silly things i ought not to do

effyeahjoebiden  asked:

When you said 3 miles in 30 minutes is a great time for a 44 year old, that meant a lot to me as a 42 year old who struggles with feeling like I ought to be getting faster and I just can't. I mean, look, I've got every possible advantage in life, and at 42 I'm supposed to have it all together, but there's so much I don't have together and running makes me forget it, but sometimes that 10 minute mile pace has made me feel like I'm just doing it wrong. So thanks.

You know, it’s a silly thing that we say, but it’s so true: 10 minutes per mile is faster than zero minutes per mile, which is what you’d do if you weren’t out there, putting one foot down at a time.

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Patience and Other Silly Things - a ShieldShock Fanfic set a few months after the Battle of New York, by @glynnisi  (what if Darcy was the one who wrote the PSA’s from Spiderman: Homecoming?)


Darcy skidded into Jane’s lab and shut the door behind her, back to it as though to prevent an invasion. Her eyes were wild and her cheeks afire.

“What are you doing here?” Jane’s tone was cool.  “And why are you running in those heels?  You almost fall every time you wear them.”

Breathless, Darcy held up a finger to beg for time as she managed, “death by embarrassment and possibly shield.  Fleeing.”

Grumbling, Jane shook her head, “SHIELD will find you here, Darcy.  Though you’ve abandoned me for the glamorous world of Avengers PR, this is the first place they’ll look.  In fact, I should call and tell them you’re here!”  She frowned as she looked over Darcy’s professional-looking pencil skirt, fitted button-up blouse, and high heeled shoes.

“Jaaaaane!  I said ‘shield’, not ‘SHIELD.’  The round and patriotic one, not jack-booted thugs! And, glamorous, my ass!” Darcy brushed an errant curl behind her ear and squealed when a knock sounded against the door.  She turned around, searching in vain for a lock.  Her look to Jane was pleading.  She mouthed silently, “sisterhood!”

Jane crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue, but relented.  “Who’s there?”

“Steve Rogers.  May I come in?”  His tone was firm, but utterly polite.

Jane mouthed, “he doesn’t sound mad.”

Darcy shook her head and made incomprehensible gestures with her hands.

Put-upon but still loyal, Jane marched to the door and gently moved Darcy aside. She opened the door part way.  “How may I help you, Captain?”  Jane’s expression was one of utter innocence.

Captain America, in full uniform, shifted nervously from one foot to the other as he held up an iPod. “Miss Lewis forgot this- in her haste to leave the video studio.”  His lips twitched with repressed mirth. “After Tony finally revealed that the mirror was not one-way and that I could see her the entire time I was taping the school PSA’s, she hurried out.”

Darcy covered her eyes.

A slow grin filled Jane’s face.  “Oh! That’s so nice of you to return her iPod.  It’s one of her favorite things.  She loves music.”  Knowing Darcy as she did, it was all Jane could do to keep from bursting out laughing.

Laughter edged Captain America’s tone, too.  “I could tell.  She’s quite the dancer.  Between writing new things for me to say, she…”

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The Unfaithful wife ( Jimin /OC)

Chapter 6

“Your sister won’t mind watching Jin Soo?” I asked nervously, lowering myself into the front seat and putting on the seatbelt with trembling fingers, i glanced at him. He was looking at me with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Are you alright? If you want , I can send someone else to take care of the bakery for the day. We can take the day off and get some rest…” He said huskily, reaching out and lightly rubbing the back of his fingers against my cheek, making me flush. I shook my head quickly, turning my face away. His fingers fluttered down , rested on my thigh lightly stroking my legs through the fabric of my soft blue dress. I quickly grabbed his wrist, stilling him.

“I’m okay. It’s getting late.” I said softly. He nodded and pulled away , but not before stroking the back of my head. After a few minutes of silence he sighed.

“I know its going to be hard. I just… I thought if we want it enough. Both of us , we can make it work. You know what i mean?” He said softly. I glanced at him. He looked handsome , the ebony hair falling in messy bangs across his forehead, the faded brown eyes looking a little too uncertain. He was dressed in a black button down shirt and nice jeans that shaped his muscular legs . He was beautiful, I thought with a pang. And no matter what anyone says, its invariably harder to reject a beautiful person.

“I.. I’ll try.” I said bleakly. “ That’s all I can promise.’

“That’s more than I hoped for.” He smiled.

I turned away, heart aching . It wasn’t that I resented him . I just knew , now that someone, had actually deliberately set out to wreck our marriage. Someone had meticulously built a trail, phonecalls, jewelry recipts, fake jewelry hidden without my knowledge, flower bouquets that apparently Jimin had noticed around the house. Stupid , everyday things, manipulated to give the impression of a cheating wife. I hadn’t know that five years ago. Hadn’t even noticed that Jimin had suspected me of cheating for weeks. too filled with righteous indignation to ask the question, why  did Jimin believe I was cheating so easily. Now I knew and I felt guilty. He was as much a victim as me.

But then, there was the other, heavier implication. The one that made it so hard for me to trust Jimin. 

Had we even been real?? If we had been real, some silly little things ought not to have brought us down, right? And if we weren’t real, if we really did crumble easily at the slightest pressure, who was to say we wouldn’t do that again?

