waiting for her to continue on before translating the rest, “I think she says because he hurt her, but I canna be sure. There are signs she’s using that I dinna ken.”

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Claire steadied herself and reached for Jamie, needing the contact just for a moment before giving Murtagh a message.

“She says she’ll write it for ye, that,” furrowing his brow once more, Murtagh leaned forwards and watched carefully as Claire darted towards the entrance to the stables, her hands leaving Jamie’s sides in an instant as she signed ‘I love you’, and skittered off.

“I take it ye caught the meaning o’ her last words, lad?” Murtagh questioned, not wanting the poor boy to remain in the dark.

“Aye. Aye, I did.” Pausing, Jamie ran his fingers through his hair, tangling them in the mass of knots that littered his sleep-mussed locks. “Do ye think…” he began, his heart pounding against his ribcage at the mere thought of her with anyone else.

“Nah, she’s wi’ *ye* right enough. Through her constant harassment by Dougal she’s stayed, and I doubt anyone is coming for her anytime soon. Dinna fash, Jamie lad. Whatever comes of her writing to ye, I can guarantee that lassie is devoted to ye.”

In the cold damp of the old surgery, Claire battled to find a dry sheet of paper and a working quill, desperate not to be on her own in the deep confines of the castle for too long.

As fast as she could she wrote down the finite details of her ordeal, excluding her trip through time. She was certain she’d be able to convince Jamie that nobody was coming for her. She just needed to get this out. He needed to know about her past so he could actively decide if she was worth marrying.

A hand reached out and grabbed her arm, swinging her round just as she finished the final sentence, messing up the ink on the last word.

Dougal stood at her side, his face bright red as he held onto her.

He was drunk, she could smell the ripe whisky on his breath as he pulled her close to his face.

‘No…’ she mouthed, a short half silent gasp falling from her lips as the air passed through her useless voicebox.

“Dinna ye fight me!” He all but shouted in her face, his eyes boring holes into hers as he walked her backwards.

Still reeling from their first encounter, and raw from the note she’d just penned to Jamie discussing her past acquaintances with men, Claire battled hard to free herself.

Driving her knee hard, she slammed her leg into his groin, pushing him back with one big jolt as she tugged her arm free. She’d have bruises, no doubt, but that was nothing in comparison with anything else he might do with her should he gain power over her.

No more, she decided, grabbing a small stood from the corner of the room and lifting it over her head as if to strike.

She waited, though, hoping that the stupid drunken fool would reconsider any further action once he stood and saw her ready for battle.

“Why…” he started, a mean glint behind his eyes as he stumbled upright, clutching his crotch in a feeble attempt to stop the pain, “ye little wench. I’ll have ye…”

Dropping the stool with measured accuracy, Claire smacked the warchief right on the top of the head, watching as the half smashed wood ricocheted off in a myriad of different directions leaving Dougal in a passed out heap on the floor.

Slamming her foot into his side, she made sure that the fool was completely under before stepping over him, her heart racing as she bolted for the exit.

Murtagh and Jamie stood at the bottom of the stairs, both of their mouths hanging open as they watched Claire fight herself free.

The moment they’d heard the racket beneath, both Fraser men had dashed downwards to see what on earth was going on.

On seeing Claire –yet again– in Dougal’s grubby hands, Jamie had all but launched himself forwards, meaning to break the pair apart and do some serious damage to his inebriated uncle.

Murtagh, though, saw the intense look on Claire’s face. She needed this chance to stand up for herself, he decided. She needed to know she had the strength and power to get herself free of any unexpected situation that might arise when either he and Jamie weren’t directly on hand to assist. So he had put his arm out and forced Jamie to stay where he was, whispering a soft - ‘we’re here, ken. Let the lass find hersel’. If she doesna –we’ll stop Dougal afore he does anything.’

As Claire caught sight of Jamie and Murtagh, she shook the terror from her bones, the mix of adrenaline and fear running hot through her veins as she shakily picked the note from the table and handed it to a very angry Jamie.

‘Read it, I’ll be waiting…I truly do love you, Jamie Fraser.’

Squeezing her way passed him, Claire looked straight ahead not daring to even look back as she made her way upwards once more, determined to flee the castle as quickly as possible.

The cold air hit her hard as she stumbled down the narrow stone pathway leading away from the Leoch portcullis, the dim hum of the morning meal vibrating through the cobbles as she meandered off towards the stables. Seeking peace, she made herself at home beneath a large tree out in the paddock, letting the wind whip around her as she leaned her head back and let out a large breath.


Pacing the surgery still, Jamie crumpled the wee note in between his fingers, smudging the hurriedly written text as he smashed it with his palms.

