the only thing that brings me joy

i know we all love to say being a fan of 1d is hell but i just want to say on this anniversary that 1d is still the best thing to ever happen to me. not only did all those years bring me joy through their music and the boys themselves grew very close to my heart as we were growing up together, not only i love them all dearly, not only is their music a huge part of my life and something that makes me happy and has helped me through some things, but i also found so many amazing friends thanks to being a fan, so many amazing people on this site, some of the best friends i have. it’s such a huge part of my life and of who i am and i am always gonna support them individually but im also going to be waiting for them to come back as band for as long as it takes tbh

i love florist aus, but my family’s owned a flower shop for like 40-ish years and i’ve grown up around, involved and working in it…. and it makes them hard to enjoy sometimes lmao.

  • i have been around flowers all my life and i know more about flower meanings from fanfictions
  • god, stop…. no, those flowers don’t go together….
  • that’s not how you keep that plant alive
  • stop romanticizing carnations cause carnations suck and they’re cheap as fuck and they’re most often used for FUNERALS regardless of color please stop
  • long stemmed roses are similar and only one step up from carnations
  • you can’t just slap any old shit together.  you have 3 main types of flowers in any arrangement: the ‘show’ flower, ‘filler’ flowers and ‘accent’ flowers.  plus add something green you heathens.
  • everyone??? hates yellow for some reason??? actually i can give props to fanfic for that cause they show off yellows more than i actually sell them…. which is a shame i love yellow flowers.
  • it’s the worst when they come into the store and buy all this loose shit and be like ‘i’m gunna make my own :)’ like fuck you…. i could make that ratty shit look GOOD for less than you’re spending but OKAY I GUESS.  (then it looks like shit when they post pics on facebook.  and they claim credit for making but NOT WHERE THEY GOT THE FUCKING FLOWERS)
  • there is this one old bitch we get every year, comes in for vase arrangements for her husband’s grave…. sad, but i HATE HER.  she tries to stand over our shoulders and boss and bully us and has us change the flowers used like 12 times and no matter what we make her she’s a fucking cunt acts like its not what she ordered so she can get a discount.  fuck you, you old bitch.  i made this arrangement 74583754 times you’re not getting shit.
  • why would you draw a bouquet before you make it… they’re flowers, just make it and if it looks bad take it apart???  they’re not glued there forever.
  • you WILL have skills on wrapping and bow making even if you don’t desire or think you need these skills
  • catch me in the shop blasting screaming angry metal when no one else is there (i think the flowers like it too)
  • Me: -fists the stems of a bunch of roses- Person: “doesn’t that hurt??? the thorns.”  Me; “they have learned to fear their god c:” (protip: it doesn’t hurt after a while my hands are SO ROUGH)
  • no one likes hanging around in the greenhouse as much as you think they do
  • a leaf cut is like a paper cut only the devil himself comes to rub salt in it
  • sweetie, i know it’s ur special wedding day but stop YELLING AT ME cause you picked out these ugly ass flowers i TRIED to talk you out of it and i did what i could with them, okay?!
  • the only joy i get is when children come into the shop to buy things….
  • but not when moms bring their brat ass children who want to mangle all the fucking flowers
  • this job has made me hate everyone around me

(this is my first masterpost sorry if it’s bad) A bullet journal has a lot of uses. A planner, homework reminders, to-do lists- but understandably, some pages could use a little of inspiration. And what better inspiration than from artists? Even without a bullet journal, quotes can be a great thing to decorate journals, your room, etcetera. So, I’ve compiled a list of quotes (some aren’t very motivational) by some of your favorite artists!


“I dream of painting and then I paint my dream.”

“What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?”

“Great things are done by a series of small things brought together.”

“I wish they would only take me as I am.”

“In spite of everything I shall rise again; I will take up my pencil, which I have forsaken in my great discouragement, and I will go on with my drawing.”

“I see drawings and pictures in the poorest of huts and the dirtiest of corners.”

“One must work and dare if one really wants to live.”

“For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.“

“I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”

“Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. Then life seems almost enchanted after all.“

“If you truly love nature, you will find beauty everywhere.”

“I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart.”


“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.“

“Art is a lie that makes us realize truth.”

“Everything you can imagine is real.“

“Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.”

“Action is the foundational key to all success.“

"It takes a long time to become young.”

“Youth has no age.”

“Art is the elimination of the unnecessary.”

“Sculpture is the art of the intelligence.”

“Are we to paint what’s on the face, what’s inside the face, or what’s behind it?”

“Give me a museum and I’ll fill it.”

“To copy others is necessary, but to copy oneself is pathetic.”


“Have no fear of perfection - you’ll never reach it.“

"Drawing is the honesty of the art. There is no possibility of cheating. It is either good or bad.”

“Those who do not want to imitate anything, produce nothing.”

“Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings.”

“There is only one difference between a madman and me. The madman thinks he is sane. I know I am mad.”

“What is important is to spread confusion, not eliminate it.”

“I am not strange. I am just not normal.”

“It is not necessary for the public to know whether I am joking or whether I am serious, just as it is not necessary for me to know it myself.”

“Everything alters me, but nothing changes me.”

“So little of what could happen does happen.”

“Give me two hours a day of activity, and I’ll take the other twenty-two in dreams.”

“The secret of my influence has always been that it remained secret.”


“The painting has a life of its own. I try to let it come through.”

“Painting is self-discovery. Every good artist paints what he is.”

“My painting does not come from the easel.”

“When I am in my painting, I’m not aware of what I’m doing.”

“Love is friendship set to music.”

“The painter locks himself out of his own studio. And then has to break in like a thief.”

“The modern artist is working with space and time, and expressing his feelings rather than illustrating.”

“Energy and motion made visible- memories arrested in space.”

“Abstract painting is abstract. It confronts you. There was a reviewer a while back who wrote my pictures didn’t have any beginning or any end. He didn’t mean it as a compliment, but it was.”

“I’m very representational some of the time, and a little all of the time. But when you’re painting out of your unconscious, figures are bound to emerge.”

