this-is-our-future

There is nothing more delightful in life than a feather bed and an open fire— except a feather bed with a warm and tender lover in it.

When Ian was gone, we would not trouble with rushlights but would go to bed with the dark, and lie curled together in shared warmth, talking late into the night, laughing and telling stories, sharing our pasts, planning our future, and somewhere in the midst of the talking, pausing to enjoy the wordless pleasures of the present. 

“Tell me about Brianna.” These were Jamie’s favorite stories; the tales of Brianna as a child. What she had said and worn and done; how she had looked, all her accomplishments and her tastes. 

“Did I tell you about the time I was invited to her school, to talk about being a doctor?” 

“No.” He shifted to make himself more comfortable, rolling onto his side and fitting himself to my shape behind. “Why should you do that?” 

“It was what they called Career Day; the schoolteachers invited a lot of people with different jobs to come and explain what they did, so the children would have some idea of what a lawyer does, for instance, or a firefighter—” 

“I should think that one would be fairly obvious.” 

“Hush. Or a veterinarian— that’s a doctor who treats animals— or a dentist, that’s a special doctor who deals only with teeth—” 

“With teeth? What can ye do to a tooth, besides pull it?” 

“You’d be surprised.” I brushed the hair out of my face and up off my neck. “Anyway, they’d always ask me to come, because it wasn’t at all common for a woman to be a doctor then.” 

“Ye think it’s common now?” He laughed, and I kicked him lightly in the shin. 

“Well, it got more common rather soon after that. But at the time, it wasn’t. And when I’d got done speaking and asked if there were any questions, an obnoxious little boy piped up and said that his mother said women who worked were no better than prostitutes, and they ought to be home minding their families, instead of taking jobs away from men.” 

“I shouldna think his mother can have met many prostitutes.” 

“No, I don’t imagine. Nor all that many women with jobs, either. But when he said that, Brianna stood up and said in a very loud voice, ‘Well, you’d better be glad my mama’s a doctor, because you’re going to need one!’ Then she hit him on the head with her arithmetic book, and when he lost his balance and fell down, she jumped on his stomach and punched him in the mouth.”

I could feel his chest and stomach quivering against my back. 

“Oh, braw lassie! Did the schoolmaster not tawse her for it, though?” 

“They don’t beat children in school. She had to write a letter of apology to the little beast, but then, he had to write one to me, and she thought that was a fair exchange. The more embarrassing part was that it turned out his father was a doctor too; one of my colleagues at the hospital.” 

“I wouldna suppose you’d taken a job he’d wanted?” 

“How did you guess?” 

“Mmm.” His breath was warm and ticklish on the back of my neck. I reached back and stroked the length of a long, hairy thigh, enjoying the hollow and swell of the muscle. 

“Ye said she was at a university, and studying history, like Frank Randall. Did she never want to be a doctor, like you?” A large hand cupped my bottom and began to knead it gently. 

“Oh, she did when she was little— I used to take her to the hospital now and then, and she was fascinated by all the equipment; she loved to play with my stethoscope and the otoscope— a thing you look in ears with— but then she changed her mind. She changed it a dozen times, at least; most children do.” 

“They do?” This was a novel thought to him. Most children of the time would simply adopt the professions of their parents— or perhaps be apprenticed to learn one chosen for them. 

“Oh, yes. Let me see … she wanted to be a ballerina for a while, like most little girls. That’s a dancer who dances on her toes,” I explained, and he laughed in surprise. “Then she wanted to be a garbageman— that was after our garbageman gave her a ride in his truck— and then a deep-sea diver, and a mailman, and—” 

“What in God’s name is a deep-sea diver? Let alone a garbageman?” 

By the time I had finished a brief catalog of twentieth-century occupations, we were facing each other, our legs twined comfortably together, and I was admiring the way his nipple stiffened to a tiny bump under the ball of my thumb. 

“I never was sure whether she really wanted to read history, or whether she did it mostly to please Frank. She loved him so much— and he was so proud of her.” I paused, thinking, as his hand played down the length of my back. 