“Easy, lad.” Murtagh soothed, watching his godson as he strode up and down the tiny room, anger ablaze behind his eyes. “Do ye think she’s no’ struggling wi’ this too?”

“That’s why she near bolted this morning, aye? When I came up behind her. Iffrinn!”

“Filthy English brutes if ye ask me, and her intended…” Murtagh scoffed, spitting at his feet and wiping his shoes through the damp dirt as if to rid himself of the taste, “letting them anywhere near her wi’ their vile touch.”

“Aye, I ken,” Jamie returned, a dark menace lacing his tone, “he had better no’ find himself here, Murtagh.”

“Yer right, we’ll skin the bastard.”

Forgetting themselves, the men bandied words to and fro, their ire heightening as they tried to comprehend how Claire’s situation had gone so awry.

She’d put a little detail into her letter, starting with the basic facts.

Claire had, as she had stated to Murtagh before, been engaged to be married. An English man of high birth it seemed, with some money behind him. Her uncle, before he’d passed, had made sure she had someone around to take care of her. But with the approaching war, her man had been called away, and her with it.

She had also written about her health. She’d still been unable to speak, having been born with the illness that had affected her voice, but she could hear. Perfectly.

At first there had been no issues. Claire had lived in quarters beside her husband, she’d been a healer and had assisted the men with it whenever possible. But then things had taken a turn for the worse.

Drunk one night, her husband had called her to his chambers, handsy and well passed the stage of coherence, he had insisted they lie together as man and wife, almost desperate to get his hands on Claire.

…and she’d gone with him, done as he wished. Eager to please him, her naivety had obliterated anything sensical and she had lost her virginity to him that night.

There was a macabre undertone to her words as she continued on with her sad tale, the words almost deflating as the neatness she’d begun with faded making way for minor errors in spelling. Jamie could see where she’d been holding back her anguish whilst writing, the unsteady lilt to the letters showing her nervousness at writing such a thing.

Unfolding the mass of paper, Jamie smoothed out the sheet and halved it neatly, not wanting to see the words but knowing he couldn’t simply throw this away. Nobody else needed to read it.

Dougal. Jamie had completely forgotten, his attention drawn completely to Claire’s revelation, about his unconscious uncle. Quickly checking his pulse, he carefully moved the man, draping a blanket over his listless form so that he might just assume he’d passed out, rather than been brutally incapacitated by Claire.

Without needing further reminders, he jerked his head towards the exit and marched off in search of Claire. He needed to have her close, and he was pretty sure she needed him too.

With Dougal’s new assault and her confession, she was sure to be feeling more than a little vulnerable.

As he neared the large arch leading out of the castle, Mrs Fitz came storming from the kitchens, a large smile plastered on her face and a large swill of ale resting on her hip.

“Jamie, my boy!” She laughed, her voice echoing through the half empty courtyard, “Collum has made arrangements wi’ us for yer nuptials. I’m sae glad to see a wedding, we havena had one in a wee while. Are ye ready for yer bands to be read in church this week?”

Nodding, Jamie placed his hand on Glenna’s shoulder, trying to ease the pent up look of aggression he’d worn as he’d left Beaton’s old surgery. “Aye, Mrs Fitz, I am. I thank ye for yer kind words, but I must away. My bride is needing me to bring her breakfast.”

“Ach, awa’ wi’ ye then, laddie…and gi’ her a wee kiss from me.”

With a final wave, Jamie freed himself and dashed off, incredibly aware of the time he’d taken between letting Claire leave and now.

“Where do ye think she’ll be?” Jamie questioned, his feet moving as fast as he could get them to go in the direction of their self-made home.

“I dinna think she’ll be far, nay matter what she’ll wait for ye. I can promise you that much.” Murtagh muttered, his eyes scanning the horizon for any hint of the lass.

“There,” he pointed, his hand coming up to tug at Jamie’s sleeve as he noticed movement beneath one of the trees, “sitting on that wee root.”

Turning in the direction, Jamie slowed himself, folding his hands against his stomach as he made his way towards her, keen to make his presence known, not wanting to spook her.

Claire, sensing that she wasn’t alone, looked up, her eyes rimmed red as she glanced warily at Jamie and Murtagh.

“Nay matter what ye’ve told me, Claire” Jamie began, wishing to quash any doubts she had before he spoke further, “I willna severe our union, aye? I love you, and that isna something I say lightly.”

Claire nodded, her nose tinting red as she pursed her lips and swallowed back the relief.

‘When I came here…when I found you. Even after all the heartbreak before, I felt something. It pulled at me, rearranging my insides almost.’