“Abstract art should be enjoyed just as music is enjoyed- ater awhile you may like it or you may not.”

“Each age finds its own technique… I mean, the strangeness will wear off and I think we will discover the deeper meanings in modern art.“


“I must have flowers always and always.”

“Color is my daylong obsession, joy and torment.“

“Everyone discusses my art and pretends to understand, as if it were necessary to understand, when it is simply necessary to love.”

“My garden is my most beautiful masterpiece.“

“I would like to paint the way a bird sings.”

“The more I live, the more I regret how little I know.“

“I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.”

“I can only draw what I see.“

“What keeps my heart awake is colorful silence.”

“The richness I achieve comes from nature, the source of my inspiration.“

“I don’t think I’m made for any earthly kind of pleasure.”

“The light constantly changes, and that alters the atmosphere and beauty of things every minute.“


“Nobody sees a flower- really- it is so small it takes time- we haven’t time - and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.”

“If you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it’s your world for a moment.”

“I wish people were all trees and I think I could enjoy them then.”

“To create one’s world in any of the arts takes courage.”

“I decided to accept as true my own thinking.”

“You are one of my nicest thoughts.”

“It’s not enough to be nice in life. You’ve got to have nerve.”

“I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn’t say any other way… things I had no words for.”

“I think it’s so foolish for people to want to be happy. Happy is so momentary–you’re happy for an instant and then you start thinking again. Interest is the most important thing in life; happiness is temporary, but interest is continuous.”

“Where I was born and where and how I have lived is unimportant. It is what I have done with where I have been that should be of interest.”

“I can’t live where I want to, I can’t go where I want to go, I can’t do what I want to, I can’t even say what I want to. I decided I was a very stupid fool not to at least paint as I wanted to.”

“I’m frightened all the time. But I never let it stop me. Never!”


“Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.”

“As a well-spent day brings happy sleep, so a life well spent brings happy death.”

“Art is never finished, only abandoned.”

“Why does the eye see a thing more clearly in dreams than the imagination when awake?”

“Tears come from the heart and not from the brain.”

“Nothing strengthens authority so much as silence.”

“The noblest pleasure is the joy of understanding.”

“Learning never exhausts the mind.”

“While I thought I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die.”

“Study without desire spoils the memory, and it retains nothing that it takes in.”

“I love those who can smile in trouble…”

“It is easier to resist at the beginning than at the end.”


“I don’t paint dreams or nightmares, I paint my own reality.”

“I paint flowers so they will not die.”

“I paint myself because I am so often alone and because the subject I know best.”

“I think that little by little I’ll be able to solve my problems and survive.”

“Nothing is absolute.”

“Everything changes, everything moves, everything revolves, everything flies and goes away.”

“My painting carries with it the message of pain.”

“There is nothing more precious than laughter.”

“Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?”

“I paint flowers so they will not die.”

“The only thing I know is that I paint because I need to, and I paint whatever passes through my head without any other consideration.”

“I am my own muse, I am the subject I know best. The subject I want to know better.”


“There are always flowers for those who want to see them.”

“I don’t paint things. I only paint the difference between things.”

“Don’t wait for inspiration. It comes while one is working.”

“Creativity takes courage.”

“An artist must not feel under any constraint.”

“We ought to view ourselves with the same curiosity and openness with which we study a tree, the sky or a thought, because we too are linked to the entire universe.”

“A certain blue enters your soul. A certain red has an effect on your blood-pressure.”

“Art should be something like a good armchair in which to rest from physical fatigue.”

“To look at something as though we had never seen it before requires great courage.”

“Impressionism is the newspaper of the soul.”

“In love, the one who runs away is the winner.”

“Cutting into color reminds me of the sculptor’s direct carving.”


“I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”

“If people knew how hard I had to work to gain my mastery, it would not seem so wonderful at all.”

“Lord, grant that I may always desire more than I can accomplish.”

“The greater danger for most of us lies not in setting our aim too high and falling short; but in setting our aim too low, and achieving our mark.”

“Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.”

“Genius is eternal patience.”

“The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection.”

“A man paints with his brains and not with his hands.”

“Trifles make perfection, and perfection is no trifle.”

“Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.”

“There is no greater harm than that of time wasted.”

“I am still learning.”


