More fancy-pants TF2 fashion plates! These are less formal than the first batch, which you can see here.

Engineer ★ Western tuxedo

  • oversized embroidered jacket
  • topaz and bronze bolo tie
  • fine wool felt cowboy hat with color-matching ribbon
  • oversized bronze and silver belt buckle
  • antique cowboy boots with silver toe caps

Sniper ★ Tropical tuxedo

  • ecru linen dinner jacket
  • New Zealand wildflower boutonnière
  • two-tone patent leather saddle shoes
  • pleated apricot button-down shirt

Pyro ★ I have no idea

  • lavender feather boa
  • pretty princess gold tiara and sash
  • black tuxedo bowtie and vest
  • monocle and false facial hair
  • leather opera gloves and spats

anonymous asked:

Can Claire and Jamie go camping? I think they need a getaway.... :)

Flood my Mornings: Vermont (i)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

Late June, 1951

James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser was an impressive sight at any time of the day or year. 

Naked, silhouetted against a bright summer moon; the curve of leg and hip and scar all gilded into sharp edges by the glow of the fire behind him… he was positively primordial, ancient man surveying the vast wilderness.

 “God, it’s just…..”

He didn’t finish the sentence, just stood there on the verge of our mountaintop, taking in the sight of the sleeping valley below.

I could have finished the sentence for him, though: …like home.

The Green Mountains of Vermont—or this section of them, anyway— were quite similarly beautiful to those of Scotland. The main difference was the trees, of course: in contrast to the sparse, heathered slopes of Jamie’s birthplace, every inch of these mountains was covered in lush forests that spiced the air with the tangs of evergreen and leaf mold. Still, looking out across the horizon, the ranges had that same rolling and dipping quality, that sense of movement about them that felt so much like the Highlands. One could almost imagine looking down into one of these valleys and seeing the roof of Lallybroch below, enticingly belching smoke from the fires of Mrs. Crook’s promised supper.

and I supposed that Jamie was doing just that. 

I left him to dwell in the serenity of the moment, there at the top of the horizon. My own peace was complete, astonishing in its sensory fullness: 

the beauty of the night, of the rolling valley far below, 

a warm breeze across my naked skin, the same that swelled the forest into a rustling, shushing chorus,

the afterglow of lovemaking pulsing gently through me, there in our nest of blankets by the fire on the mountaintop, 

and Jamie. Always, Jamie. 

Tom and Marian had many times this year offered us the use of their mountain cabin in Vermont. Between work schedules, my schooling, pregnancy, and the general hustle and bustle of normal life, we simply hadn’t made the time for such a lavish treat as a holiday away. At last, though, with the academic term over and with the baby due in just over a month, we’d decided that getting away, just the two of us, was just the thing. Lord knew, once a nursing infant was in the mix, it could be quite some time before we could do so again.

Jamie, true to form, had fretted over me for weeks leading up to our departure, trying to call the whole thing off. ‘Sassenach, what if the bairn comes early?’….”There willna be a hospital for miles and miles. What if something happens?’….‘If ye think I can deliver a child, woman, you’re WRONG.’ 

But at last, he’d had no choice (short of chaining me to the house, that is) but to relent, and the further we drove westward, the higher the elevation rose, the quieter he became. His eyes got wider and wider, the glory of being among mountains soaking into him like sunshine.

After settling our things in the cabin earlier that afternoon (’Rustic,’ the Harpers had warned us)(’Better equipped than any Highland castle,’ Jamie had snorted as we walked in and saw the full kitchen), we’d made a few hasty sandwiches and ventured out for a walk before the light went. The vistas were absolutely spectacular, even more so when the skies were painted with the pinks and scarlets of sunset. 

Jamie had built us a fire a few hundred yards from the house, when we got back, just near the overlook, and we’d spent hours snuggled together before it, toasting marshmallows, sipping hot chocolate heated over the coals, laughing and talking and telling stories as the stars brightened overhead. 

At last, the quiet and beauty of the night had settled around us, and we’d made love there in the clearing, slowly and sweetly. For a very long time after, we’d lain panting and trembling, cocooned together in perfect calm, no demands on our time save enjoyment of one another. 

….and, eventually, pragmatically, those of Jamie’s bladder.

From somewhere in the woods, there came the sound of something large moving about; a deer, I thought, since Jamie was not reaching for an absent knife. He did start, though, the lively night pulling him out of his trance. Assured there was no danger, he turned to me with a slightly-sheepish grin. “Forgive me, mo chridhe, I was lost in fancy.” He began picking his way across the grass back toward the fire. “Feeling alright, Sassenach? All well?”

Very well,” I promised, “as long as you don’t make me move from this spot.” I burrowed further into the blankets in illustration. “Couldn’t budge for all the tea in China.” 