 I thought of Jimin, of the way he’d stared at me while i texted the daycare to tell that Jin Soo won’t be in for the day. He had been fresh out of the shower, towel slung low on his lean waist , towel drying his hair when he’d spotted me, on the bed, typing out the message and his gaze had pinned me to the spot. 

It was vaguely, curious with just a hint of suspicion . The heavy gaze of someone who did not like what he was seeing. 

. I’d been compelled to tell him it was just the Day care, somehow feeling accused, just by the way he was glancing at me. i didn’t deserve to be accused yes, but i couldn’t help but wonder how hard it must have been for Jimin, wondering why i’d done what I had.

If it were the other way round…

I’d never thought of it that way.

What if Jimin had been the one to stray… Or rather, what if I’d found some clues to his infidelity? Would i have believed my husband unconditionally? I bit my lips in confusion. How badly I wanted to say yes. But i knew deep down, that I may have believed them as well. Jimin was handsome. Could have any woman on the planet…

Jimin’s fingers on my knee brought me back to myself. 

“Would you like to move some of the stuff out of your apartment today? We can get all the clothes and supplies you need for Jin Soo .” He said, following me into the bakery office. i nodded, reaching for my apron and giving him a questioning glance when he perched on the table, looking around.

“Don’t you have to get back?” I said, surprised. He shrugged.

“I took a few weeks off. Thought we could bond a bit. As a family.”

I stood still.

“You don’t have to look so horrified at the prospect.” He said dryly and I shook myself from my daze.

“Of course not I.. sorry. I’m just tired.” I said .

“I told you we should have stayed in bed. ” He scolded.

“And that would be the problem..not the solution.” I rolled my eyes. He looked unrepentant, grinning brightly.

“I missed you. I deserve to indulge myself a little , after five years of celibacy.”

Despite myself a smile tugged on the corner of my lips.

“You always were insatiable..” I shook my head, moving to take a look at the days orders, while I  called my assistants and told then I won’t be in for a few days. He looked surprised and i smiled at him, moving close to hug him gently, the soothing warmth of his chest making me tremble. 

“I can make an effort too. We’re both in this..” I said kissing the edge of his shoulder.  He stroked my back briefly before drop;ping a kiss on my head. 

After giving out a few instructions, I finished taking stock and then finished working on a couple of recipes for Mrs. Min. I hesitated, a bit torn because they’d originally been for Jimin’s wedding with Mi Rae.

“Don’t think about it.” He said , appearing suddenly in front of me, making me jump.

“About what?” I frowned. 

“Whatever’s putting that look on your face…”

I sighed,  giving up on trying to be classy.

“Why were you engaged to Mi Rae.” i said bluntly.

He shrugged.

“Business only. You know how those things work…”

I did. My own marriage to him had been a business deal. He must’ve sen the way my face fell because he immediately reached out and tilted my chin up.

“Ours was different. We loved each other…” He said firmly.

Did we? I thought desperately.

Love?

What kind of love had it been, to fall right when it ought to have stood firm? To bend and break when we needed it to be strong?

“Yes. Love.” I whispered. 

Jimin brough his palm down with so much force on the table that some of the files shook and spilled onto the floor, jostling me. 

“Don’t look like that, for fuck’s sake!! … stop it! Stop looking like that. I want to see you smile. I miss that. We … we need to get out of here.  To hell with this… Come on.. I’m taking you home..” He said roughly, reaching out and pulling me up by my arm.

 i blinked and nodded. He was right. I wasn’t up for work today. i needed the day off. I quickly finished it all up, cleared the table, bid good bye to the two helpers and left emergency numbers on the table. Jimin led me to the car with a arm around my waist , guiding me gently.

I followed mutely, in a daze. It was hard because my kind kept oscillating between the past and the present, between how I’d felt before , to how I was feeling now,  to how  I wished I could feel and how I wanted to feel. It didn’t help that all those questions had different answers.

“Wait..the apartment..” I said , suddenly remembering. He hesitated but nodded, pulling the car in reverse and taking a U-turn to drive into the opposite lane. I didn’t question him about how he knew where I lived, just let it slide. Once we reached the hallway leading to my apartment I stopped. My eyes fell on the bouquet of flowers, jammed into the grill and foreboding rose inside my throat like a living thing, choking my breath.

God damn you, Lee Tae Min.

“What’s wrong?” Jimin said softly, taking my fingers in his and I felt tears sting. It seemed like the universe was conspiring against me as I shook my head stiltedly. Jimin noticed the bouquet a second later and then he went still, fingers momentarily tightening on mine. I stopped in front of the grill and he grabbed the bunch out of the grill.

“Looks like you have a present.” He said casually. 

I didn’t reply, moving to stand a bit closer to the door. I was familiar with the ebb and flow of jimin’s temper like i was of my own breathing. And angry jimin was always scary and unreasonable. 

“Who is this, LT?” He said softly.  

I swallowed. No point lying.

“It’s Tae Min.” I said softly.

He gave me a nod and looked away. 

And then he turned around and threw the thing so hard against the wall that it went to pieces, the petals tearing and ripping out of the ribbons on impact. I stopped breathing because he looked like he was ready to kill. I wanted to tell him it was stupid. It was just something the guy did no matter how much i yelled at him not to. But i couldn’t trust my voice to speak. I was also so scared he wouldn’t believe me anyway.