’ Good gracious! Who left the mop running? ’
’ Now, father, you’re living in the past. This is the 14th century! ’
’ No! It cannot be! ’
’ A forest of thorns shall be his tomb! ’
’ Now go with the curse, and serve me well! ’
’ It’s incredible! Sixteen years and not a trace of her! ’
’ She couldn’t have vanished into thin air! ’
’ Are you sure you searched everywhere? ’
’ Yep, yep, everywhere. We all did. ’
’ And what about the town? The forests? The mountains? ’
’ Yeah, we searched mountains and forests and, uh, houses and… ’
’ Did you hear that, my pet? ’
’ All these years, they’ve been looking for a baby. ’
’ I’d like to turn her into a fat ol’ - hop toad. ’
’ Now, dear, that isn’t a very nice thing to say. ’
’ Besides, we can’t. You know our magic doesn’t work that way. ’
’ You know our magic doesn’t work that way. ’
’ It can only do good, dear, to bring joy and happiness. ’
’ Well, that would make me happy. ’
’ That’s because it’s on you, dear. ’
’ It looks awful. ’
’ Now Sword of Truth, fly swift and sure, that evil die and good endure! ’
’ Listen well, all of you. ’
’ Seize that creature! ’
’ Don’t despair, Your Majesties. ’
’ Stand back, you fools! ’
’ Then, she can undo this fearful curse? ’
’ I have plans for our royal guest. ’
’ Why so melancholy? ’
’ Gold of sunshine in her hair, lips that shame the red red rose. ’
’ Off he rides, on his noble steed, a valiant figure, straight and tall! ’
’ To wake his love, with love’s first kiss. ’
’ You know, sometimes I don’t think she’s really very happy. ’
’ Nowadays I’m still the king! ’
’ I command you to come to your senses! ’
’ And marry the girl I love. ’
’ That’s what I’m trying to tell you. ’
’ The sun has set! Make ready to welcome your princess! ’
’ But, I never baked a fancy cake. ’
’ Oh, you won’t have to, dear! ’
’ I’m going to make it 15 layers with pink and blue forget-me-nots. ’
’ All you do is follow the book! ’
’ Up here, dear. You can be the dummy. ’
’ Well, I still say we oughta use magic. ’
’ Now, dear, we decided pink was her color! ’
’ Touch the spindle. Touch it I say! ’
’ You poor, simple fools. ’
’ Thinking you could defeat me. ’
’ Oh, they’re hopeless. ’
’ A disgrace to the forces of evil. ’
’ My pet… you are my last hope. ’
’ Go, and do not fail me. ’
’ But when will I see you again? ’
’ Why? After all, I am sixteen. ’
’ You’re already betrothed. ’
’ Since the day you were born. ’
’ How could I marry a prince? I’d have to be… ’
’ No! I can’t believe it, no! No! ’
’ I’m not so sure my grandchildren want you for a grandfather! ’
’ Well, what do you think? ’
’ Forty bedrooms, dining hall… honeymoon cottage, really. ’
’ You - you mean you’re building it already? ’
’ Finished! Lovebirds can move in tomorrow. ’
’ Want to see our grandchildren, don’t we? ’
’ Well, I’m really not supposed to speak to strangers, but we’ve met before. ’
’ I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream. ’
’ I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar. ’
’ But we can’t, we can’t go there! ’
’ Now come, we must hurry. ’
’ They’ll be heartbroken when they find out. ’
’ I’m awfully sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. ’
’ But don’t you remember? We’ve met before. ’
’ Why do they still treat me like a child? ’
’ They never want me to meet anyone. ’
’ What is it? Come on, let’s find out. ’
’ For an extra bucket of oats? And a few… carrots? ’
’ Don’t you see? A flower can’t prick its finger. ’
’ Well, what do you think of it? ’
’ Why, it… it’s a very unusual cake, isn’t it? ’
’ Well, what do you think of the dress? ’
’ I think we’ve had enough of this nonsense! ’
’ I’m going to get those wands. ’
’ Well, it may come as quite a shock. ’
’ Why doesn’t your daughter like my son? ’
’ This means war! ’
’ What’s this all about, anyway? ’
’ I’ll have the royal woodcarvers start work on the cradle tomorrow. ’
’ Oh, you darlings! This is the happiest day of my life! ’
’ Whatever are we going to do? ’
’ You’ve met some stranger? ’
Beach breakdown

(Because of a misunderstanding, Alajéa, Karenn and Gardy are trying to set Colaïa free when the ENTIRE Guard of El (Miiko, the boys and Leif, Jamon, Ewe, Kero and Ykhar) arrives on the beach to stop them.)

Do you want to know what goes through our head, you the GREAT, THE FABULOUS CHIEF OF THE WONDERFUL EL GUARD ?!

What goes through our head, is that again… you… you… no… (plural you, Gardy is talking about the El Guard)

YOU decided to blow up a family. (singular you, Gardy is talking about Miiko.)

Keep reading

A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Four)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?


“Jen, love?”

I started and jumped from the pillow in the dark, my whole body seizing and splintering wi’ panic—

But it was only Ian, of course, half-asleep at my back. He pulled me closer against him and kissed my shoulder.  “Yr—tossin’ and turnin’ about like—S’matter?”

“Nothin’…Nothin’, only somethin’ I ate,” I whispered, tryin’ to catch my breath.

“Get—ye somethin’?” 

“Nay, lad, I’ll—I’ll do,” I panted, my blood racing and pounding. “Go b—back to sleep, mo ghriadh.” I pulled back the quilts and made to sit up. “I’ll—go take a turn— settle meself.” Nearly midnight, it must be. 

Ian groped clumsily for me and caught my hand. “Lov’ye…”

Tears prickled in my eyes, sharp and hot against the air of the night. God, the tenderness of him—the sweetness and care and love this good man lavished upon me, always

“D’ye think me a good person, Ian?” I whispered into the dark between us. 


My throat felt sore, the words as raw and frail and desperate as my pathetic heart. “Am I truly good? Or have I only been good at pretendin’ to be…while I’m no more than the verra worst kind of filth?”

The question rang out into the silence; unanswered. He’d have reassured me, had he actually heard, had the soft, familiar whiffle of his snorin’ not already resumed. It was as well not to be coddled wi’ comforting lies. I kent the truth well enough. 

Oh, but how I ached to wake him, to tell him at least of Claire and the evil that I’d done; to let him hold me tight and safe while I wept into his chest; let the comfort of him surround me, soothe me, as he convinced me wi’ gentle kisses and soft words that all would be well, that he’d carry the burden wi’ me—that I wouldna be alone, ever.  

Alone like Jamie. 

Alone like Claire.

This was my penance: this coldness—this regret—this utter, writhing, blistering shame. I’d taken away any chance for their happiness, so for the rest of my life, I had to bear it; to atone, myself, however I might. Emptiness, carried alone: a fitting punishment for my crime. 

I kissed Ian’s brow, slipped out of bed, found my shawl, and made my way down the stairs toward the study. I reeled a bit on the treads, my head achin’ and spinnin’, and small bloody wonder, for I’d drunk heavily all the evenin’. 

At first, it were only that I was preparin’ myself for the task at hand, hopin’ the drink would brace me, give me courage for when I found the right moment to face Jamie. Every time I looked at him, though, the gentle hunger in his eyes that lit over bein’ wi’ family; the smile on his face as he played with the wee bairns, as he joyed in the balm of home—of love—God, my coward’s heart had bucked and fled, at every opportunity. 

