Thank you to everyone who has sent asks and messages about this story. I wish I could promise regular updates but my life is just too improv for that LOL. Love you all!
The large dining room table was filled to capacity thanks to the unexpected visitors. Claire entered the room and caught Jenny’s gesture to sit down between herself and Jamie, who was at the head of the table. Dougal unfortunately sat directly across from her on Jamie’s right. Claire met his eye as she sat down, not giving him an inch. She felt Jamie’s knee brush hers in acknowledgement as he watched his uncle.
“So, Jamie lad,” Douglas said, eying Claire in an appreciative sort of way. “I heard tell that my nephew had been overcome by bloody Sassenachs and came as soon I could to lend aid. We met yon French lad on the road and found out ye’d been rescued already.”
Claire belatedly wondered if his bandages were bothering him. She hadn’t had the chance to change them today in the chaos of preparation.
“I wasna up to helpin’ o’ermuch but they did brawly and got me home. Why did ye keep comin’, if ye kent things were well here?” Jamie asked, taking a bite of roll and chewing. Dougal looked amused.
“Weel, I was halfway here at any rate. Didna want to pass up a chance at seein’ my favorite nephew. Imagine my surprise, though, when I found out there’s an English lassie stayin’ at Lallybroch. A healer, to boot.”
Jamie’s passive mask faltered, but only for a moment, then he inclined his head toward Claire.
“Dougal, this is Claire Beauchamp. Claire, this is Dougal MacKenzie, my uncle.”
“Pleasure,” Claire replied sardonically, taking a drink of the whisky in front of her.
The warmth of the alcohol slid smoothly down her throat, sending calming tendrils of heat throughout her body. She caught Jamie’s slight smirk out of the corner of her eye. Claire also noticed that Jenny, while seemingly engaged in listening to the boisterous telling of a tale from the end of the table, was very well aware of the conversation happening near her.
“Dougal happened upon my surgery when he arrived here. We were in the middle of a very interesting conversation, were we not?” she said.
“Oh aye?” Jamie asked. “What was the subject matter?”
Jamie turned toward Dougal at this. Claire felt Jamie’s thigh brush hers and she relaxed. Murtagh must have relayed what had happened. She nudged him back and took another sip of whisky, looking at Dougal over the rim of her glass. Dougal looked at her for a moment, an inscrutable look on his face.
“I was just curious how a lass such as she happened to find herself in Scotland. Especially considering the Sassenach problem ye’ve encountered the past year,” he said, eying Jamie now. “I wondered if she might be a spy.”
Above the table, Jamie stayed relaxed. Below, Claire felt the muscles of his leg stiffen with tension.
“Claire came here at the request of my sister, to aid me. She’s a verra talented healer and offered to stay at Lallybroch until Ian and Jenny’s bairn arrives. She is my guest until she chooses to part wi’ us,” Jamie added, implication subtle, but clear.
Claire took a bite of mutton, unsure if her flushed cheeks were from drinking too much too fast or from Jamie’s words. She pressed the length of her thigh against his, but this time didn’t pull back. She watched Jamie’s throat move as he swallowed.
“I see,” Dougal replied lowly. “Well, then..”
He lifted his glass in toast then sipped as he gazed at her. Claire looked down at her plate again, appetite completely gone. So, he thought she was a spy. Clearly Jamie did not, which was a comfort. She could also feel something else in the undercurrent of their conversation. Privately, Claire hoped Dougal and his entourage would make a quick and quiet exit. Jenny nudged her elbow and gave her a brief but encouraging smile before turning back to her other conversation.
Am I really that bloody easy to read? she thought, taking another drink.
Apparently so, for thirty minutes (and three glasses of whisky) later Jamie leaned toward her. His arm brushed hers. She could smell the scents of woodsmoke and whisky coming from him, feel his warmth through his shirt.
“Sorry to ask but could ye come wi’ me? My bandages are chafing..”
He shrugged, like his shirt was too tight. Claire didn’t think Jamie the sort of man who would admit to being in pain in front of these men even if his arm was falling off. She had a reason to know. Suspicious, yet grateful to leave, Claire nodded and rose with him. Bidding everyone good night, the pair moved to the hallway.