“Do you love him?” He said harshly.

I bit my lips so hard, I drew blood.

“No.” I whispered , staring at him. He was trembling with rage, pupils blown wide and I stared as he took a step closer. He reached out, grabbed my chin , just a little shy of being painful but enough to bruise and make my jaw clench. 

“Do you love me?” He whispered.

The tears slipped out before I could stop.

“I’m sorry…” I whispered, not knowing what I was apologizing for.

His lips pressed against mine, teeth biting down and drawing blood. I whimpered as he licked into my mouth, grabbed both my shoulders and pushed me up against the grill, the hard edges digging into my skin as he leaned his weight on me, grinding his erection against my stomach.

“Open the door.” He whispered into my ears before biting down on my earlobe. He pulled away from me, just long enough for me to open the door to the apartment.

He didn’t even let us make it to the bedroom.

“Jimin… wait..” I whimpered when he pushed me up against the wall, right next to the front door but he wasn’t really listening. Instead he kissed me fiercely, bruisingly … like he wanted to prove something. I trembled when his fingers slipped down, lifted my skirt and found the edge of my panties before slipping. I was still wet from the morning and he pushed three fingers in without preamble, making my eyes shoot open and my breath hitch.

“Have you been with anyone…here? Has anyone touched you like this ?” He panted, one hand pushing into me, thumb rubbing against my clit while the other unbuckled his pant and slid down his briefs, just enough to draw himself out.

“No…” I choked out and he bit down on my neck. I gasped when he yanked my panties to the side, so hard the fabric ripped.

He was hard, big and he pulled his fingers out of me grabbed the back of my thighs and lifted me up against him, back against the wall before lining himself up to my entrance.

“Tell me i’m the only one….The only one who gets to see you like this. The only one who gets to toucvh you like this” He whispered. The look in his eyes let me know that he was actually in physical pain as he stared at me, the hurt shining through his features so strongly that i would have said anything, done anything to stop him looking like that. That’s the curse of loving someone really, when he’s dying and you’re dying too, you will still look to soothe his pain rather than your own.

I nodded frantically and he growled.

“Say it…” the snarl in his voice made my heart lurch painfully. 

“You’re the only one…” I whispered, staring down at him, his sooty black eyes wild.

He pushed into me in one smooth slide, my breath knocked out of me as he buried himself to the hilt, giving me no time to adjust. I trembled , choking a little as I grabbed his shoulders, eyes screwing shut at the intrusion, more pain than pleasure , my body still sore and hurting. I struggled to hold my tears at bay but it was impossible.

“And I’ll be the only one… always..” He ground out, grip tightening on my waist demanding  submission. 

My eyes shot open, hurt slicing me deep. But I bit my lips.

“You’ll be the only one. Always.” I said. He pulled out and pushed back in, setting a punishing rhythm that made my spine ache and my thighs tremble. I whimpered when he came inside me, the sticky release against my thighs making me feel some kind of way.

 I swallowed the tears as he gathered me close into my arms before sinking to the floor. We were fully clothed I thought vacantly. I’d never had sex with my clothes fully on before and I couldn’t stop trembling.

“I… i shouldn’t have done that.” He said after what felt like hours of just sitting blankly, wrapped around each other and staring straight ahead. He reached out and brushed my hair back.

“Probably not.” i agreed, voice slightly raspy from disuse.

He pulled me into his lap, stroking my hair back from my temple.

“It’ll never happen again. I… I don’t know what came over me…” He swore under his breath and then kissed my cheek, open mouthed, wet .

I nodded and tried to stand up but my legs were still trembling, and I fell back against him, embarrassed.

“It’s alright, come here.” He pulled me up into his arms and carried me into the bedroom. I wasn’t even surprised when he climbed in after me, but not before pulling all the curtains open.

“What are you doing ?” I whispered.

“I want to spend the day here. With you.” He said firmly. I blinked.

“Jimin….”

“This place… I can’t help thinking how many memories you and Jin Soo have here. Was he born here?” He whispered.

I shook my head.

“I moved here after he turned eight months….” I said softly. He nodded.

“Even then , that’s nearly five years worth of memories. I just… I’m sorry i couldn’t be a part of them.” He whispered, pulling me close and wrapping his arms around me. It was surreal having him in my bed. I’d never linked this room, the peeling paint on the walls or the small , worn out furniture with Jimin. but if he spent the day here, I knew I’d never be able to think of anything else but him, ever again. i hesitated, before slowly reaching out and pressing my palm against the sharp line of his jaw.

“Are you hurt..” He whispered, turning his face around to kiss the inside of my palm.

I hesitated, before shaking my head.

“I want to make memories with you. and Jin Soo. Tons of them. So many that he forgets that I wasn’t always there with him..” He said fiercely and i felt a smile tug on my face, despite the way my heart was aching.

“Okay. We can do that.” I nodded.

“Starting now.” He smiled, reaching out and unbuttoning my blouse. I sighed and grabbed his wrists quickly. Of course he wanted to start off with those kind of memories.

“I was only being polite when I said it didn’t hurt. it actually hurts. I can’t .. do it again.” i wrinkled my nose.