And by the time I might have finally confronted things, the drink had taken hold, bringing my fears to bear, and I’d staggered up to my bed long before anyone else, and dreamt of screams of pain—and sorrow—and—

Now, I was surprised and relieved to find as I reached the bottom of the stairs that I was hardened, a wall of conviction slowly rising up around me, protectin’ me. Jamie need not know; Jamie must not be told. It was too late, after all; Claire was too far gone. I’d done wrong, to my everlasting shame. I’d committed a terrible, cruel evil against them both. But what good would it do to torture him wi’ that knowledge, now? When he had no chance of findin’ her? None. T’would be only agony to him, that wisp of hope, now vanished by my hand. 

No. He couldna ever be told. It was the kindest thing I could do, now, to keep the secret from hurting him further. 

All that remained was for me to find a way to live wi’ myself—drink and distraction; and there was always a good decanter of whisky in the study along wi’ the books. I pushed through the study door and was no more than two steps in before I collided wi’ something solid and—



My candle was somersaulting through the air and onto the good rug, and just as suddenly, quick fingers snatched it up again before it could catch.

“I’m so sorry, Jen,” Jamie was sayin’, settin’ the candlestick on the table next to one of his own before turnin’ back to grin at me, all sheepish in only his shirt. “I couldna sleep and came down for a dram and was looking at the books just there by the door, and—” He stopped and blinked, surveying me in alarm. “Lass, you’re white as a sheet and shaking like— Are ye hurt, dove?”

“No, its—I’m fine—” I shrank back from his touch, from the heartbreaking sweetness of the endearment.

Tell him.

Only—agony to him, now. 

It’s far pa—past—(breathe)—too late—damn me to hell for it. 

I turned hastily for the door. “I didna mean to intrude upon your quiet, Jamie, I’ll just—”

“No-no-no, dinna be daft,” Jamie laughed, eagerly, stepping swiftly around me to block the door. “Stay! Sit wi’ me a time—have a drink.”

“No, really, I should—”

“Jen, we barely got to speak all this evening,” he said, and there was more than a touch of hurt in that soft voice, those soft eyes. “Please? Stay wi’ me?”

Brother, if ye only kent what I was, you’d cast me out into the cold this moment, and have me walk until the very sea swallowed me up. 

And I’d deserve it. 


“Come on, wee fool,” Jamie said, gently, but in truth, he was begging. He wanted her to stay. He needed her to stay, to help drive this terrible sadness away, tonight. 

At last, she relented, and let him close the door. He held out his arms to her, and after a very long moment, she came to him. “It’s very glad I am to see ye, lass,” he whispered into her hair, trying not to let his voice crack with just how glad he was of it. 


Lord, why did she sound so tentative around him, tonight? She had been cool toward him all the evening, busying herself with the meal and with clearing it, and with taking another whisky, offering him one, but then bustling onward to the next task and retiring early before they could exchange more than a dozen words. 

“Tell me true.” He gently took her by the shoulders and held her far enough away to look her in the eye, beseeching. “Have I done something to wrong ye, lass?” 

She gaped at him, going even paler than before. “Wrong me?” 

“I dinna think I’m mistaken in noticing you’re no’ pleased to see me, this visit. So I’ll ask again….Have I done something that’s wronged ye?” Even moments ago, she had seemed barely to touch him as he embraced her. “I’ll do anythin’ I can to make it right, I swear it.” 

“Never.” To his astonishment, her face fell, and she made a little sound almost like a sob as she at last hugged him tight, a real embrace. “You would never do anything to wrong me, Jamie.” 

He held her close, the sense of home finally settling around him. His blood—his sister. 

“I’m sorry, Jamie,” she said, muffled into his chest, “I am glad to see ye. I’m just—no’ quite myself, tonight.” 

“Is something amiss wi’ ye then, dove? Are ye feeling ill?” 

“No, I’ll do.” He could have sworn she shuddered, but she pulled back and put her hands on her hips to study at him with brows drawn, as she always did, the dear, wee busybody. “Lord above, you’re too thin, ye great toad.”

“Are great toads typically thin?” he laughed, placing a kiss on the top of her head and moving to settle onto the plump cushions of the settee.

“Aye, and your voice all scratchit like one, to boot,” she laughed with something like her usual fire, curling her legs under her on the armchair facing him. “But truly, do ye get yourself fed at all, in Edinburgh?”

“Aye,” he said, passing her a whisky glass, “not grand fare, mind,” he winked, or tried to, “but dinna fash: I make it a special point of policy to eat every day.”

“Well, that’s good. Do it more, aye? You’re—” She shook her head, looking actually pained as she took him in again. “You’re….wasting away, Jamie.” 

He waved a hand in dismissal. “That’s why I must visit my sister, whose excellent cooks will always get me fattened up again.” 

“I must thank ye again for seeing my wee Ian safely home to me.”

“’Course, Jen,” he murmured, “happy to do it. The lad continues to be quite the handful, I see.” 

“God,” she groaned, “I’ve not the faintest idea what’s to be done about the wee eejit. S’like tryin’ to trap a breeze upon a mountaintop. I’m sure he’ll ask to be allowed to go back wi’ ye wi’ our blessing this time, but—” 

“I’d no’ mind it, owermuch” He tried to sound casual, not as desperately eager as he felt. “In fact, I verra nearly let him talk me into letting him stay, this time.”

“Wheedles something fierce, does wee Ian,” Jenny agreed ruefully. “I suppose ‘tis good for his hope of catchin’ a wife one day. A boy that’s so plain best ken how to wield charm to his good uses, at least,” she said with a grimace and a deep draught from her glass.

“Aye, that’s so,” Jamie laughed. “He can argue the black off a boot. Though, it was less to do wi’ him than me,” he added quietly, a moment later. 

“How’s that?”

“I’d have been happy for the company.” He shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but it was a shrug of unease. “It’s quite lonely, there in the shop.” His emptiness rang into the very corners of the room in the saying of it. 

Jenny heard it too, and put on a cheery, winning manner as she scoffed, “Nonsense, you’ve got Fergus, aye?”

“Fergus is a great help, true, and an even greater comfort to me,” he agreed. The boy—Christ, he was fifteen years or more past being a *boy,* but Fergus would always be so, to Jamie—was his pride and his right hand. 