“Here, Sassenach,” Jamie chuckled, pulling her closer as she stumbled up the stairs a bit.
“I’m not drunk,” Claire said without preamble.
“Oh aye?” he asked, not letting go.
“Aye,” she quipped, smiling up at him. “Are your bandages really chafing or are you just being a gentleman and escorting me to my room?”
Even as the words slipped out, the heat in her cheeks, and in her belly, deepened. Jamie’s grip tightened briefly, but he let her go as he opened her bedroom door for her. They stepped inside. Jamie, after a moment’s hesitation, shut the door behind him. Mrs. Crook had lit the fire at some point; the light from the flames lit his face.
“What’s the matter?” Claire asked, seeing his troubled look. He exhaled.
“I want to apologize for my uncle’s behavior and assure ye that I’ll have a word wi’ him.”
“Oh,” she said, looking away and fidgeting with her hands. “Yes, well..”
“Claire, I promised ye that ye dinna need to be scairt. I dinna make false promises. I…” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.
Touched, Claire reached for him, squeezing his arm. He met her eyes then, the look in them enough to melt any inhibitions that may have been left. She wasn’t sure who moved first, but his mouth was on hers, his arms coming around her back to pull her tight to him. One hand gripped his waist, careful of his scars, and the other tangled itself in his thick, ruddy hair. Opening her mouth to him, her tongue skimmed his lower lip before meeting his. She could taste the whisky and mutton from dinner; and something else that was just him.
Jamie groaned into her mouth, turning to press her against the rough stone wall. The bricks were cold on her back while Jamie was warm as a furnace on her front, flushing his hips with hers as his thumbs found the skin just under the hem of her shirt. He bit her lip lightly and Claire gasped, grinding into him, wanting more. Wanting him.
Suddenly, Jamie pulled his lips from hers. He was gasping, looking at her in a way she’d never seen before.
He made a small noise, shaking his head before pressing his forehead against hers. He was shaking with restraint as he brought up a hand to cup her cheek.
“Claire, I’m sorry. I dinna ken..”
He shook his head again, tucking her under his chin and burying his nose in her hair. Claire slowly brought her hands up to hold him, more than a little bewildered, her breathing evening out as her senses came back to her.
“Christ,” he said, pulling back again. “I’m sorry. I swear I didna mean for this to happen. I..”
“Shush,” she whispered, stilling him. She cupped his cheek and traced his lower lip with her thumb. “Don’t be sorry. Please.”
She said the last word shakily, inwardly cringing at this display of vulnerability. Jamie took it for the token it was, kissing her forehead softly and gently pulling her in.
“I’ve wanted to do that from the first moment I saw ye,” he whispered, after a little.
Claire smiled softly, pulling back and meeting his eyes.
“What stopped you?” she asked.
“Jamie! Ye’re needed downstairs,” a gruff voice hollered, earning a groan from Jamie.
He exhaled, looking her over. Claire thought her hair must be ridiculously mussed, her lips kissed red if the tingle she felt was accurate.
“Ye’re so beautiful, mo nighean donn,” Jamie said, divining her thoughts as he brushed a curl behind her ear.
“James!” the gruff voice yelled again.
“Aye, hold off, I’m comin’” Jamie hollered back, earning a soft giggle from Claire.
“Himself is needed.”
“Aye,” he replied, smiling self deprecatingly.
“Talk tomorrow?” she asked tentatively.
Jamie nodded then bent to kiss her once more, tenderly.
You and Daehwi win “the best couple that never was” in the yearbook. Your boyfriend Youngmin is not pleased.
“Hyung, look!” Daehwi shoved his yearbook into Youngmin’s
face. You laughed at Youngmin’s unimpressed reaction to Daehwi’s excitement. “(Y/N)
and I made the yearbook!”
“Ah, that,” you winced a bit, feeling slightly awkward.
“Oh, for what?” Youngmin asked, grabbing the yearbook. “Wow,
they really upgraded it since last year, huh?” You and Daehwi went to the same
high school, and Youngmin, your boyfriend, had graduated last year.