“You don’t have to do anything… I promise…It’s just that this lighting..” He pointed at the window. “ It seems like a crime not to get you naked here…”

And resisting park Jimin had never been my forte, so i didn’t even bother trying. 

Tagged by @lostcauses-noregrets for the “last sentence you wrote” meme (thank you!!) but since I did that here for @ackbang, I thought that maybe I’d try to light a fire under my arse and do something different. Here are little chunks from two things I really ought to finish.

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Some silly things I doodled the other day. I wasn’t sure if I ought to just post them or try to color at least one of them, idk, idk, they’re so messy and fast. But I need to be faster and draw more energetic things like I used to. Chicken scraaatch

Anyway I like that Mickey is super strong and Minnie is super dainty because this means couples acrobatics like, all the time in my imagination. They don’t even realize they’re doing it half the time, they do it so often.

Christmas Scenes (2 of 3)

Mod Bonnie : Flood my Mornings 

[Flash forward to December 8, 1950]

Claire’s face appeared over the top of his book—The Age of Electricity, tonight— and bent down, smiling, for a kiss. He let the book fall at once, and reached out to cup her buttocks. 

“I could kiss ye forever, Sassenach,” he said, unable to keep a smile from disrupting their kiss, “Warms me right to my toes.” 

“Oh, good! That’ll come in handy in a moment,” she said, nipping his neck before straightening and putting her hands briskly on her hips. “Will you help me get some things down from the attic?”

He followed her to the hallway between the bedrooms and watched as she reached upward to pull a wee chain he’d never noticed before, bringing down an equally surprising hatch door. 

“Jesus H. CHRIST,” she laughed as a freezing downdraft hit her. “I THINK it just might be winter!”

A ladder—cleverly hinged to fold in upon itself—came into view, and Claire hopped nimbly up the rungs, disappearing into the darkness beyond.  

“I didna even ken there was another room up here,” Jamie said, climbing up onto the third rung to peer into this unknown part of his home.  

Well,” Claire called, her voice emanating ghoulishly from a corner to his right, “I’d hardly call it a room, but it’s sufficient for keeping useful miscellany out of the way: off-season clothing…tools that won’t fit in the shed…” Jamie didn’t understand the next words she uttered, the sound muffled as she bent over facing away from him.

“What was the last, Sassenach?”

Her outline appeared from the gloom pushing a large box toward him. “I said, ‘and Christmas decorations!’” 

There were just four boxes in all, and not heavy ones, at that; it took no more than two minutes to get the lot down into the living room. Even this short exposure to the frigid attic space, though, had left her shivering. Jamie —firmly dissuading Claire from adjusting the Heating—quickly built up a fire in the hearth. It was nothing like a fire of his time, to be sure—this one, with its wee, store-bought pine logs, was meant to burn for only an hour or two—but they both sighed as the warmth flooded the room. 

“It smells nice,” Claire said, kneeling on the hearth next to him with mugs of tea and smiling a little wistfully. “I’ve missed it: the smell of woodsmoke.” 

“As have I.” They sat quietly for a time, holding hands, breathing in the quiet and the past and the memory. 

“What does one use, to decorate for Christmas, then?” Jamie asked to banish the ghosts of Lallybroch.

Most of this is garland for the front window boxes and railings,” she said, pulling out vast ropes of green Plastic fashioned to look like fir branches, festooned here and there with red flowers of the same material. 

“Very bonnie,” he said, though he felt a bit baffled by the notion, which seemed to entail a great deal of unnecessary work. What other (strange) things did Claire typically do for the Christmas holiday? He voiced this question. 

“Oh, well we…” She stopped and blinked, looking suddenly strange. “Nothing.” 

“Nothing?” 

Her voice was halting. “I feel as though I…barely remember the last two Christmases.”

Jamie made a small sound, but said nothing, just waited for her in that way the two of them knew so well. Only when you’re ready. I’m listening, love. 

“The first one,” she said at last, “was only a month after Bree was born….I think listening to a Christmas record while breastfeeding was the full extent of my holiday festivities,” she said with a laugh that held more sorrow than mirth. 

“Ye didna have Penelope until earlier this year, aye?” At her nod, he said gently, “I canna say that I’d have had much desire for festivity, either, all alone wi’ a new bairn.”

She gave a small smile before continuing. “Then last year about a week before Christmas, a neighbor– but bear in mind, this was back on Fury Street, not here– knocked on my door and pointedly asked when my decorations would be up. She ‘didn’t want me to be embarrassed by being the odd one out’ (as if I weren’t already, the foul hag). So I caved and decorated the outside of the house enough to look presentable.” 

“Ah,’ he said, understanding, “ye dinna seem the type to take it to mind to affix wee baubies to the house wi’out sufficient reason.” 

“It was rather pretty,” she said, taking a sip of tea, “but I… I still wasn’t feeling in the spirit, really. Didn’t feel worth it to put up a tree, as it was just the two of us and Bree too small to pay much attention in any case…” Claire pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her free arm around them. “It just felt…” She shook her head, not taking her eyes from the fire. “…Sad. I knew I was supposed to make it some sort of magical Christmas world for her…knew that I ought to build the fantasy of it for her sake… but I just couldn’t seem to muster myself for it.”