“Dinna fash, lass.” He crouched beside me and provided a very entertaining view as he slid his hands under me, “I’ll carry ye up to bed.”

“No, you won’t,” I said, neatly rolling away. “We’re sleeping out here.”

Certainly we are,” he laughed, rolling me back, “are not.” 

“Why ever not?” 

He gave me a look. “Ye think I’m going to let my eight-months-gone wife sleep like an animal on the cold ground?” 

“It isn’t cold.” I raised an eyebrow. “And you’d not have given it a second thought, back in Scotland, would you?”

He blinked, then laughed. “Christ, you’re right,” he groaned, putting a knee down and scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve become quite the pampered popinjay in only a year, aye?”

“Well, you can earn your tough-as-saddle-leather badge back tonight. Come here,” I wheedled, patting the blankets. “Come keep your lady warm for the night.”

He obliged, coming in to settle spoon-fashion behind me. “My lady,” he murmured, precisely as I breathed, “God, a year…

We both laughed and exhaled together.

He kissed my neck. “It’s been a wonderful year, mo ghraidh.”

“To think that this time last year…” I shuddered and kissed his hand. “No, it doesn’t do to think of what life was, last June.”

“No,” he agreed, “it doesna.” 

He’d been close to starvation on the streets of Boston, scouring the streets and hospitals for any news of me, my whereabouts. I’d been—I’d just been. I’d loved my work, adored Bree; but apart from the promise of seeing her grow up happy and loved….I hadn’t much hopeNow…

“I guess that means this could almost be a wedding anniversary trip, couldn’t it?”

“Which one?”


“Which wedding?”

I laughed, surprised. “Well, I did mean the one last year, but I guess we’re pretty close to our first as well. When would it have been? June? Late June?” 

“I canna recall the precise date,” he admitted, running his hands up my thigh and onto the huge curve of my belly, “but that seems correct.” 

“And our twentieth-century anniversary is the 8th of July…meaning you found me in July….and little wiggleworm, here, should be born in either July or August…” I snuggled back against him and pulled his arm tighter around me, sighing happily.  “Good things tend to happen to us in the summertime, don’t they?” 

He kissed his way down the curve of my shoulder. “Aye, they certainly do.” 

“I’d like the bairns to know a place like this,” he murmured a while later into my neck. 

“The cabin?” I had very nearly nodded off in the cozy silence that had intervened. My voice was scratchy and sleepy. “Why is that, love?”

Jamie didn’t immediately answer; and when he did, I was surprised to hear a slight hesitation in his voice, a carefulness in his words that bespoke unease. “Ye ken I love our life, Claire, aye?” 

I nodded and squeezed his hand. 

“It’s more than I could ever have dreamed of, let alone have hoped to have for myself, for you, and for them.” He pulled me closer with one hand and spread the other absently over my belly. “I’m so grateful,” he whispered with deep feeling, “for the safety; the plenty; our home; having the income to take care of our family in comfort; that you’re able to pursue your profession; that the bairns will be able to pursue theirs, one day, wi’ nothing like birthplace or station to hold them back…. I wouldna trade our life for anything.”

I reached behind to stroke his hip, waiting. 

“…But I also canna shake some sense in my heart that—that this is how things are meant to be.”

“Naked in the woods?” I teased gently.

“Aye,” he laughed, just what I’d wanted, his unease evaporating in a moment, “exactly so.” He ran his hand across my legs, coming up to cup my breast. “Nothing but my brown-haired lass, naked in my arms…” An intake of breath hissed gently from us in unison as we felt the sudden shifting within me. “And new life, promised to us….”

We lay still, his hand over mine as we gloried in feeling little Ian moving about. I wondered if he was dreaming. 

That they may be sweet, little love. 

“But I suppose I meant, this out-of-door life,” Jamie said at last. “Wild, living things. Animals. Forests and burns. Hunting. Sleeping under the stars, among the hea—among the trees and the grasses. Tracking and tending the land. Mountains,” he said, with quiet intensity. “I want them to know mountains.” 

I pulled him as close as I could. “We will make this part of our life, Jamie, if you wish it.”

“We will?”

“We’ll come on holiday with them as often as we can, just like this. And, eventually—Well, it can’t be all the time, particularly not once I’ve started medical training; but as soon as we can afford it, maybe we’ll have a second home somewhere wild, somewhere like this.”

“A second home?” he asked, dubious. “Folk keep two houses, then?”

“Not all, not even most; but Tom and Marian manage it, don’t they?” 

“Aye,” he said slowly as he glanced up at the house, considering, “Aye, just so….But Tom owns the whole of Fernacre. Will we truly ever have the means to afford such extravagance?” 

“MDs make some of the best money available,” I said, as simply as I could, “and other than being charitable and giving as much away as we can manage, I can’t think of a more worthwhile way to use that financial freedom, than to give you this.”