You sat at the kitchen table surrounded by hundreds of letters. You were currently analyzing each letter that Jason had wrote you, looking for any proof that he stopped loving you and what made him want to cheat on you. The front door opened, revealing your sister Angelica. “What are you doing here?” You turned around to face your older sibling. “I went to go visit Jason. Telling him off like the big sister I am!” She expected to get a laugh out of you, but instead you shrugged your shoulders as you turned around to continue analyzing the letters in front of you. Angelica started to say something else when- “Could you please leave, I’m in the middle of something really important.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, still wondering how Jay could write like he was running out of time. Angelica looked at you with wide eyes, but dared to say nothing as she walked out of the apartment. You looked at the pile of writings. A newer piece of paper caught your eye, as you began to read it, tears slid down your face. “My Dearest, (Y/N), Wow, I can’t believe you’re real and I get to spend my life with you. I know that I’ve been busy lately and I’m sorry. Convincing big O’ B can be hard. I hope that you can forgive me for missing our date! I promise I’ll make it up to you ;).” That letter was dated only a few weeks ago. You searched through other letters only to find that they all dealt with him missing something to talk to Bruce. Something was happening right before your eyes and you couldn’t see it! How stupid could you get. Just as you were about to put the letters back into the box you kept them in, an idea struck. Quickly, you grabbed the box and a lighter. As you went into your apartments alleyway, you dumped the paper into a pile and took your lighter out. “I’m erasing myself from the narrative. Let social media wonder how I reacted when you broke my heart. You’re the one who tore this all apart.” You lit the pile of papers on fire. You sat down, leaning against the wall, looking at what you just did. “I hope that you burn,” you say as the small fire died out. Little did you know that Red Hood had watched the whole thing.
I hate telling my parents about my writing, let alone reading it to them. My mom thinks I curse too much for my age (which is literally 14) and every time I read what I've written she gets mad because it "has so much cursing" according to her. My thing with cursing is, if it's the way my character's will speak then I will curse all I want in my story, but my mom doesn't seem to understand that and pretty much hates everything I write and my dad just shrugs his shoulders. Idk what to do! DX
If you hate telling your parents about your writing, why are you telling your parents about your writing? I’m kinda at a loss here. You’re very young and under your parents’ rule. While it’s true your characters should be written in an appropriate manner according to their personality, it’s also true that you are under her roof and thus must obey her rules. So if her opinion bothers you so much, why are you reading your writing to her? Unless she requires you to do so. Seems like you’re shooting yourself in the foot for no reason.
Illya paced outside the cinema’s entrance unsure of whether
he should just head home or walk into the diner across the street to wait. He
couldn’t change his mind, not now.
Mr. Connery, pistol aimed with an arrogant smirk, mocked him
from the movie poster.
When he told Gaby that he would not spend his money to see
something so ridiculously stupid as Goldfinger she had merely shrugged her
shoulders, said ‘suit yourself’ and bought a ticket before disappearing behind
the cinema’s door. Illya, who had fully expected to be subjected to a tirade
about his stubbornness or his anti-capitalist sentiments before giving in and
buying a ticket, stood dumbfounded at Gaby’s lack of fiery persuasion.
The ticket seller looked at him dully from the glass booth.
Illya cursed and fished seventy cents from his pocket before slapping it on the
“Enjoy the show,” the pimpled teen mumbled.
Illya squinted through the smoky haze of the theatre until
he spotted a brunette ponytail.
“I saved you a seat,” Gaby whispered when he arrived,
removing the jacket beside her.
Illya sat down without a word, eyes front. Gaby’s lips
stretched into a sly grin.
1. Recognise that it’s a feeling – and our moods go up and down. Shrug your shoulders, grit your teeth and choose to make it through the day. Nothing’s really wrong – and there is nothing wrong with you. It’s just the way you’re feeling – and our feelings usually change.
2. Don’t be hard and condemn yourself. Don’t beat yourself up for feeling miserable and blah, or for feeling apathetic and low on energy. Be patient, understanding and gentle with yourself. You’re no worse than others as we ALL have blah days
3. Do something rather that nothing. Do a few mindless tasks so you don’t just waste the day – and you’re likely to feel better once those you’ve got those out the way as they’re usually the things that you never want to do!