Murtagh translated, as roughly as he was able, whilst Claire stood, coming face to face with Jamie as she signed to him.

‘I didn’t feel his touch on my skin anymore, I felt the echo of you. You might think me daft, hallucinating memories of things that hadn’t even come to pass, but I swear to you it’s true. What happened, what he let happen…I let it happen too, was foolish. I was young and desperate to be taken seriously. But it didn’t matter. I was a joke. They all thought me useful for only one thing, the bloody bastards!’

Placing his palm against her cheek, Jamie took a step forward, his eyes softening as he watched Claire’s harsh gaze, her foot kicking at the soft soil and loosening the wet grass.

“You are so strong, sassenach. Stronger than me, aye?”

Slipping backwards, Murtagh tried to give the lovers some space as Jamie calmed Claire’s frayed nerves. Seeing the flourishing bruises on her arms only made his stomach clench, renewing the anger that he’d managed to subdue before.

Dougal was a hot-headed buffoon, but he was mostly harmless. His aim was always to scare Claire into submission, and when that hadn’t worked he’d simply lost his temper. Even though that was no excuse for his reckless behaviour, comparing that to who Claire had almost married, made him look like a saint.

After his first dalliance with her; Claire’s *honourable* husband-to-be had returned to her bed only a few days later. Only this time, not only was he drunk, but in the company of some other intoxicated army brutes. All of whom had accosted the pair, claiming the admittance of their lovemaking false. Prompted to *prove it*, Claire had been forced into a corner. Either she complied with the request, taking him to her bed whilst the others watched on, or she lost face.

Wanted to appear strong, Claire had metaphorically slapped them in the face, declaring herself no coward as she accepted their vagualy pornagraphic challenge.

She hadn’t wanted to face them during, so had lain with her back facing, her head buried beneath the pillows as she tried to reign in her emotions.

*They’re just men*, she had muttered internally, over and over, *just men and they cannot hurt me, not if I choose not to be hurt*.

But that had been a lie, something she later couldn’t sustain as she’d lay in a blast zone, her ears ringing with the pressure, shell shocked and locked in hushed world of near silence.

*He* had left her soon after that, deployed to a new location, his men sent with him and she had elected to stay behind.

They hadn’t gotten physical with her, she’d noted, but they had made themselves known. Their repulsive, slimy hands had roamed over the bared expanse of her back. And every now and again memories of them would re-surface, making her heart lurch and her palms sweat.

‘I wanted to prove myself,’ 

Claire continued, a revived power underpinning her wild hand gestures, 

‘I wanted to show them that it didn’t matter, they could mock me all they liked, but it was *my* body, and *my* choice.’

Pieces of the puzzle clicked into place, and Jamie, rocked by the epiphany, pulled in a ragged breath, his fingers sliding gently against Claire’s smooth skin.

‘You, Jamie Fraser, I don’t know what it was about you, but it felt as if I needed you. As if I couldn’t breathe. You lay there at night, your eyes semi-blinking as you slept…and if I reached out to you, you’d smile and my fingertips would pulse with the energy of it.’

“…and ye wanted me because o’ that?” Jamie broke in, interrupting Murtagh’s very quiet translations.

‘I wanted you from the first moment I saw you. I forgot everything that came before. My –disability– my lack of voice, of hearing, it wasn’t even a factor for you. When I realised that, that’s when I loved you. Because, whether you knew it or not, you loved me. I knew being physical with you, kissing you and bringing you to my bed, was frowned upon. I saw the disapproval in everyone’s eyes when they looked at me. Not only because they were afraid I was…simple, but because they couldn’t accept my forwardness.’

Taking a breath, Claire raised her hand, placing it on Jamie’s chest just over his heart as she measured its pace. Thrumming beneath her fingers, she smiled through the pain, small trails of moisture falling from her eyes as she did so.

‘I just wanted you, all of you…and I would have done anything to make that happen. Come what may.’

“C’mere, Claire,” Jamie whispered, his words catching in his throat as he brought he towards his chest, curling her against him as he swayed from side to side.

Nuzzling his neck, Claire basked in his body heat, her hands clenched tightly in the material of his thick woolen coat.

“I’m yours, Claire. Just as ye are mine…and nobody will part us now, I promise ye that.” He muttered, making sure to pronounce his words clearly as he placed his mouth against her ear and spoke.

Pushing herself closer still, Claire nodded into his chest, her chin catching on the buttons with the motion.

“She says she loves ye, dafty that ye are,” Murtagh relayed, sarcasm lacing his tone as he continued, “but I think ye owe me a whisky fer all that, and afore ye ask, lad, I amne following ye home to enlighten ye further. I’m off to check on yon Dougal Mackenzie. See if the auld bastard has risen from his deep slumber.”