“….Thank you, Sassenach.” He sounded absolutely gutted with earnest gratitude, like someone that had just been handed an infinite fortune with no caveat. “Truly.” 

“Well, thank me when and if I actually get admitted to medical school.” I groaned with that sudden, familiar wash of visceral anxiety. “If, if, if.”  

When,” he insisted, as he always did. “WHEN.” 

We settled in, held tight together in a warm heap of love, letting sleep wash over us. 

“Somewhere wi’ a mountain?” Jamie murmured just before I slipped completely under. 

“I promise.”

Back on the Saddle

A huge ass thank you to @arwenxs (Why the fuck can’t I tag you properly???) for beta-ing this and making it readable! I hope you’ll enjoy it! <3

You can also find it on AO3!

Tony eyed the saddle warily, not even trying to hide his distaste anymore. The leather seemed smooth and was indeed soft under the hand. It was a feeling he liked, usually, in the shape of gloves for work or fashion, be it as a jacket or pants. He looked hot in leather pants, he knew it. At first, the saddle had looked nice, almost comfy, and he had hopped on it without thinking much about it. One hour later and his opinion on the matter had changed. A lot.

“You want me to go back on this,” Tony said, posing it like a question. Glaring angrily at the offending object. It hurt, ok.

“You have to,” answered Bucky, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “if you don’t want to go all the way back on foot. And you won’t like it,” he added, as if Tony didn’t know it already.

“I didn’t like it by horse riding either,” Tony said petulantly, crossing his arms.

“That’s a lie and you know it,” the traitor countered, giving up on hiding his mirth and now smiling fondly at Tony. “You were all excited and happy and you liked it.”

“… But now my ass hurts,” Tony whined, shifting and trying to make the pain go away. It didn’t.

“It’s not like you’re not used to it,” Bucky drawled, his smile now devious in that way he knew Tony loved.

It fell flat, though. At the moment Tony wanted nothing more than to go back home and lie down. Not sit, mind you, everything under his belt was in pain and he didn’t want to think about what he would go through if he had to sit. His calves were sore too, which Tony had not expected when he first agreed to a short ride with Bucky.

They had been at it for three hours when Tony had asked for a small break. His inner thighs weren’t too sore, but he knew it would come soon. The thing was… he probably shouldn’t have dismounted because now the prospect of putting his ass back on the saddle seemed slightly close to torturing himself.

“Not that kind of pain, you bastard,” he muttered without heat.

With a soft sniff, he stepped closer to his mare, Cherry, and climbed back on the saddle, wincing when the leather pressed against each of his sore spots.

Coming closer, Bucky pecked him on the cheek: “I’ll massage you once we’re back,” he said softly.

“Better hurry then or there won’t be anything to massage anymore.”

Bucky laughed as Tony pressed gently on the flank of his mount, urging her to quicken the pace.

It took them two hours to reach their starting point and a half an hour of painful driving back to where the Avengers were having their mini vacation.

“I need your hands on my ass yesterday, buckaroo,” Tony called over his shoulder, going straight for their room under the confused stares of their teammates.

Closing the door and noticing Natasha’s small grin, Steve’s pained look, Clint’s wide eyes and Sam’s scrunched nose, Bucky couldn’t help himself. Not one to miss an opening, he winked at Clint, knowing a weak prey when he saw one, and wiggled his fingers with a devilish grin.

Clint screamed.

(Maybe not as much as Tony did when Bucky started applying pressure on his sore buttcheeks)

The Lady of Shalott

by Alfred Tennyson

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro’ the field the road runs by
      To many-tower’d Camelot;
The yellow-leaved waterlily
The green-sheathed daffodilly
Tremble in the water chilly
      Round about Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens shiver.
The sunbeam showers break and quiver
In the stream that runneth ever
By the island in the river
      Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
      The Lady of Shalott.

Underneath the bearded barley,
The reaper, reaping late and early,
Hears her ever chanting cheerly,
Like an angel, singing clearly,
      O'er the stream of Camelot.
Piling the sheaves in furrows airy,
Beneath the moon, the reaper weary
Listening whispers, ‘Tis the fairy,
      Lady of Shalott.’

The little isle is all inrail’d
With a rose-fence, and overtrail’d
With roses: by the marge unhail’d
The shallop flitteth silken sail’d,
      Skimming down to Camelot.
A pearl garland winds her head:
She leaneth on a velvet bed,
Full royally apparelled,
      The Lady of Shalott.

No time hath she to sport and play:
A charmed web she weaves alway.
A curse is on her, if she stay
Her weaving, either night or day,
      To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be;
Therefore she weaveth steadily,
Therefore no other care hath she,
      The Lady of Shalott.