“But, of course, ye may not ken how often Fergus is gone from Edinburgh seeing to—other business. Scarce half the days of the month, do I see him, in fact.” He shrugged. “And of course, I’m alone in my rooms, after the shop closes. Wi’ only myself for company, the conversation tends to be a trifle repetitive.” 

He meant it as a wee jest to lighten the mood. It didn’t work, for either of them. There was a fair-sized lump in his throat. Jenny’s hands were tight around her glass, her eyes down. He knew he shouldn’t speak so, so wretchedly self-pitying, but damn him, he needed to have someone hear him and understand.

“Sometimes, I go an entire week or more wi’out anyone—not a soul— speaking to me as if they knew me. And it can be longer, even, wi’out anyone saying my real name to me….In Edinburgh, ken, I’m Alexander Malcolm.” 

She gave a weak smile, whispering, “Sawney.” 

“Aye. And folk smile and bow and say, ‘Good Day, Mr. Malcolm.’….‘Shall we see ye on Saturday, Sawney?’….’When are ye thinking of taking a wife, Mr. Malcolm?’” 

The empty glass shot from Jenny’s hands and spun ‘round on the carpet. Neither of them moved to pick it up, and Jamie found he couldn’t stop talking. 

He swallowed. “Before the cave—prison—England——”

Lord, that he might be safe. 

“—I didna truly ken how much it meant to me to be….known. MyselfAnd after everything that’s happened these twenty years, I now find most days as though—” He shook his head. “—as though I’ll just fall away and vanish into naught, from lack of it. I havena….” He dropped his eyes, too ashamed to look her in the eye as he spoke the darkest desolation of his heart, “I can hardly even name the broken pieces of me, any longer…..let alone hope to put them back together.” 

Jenny blinked hard as though holding back tears. Lord, no, there were tears in her eyes, to his shame. He wasn’t saying these things for pity. It was simply the truth of his heart, and it was a true gift to be given the grace to say it aloud, rather than having it tear him apart in the quiet of his mind, day after day. And yet it pained him to grieve Jenny so, to give her any more reason to fear and fret for him. 

He started to say so, but she suddenly blurted, “Maybe—” She was pale, and Jamie could swear she was trembling. “Maybe ‘tis time to—to come back to Balriggan.”

“No,” he said at once with half a laugh, standing and walking over to one of the bookcases.


“No, I said.”

“I ken things wi’ Laoghaire—”

“There’s no’ moving me on this,” he said, more sharply. He had no desire for her to dream up another scheme for rehabilitating his personal happiness. “I’ll continue to do right by them, of course, see them taken care of but…No. I’ll no’ try to find comfort, there, again.”

“Jamie, mo chridhe, please just listen—” She was right on the verge of weeping, from the sound at his back. “I ken she’s not—that she’s… what she is…but I dinna want—” There came the sound of Jenny throwing up her hands in desperation, “—Ye shouldna spend the rest of your days alone, Jamie, wi’—wi’ no JOY! The thought of—”

“There is no joy to be had at Balriggan, sister. Not that kind.” 


He turned to her and gently grasped her shoulders. “You’ve known me all my life, Jen,” he said softly down into her face, contorted as it was with shockingly-vehement feeling. “I’ve been wrong about many things; been hasty and reckless and a fool, when my emotions got ahead of my better judgment, or before I kent proper facts—” He cupped her cheek, his voice hoarse. “—but trust me to ken my own heart, at least: to be alone, to be empty, is better than—than that; to lose what pieces of me still remain to—anger…bitterness….”

She stared up into his face, lips pursed, eyes red and glistening, voice trembling uncontrollably. “But can ye no’—?”

He released her and kissed her cheek, putting all his self into being strong and brave-faced once more, as was his duty. “Dinna fash yourself about me. I’m sorry I let myself carry on down such a maudlin road, this night.” 

Jamie smiled, as warm and broad a smile as he could, as he walked past her back to the settee, meaning to sit. “But it means a great deal to me how much ye do trouble yourself for my sake, truly. I ken ye always mean the best for me, Jenny, and I’m—”

The sob burst out of Jenny like a cannon blast in the night and Jamie whirled, reaching for an absent dirk. “Jen, WH—”

Her face was a broken thing behind her hands. “I’m so—sss—so SORRY, brother.”

“Sorry?” Jamie felt as though he’d been hit by a charging horse. That wasn’t pity in her ‘sorry’: it was true apology. “Whatever for??”

“For the fool that I am,” she sobbed, the tears flowing over her fingers. “After all ye’ve been through—your own sister ought—OUGHT to—Christ, Jamie, I’m so—ashamed.”

“Jenny, dove, mo chridhe,” he whispered as he reached for her, “what on earth  are are ye going on ab—?”

“Wait here—” she managed to choke, already staggering for the door. Her eyes were wild and she put out a staying hand as she went. “Dinna move, just—Just—wait!!”

Too stunned to do otherwise, Jamie stood unmoving on the study rug, mind racing, absolutely at a loss to guess what had come over her. 

When at last she came back through the door, she was white as death, a paper, or envelope, perhaps, clasped against her breast. 

“Jenny, you’re frightening me. Tell me at once what’s happened.” 

“I’ve done—” Her chest seemed to cave in around the envelope, wracked with her sobs. “I’ve done a terrible wrong against ye, brother.” 

“Nonsense,” he vowed, moving toward her to sort things out. “Whatever’s the—”

Don’t,” she hissed, halting him with a frantic shake of the the head, her teeth gritted. “Just—stop.”

He raised both his hands to her in desperate plea.“I dinna understand, Jenny.” 

She closed the distance between them with halting steps and forced the envelope into his hands, holding her own tight around them. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face, for it was an expression he’d never seen there—absolute anguish and absolute shame. 

His eyes dropped to his hands. Aye, a thick envelope, the face bare and unmarked. 

He turned it over and saw the single word there written:

J a m i e

He might have been screaming—he might have been crying—he might have fallen into a dark pit, with the earth closed in over him.