Chuckling, Jamie twisted his head to the side just in time to see Murtagh slink off back towards the castle. He really would have to make sure the man got a good bottle after all of his assistance.

Leaning her away just a little, Jamie tilted Claire’s chin up so that he could look her over.

“Shall I take ye home now, mo nighean? I think ye need a wee bit of rest, I’ll stay wi’ ye, I promise.”

Taking his hand, Claire kissed his fingers with a sort of languorous caress that lulled him into serenity as he stood in the paddock.

‘Yes, I’d like that.’

“Good,” he replied, his eyes lightening at the prospect, “because I wasna going to take ‘no’ fer an answer.”

Quill: It’s bollocks, Charles! It’s your brand of bollocks from first to last.

Charlie: No, you can’t ever see the big picture. You can’t see any picture!

Quill: I am talking about something primal. Right? Savagery. Brutal animal instinct.

Charlie: And that wins out every time with you. You know, some species have evolved, Quill!

Quill: Oh, into a bunch of namby-pamby, self-analyzing wankers who could never hope to…

Charlie: We’re bigger. We’re smarter. Plus, there’s a thing called teamwork, not to mention the superstitious terror of your pure aggressors!

Quill: You just want it to be the way you want it to be.

Charlie: It’s not about what I want!

Matteusz: [enters the room] Sorry. Is this something we should all be discussing?

Charlie: No.

Matteusz: It just sounds a little serious.

Charlie: It was mostly… theoretical. We…

Quill: We were just working out a - Look, if cavemen and astronauts got into a fight, who would win?

Matteusz: …ah.

[pause]

Matteusz: You’ve been yelling at each other for 40 minutes about this.

[pause]

Matteusz: Do the astronauts have weapons?

Charlie and Quill: No.

(Source: Angel)

riahchan  asked:

Jon x Sansa - 20) running away together

“Where will you go?”

“Where will we go?”

The market was bustling. Shouts of merchants and patrons alike filled the balmy afternoon, languages from across the Free Cities traded along with the wares; the strong smell of spices, fish, salt and smoke hung heavy in the air.

A shipment of exotic animals had arrived the night previous, and Sansa carefully navigated her way around the sea of children that had gathered around the elephant pen. It was all too easy to be swept away in the river of bodies that flowed through the port city if you let it, dropped off in some alley or an unsavory district, but she had no such trouble today. Hadn’t, if she was being honest, in a very long time. Today she took her usual route through the stalls, nodding here and there to familiar faces, some friendly, most not.

Life among the Volantenes was good. Different, yes, but more importantly: safe. As safe as life could ever be for another lost daughter of Eddard Stark, poisoner of known royal bastard and dead king, alleged sorceress, and whatever other madness that had been stitched to her name since she’d fled Westeros.

Keep reading

Everything About This Poem Is False/The Picture I Paint

I am perfect in every way

Hold my head up high every day

Never have done anything wrong

So nothing ever does go wrong

I don’t care about others

Yet they care about me

Conversations

Come so easily

Popular, talented, naturally skilled

Better than everyone except with a quill

Don’t work hard

Yet I get recognized for all I do

Not secretive at all

Definitely don’t have an anonymous blog

I share all my troubles with you

And you with me

because we are perfect human beings

sweetdollfromhell  asked:

Yondu, are you own a box with pictures and others Peter baby stuff? (for blackmail material off course)

Yondu: Boy owes me four billion units. He’s lucky I didn’t plaster his baby pics across the fuckin’ galaxy!

10

So I’m finally taking commissions and selling stuff. Mostly so I can feed my cat, afford my meds, keep a roof over my head, and generally Not Die.

EDIT: I’m lowering some prices! Art is now 5 dollars a piece, shirts are now 15, and the pattern/instructions for the plague mask is now only 8 dollars! It is also now possible to get a custom carved bone seal with the handle already included for 15 dollars! (I don’t know why I made the handle separate, just pretend that option was never there)

Even if you aren’t interested, a reblog would really help me out and is very much appreciated. Thank you!

I take paypal only. You can contact me here on tumblr or at: cubicalcranium@gmail.com. Shipping is not included with these prices, they depend on how much you order and whether or not you’d like a tracking number (I’m trying to keep costs as low as possible for the both of us)

Check out the source post for updates, because some things are limited in quantity, and I only have so much materials on hand. (Need examples of my art and junk? More at my art tag here (cw: body horror and mild gore occasionally) 

Details under the cut!