4. Only do as much as you have to. It’s going to take all your strength just to make it through the day. Preserve your energy – and allow some things to slide. You can always get round to them another day.
5. Be extra nice to yourself. One of the best ways to fight a bleary day is to be nice to yourself and to do the kinds of things that help to lift your mood and to brighten up your day. For example, go out for a coffee, or have a bubble bath, turn up your favourite music or call a bunch of friends. Do all the kinds of things you know will help to boost your mood.
6. Remind yourself that it’s likely to pass. A bad day is just a day. It’s not the whole of your life. It just means that right now you want to crawl back into bed. It doesn’t mean your goals are wrong or that you won’t succeed in life! You’re just having a bad day – and it’s likely to pass.
I check the webpage out of habit, but Meredith Gran’s comic work Octopus Pie is over. I feel like this is how sports fans feel when a jersey is retired and lifted to the rafters, forever in its untouchable place, time divided between when it was active and whatever comes after.
That might sound grandiose, but in my mind, nothing tops the ten year run of Octopus Pie. And in the lifespan of what we call Webcomics, 2007-2017 is a granddaddy of a run, worthy of names like “pioneering,” “influential” and “groundbreaking” because in the space of those years, in this new medium, there was room to be those things without any hyperbole. The comics landscape of the past decade needed filling out and Meredith carved her space out with precision, showing a polish and drive and a talent from the beginning that set a high standard.
I’m guessing that I started Hark a Vagrant about six months after Octopus Pie began, but Meredith’s was already a name to be reckoned with, due to the solid reputation of her previous comic Skirting Danger and because she was an honest to god trained animator in a sea of stickmen comics or two-dudes-on-a-couch comics (RIP forever *kisses fingers, holds them to the sky*). I was intimidated by her sheer capability. But inspired too. I did not need to be intimidated, she was one of the first people I met in comics, and easily one of the best.
Meredith and I briefly shared an apartment and a studio, and I can tell you, she can draw circles around everyone you know. I later shared a studio with Mike Holmes, who could also draw circles around everyone, and now the two of them are married in some sort of talent supernova. I am happy for them, even though I feel like I make grade three crayon pictures next to them. But the other thing that being friends with Meredith for a long time has shown is the cutting wit, the care for stories done right, the love for a medium that will take you through highs and lows that come with comics, and lately through her job as a comics professor, the nurturing of upcoming talent. I see all of this in Octopus Pie, a comic where character was paramount, where plots were expertly moved, a fine balance was found between the messiness of people and the fun you can have with stories, where subtle emotional movements where rendered with room to breathe, where I felt like I could reach deep into the hearts and minds of the characters on the page because they had been fleshed out so well over the years that they seemed as real people, people that I loved.
I don’t really like that phrase “comics will break your heart,” commonly attributed to Schultz, or Kirby, it doesn’t really matter. You see it all the time, mostly when people are reckoning with the fact that they work in an unforgiving medium. I don’t even know what it is about the saying that I don’t like. Maybe it’s because we all know that comics are hard work, we all know that you might put your life and blood and heart into something and you might get nothing back. There are no surprises to be found there - it’s not a bad day you had, it’s a life you’re well aware of living, if you do. But we love the perserverers in comics. The people who live the phrase are the ones who inspire us the most.
I’m saying all this, and pardon the segue, because I have seen Octopus Pie, some of the finest story work of my generation, passed for recognition time and again and it confuses the hell out of me, truly. I don’t want to turn a tribute to a work I hold dear into sour grapes, that’s not the intention here, but lord above, if I can’t point this out now, then when can I? We all know that there are no guarantees in this life (comics will break your heart) but I’ll say this once and then leave it: this is a comic of quality that was miles ahead of so many of its peers, and it deserved better, industry wise. To wrap up the earlier point, maybe I don’t like CWBYH because it implies that you should shrug your shoulders and not ask for better every time, that a short end of some kind of stick is expected even. That’s easy when it’s yourself, but speaking as a fan now, I say to heck with shrugging, I want to put Meredith on my shoulders and parade her around and dump her into a Scrooge McDuck thing full of awards.