He was on the ground, his leg aching from where he’d fallen against something. The envelope stared up at him from the floor and he stared back. 

those five letters 

written in Claire’s hand

a thin interlace pattern pressed into the blood-red seal.

Jenny was sobbing. “She was here— Claire was here, Jamie—”

“Claire’s gone—” he was screaming or whimpering, “Claire—is—GONE—”

“She came back.”


“No, she came for ye—CAME here

Nothing made sense

“—And I did such grievous wrong by ye in the things I said to her.”

There was no damned SENSE in the words that she—

C l a i r e

Jenny kneeling before him. 


Jenny, grabbing his hand, hard. “She said it would give ye peace, what’s inside.” 

CAME for’—?

Jenny, pressing the packet against his chest wi’ his own hand, holding it there, tight. 


Jenny’s face, mere inches from his, breaking apart with weeping—all but mute from the violence of her pain. “I'm—so—sorry, Jamie.” 

A kiss on his cheek, and then she was gone.

Watching like one paralyzed as the envelope fluttered once more to the ground onto its face. 

J a m i e

…his real name. 

He lunged, but he couldn’t even lift the envelope. His fingers felt like claws—lacking thumbs—lacking everything except brute force. He managed to rip off the seal and force open the pages, but he could only press it flat onto the floor with both his hands, hunched over it like a starving beast over its kill. 

And though he’d feared it some nightmare, his soul burst like the lungs of a drowning man as he read—as he believed— the words beneath him:  

“My own Jamie,” 

anonymous asked:

How can you love Ariel when she gave up her voice for a man??

Because I’m a human capable of critical analysis with multiple thoughts about a piece of media, of enjoying something while acknowledging it contains ‘problematic’ content, and of just straight up just loving a film from my childhood.

Not everything you consume has to be 100% pro feminism veganism anti climate change save the whales. It’s okay to switch that side of your brain off and sing along to a Disney movie that was made 40+ years ago.

Anyway, I always saw Ariel as a fierce, strong willed and independent character. Unlike her sisters, she refused to settle for the life her father planned for her, remaining under the sea. She wanted to explore - and did. She wanted to find love - and did. Some princesses waited around (or slept) and hoped a prince would come to them, she went out and made it happen. She took a gamble for love, and I don’t think that’s inherently wrong. She’d been dreaming of escaping her life and adventuring on land for years, he was that opportunity.

Finally, she was only 16. I’m sure as heck not going to chastise her (or a film) for her decisions at that age, I know girls who did things almost as wild for a boy at 16. I still think Ariel is a confident, funny, passionate role model but I really just answered the question from a much simpler place. She was my favourite Disney princess growing up and still brings me joy to this day. It’s okay ☺🐠

anonymous asked:

prompt: sanvers in the rain!! one of them is grumpy and hates it and is complaining that they're getting all wet and the other is skipping and twirling and getting soaked and pulls her girlfriend into the joy of it and it's happy and they're happy and it's pouring and they're soaking wet and kissing and don't care that it's the middle of the night or they're wet and freezing give me all the sanvers fluff

They only bring one umbrella because Alex hates carrying things and because Maggie likes the idea of snuggling close together under the same one, anyway.

But that’s not at all what happens.

Because Alex is twirling and Alex is laughing with her head back and Alex is splashing into puddles and Alex is giggling and Alex is tugging at Maggie’s sleeve.

“Danvers, it’s cold,” she grimaces as Alex splashes into a puddle so hard that droplets jump up and into Maggie’s boots.

“Maggie, it’s beautiful!” Alex retorts, tossing her arms back and spinning around.

“Not worried about your badass agent reputation there?”

Alex stops spinning and tilts her head, a habit she’s picked up from Maggie, and her eyes are sparkling, and her hair is dripping, and Maggie has to try hard to stay grumpy.

“Maggie. I just got out of an hour of staring at you while you do all this flexible stuff, and it’s pouring but that’s okay because last night you told me how beautiful I am while you fell asleep holding me and it’s pouring but it’s warm and everyone’s safe and we’re here and we’re together and this is all so cliche but you told me that’s just being happy and I should get used to it, and I am, Maggie, and we’re that couple, and we’re always gonna be that couple, because I love you, and the rain is perfect just like you’re perfect, and we’re perfect together, and I just – “

But she can’t ramble anymore, because Maggie’s abandoned her umbrella, abandoned her pretense, scaled the walls that she’s built, leaping over the fears that have been slammed into her, and her lips are on Alex’s, and it’s wet and whatever Alex says, this is cold, hell, it’s freezing, everything is freezing, except Alex’s lips, because Alex’s lips are warm, and when she opens her mouth and tastes Alex’s tongue with her own, it gets even warmer, like their mouths are the only sources of warmth in all the universe, and her hair is getting soaked and she’s soaked and they’re soaked and that’s okay, that’s okay, everything’s okay, everything’s happy, because Alex is lifting her off the ground and spinning her around while they kiss and Alex is giggling into her lips and god, she’s giggling right back because this woman, this woman, this woman?

This woman is both the rainstorm and the rainbow afterward, and god, Maggie’s never been so in love.

I just love Betty and Jughead so much. Together, but also individually. They’re children, and have already passed through so much. Abuse, neglect, trauma, even lack of basic needs, in Jughead’s case. It’s easy to forget that because they’re TV show characters, they’re beautiful, always looking good for aesthetics’ sake, portrayed in an entertaining way, and even glamorized. But when we put those things aside and think about their stories, they’re only 16 years old, and have already endured a lot. And the peace, trust, acceptance, support and joy they bring to each other is what make me ship them so much. I sincerely don’t know why someone wouldn’t like Bughead.