She lives with little joy or fear.
Over the water, running near,
The sheepbell tinkles in her ear.
Before her hangs a mirror clear,
      Reflecting tower’d Camelot.
And as the mazy web she whirls,
She sees the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
      Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad,
      Goes by to tower’d Camelot:
And sometimes thro’ the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
      The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror’s magic sights,
For often thro’ the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
      And music, came from Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead
Came two young lovers lately wed;
'I am half sick of shadows,’ said
      The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro’ the leaves,
And flam’d upon the brazen greaves
      Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel’d
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
      Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter’d free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
      As he rode down from Camelot:
And from his blazon’d baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
      Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn’d like one burning flame together,
      As he rode down from Camelot.
As often thro’ the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
      Moves over green Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d;
On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow’d
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
      As he rode down from Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash’d into the crystal mirror,
'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:’
      Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom
She made three paces thro’ the room
She saw the water-flower bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
      She look’d down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
'The curse is come upon me,’ cried
      The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
      Over tower’d Camelot;
Outside the isle a shallow boat
Beneath a willow lay afloat,
Below the carven stern she wrote,
      The Lady of Shalott.

A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight,
All raimented in snowy white
That loosely flew (her zone in sight
Clasp’d with one blinding diamond bright)
      Her wide eyes fix’d on Camelot,
Though the squally east-wind keenly
Blew, with folded arms serenely
By the water stood the queenly
      Lady of Shalott.

With a steady stony glance—
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Beholding all his own mischance,
Mute, with a glassy countenance—
      She look’d down to Camelot.
It was the closing of the day:
She loos’d the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
      The Lady of Shalott.

As when to sailors while they roam,
By creeks and outfalls far from home,
Rising and dropping with the foam,
From dying swans wild warblings come,
      Blown shoreward; so to Camelot
Still as the boathead wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her chanting her deathsong,
      The Lady of Shalott.

A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy,
She chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her eyes were darken’d wholly,
And her smooth face sharpen’d slowly,
      Turn’d to tower’d Camelot:
For ere she reach’d upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
      The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden wall and gallery,
A pale, pale corpse she floated by,
Deadcold, between the houses high,
      Dead into tower’d Camelot.
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
To the planked wharfage came:
Below the stern they read her name,
      The Lady of Shalott.

They cross’d themselves, their stars they blest,
Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.
There lay a parchment on her breast,
That puzzled more than all the rest,
      The wellfed wits at Camelot.
'The web was woven curiously,
The charm is broken utterly,
Draw near and fear not,—this is I,
      The Lady of Shalott.’

kurosmind  asked:

"I wish I met you sooner", dorlen or whoever you want, I challenge u to make it under 300! 8D

Challenge accepted >:D

“An interesting thought, amatus. You know few would agree, yes?”

“I know. But they’re wrong.”

Dorian chuckled, shaking his head at Varlen, who was riding rather smugly beside him as though the beaten leather saddle was a throne he had claimed by birthright.

“So, and feel free to correct me if I am mistaken, they are wrong for believing it is wrong to be… wrong?”

A boyish smile spread across Varlen’s face, and he shone it across at Dorian. “That’s right! And you know what the best part is? That’s okay.” He nodded sagely to himself, as though he had just imparted profound knowledge on the world, and the world was far better for it. “Nothing wrong with being wrong. That’s just life, isn’t it?”

Turning his gaze skyward, Dorian pondered the matter for a moment, drinking in the glimpses of blue that snuck between the mottled canopy. “Is that so?” he mused distractedly. An interesting prospect, in a sense… although a tad impractical.

“Yep.” Varlen’s certainty was admirable. Enviable. Dorian only wished he had ever felt such certainty about anything in his entire life.

Snorting lightly, leaves trickling down from above, Dorian shifted in his saddle and cringed at the stiffness of his back and thighs. “So tell me, then… what is so right about being wrong?”

“That’s easy. It means there’s room.”


Varlen turned to him and grinned. “To do better next time!” The grin faded into something more somber as his gaze returned to the road ahead. “Too many people think that being wrong is the worst thing that can happen. But it just… isn’t. There’s no shame in admitting it when it happens.”

Dorian blinked, then a fond smile gently lifted the corner of his mouth.

“Oh amatus… I wish I’d met you sooner.”

Contents: 00q, sequel to this, suit porn?

Warnings: none.

James beat down the roiling in his stomach for the third time. He wasn’t nervous, exactly, just eager to gauge Q’s reaction. He’d pulled all the strings he had left in London for this table. Right there on the Thames with a view of Tower Bridge - it was certainly a romantic notion, and Bond felt he’d learned something about Q that the man hadn’t wanted him to know in revealing his preference for dinner locations.

For once in his life, James was on time. He was shown to the table - the best they had, with a perfect view of the bridge - and handed the wine list.

And he waited.