Jamie set down his mug, reached across, and gently squeezed her knee. “Ye didna have such a thing yourself as a wean, aye?”

She looked up, surprised, then shook her head. “I barely remember ever having a proper Christmas. I suppose my parents might have, when I was small; but Christian holidays barely registered for Uncle Lamb. We were hardly Currier and Ives material spending Christmases sweltering in the desert.”

Jamie didn’t even try to guess what precisely she meant by that, but leaned in and kissed her, cupping her head in one hand, gently and comfortingly. “Does it make you sad, a nighean? Not to have had the ‘magical’ Christmas?”

“A little…” She made a scoffing sound in her throat. “And then I feel foolish for being sad over silly sentimental traditions.”

“It’s no’ foolish,” he said. “and it’s no’ wrong that ye didna have them the last few years. In fact, I think it’s even better that you didna do so.” 

“Why should that be, Jamie?” 

“Because we’ll be able to create our own silly, sentimental traditions, now,” Jamie said, smiling. “Everything will be brand-new for all three of us.”

“Oh…” she said, smiling back with at last her usual spark. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” 

“I’ve few preconceived notions as to what a proper modern Christmas ought to be like,” he said, “but I’m in favor of as many foolish things as you like.”

She raised her eyebrows with a mischievous grin. “Will you dress up in a red suit and white beard and squeeze down the chimney with presents?”

Jamie laughed aloud. “If that’s what’s done, then yes: I will gladly play my part in carrying on wi’ the baffling nonsense of the season.”

They laughed and Jamie bent her head back gently, needing no warmth there before the fire, but letting her touch and the touch of her banish all traces of cold, present and remembered. His own holidays–his everydays–had been bleak, these last years, as well, had they not? Lonely? Hopeless? 

But everything is now new. Everything is now good. 

“I did make one gesture toward the season last year,” she said suddenly, pulling back from the kiss and turning to the last box (smaller than the others) and pulling out a parcel wrapped in brown paper and twine. She unwrapped it to reveal the colorful fabric within. “You’re meant to hang a stocking by the fire on Christmas Eve so Father Christmas can fill it with sweets and presents. ”

She handed him the parcel. While they would never do as serviceable garments, they were very lovely, made of colorful felted cloth, decorated with shimmering thread. One said “Brianna” on the cuff and showed three cheery men that Claire said were wee ginger biscuits customarily eaten for holidays; the other, “Claire” with an evergreen tree dotted with colored baubles.

“You made these?” he asked, surprised and impressed. She nodded, a little shyly. “They’re wonderful, mo chridhe. Very…fun!” he said, feeling foolish over using so flippant a word for something she had clearly put her heart into. He reverently traced the outlines of the whimsical patterns.

“I shall have to get started on one for you,” she said, glowing in the firelight. “A Fraser stag, maybe?”

“Do they eat venison at Christmas, then? Now, I mean?”

“No… but seven flying reindeer pull Father Christmas’s magical sleigh–-and those are rather like stags!”

He leveled his gaze at her. “For all your contentions that the twentieth century is less mystical than the eighteenth, my Claire,” he said, kissing the very tip of her nose, “I dinna believe it one bit.”



Mod Gotham: Brian and Ellen AU

Six-year-old Faith Fraser took careful hold of her corner of the trapdoor.

“When I say heave,” their grandfather instructed, “yer Grannie and I will help ye. All right?”

Three-year-old Brianna Fraser nodded, her red curls bouncing in the light cast by the lantern.

“All right! One – two – three – heave!”

After a few moments the trapdoor opened. Brianna curiously peered over the edge into the gloom – and Ellen extended a careful arm to prevent Brianna from falling into the root cellar.

“It’s so dark! Why do we have to come out here when it’s so dark, Grannie?”

“Because it’s the only way we ken the Redcoats won’t be about.” Jamie set down his basket and handed the lantern to Brian, who held it above his head as he descended into the root cellar. Once Jamie had carefully stepped down almost past his shoulders, he effortlessly picked up a giggling Faith and hoisted her into the dark, then took the lantern from Brian.

“Here ye go – pick out enough potatoes to fill the basket, aye? There’s a good lass.”

Faith dutifully crossed to the far corner of the root cellar – full of shelves of dried fruit, dried meat, herbs, jars and jars of preserved vegetables, and enough potatoes and apples to feed all the hungry mouths of Lallybroch throughout the long winter.

“How are we doing, Jamie?” Brianna tugged on Ellen’s skirts, and she lifted her granddaughter to her hip, blessing her with a quick kiss to the forehead. “Will we need to try for another harvest?”

Brian stepped around his wife and held tight to the opened trapdoor as he carefully descended into the cellar, standing shoulder to shoulder with his son.

“We may have to,” he mused, glancing around at the half-full baskets. “Do ye think the ground is too hard to try at that softer patch?”

Jamie shook his head, keeping an eye on Faith as she carefully selected the potatoes.

“It’s been a bit warm these past few days – and we have to look, at least. Canna hurt. It’ll be a lot of onions and neeps and potatoes this year, but we should do well. And I may be able to bring home a stag or two, God willing.”

Brian silently slung an arm around his son’s shoulder – so proud. “It’s settled – we’ll take a look in the morning.”