Keep reading

5

And the Rhodia have a particularly cruel punishment.  They release a creature into your skull called an arn.  Something about the size of two of your weirdly large human thumbs placed together.  Now imagine it with teeth and claws, digging into your brain, each claw tipped with poison.  Oh, and that’s the nice bit.  It telepathically links you to a particular Rhodia, and you become their slave.  It is slavery.  If I use a weapon other than my own hands, the arn kills me. Yet, if I fail to protect you, I am also killed.  If I try to remove the arn, dead again. Slavery.

Got some new copics yesterday and had to try them out, which worked out well since I’ve been itching to draw this cat!bill design from the coven au that’s been floating around

Ms Quill’s anger makes something beautiful

Ms. Quill watched Matteusz in the kitchen. She had been doing so for a week, but only on days when he cooked meat. He kind of felt a little unsettled about it. “You look upset?” He asked her.

“I didn’t come to sit on your couch.” she sneered.

“Just you seem a little more angry then usual.”

“Of course I am. This house isn’t very big, and every time I see you in here using knives, mallets and implements it makes me angry. I had a bad day, it isn’t fair I can’t hack at something.”

Matteusz took out a bowl and poured some flour as she continued. “But no, I just have to bear the anger.” Matteusz added some yeast and water. “So I need to wait for something to threaten Charles so I can beat on it.” He stirred it until dough formed. “Would you at least pay attention to me when I am yelling at you.”

Matteusz slammed the dough on the counter. Ms. Quill looked at him in surprise. “Have you gone mad?” Matteusz looked at her. “Here, this is alien.”

“I repeat, are you mad?”

“No. Punch it.” She was annoyed now. Mocking her. She punched into the dough giving Matteusz the eye. Then stopped. “Oh. That is good, it feels fleshy.”

“Punch it some more, slam it on the counter.”

She picked up the dough and slammed it hard against the stone. Punched and strangled it. “It is fighting back.”

“It will do that, the more you fight it the stronger it gets. You aren’t going to let it win are you.”

Fire burned in her eyes. She went at the dough for 20 minutes. The dough only grew stronger, smaller and denser. Sweat started to appear on her brow. “It is getting quite tough.”

“You have battled well, but now it rests.” He suggested.

Ms. Quill looked content. “Lick its wounds so to speak.”

“Yes, usually 30 minutes, but I think it might need an hour.”

Ms. Quill left the kitchen and returned 50 minutes later. She had put on a t-shirt and wore an eager expression. “Where is it?” Matteusz pointed to a bowl on the counter. “It has gotten big,” she said surprised.

“Looks are deceiving,” Matteusz shrugged. “I think it has gone weak. Give it a punch.”

She did and the dough collapsed under her fist. “Ah, it is ruined.” She looked annoyed. “It’s gone soft.”

“Teach it to be strong again.” He replied.

Twice more Ms. Quill worked the dough, ready for a fourth round, Matteusz stopped her. He cut the dough into three pieces, and rolled one into a log. Ms. Quill put some flour on her hand and took the dough. “Gentle.” He spoke. She rolled the dough and placed it on a sheet as he had. He spritzed it with water, scored it then placed in the oven.

“Now what?” she queried.

“We wait while it writhes in heat.” Matteusz went back to making stew.

“I like the sound of that.” she sat in front of the oven and watched the bread as it rose and browned.

A bell chimed. Matteusz bent down beside her and looked into the window. “Lets check it.” Ms. Quill moved out of the way as he opened the door. The room filled with the smell of bread. He took out the loaves and set them on a rack. Ms. Quill’s mood improved.

Matteusz took a loaf and placed it on the cutting board. Holding a serrated knife he tore into the bread, steam spilled out into the air. He then slathered softened butter on it and handed it to her.

She looked at it and tore into it with her teeth. A smile came to her face. “I did this.”

“Yes.”

“My anger made this delicious thing.”

“The more anger the better.”

“Your world finally makes sense to me.”

Charlie entered the kitchen smelling the warm bread. “Have you been baking?” He asked his boyfriend.

“No, I did.” Charlie was surprised. She thrust a piece of bread in his mouth. “Like that?”

“It is good,” he said sheepishly.

“Damn right. My anger made that thing. So the next time you see me hit an alien, saving your life. You remember, I am a weapon and my anger makes beautiful things.” She was about to leave when she grabbed 2 of the loaves and went to her room.

“What was that about?” Charlie asked.

“Baking, it is very therapeutic. How do you think I stay so calm?” Matteusz smiled.

Charlie shook his head and gave his boyfriend a hug. “I…have no words.”

4

Whoniverse: Class - 30/? times there’s more to Miss Quill than meets the eye. (1x08)