Five minutes. James checked his watch. Five minutes wasn’t too bad, could have been traffic or a train delayed. Could have been a watch running slow.

Ten minutes. James set the wine list aside and wished with every fiber of his soul that he hadn’t quit smoking - not that he could at the table, but it would have given him an excuse to get up from the table and walk away without looking like a goddamn fool. He picked up the wine list again and the waiter walked by with a quirked eyebrow and a pitying smile. James’ hackles rose.

Thirteen and a half minutes after seven, Q appeared and James’ mouth went dry. Nobody at Six would ever believe him if he told the tale. Q was dressed in a forest green suit with contrasting lapels, his tie a fashionable grey with white diagonal stripes of varying widths that seemed to have a slight ombre to it, although James couldn’t tell much, as his jacket was buttoned. And, to finish off the look, bright saddle-leather oxfords with a brogue cap-toe.

His hair was just as wild as it usually was, but somehow in that sharply tailored suit it seemed purposeful instead of haphazard and his eyes sparkled brilliant emerald behind his glasses.

James stood up so fast he nearly knocked his chair over.

“I think we should skip right to dessert,” he said as Q took his seat.


“You look good enough to eat.”

From this.

Fire From the Gods

McHanzo Week Day 1 - Morning || Night  

Night comes quickly in the desert. The sun swoops down low over that flat, flat horizon, stops to eyeball you one last time, and then just dives. Like it knows you been cussin’ the god damn heat all day and it wants to give you a little taste of what it’s like to be alone. Alone in the blackout dark stumblin’ over yourself and turnin’ every noise you hear into a footstep.

Only what that old sun don’t know is you and your ancestors stole fire from the gods. Brought it right back down from the holy mountain like you was entitled to it and stuck it smack in the middle of every camp, town, village, and temple. We got your fire right here, fuckers. Sorry about the eternal vengeance of the gods and all, Prometheus. We was pretty keen to keep warm at night.

And it keeps you warm. Keeps the wild things that’s scared of it away. They can’t make heads or tails of fire. Like they know in their blood that light belongs in the sky. And if there’s light on the ground, it’s gotta be somethin’ dangerous that done it. Somethin’ that has the power of life and death. A god. You think about bein a god. A real one, not the kind as stole their fire and wears their face and just calls itself a god. The universal theology. Every man thinks he’s a god.

But the fire’s still warm and bright and it still keeps the wild animals away. Then your baby lays his hand on your arm and it burns like a brand. Ain’t no fire as can warm him now. He’s burnin’ inside. Those old gods got revenge on you. Got you good. Stuck a little coal right down deep inside your baby and he’s burnin’.

He says Jesse I’m so cold and he’s white like he’s made of wax and his hand’s shakin’. He’s got all the blankets wrapped around him and he’s sittin’ too close to the fire already. You pull him in and hold him tight and his head falls on your chest real gentle and soft and it makes you sick to your stomach cause he was always the strong one and you knew it.

He was so brave and sure and in love with you. Proud and determined and full of spirit like a thoroughbred. He said he’d go anywhere with you. And you worthless dog you let him. Took him right down off his mountain and let him crawl in the dirt with you like a mortal man. Like you was Prometheus all over again. Takin’ what you hadn’t a right to and keepin’ it for your own.

He’s fragile now. Like one of them white flowers on them trees up on his hill back home. He ain’t never been out in the wild like this. You knew it was gettin’ to him when he braided that black hair and wound it up real tight in a little knot. And you cried. You cried like a drunk at a funeral when he made you cut it off with your buck knife. That heavy, silky, braid of black glass. He wanted to throw it in the fire. You said you’d go in the fire with it and he cried too. But he was already too weak to fight with you and so you stuck it in your pocket and he didn’t even try to stop you. You don’t let him see you cry no more.

He says Jesse I’m dying and you lie. You lie like your heart and soul and everything in the world depends on it. Cause it does. You say no darlin’ you ain’t dyin’ it’s just it always feels worse than it really is. It’s just the fever makes your bones ache and makes you feel cold when you ain’t.

And he looks up at you with them bright black eyes and he’s so beautiful it makes you hurt. Used to be every time he looked away you got afraid he didn’t love you no more. Now every time he breathes out you’re afraid he won’t breathe in again. And you’re doin’ this to him. You’re lettin’ him die. Cause you ain’t no god. You ain’t even a man. You can fool them wild animals out in the black just past the circle where it’s light. But you can’t fool yourself. You got no power of life and death. You’re just a dog with some stolen fire.

He says Jesse sing me a song and you do it. Even though your fingers is numb and stupid and your mouth’s so dry it feels like you been eatin’ fistfuls of dirt. You play and sing your throat raw until you think he’s sleepin’ and then you play some more. You catch yourself fallin’ forward and realize you passed out playin’ and he laughs a little croaky laugh and it’s all worth it.