I can’t seem to put myself first. The darkness is too thick, but your joy reminds me that light exists. So, I try to help you find it. I wish I could find my own. I wish you’d help me, but you don’t know how bad things are. You don’t know how often I wish it would all end, and I can’t bring myself to tell you. If only I could be happy for real.
—  Maxwell Diawuoh, Request: a suicidal girl that tries to make everyone happy and fulfilling their needs and ignoring herself and her own happiness. She wants her parents to be happy but she is breaking inside.
the things that bring me joy

-Nighttime; a hush falling over the house as everyone goes to sleep and I’m the only one left awake. I like to make myself a cup of coffee and cocoon in bed with my current read or write whatever pops into my mind. Everything feels so vibrant in those moments, even me.
-Books. The feel of them. The smell of them. The intricate worlds they hold in their pages. I think they’re just about the best thing ever created.
-Writing. As frustrating as it is 99% of the time, it’s also one of my biggest sources of joy. When I write, I forget everything until only the words remain. And while (more often than not) I can’t manage to form them into exactly what I want, the magic is still there, just the same.
-My family. Whenever I’m overwhelmed by the dire state of this world, I remember that these wonderful people exist, and that they’re all mine. The universe did something right in that way.
-Flowers. Tulips, sunflowers, peonies, baby’s breath… you can’t be unhappy wherever they grow.
-Listening to my Mom and Dad’s childhood stories. Hearing about family members I never got the chance to know, or old friends they grew up with; the things that brought them the most joy, or the moments that shaped them into who they are. Everyone has a story, and I’d listen to all of them if I could.
-Coffee. The ritual that comes with making it, the calm that spreads over you as you drink it. I’m always at peace when there’s a cup of it in my hands.
-The fireworks that go off under your skin whenever you catch your crush’s eyes from across the room.
-Baking. The precision in each step, the care and tenderness behind each movement. Savoring what you created when it’s all said and done.
-Old movies from my childhood. The Wizard of Oz. Treasure Planet. The Emperor’s New Groove. Being able to just put it in the DVD player and be transported to back when you were little.
-Making a new friend. That moment when you’re talking and something just clicks, and you find yourself thinking, “You’re my kind of person.” All the memories that follow.
-Animals. Every single thing about them.
-The weight that falls from your shoulders after a good cry.
-Running so fast that you can feel your heart begin to soar in your chest.
-The feeling of hope. Of knowing that no matter what happens, you can still try again.

So… Splatoon 2nd Anniversary is right here.

I did’t get the game on Day 1 because I thought it wasn’t for me. I mean, shooter game? Online multiplayer? Nothing of that interested me that much back then. But the visuals and style of the game were amazing, so I quickly got interested anyway. Also, some friends I trust told me the game was lots of fun and easy to learn. That was one part of the reason why I bought the game.

But some other very relevant things that influenced me into getting the game were some very early arts of a very cute inkling couple created by @tamarinfrog​ / @cafe-cardamari​ . Everyone knows I like romance and fluff a lot, so I enjoyed very much the idea that squids could be shippable, haha!

If Clementine and Whinter are to blame for me getting into this new game and fandom that brings me joys and challenges every day, I thought it was only fair for me to draw those two today.

Those two characters never stopped evolving since they were created, and one day, by the will of their creator, they will live new adventures outside Splatoon. And I will love them regardless of the universe.

… and now, if you excuse me, I’m going to sleep because, well, it’s almost 6 AM… oops.

anonymous asked:

why don't you draw ships that you don't ship?

Why don’t people who don’t like ice cream eat ice cream? Why don’t people who don’t like snakes have a snake as a pet? Why don’t people who don’t like latex trousers wear latex trousers? Why don’t people who don’t like westerns watch westerns? Because it doesn’t bring them joy and satisfaction, they don’t want to force themselves to do something only for someone else’s pleasure, wasting their free time for things they don’t feel happy doing. Sometimes you have to do something you don’t like because you have no choice, it’s normal, but I have a choice and I don’t want to draw ships I have absolutely no heart for. So I choose not to draw them. Isn’t it like… obvious?

It’s Mothers Day, and like the Mother I am I wanted to give all the Catholics (who are reading) a good ol’ Mothers lecture. I should call it “life lesson” or even “life experience”, because it’s something unfortunately pretty much everyone has to experience to fully understand. It probably seems a little pointless to explain this then, but maybe for the chance that a few of you hear this life advice and don’t make the same mistakes in my faith as I have. Maybe for some of you who are making these mistakes now, or some who are in the middle of this experience, maybe some are coming towards the end as I am.

It’s not a happy story. It’s a terrible one. I don’t know if the ending is happy either-because I’m not dead yet.

I’m going to start at the beginning of my conversion, although it isn’t really the beginning of my experience, but I can’t really start in the middle of my journey to Christ now can I? During my conversion, I longed for Christ in the Eucharist. I sat Mass after Mass, longing for Christ on the pews, watching others receive the Eucharist over and over. I even attended daily Mass, maybe just to feel the hunger even more. The desire was the closest I was to receiving. I watched some Catholics remain seated instead of receiving and I felt sickened, angry even. “They can receive every day if they wanted, but they choose to mortally sin instead, how could they?” Over and over I said to myself,“I’d never sin, I never will. When I receive, I’d rather die then mortally sin.”

At that moment, I meant it, and when I think about how much I hate sinning now, I still mean it. I’d rather die than mortally sin. I remember speaking to a priest once, about how eager I was to receive, and I spoke to him the same way a mother without a child looks at women who don’t appreciate the children they have, “Father, how is it that I want the Eucharist so badly, and I can’t receive, but those who can don’t take it seriously? They would rather sin! I’ll never mortally sin!” It seemed an innocent thought to me, but father was angry, “You are prideful.”

That is all he said. I was confused. At the time, I wondered if he had misunderstood me, I wasn’t trying to make a judgment on others, I was simply expressing my desire for the Eucharist and my desire to never sever my relationship with Christ. Now I know, he fully understood me, and he was right. I laid in bed at night often after saying the rosary (for the 3rd time that day), and listened to father say those words in my head, “You are prideful.”

“I need more graces!” I thought. That will solve the pride problem. All the prayers. All the Masses. All the Rosaries, all the good deeds and the loving words. I did my work with love and joy in my heart and truly did I abandon myself to Christ, but those words still haunted me.