Actually that sounds pointy and bad and the Ignatz awards are bricks to begin with so maybe forget that analogy but you get the idea.
I hope you read Octopus Pie, I hope you buy the books. I hope the legacy of it is long and full, because it always will be for me. And I think readers will agree, because I know this devoted fan base pretty well. I read the comments, I’ve sat next to Mer at comic shows, I’ve listened to some of the emails that touched her. I know this is a comic that meant a lot, to a lot of us. In this world of work we put our hearts and souls into to begin with, that is a wonderfully worthy thing.
I do not know what Meredith will do next, but whatever it is, I am here for it, seat pulled close to the stage. The retired jersey is in the rafters, the game is still being played by the people who dreamed better because it was there. Aw what can I say, I’m sentimental!
‘Why do you love me? What is there to love in someone like me? Please, tell me why you’re so fond of me because honestly? I don’t get it.’
I was perplexed how could he not see why?
‘I love you because you’re you.
I love you because when you smile, your lips always tilt slightly to the left. When you smile your amazingly sharp canines peek through giving you a juvenile look. When you smile, your ever present dimples show more — if that’s even possible —. When you smile, your eyes crease at the edges and your beautiful eyes become slits of pure joy.
I love you because when you laugh, you tilt your head backwards. When you laugh, you always close your eyes. When you laugh, you grasp your stomach and bend over. When you laugh, you always end in a deep sigh and smile after wards, you grasp my face in yours and kiss me as if we’ll never kiss again.
I love you because when I do something you like, you giggle. When I do something you like, you’ll caress my hair and pat my cheeks. When I do something you like, you look at my lips and say, “I fucking love you”. When I do something you like, your eyes bore into mine and I see a flame ignite in them.
I love you because when you’re concentrated you furrow your eyebrows. When you’re concentrated you tongue pokes out of your delicious lips and glides over them. When you’re concentrated, you tend to break out of it for a slight second and do that 'hmmph’ sound you know I like just to give yourself a small break. When you’re concentrated, you grab something to eat with your left hand and bring it to the right side of your mouth and proceed to take a bite.
I love you because when you kiss me, you grab my face with both hands. When you kiss me, one hand pulls on my hair, while the other runs its thumb across my cheek. When you kiss me, you always do a series of multiple pecks after we end making out. When you kiss me, I can feel you smile and let out small giggles of content. When you kiss me, you hold my face in your palms and look at me for a good while then you tell me I’m beautiful.
I love you because when you hug me, you hold me for a long time. When you hug me, you grasp me firmly with both of your strong arms. When you hug me, you use one hand to rub my back. When you hug me, you put your face in the crook of my neck and breathe in my scent. When you hug me, you won’t let me go until we’ve embraced each other tightly.
I love you because when you talk about something you love you smile the whole time. When you talk about something you love, you tend to look down at your hands. When you talk about something you love, you furrow your eyebrows and smirk a little. When you talk about something you love, you let out small sighs of happiness. When you talk about something you love, you always tilt your head to side and shrug your shoulders at the end because you get embarrassed at your enthusiasm.
I love you because when you make me blush, you tease me about it. When you make me blush you put your hands on my cheeks and remark, 'baby your cheeks are hot’ at which point I reply, 'no they’re not, I don’t know what you’re talking about’. When you make me blush you look at my cheeks and smile and say 'baby you’re blushing’. When you make me blush you hold me down and ask me why knowing damn well that makes me blush more.
I love you because when you tell me stories about your past, you say them in a low voice as if speaking louder will make them come back. When you tell me stories about your past, you always hug me and won’t let me go. When you tell me stories about your past, you run your hands through your hair because you know you might cry. When you tell me stories about your past you always mutter the phrase, 'why am I even telling you this?’ And we both know it’s because you love me, and you want me to know what I’m getting into.
I love you because when you notice I’m sad, you’ll look at me and poke my cheeks until I smile. When you notice I’m sad you tell me 'stop being a taco without the shell’ because you know I’ll laugh. When you notice I’m sad, you’ll hug me and tell me you love me. When you notice I’m sad, you’ll ruffle my hair and whisper in my ear, 'Tina eat your goddamn food’, because that llama is our spirit animal.’