“I’m done!” Faith piped up from the corner. “I canna lift the basket, Da – can ye help me?”

Brian crossed the packed-earth floor to examine his granddaughter’s work. “Good work, *a leannan*. Can ye help me wi’ a boost?”

“Watch yer back!” Ellen’s voice drifted from up above. “I dinna want ye throwing it out again.”

Brian sighed theatrically, and Faith giggled.

“That’s what ye gave me a son for, am I right? To help his puir Da in his auld age?”

Jamie stepped to Brian’s side, and together they hoisted the heavy basket of potatoes to their shoulders. Jamie pushed Faith in front of him and held out his free hand against her back as she negotiated the stairs to the surface.

“Auld age, my arse,” Brian muttered. “I’m fit as I ever was.”

“Mmphm. Keep telling yerself that, auld man.”

“Mama! We’re home!”

Faith tore through the door to the Laird’s bedroom and jumped up on the bed. Claire carefully settled one-month-old William Fraser against her shoulder and extended her other arm so that her eldest daughter could snuggle happily against her side.

“How did your little expedition go?”

“Well enough,” Jamie replied as he stepped into the room and closed the door, a sleepy Brianna nestled against his neck. “The stores are a bit low, but Da and Ian and I will go walk the potato fields tomorrow. We’re bound to fill up a basket at least – it’s been a while since we’ve been out.

Jamie stepped out of his boots, gently set down Brianna beside Faith, and stepped to the other side of the bed. Carefully he reached a tentative finger to stoke wee William’s brow, before bending to give his wife a kiss.

“How’s the wee lad, then?”

“He just finished his supper before you arrived. We’ll be good for a while.”

“Mmm. Move over a bit?”

Claire handed William to Jamie, then shifted over on the bed. Brianna and Faith took this as an invitation to crawl over their Mama so that they were safe between her and Da.

Jamie carefully lay William, swaddled in one of Claire’s spare arisaids, against a pillow, then slipped under the covers. In the dim light his arm crossed over his three children – and his fingers met and twined with Claire’s.

“Happy Christmas,” he whispered.

“It will be the happiest of Christmases, won’t it?” she replied.

“Will ye tell us a story, Mama? Maybe the one about mice?”

“There werena any mice, Bree! Remember, the mice were all sleeping?”

“Hush – that’s right, Faith. Not a creature was stirring – not even a mouse.”

“Can ye start from the beginning, then?” Jamie asked quietly, thumb tracing the bumps of Claire’s knuckles. “I want to hear it all again.”

The logs crackled in the fireplace. The wind picked up outside. The world was full of such uncertainty – but not here. Not in this room. Not on this night.

“Twas the night before Christmas…”


Day 24

The day of little progress.

Not much progress today, only did one arm. I played Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice yesterday and I’m still in this state of shock and awe since yesterday and can’t really focus 100% on drawing. Wasn’t really going to post this since, again, there’s barely any progress but it’s been 2 days since my last post so might as well do it. 

I would love to make pointless text posts that would talk about silly and irrelevant things but I doubt anyone who checks my blog out cares about things like that. 

Regardless, I ought to pick up the pace on this drawing. I have some ideas for things that I could draw or attempt to draw in the future and I’m getting kind of excited for them (although I know that they won’t be any good since I won’t have reference images to look at).

Have a cinnamon-y day (unless you don’t like cinnamon then have a <thing you like-y> day)
Yurk

fic: second chances, p2/2
Part One

“Oh, it’s so quiet,” Rose said sleepily, through a yawn, as she stepped into the library.

“Too quiet,” the Doctor grumbled to himself. He was fiddling with something in his lap, and Rose expected it was a TARDIS part. “Much, much too quiet.”

She frowned and ran a hand through her hair, trying to get rid of the tangles. “Where is everyone?”

“We’ve parked in London. Your time. They’re visiting their families and all that.” He looked up at her finally. “Do you want to go and see Jackie?”

“Nah,” she said, shrugging a shoulder. “I’m okay.”

He arched an eyebrow. “That’s not like you.”

“I just don’t feel like going to Mum’s today, that’s all. Can I sit down?”

“Of course,” he said, patting the seat next to him.

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Inuyasha {Sentence Starters}
  • "Its irrational. Its impossible. Its against my religion."
  • "There was no place for me, so I had to make one for myself..."
  • "Will you bear my child?"
  • "I’ve heard similar threats from a number of poor fools whose memories I keep alive by dancing on their tombstones!"
  • "I want you to be happy. I want you to laugh a lot. I don’t know what exactly I’ll be able to do for you, but I’ll always be by your side."
  • "Mind explaining to me why you haven't been able to look me straight in the eye since yesterday?"
  • "Sorry. I didn't wake you up, did I?"
  • "Tell me something. Why were you crying?"
  • "Will you WATCH where you're aiming that thing?"
  • "You. Will. Stop. Flirting... Right?"
  • "I'm gonna make you my woman!"
  • "You ought to be arrested."
  • "I am not going to kill you - I am going to break you."
  • "I was careless, that's all! You didn't have anything to do with it."
  • "Don't you faint on me, you stupid girl/boy!"
  • "Pain is nothing. It is death that concerns me..."
  • "If only you could fight as fast as you can talk - then we'd get somewhere!"
  • "Where did you get those bruises?"

museelo  asked:

Jily + stomach kiss

Jily + Stomach Kiss

He was such an arrogant prick.