I prayed the abandonment prayer, and I felt God calling me to do and say things I would have felt afraid to do before. Things that I know Christ was using me and my life for others. Things that I only thanked God for and things that I only gave glory to Him for. I felt nothing for compliments I received, I only thanked God and gave him Glory.

I even forgot the sinner I once was.

When it was time to receive the sacraments, I received them beside death, and I would have joyfully welcomed death because of my closeness to Christ at the time. I felt no fear, no suffering that did not also bring me joy an gratefulness. I lived and breathed the graces and could have lived off them alone. I only thought of Christ before I spoke, not of myself, I only sought the will of God, not my wants or needs. My period of conversion was a dream and even while I lived in this beautiful and grace-filled time I knew this period of conversion would come to an end. I had been warned. “Not me,” I thought, “if I pray these rosary’s, attend as many Masses as humanly possibly, avoid mortal sin, confess weekly, then I can sustain these graces and this closeness to God for the rest of my life.”

At night, as silly as it seems to say (and probably to read) I could hear and feel the temptations of demons. I would laugh at them, faithfully wearing my St. Benedict metal, and yelling in the dark, “Be gone demon, I’m a daughter of Christ!” I would laugh at his tricks, and his stupidity, or so I thought.

Then slowly, the demon began to terrorize my children. My daughter came to me screaming nightly about the devil who had reached out his hands for her and said, “Come to me!” But in her words, “the hands of God held the devil back.” This was my child who had a very rational and non-imaginative mind, she rarely dreamed. And now, she dreamed of demons nightly. My son heard voices, he saw a demon run down the hall on hands and feet while he did dishes. I became angry, I called the priest and blessed my house, I prayed the rosary all night-and I mean all night, for weeks. It got worse and worse. I remember thinking, “how dare this demon, HOW DARE HE.”

My children, not my children. I thought about all the times I had heard or seen a demon myself, it was always when the demon seemed desperate. When you can’t see them, that’s when their temptations are working, they don’t have a need to reveal themselves.

I threw myself into the fire. Yes, the spiritual fire, hell, I separated myself from God falling into the demons final temptation, “When you mortally sin, we remain hidden. We remain hidden from you…and from your children.”

I would like to say this was the first of my mortal sins, but it started with the feeling of being abandoned, by my parish, by my friends, my family. I stopped listening to God, and I remember thinking, “It’s stupid to believe that God can speak to me. It has to be some sort of demon trying to get me to feel pride.”

And I prayed for humility.

I think, I was half right. Wrong that God couldn’t speak to me, wrong that God wasn’t able to use me, a miserable sinner, but right that I was undeserving, and right that I felt pride.

It wasn’t the temptations on my children, the demons, the abandonment, it was my pride. All along. You see, we think pride looks like confidence, and it isn’t the same. It’s not appreciation for your beauty-which in desperation to rid myself in pride I cut off all my hair-it is something sneaky, something that creeps into the heart of those who are the most devout. It is more than a feeling or a thought about the sins of others, it is not so simple as to believe that you can do something without Christ, it is the belief that you can keep yourself from mortal sin without the graces of Christ. What keeps you from sin, is not your amazing and well formed conscience, it is not your Catholic upbringing, or the clothes you wear or the people that you hang out with-all though these all contribute to a life in Christ. It is the graces and nothing but.

When you are confident that you will never sin, you forget that the graces of God are given as a gift, and gifts are not expected, they are not demanded. Sometimes you do not receive the gifts, and when you are in battle you believe you have prepared yourself with your weapons, but you come to the end of the field to face the demons you find that you are battling with bare hands and your arms, your weapons, your army, are just a bunch of glass mirrors.

The thing about pride is, the only solution to pride is to be drug down to the pit of your faith by Satan himself, where you will find out just how far you can climb out of your muddy hole without Christ, how far you can make it. Alone. And that’s where I was for 3 years, alone. I could not feel the peace of Christ with me, I could not feel the love and joy, I could not understand why I kept digging deeper into sin, closer and closer into the pits of hell. I, months ago, asked God in tears after sinning, “why didn’t you take me when I was close to you, when I felt graces and love and joy, why didn’t you take me then when my body was close to death but my soul so close to life?” I walked in and out of the death of my soul and I wondered how I would escape this darkness, this torment that I gave to myself. I felt unworthy to speak of Christ, unworthy to pray, I thought about deleting my blog, who was I to help others with their path to Christ when I’m such a sinner? Who was I?

I even covered the eyes of Mother Mary in my home when I walked by, instead of kissing her hands.

Praying felt like scratching an old wound, I’m not sure if I felt despair, certainly I wondered if someone like me could be saved, could stop sinning, could detach myself from sin again.

The good news, is I can see the light from my pit now, and the for the first time in a long time I felt God close to me, I can see now who I am truly, who I am without him. I’m not sure if I will find myself in the love and joy I once experienced, I dream about it often, although I know that the maturing of my faith will look much different than the honeymoon. If only I could warn others about pride, about the belief that you would never, could never, will never sin or separate yourself from Christ-graces are a gift, so do not forget. Pray that God keeps you from sin, pray that he forgives your sins, and pray you forgive yourself. I am afraid of who I am without Christ. I do not want you to suffer as I did. I do not want you to fall into the sin of pride as I did.

Like a mother who warns their child to wear shoes so they don’t step on glass, where a helmet when they ride their bike, look both ways, say “no”, I warn you to take a look at yourself and know who you are with and without Christ (if you think your the same, may God have mercy). Your list of Masses you’ve attended, Rosaries you’ve prayed, defense of the faith, they mean very little, because all good you’ve ever done IS. NOT. YOU.

The first thing and the last thing to remember, is that I am a sinner.

If you do not hear my warning, and you find yourself in the hideous darkness I experienced, at least find comfort in the fact that I suffered in the dark for 3 years, and all suffering comes to an end. Christ will make good of it, Im certain.

the only thing bringing me joy from this hell is that p*ul legit thinks this is some hilarious joke that america will get a kick out of while half of twitter that doesn’t even give a fuck about bb is dragging his racist ass let him be out pre jury and let us watch him suffer stat