I love you for so many reasons, if I listed them all, this poem would never end.
The best way to put it is, I love you because you’re you.
1. Focus on doing one thing at a time. Tackling multiple activities may seem more efficient, but giving one task your complete attention is actually more productive in the end. It also cuts down on your levels of stress.
2. Slow down and enjoy the journey. Whatever you’re doing is important right now. Don’t wish that it was over – and try and make it fun.
3. Stop being such a perfectionist. If you’re a pilot or a surgeon then standards have their place … but for the rest of life “don’t be so hard on yourself”. Don’t stress out over details and impressing everyone.
4. Learn to delegate to others: take the pressure off yourself. Perhaps other people won’t do the job as well. But that’s how people grow – so why not give them that chance – and spend your own time doing things that you’d prefer to do.
5. Don’t always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. Lots of people spend their lives terrified of what might happen – and most of the time things work out to be just fine. Thus, they’re worrying for nothing when they could be having fun!
6. Focus on what you have, not what you wish you had. All of us have things we can be grateful for. Not everything is awful –and life’s not always bad. And if you change your focus to what you’re thankful for, you’ll find you feel much happier, and worry a lot less.
7. If things go wrong, just shrug your shoulders and smile. Remind yourself that life goes on - so don’t wreak your life wishing things were different or regretting what you’ve done. Also, things might work out next time. Tomorrow’s a new day.
After an ugly breakup between you and your boyfriend of nearly one year, Jimin – you’re not only heartbroken, but absolutely irate at the things discovered after the two of you split up. One night while under the influence of pure unadulterated anger and alcohol, you and your best friend come up with the perfect plan to get back at him. Because, after all, you do know what they say, right?
If he breaks your heart, you fuck his best friend.
The gentle click of heels against the linoleum floor - almost drowned out by the muffled music coming from the end of the corridor. A cracked door, the only light source in a space that had no windows. When Jeongyeon had told you that Hoseok would be practicing late, you almost didn’t believe her. You and he had never been close. The only time you ever spoke was when Jimin would bring you over to the frat house and most of the time Hoseok would be making out with his girlfriend or fucking her loud enough that when she would leave his room - dazed with messy lipstick and a bubbly expression on her face, the boys would tease her nonstop until a blush rose on her cheeks.
Summary: You and Sam both have insomnia, so you find a way to entertain yourselves.
Word Count: 1550
A/N: It’s been a while since I wrote Sam x reader. Hope you enjoy! XOXO
Insomnia does weird things to a person.
Under no other circumstances would you be sitting in the library of the bunker, reading about the weaponry forged in fourteenth century Japan to combat a monster that was essentially an ocean-dwelling werewolf.
Genre: Smut / Fluff / Angst (?)// Sub(ish)!Jungkook/ Art Student!Jungkook
Warnings: graphic language/dirty talk, oral, cum play (if that’s what you’ll call it), masturbation, SLIGHT sub/dom dynamic
Word Count: 10.3K (bc I don’t know what pwp is)
Summary: A friendly favor for your crush develops into something truly sinful when you figure out his muse for his exhibition.
a/n: only lightly edited b/c it’s 1:30 AM HAHA….this wasn’t supposed to be sub!(ish)JK but idk it just worked; still feel like I’m struggling w/ writing steamy dialogue but oh well. Enjoy! More work to hopefully come, slowly but surely. Please send feedback it’d be greatly appreciated!!!
You grumbled all the way to the art gallery, adamant in your opposition to being dragged there by your roommate.
“Shut up, we’re already here. Are you going to brood the whole time?” Liz glared at you before pushing the glass doors open.
You’d pouted, clearly having lost the battle a long time ago. You settled on folding your arms defensively and letting out one last exasperated sigh. “Fine, but I still don’t know why you brought me here to begin with.”
Liz’s eyebrows shot up at the absurdity of the question, “You haven’t left the house for anything besides work and the occasional run. You’re starting to get boring, where’s fun Y/N?”
Her words only made you pout further because she was completely right-like most of the time despite your inability to admit it to her.