He says Jesse tell me and you do and you’re sayin I love you I love you I love you and holdin’ onto him like he’s a life raft and you’re drownin’ in a stormy sea and all the while the fire from the holy mountain is burnin’ up your baby’s insides.

But he gets to sleepin’ after a while. Shudderin’ and mumblin’ and moanin’ sometimes. As long as he ain’t still. When he gets still you go cold inside. Your mind and body screams at you and tries to tear you in half till he stirs again and then you sit there shakin’ and tryin’ not to puke. Sometimes you don’t. You wash your mouth out with whiskey and walk around to keep the sleep off. Your eyes is gritty and stingin’ and your arms and legs is heavy as bricks and stiff like old saddle leather but you keep movin’ just to stay awake. He can’t die if you ain’t asleep. If you don’t give up and let go.

If death’s comin’ he better bring a big-ass bag cause he’ll be takin’ two. Hell, he better bring the devil with him cause you ain’t lettin’ this one go without a fight. Johnny and his god damned fiddle ain’t got nothin’ on you. You’re Jesse god damned McCree. You got a trigger finger like a steel trap and a hand so steady it makes statues nervous. Both your hands is shakin’ now but when the heat of battle is on you, you’re a dead-eyed killer.

So you stand over him like a wolf over the bloody carcass of its mate outnumbered and outgunned and surrounded and darin’ hell and the devil and death and all the gods in Olympus and Hades to fuckin’ come at you. You realize you’re growlin’. Snarlin’ like a wild beast and the sky is gettin’ light. You fall on your ass on the ground next to him cause you can’t help it. You cuss your legs for bein’ traitors but you can’t stand up again.

He moves a little. Sticks his hand out from under them blankets and gropes around. You take it and Jesus Christ and fuck all else his hand’s soakin’ wet and you just break down weepin’ like a newborn baby cause the fever’s broke and you try to remember all the prayers from when you was little but all you can remember is Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ I thought I was losin’ you.

His face and hair’s soakin’ wet too and you kiss them and kiss him and make him wetter with your big fat tears. You lie down right there in the dirt and hold him on your chest and the sun’s just climbin’ over the horizon. He laughs real soft and tired and asks why your gun’s out. You say you saw some coyotes cause you don’t want to admit you was threatenin’ the devil.

He drinks a little water and he says Jesse I’m hungry and you never heard a sweeter damn song in your life. Them gods can take their fire and stick it up their sanctified asses cause your baby’s gonna live. You don’t need no fire to keep you warm. You got him and he’s all you need.

shabbat shalom, sincerely, stan

Relationship: Bill Denbrough/Stan Uris

Characters: Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough, Andrea Bertoli, Donald Uris

Words: 2474

Author:  hawrthiacoopri


On his head was a delicate white kippah that was embroidered with feathers- of course it has feathers, Bill thought, it’s Stan’s, for god’s sake- and that contrasted against his dark, angular features in a way Bill knew Stan had meant for it to. His eyes, a deep, chocolate brown that Bill had grown to call comforting, were trained fastidiously on Bill from his spot at the mirror. “Oh, hello, Bill- shabbat shalom.” He snagged Bill’s confused eyes and smiled. “Haven’t heard that before, huh?”

“Nuh-no, sorry.”

Stan laughed, a slightly throaty sound that made Bill smile yet again. “It’s the greeting for shabbat. It means have a peaceful shabbat, basically.” He looked bemusedly at Bill’s expression of bewilderment again, and smirked. “Shabbat is sabbath, Big Bill. I thought you were smart.”


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anonymous asked:

(Can't believe I haven't found one of these but) What would happen if the Horsemen go say hi/pick up their "friend" at school?

War: It’s not the mass of students gathered around the school gates that gets your attention initially, but rather, it’s the gigantic, cloaked figure of War, clad in blood red and sticking out like a sore thumb.
War?!” you bark in surprise, causing the horseman’s head to jerk sharply in your direction and you have to swallow a laugh at the look on his face that practically screams ‘Help me.’

 He’s surrounded by children of all ages. None quite daring to get too close, but far too curious to back away. Slowly, as though horrified that he might accidentally step on one of the smaller ones, War edges through the crowd towards you. Students part like waves around him as he moves towards you and there are audible gasps and hushed whispers when War stops before you, With a nod of greeting, the horseman gruffly ushers you out the gate where Ruin stands patiently, looking too out of place amongst the shiny cars and balking parents. Some look as though they’re about to call somebody; ‘a student is being kidnapped by one of the horsemen of the apocalypse!’ But you throw a wave to your friends behind you, staring from the safety of the playground. 

“Well, my ride’s here!” you joke, jabbing a thumb at War as he lifts you effortlessly into Ruin’s saddle. “I’ll see you all tomorrow!”