She was infuriatingly rule oriented.

He did so love to break the rules with her. She was brilliant at it, really. As much as she might hate to admit it, she was a Marauder through and through, and it made his blood pump just to see her mischievous grin when she knew she was in the middle of doing something she ought not. 

Which is why she seemed to be giggling so much in his bed.

Lily.”

“James," she mimics in an exaggerated deep voice, bursting into giggles again and he just sighs, resting his chin on her abdomen and smiling up at her flushed face. She’s a vision, always has been.

"Sorry, sorry. I just-” she can’t even finish the sentence without laughing, her hands coming up to cover her face, a silly attempt to smother the hysteria that comes with an adrenaline rush.

(Remind him to steal things from Hogsmeade with her more often.)

He’s resigned to the laughter at this point, fingers slipping along the soft skin of her waist, a gasp catching in between those bell-like sounds. He likes it, tries it again, and gets a soft moan in return for his efforts.

With a wolfish grin, he lowers his lips to her belly, soft kisses trailing down her abdomen to where her hip meets her thigh and there’s no more laughter.

The sounds she makes now are far more entertaining.

muchymozzarella  asked:

"Claws that bite and jaws that snatch" in your Jabberwock caught me off-guard :)) I also memorized this poem and I'm sorry for being a silly nitpicker, but ought it not to be "Jaws that bite, claws that catch"?

Yup. I noticed it as I said it (made a couple of other little goofs too along the way) and meant to do it again, but it was really cold in the wood, I was underdressed, and so I went inside where it was warm instead and decided that one day I’ll record it properly, but for now I had done my Hurrah WorldBuilders First Thing In The Morning Reciting Jabberwocky In The Cold Video.

anonymous asked:

It makes me so sad when Ed says stuff like he doesn't like the way he looks! Your tag 'i like seeing you' on the quote just hit it home for me because we can say about how much we think he is hot but he will never see it and he will never believe it. :( I want tell Ed how much I adore his face but he will never know. :(

I get it, man. So many people find the boy attractive, and it’s a real shame that it doesn’t seem to have much of an effect on his own personal view of his looks. But that’s like everyone, really. Almost no one rates themselves as high as other people rate them. You see your own flaws. This is something I have to remind myself of just about every time I go out in public: statistically, almost everyone I see will think I am more attractive than I personally think I am. It’s a reassuring thought to have, for sure, but it doesn’t change the fact that I look in the mirror and only see a bunch of things I wish were different. 

Ed is beautiful, though. 

This is something I never say out loud about anyone. I think it all the time, but I don’t say it because I’m so stupidly shy and it’s just sort of an awkward thing to say to someone. Like when all my sister’s hair fell out because of chemo and she was so sad, but her bald head is so symmetrical and she has some freckles on top that we never even knew were there, and the fact that she doesn’t have hair really brings out her eyes in a way I never noticed before, but I didn’t tell her she was beautiful because I don’t know how to say things like that and sound normal.

I wonder what Ed would think about being called beautiful. That word. Guys don’t seem to like it very much. I don’t know if it’s because we normally use it to describe traditionally feminine things or if it’s because it’s so loaded, so intense. If you tell someone they’re beautiful, you either sound insincere or too sincere, like whoa hey back off buddy stop staring. It’s cheesy or it’s creepy or it’s unappreciated. Unless you’re talking about a landscape or a piece of music. I want beautiful to be a simple observation, the way it is when I see Ed and it occurs to me, and then I move on to other things. If I could say it the way I think it, like it’s just the truth and no big deal, like chocolate tastes good, ouch I just got a splinter, I should probably return my boss’s email, Ed is beautiful, need to feed the cats… then maybe I would have told him before. I feel like it’s something people ought to be telling him. But it would be so many different levels of weird coming from me.

I don’t know. Maybe people do tell him he’s beautiful and he just doesn’t believe it yet.

I think he’s got this idea like his features aren’t attractive because they don’t match up with the features of certain conventionally attractive people. What a silly idea. I would tell him that, if I were someone who could say out loud the things that I think. I would say, “Ed, your idea that conventional beauty is the only kind of beauty is silly and narrowminded and I am offended by it.” People who are conventionally attractive are attractive to a lot of folks. That’s why it’s called conventional. But that doesn’t mean that they’ve got the market cornered on beauty. I think Brad Pitt has a beautiful smile, but I think Ed’s smile is beautiful too. Why does one have to be better than the other? Two different things can be beautiful. They can make you feel the same way even if they aren’t alike. Right?

The irony here is that Ed wrote a whole song about finding someone beautiful who doesn’t find herself beautiful. He clearly understands this concept. And yet he doesn’t get that his “little things” are perfect too. 

