the-shift

anonymous asked:

David Duchovny looks so sad recently. I'm not going to pretend I know what's going on, but there has certainly been a shift in how David and Gillian interact with each other recently. Something is definitely not the same between them. And David looks love sick. And Gillian is off showing her vagina to the public. Maybe David misses her vagina? 🤷‍♀️

Originally posted by ghostofcheney


Yes, he looks sad and there has been a shift.

The Woodchuck Incident

As promised, here is a Life On The Farm / In The Yurt story, about a woodchuck who had some Regrets. 

It begins as a vignette into life with my family. See, my father, with the help of my mother, is engaged in a years-long project to re-side the front of my sister’s house. It’s a historic house, built in 1825; Mom has already researched enough and is going to sit down and write a book detailing the biographies of every individual who ever lived in it. Anyway, it’s got the original siding on it, and the last coat of paint it ever had applied to it was sometime between 1930 and 1940. There’s been extensive consultation via the county historical society as to what kind of work should be done to preserve the house, etc. My sister and her husband have no say in it and have accepted this. They’re too busy with the farm anyway; they’d slap a coat of paint on it to try to keep it from falling down, maybe, but– no. Dad’s re-siding it, properly, and bringing to bear every bit of his notorious, lifelong perfectionism and attention to detail. It is going to be perfect.

Trust me, I’m getting to the part about the yurt and the woodchuck. 

Keep reading

nolatulip  asked:

I wanted to request a fic towards the end of s3 before TC goes with Syd and him and Jordan really talk about him going and their relationship, and then maybe present with Jordan finding out TC is hurt in Syria, prior to S4 starting back.

Jordan’s hand shakes against the phone, the voice on the other line melting into white noise, as her eyes flutter shut, the curls of her hair shielding her stricken face from the people around her.

The only alert of something wrong is the strangled gasp that comes from her mouth at the news.  Tears immediately spring to her eyes, turning them to a vibrant emerald that glisten as they flutter back open, wetting her eyelashes, the sprinkle of salt staining her cheeks.

The hospital seems to spin in place, and she stumbles backwards, the line going dead, and she’s left with only the screaming distress of her heart, twisting in a vice grip, threatening to strangle the life out of her.

“Promise me you’ll be safe.”

“I’m always safe,” He retorts, a boyish grin appearing, causing his face to crinkle, a slight wince flickering as his bloody eye crinkles with charm.

Jordan’s mussed hair creates a dark halo around her against the pillowcase, as she turns to face him, laying the full gaze of her serious tone onto him.  Her hand comes out to gently graze the bruise that seems to be growing more distinct and damaging by the second.

“Clearly,” she jokes with a shake of her head.

He reaches out to her, finding grasp on her waist, pulling her closer.

“Had I known going overseas would lead me here, I’d have signed up sooner,” he tries to tease, but she shuts him down quickly, smacking his chest lightly.

“Not funny,” she says, her hair slipping into her eyes, as she lowers her head, lost in her thoughts, staring at the hand that rests against his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips.

“I’ll be back in a few weeks, and then…” he stops, not really sure what happens after that, and she can’t blame him.  Their relationship always seemed to be tricky, even when broken up, they seemed to gravitate towards each other.  Neither one of them ever convinced that that breakup would be the end of the them, merely a break before they fell right back into each other’s arms.  The grip they seemed to have on each other’s hearts never loosened, rather existing as a habit, unaware and uninhibited, only tugged into consciousness when one of them got too far away.

“Not our smartest move,” Jordan admits, her fingernail digging into his skin, the prick not even phasing him, his hand coming to cradle the side of her face, and her eyes peek up from their dark lashes to meet his soft, brown gaze.

“Not our dumbest either,” he counters, and her forehead moves to take the place of her hand, meeting his chest with a smile.  Memories of what could have qualified as their dumbest decision flooding back to her, their intern year much of a blur.

“How about we just focus on you coming home in one piece,” she whispers against him, and she can feel the his grip become tighter on her.  The very real possibility that that could not happen one that he knew all too well.

A very different life they’d be living had Thad not been killed.  One that never involved them moving to Texas, and a ring that she would’ve happily accepted.  The idea seeming so far out of her reach at this moment, the only thing within her grasp was the man before her, and she was once again having to relinquish him over to the danger that he seemed to run straight towards.

“Okay,” he agrees, placing a kiss against her head, his thumb sweeping against her cheek, a physical comfort she’d miss, having just gained back.

“Just…be careful over there, okay?” She speaks into him, one last plea, the moisture of her words sinking into him, resting comfortably.

“You be careful over here,” he responds back, his head maneuvering its way to her bare shoulder, his stubble scratching her with its sincerity of his words, a physical promise to return.

She can feel herself spinning, her hand reaching out to grip the counter, her knuckles going a ghostly white as she holds onto her cool in the same grasp her balance.

“You okay, Jordan?” She can faintly hear Mollie ask, but she can’t form words, only shaking her head no, as she stumbles back again, despite her grip.  And before she knows it, she’s being gently lowered into a chair.

Vaguely recognizing that they’re trying to get her attention, but unable to focus, she finds herself heaving forward, her stomach unable and unwilling keep her secret any longer.  The contents of her dinner landing on the floor, as a swirl of people all turn their attention to her, a comforting hand landing on her back, soothing her, but her eyes keep darting to the phone.

“Do you have the flu, sweetie?” She’s asked, and again, a shake of her head, her hand coming to land against her stomach.  Eyebrows raised around her, as if she was reliving the last year of her life all over again.

Drew’s swiveled her chair to face him, bent down to get her attention, her face pale and unresponsive, her breathing heavy, as if unable to catch her breath.

“Jordan,” he says, and she sees him, her eyes wild and panicky.  “What’s wrong?”

She can hear the word pregnant whispered through the crowd now assembled around her.

“T…” she starts, her eyes welling with tears again, her hand never leaving her stomach, the only form of him she has a grip on.  His promise to return in a few weeks had turned into a couple of months, his avoidance after finding out about Topher only adding to the distance between them.  The truth landing on the tip of her tongue.  “TC’s hurt.”

And just like that, the promise is broken, all bets off, and the future even more unclear than before.

Leave the first sentence of a fic in my ask box and I will write the next five sentences.

When people get all snippy about enforcing antiquated grammar rules, all I can think of is Edmund Spenser.

In the 1590’s, some dude named Edmund Spenser decided to write a flowery epic poem, basically a transparent allegory praising Queen Elizabeth. Fair enough. He was like, “I want this work to be remembered forever, so I don’t wanna use, like, MODERN SLANG or the CASUAL DISREGARD FOR GRAMMAR or FOREIGN INFLUENCE that THESE YOUNG UPSTARTS keep using. Nobody will read or understand their stuff in the future. I know, I’ll write in the style of Chaucer, because Chaucer is a ‘well of English undefiled.’ Now my piece will be a classic of pure and untainted English. 👌👌👌”

So he wrote this semi-incomprehensible fake-Chaucer poem. But FUNNNN FACT, guess who else was writing poetry in the 1590’s? Some young upstart using modern slang and casual disregard for grammar and foreign influence named William Shakespeare. And his stuff was good enough that a huge chunk of literary education is devoted to understanding his use of language… meanwhile, who’s ever heard of a Spenser Theatre Troupe, a Spenser Studies degree, or Spenser in the Park?

So ease up on that grammar policing. Shakespeare is widely praised for his inventiveness with language, creating and popularizing tons of new words and being the first recorded example of loads of common slang terms. Let’s appreciate it when 21st-century creators do the same!