Strife: Mortifyingly, it’s the sound of screaming school kids and the sudden clattering of thunderous hooves that lets you know that your ride home is here. You don’t even have time to turn around before something snags the back of your shirt and heaves you into the air, promptly depositing you in a hard, leather saddle.

 You sigh deeply. “Hey Strife..” 

“Hey kiddo,” he chirps in reply, “Good day at school?”

“Yeah, you know, it was going fine. I’d managed to stay mostly under the radar until a horsemen snatched me off the playground.” You glance over your shoulder to shoot the horseman a playful glare as he guides his horse through the maze of kids back towards the gate. All the way, fellow students gawk at you, and Strife relishes the attention.

He makes a huge show of leaving, pulling his mount into a dangerous rear whilst it bellows viciously, at last heaving itself forward and galloping off down the road with you and your horseman on its back. 

You’d be answering a lot of curious questions tomorrow, you’re sure of that.  

Fury: A commotion at the school gate had you waltzing over there, trying to weave your way through the throng of people until you stop dead in your tracks when you see what all the fuss is about.

Fury is knelt beside one of the younger students, a curious smile stretches her lips as she listens to the young boy try to trade her his history text book for her whip.

“As tempting as that offer may be….” Fury chuckles, catching your eye and beaming, “I’m afraid I must decline.” She ruffles the boy’s hair, standing up and sauntering over to you gracefully. “Y/n, my dear friend. I was beginning to think I’d gotten the wrong place of education.” 

“Hello Fury,” you grin and accept her one armed hug. The rest of the students are gawking comedically at you interacting with this walking death machine and you can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable under all the sudden attention. Squeezing your hand and sparing a playful smile to your classmates, Fury pulls you along behind her.

Death: A scream split through the air like the crack of a whip at the same time as a young voice shouted ‘COOL!’ 

You feel your face stretch into a smile as you follow the sounds and your eyes land upon the imposing, eerie form of the eldest horseman. 

“Death!” you call, waving over at him and earning yourself some incredulous looks from the large crowd that had gathered at the sound of screaming. The horseman’s gaze snaps to you and he seems to visibly exhale. What? Had he not expected to find you here? You give a sheepish grin to your fellow students as you trot over to Death and beam up into his masked face. The horseman regards you as a hush falls over the playground. His eyes rove over you, from your phone in hand to the bag on your back, filled with books. He seems to be doing an inventory check….

After a few quiet seconds, Death nods with an air of decisiveness and places a large hand on your shoulder, guiding you to walk before him and out through the school gates. One of the younger girls is crying at the sight of the Reaper, and you pretend not to see the way his eyes flick over to her momentarily before a guilty look swims across his expression.

Despair whiskers hauntingly in greeting as you place a soft hand on his bony muzzle, still ignoring the frightened stares of parents and pupils alike. You allow Death to lift himself into Despair’s saddle before he offers you his hand and pulls you up to sit in front of him. Timidly, you shrug at your friends as they make vague gestures for you to ‘Get out of there’,  ‘run!’, ‘call me!’ etc. 


It’s been years beyond count since I’ve bought clothes in India. I gave up sometime in 2009, mostly because I was tired of being constantly disappointed and excluded. There are more plus size clothing options in India these days, especially online, but it’s still rare that I can find something that fits my style and budget. This dress was an unexpected surprise, even more so because I found it at the local mall while shopping for my sister. It takes a lot to overcome memories of feeling oversized and out of place while dredging through racks of tiny dresses and tops, but I’m glad I did it this once because this dress fulfills all my boho fashion dreams for summer. The bag is also a local buy from eBay India, and while it took a bit of TLC (oiling and polishing) before I could use it, I’m super happy with how it turned out. 

Wearing ♥ Melange by Lifestyle dress {similar available at ASOS} ♥ Leather saddle bag {similar here} ♥ ASOS lace headband {similar here} ♥ Birkenstock Madrid sandals

Get the look ♥

External image

i realize this is not news to anyone who follows me but. i have a Very Big Crush on gwendoline christie

and the news that i will be seeing more of her in a new star wars movie that comes out the day before my birthday is just. delightful. i hope u desert the stupid first order and kick butt alongside boyega, my silver-clad warrior lady

anonymous asked:

Leather saddles vs synthetic? Synthetic are lighter (and cheaper) but I've been unable to find anything on if leather has any benefits aside from looking/feeling nicer and was wondering if you had opinions

No clue, I have no saddle tips except regarding treeless vs treed and the importance of fit. I think (?) it’s largely a matter of preference and the fact that leather saddles have been around for so much longer that synthetic saddles have a while to catch up. I’m a fan of the idea of synthetic saddles tho, easier to clean and you can vegan it up.