If it weren’t such a weirdly intimate and awkward thing for a fan to do with an artist, and if I thought it would make any difference at all, I would want to hold up a mirror in front of this guy and describe out loud to him every single thing about him that I find so captivating. Like… like I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned this here before, but his eyelids, right? They’re so delicate. He closes his eyes a lot when he sings and so I find myself looking at his eyelids and thinking about how soft-looking and pretty they are, and how he’s got these amazing blonde eyelashes that are sometimes really hard to see but then they catch the light and it’s almost startling the way they fan so perfectly against the tops of his cheeks. I would tell him, this freckle is perfect and this freckle is perfect and this freckle is a little funny-shaped but I like that about it because it adds character and this freckle is perfect. I would tell him how much I adore his bone structure because his eyes are set a little deep and that makes him look perpetually just a bit concerned, even when he’s in a cheerful mood. He can be happy and grinning and he will still look slightly worried just around the eyes, and I dig that because it gives him this quality, this aura that makes you want to hug him constantly. The edge of his jaw, right where his head connects to his neck, is this perfect curve - square but not sharp, exactly round enough - with a hollow just underneath that calls out for you to trace it with your fingertips. And he’s got this gorgeous rust-colored beard with every shade of copper and gold and it’s always just long enough for you to appreciate all the colors but short enough that it doesn’t obscure his face. It’s not too thick and doesn’t insist on your attention. It’s just there, hanging out around his cheeks and chin like it just sort of wandered up one day and decided to stick around and be awesome for a while because hey, why the hell not? No promises though. If there was some way for a beard to be entirely nonchalant, then that is what I would call Ed’s. And I would tell him that I love his see-through eyebrows because it’s like his face has a secret that it will only show you when you’re very close to him. 

It sounds like the kind of thing that you can’t think very casually about someone, but this is how I think it. I see Ed, and I think his face is a remarkable face, a beautiful one, attractive and desirable, and it’s not something that I’ve had to work at thinking, or that I’ve had to justify to myself. I haven’t convinced myself I like his face simply because I like his music and his personality. I like his face because I like his face. And I like his other parts for the same reason. (Don’t get me started on his legs.) I saw him and I liked him and I see pictures of him every day and every day I think he’s beautiful but it’s no big deal; it’s just the truth. But it’s one of those true things that I have a hard time saying. 

You said “he will never see it and he will never believe it” like the reason Ed Sheeran will never think of himself as beautiful is because he doesn’t know other people think of him that way, and that makes me feel guilty for being one of those people and never saying it out loud. So this is me saying it, as close to out loud as I will probably ever get. 

As far as him not seeing it… well, maybe it would be better if he didn’t, because I still feel like it might come across as creepy from a person who doesn’t know him very well. But I think that Ed sees more than we maybe give him credit for, and so if he does ever stumble upon your message, he will know that for whatever it is worth, there are at least two of us here who do like seeing his face. :)

bemusedlybespectacled  asked:

I wish you would write a fic where Supernatural meets The Secret Garden. For some reason I can really see Castiel as Dickon.

WHY WOULD YOU SAY SUCH A THING TO ME

You do realise what this means, don’t you?

The cholera had broken out in its most fatal form, and people were dying like flies.

“Is it so very bad? Oh, is it?” Dean heard his mother say.

“Awfully,” the young man answered in a trembling voice. “Awfully, Mrs. Winchester. You ought to have gone to the hills two weeks ago.”

The Mem Sahib wrung her hands.

“Oh, I know I ought!” she cried. “I only stayed to go to that silly dinner party. What a fool I was!”

At that very moment such a loud sound of wailing broke out from the servants’ quarters that Dean clutched his sleeping brother to him, and his mother stood shivering from head to foot. The wailing grew wilder and wilder.

“What is it? What is it?” Mrs. Winchester gasped.

“Some one has died,” answered the boy officer. “You did not say it had broken out among your servants.”

“I did not know!” the Mem Sahib cried. “Come with me! Come with me!” and she turned and ran into the house.

And of course she dies; and John Winchester is overtaken by a obsession for defeating the disease (or possibly with a paranoid conviction that somebody had deliberately introduced it into their house to kill his wife), and goes chasing it across India. It does not last long: Dean is left with his Ayah, and John takes Sam with him - and it is not long before there is whispering and shaking of heads, and Dean understands only vaguely that his father has died, and he is to be sent to England.

“Where is my brother?” he asks, then he screams it, and kicks and stamps; but nobody knows where Sam is, or they will not tell him.

And so then we have Dean, who (in an isolated colonial community surrounded only by Indian servants) has never had any purpose in life but to be brought out and displayed as a clever young boy then sent back to the nursery or school room, and to look after his little brother, being packed onto a ship with a lot of other children who all seem to speak a language he does not understand; and they tease him, and he becomes sullen and alone, and learns to growl and snap back, and use his fists. And then he is even more alone, in a grand old manor in Yorkshire with nobody there but the servants; and on his bad days he turns the loneliness into sulkiness, and on the good ones he explores every nook and cranny of this strange new world, house and gardens and moors.

But the moment when the robin lands on the branch of a tree behind the mysterious wall and seems to sing its song to Dean—when it lands by the boot of the taciturn old gardener Joshua, and cocks its head, and looks at Dean as if it knows him and understands him—when it perches on the ring of an old key in the upturned soil—it is the first time since he lost Sam that Dean feels like he has a friend, like somebody trusts him.

And when Dean plucks up his courage to say, “Might I—might I have a bit of earth?”

Well, that’s the first time that Dean can remember having asked for anything for himself in his life.

And then, and then…

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