But also is there anything more soothing than oiling and cleaning up a nice leather saddle??? i think now

Any saddle buffs who want to get opinionated on this one?

Listen, i’m only a few days away from being 43 and i’m Goth a Fuck.   This is how things start going to hell: one day your feet hurt, or it’s freezing in the apartment, or you have a huge dinner and your awesome skinny black jeans don’t fit and if you have some super comfortable but ugly clothes to resort to … THAT is where the backsliding starts.

Having a closet full of ballgowns and corsets is awesome, but sometimes it’s too hot to put on a fancy frock, sometimes you just want to run out of the house for some food without putting on a full face of makeup, or you just want to chill in something super comfy.

looking stylish and flying my colors makes me happy. I want to be happy as much as possible, so i try and make sure no matter the circumstances that i’m rocking the look that makes me feel confident and happy with myself. This is how i dress goth every day without it being super high maintenance:

1) I buy comfortable pieces to wear in black. I buy stuff in “normal” stores, focusing on flattering cuts and fabrics (soft laces, mesh, full skirts, faux-jet beading, anything in stretch jersey fabric) and i just make sure it’s black. These comfortable, affordable items will pair well with more sub-culture specific pieces without making me look like a Hot Topic/Killstar store exploded onto me.

2) I add easy accessories. Rings, necklaces and purses instantly goth up a plain black outfit, it takes very little time or effort to put on and if your weight fluctuates like mine does … well that necklace is going to fit regardless isn’t it?

3) I maintain my fun hair. Some people can’t deal with the upkeep, but seriously bleaching and color is now readily available everywhere and pretty easy, plus if you take care of it (use a color-safe shampoo, wash w/ cool water instead of hot, maybe don’t wash every single day if you can help it) you can get away w/ just fussing with the color once a month. Pair it w/ a great cut and you can wake up every day halfway to fabulous. If work won’t let you get away w/ bright colors, you can try the under-colors or just classic black … that never goes out of style. If you love the teased trad look i’d add some fake clip-in hair under your real hair for height and bulk since getting your hair hat big on it’s own is a huge time commitment.

4) I prioritize Makeup. Personally i do high-quality skincare w/ good SPF and only pick one feature to goth out. Tumblr may tell you different but most people find it hard to put on a full face every day. Flawless is for photoshoots! If you can nail down one feature (eyes? brows? lips?) that you can do quickly with good results, i’d stick to that and just go basic for the others to save time. A good skincare routine that includes a high SPF sunscreen (or a good BB cream - i like Missha’s BB cream with 45 SPF) will pay out big dividends in the long run. When your sun-loving friends look like a leather saddle you’ll be happy you took the time.

5) I keep going out, keep listening to new music. That part gets harder as you get older, and the stuff that you loved as a teen is still pretty great now. Keeping in touch with your community and giving new music a chance is the best thing to keep your passion alive over the decades. I swear, there is NEW Goth music being made and some of it is great … follow a few DJs on your social media of choice and let them guide you to some new faves to fall in love with.

6) However, *YOU* should feel free to ignore any of this advice and do what you love. Whatever attracted you to the Gothic lifestyle will continue to feed you. For me it was Victorian Literature and cheesy Gothic novels and possibly a demo version of “Heartland” played late at night. I think the fastest way to fall out of love with goth is by thinking there is this regimented way of living or looking and if you transgress you have to GTFO and do something else. You don’t. there are no real Gatekeepers. Nobody is qualified to kick you out of the club. If you want to be here, congratulations you have arrived. You get to make the rules for you.

… so with that, and only 4 days away from my 43rd birthday … i’m going to read some Wilkie Collins in the tub and maybe touch up my color w/ some orange Overtone conditioner. Stay spooky my friends!

“my heart aches to believe
i’m cheated by what i see
freedom holds a double edge for me”
-Black Flag


I picked up this 1983(?) Miyata 610 for $85 in almost perfect condition. Even the pump and water bottle are original. I threw on some new gum wall tires, new tubes and a leather saddle I already had. I was planning on buying a new road bike, but I didn’t feel like mortgaging my house to get one.

She’s a cream-puff.

anonymous asked:

Do you know of any other vegan equestrians who choose not to buy leather or wool and how they manage to buy quality tack for their horse? I agree that wool is better than foam from what I've heard so, I (a vegan) would prob just have to make that sacrifice for the sake of my hopefully future horse

Off hand the only other vegan equestrian I know of on here is @carryonmywaywardstirrup
Anyone have any ideas?
As an aside, before I got my current saddle which is leather,I was using a Thorowgood and it was great. Synthetic, and it did have wool panels. I’ve heard good things about Wintec leathers and there’s some great non-leather girths out there (Lettia (sp?) Comes to mind) Bridles, riding boots, etc though I don’t know what’s out there of decent quality unfortunately. Best of luck!