“She started taking history classes at the university when she was still in high school— I told you how the school system works? And then when Frank died … I rather think she went ahead with history because she thought he would have wanted it.” 

“That’s loyal.” 

“Yes.” I ran my hand up through his hair, feeling the solid, rounded bones of his skull, and his scalp under my fingers. “Can’t think where she got that particular trait from.” 

He snorted briefly and gathered me closer. 

“Can’t you?” Without waiting for an answer, he went on, “If she goes on wi’ the history— d’ye think she’ll find us? Written down somewhere, I mean.” 

The thought had honestly not occurred to me, and for a moment I lay quite still. Then I stretched a bit, and laid my head on his shoulder with a small laugh, not altogether humorous. 

“I shouldn’t think so. Not unless we were to do something newsworthy.” I gestured vaguely toward the cabin wall, and the endless wilderness outside. “Not much chance of that here, I don’t imagine. And she’d have to be deliberately looking, in any case.” 

“Would she?” 

I was silent for a moment, breathing the musky, deep scent of him. 

“I hope not,” I said quietly, at last. “She should have her own life— not spend her time looking back.” 

He didn’t respond directly to this, but took my hand and eased it between us, sighing as I took hold of him. 

“Ye’re a verra intelligent woman, Sassenach, but shortsighted, forbye. Though perhaps it’s only modesty.” 

“And what makes you say that?” I asked, mildly piqued. 

“The lassie’s loyal, ye said. She’ll have loved her father enough to shape her life to do as he would have wanted, even after he’s dead. D’ye think she loved you less?” 

I turned my head, and let the piled hair fall down over my face. 

“No,” I said at last, voice muffled in the pillow. 

“Well, then.” He took me by the hips and turned me, rolling slowly on top of me. We didn’t speak anymore, then, as the melting boundaries of our bodies disappeared. 

It was slow, dreamy and peaceful, his body and mine as much as mine was his, so that I curled my foot round his leg and felt both smooth sole and hairy shin, felt callused palm and tender flesh, was knife and sheath together, the rhythm of our movement that of one heart beating. 

The fire crackled softly to itself, casting red and yellow highlights on the wooden walls of our snug refuge, and we lay in quiet peace, not bothering to sort out whose limbs were whose. On the very verge of sleep, I felt Jamie’s breath, warm on my neck. 

“She’ll look,” he said, with certainty.

Drums Of Autumn

From my experience with men these are the types that come to me.

1. I really wanna know you but I don’t want nothing with you.

2. I found your body to be amazing but I don’t want anything serious.

3. Let talk about our future but I don’t wanna settle with you.

4. They don’t want nothing really but we stop talking and they end up in a relationship.

5. Maybe it’s me.

Well, it’s now the eve before we leave Montana. It’s extremely bittersweet for me. We called this place “home” for almost 5 years. For being a military family, that’s a long time to stay in one place. So much happened in our lives in these past 5 years. This is where we became a family of three. Where our sweet boy was born. The only home he’s ever known. I’m a completely different person now than when we first moved here. I have grown in so many ways that I can’t even begin to explain. I’ve grown as a mother, a wife, a friend and as a person in general. No matter where we are, I know a piece of me will always stay here in Montana. Tomorrow, this chapter of our lives will close. But I can’t wait to see what’s in our future.

After speaking with the admin team from the group mentioned in Samhain’s previous question, we will be going ahead with a new rule regarding face to face interactions! In addition, we will be adding a new tag to be used for open face to face posts after the event (there’s no need to use this tag during the event, as there are group tags to use), so please be sure to track the tag ourtownftf.

YOU SHOULD USE THE NEW FTF RULE STARTING NOW HOWEVER!

Please see here for an explanation regarding the new open ftf rule. This will be linked on our checklist for future reference, and to keep all new members up to date.

We have also edited our tracked tags list, as we know some tags have gone unused. You can find this on the new members checklist, so please be sure you’re only following the roleplay tags stated there! At least 2-3 have been removed.

anonymous asked:

My first though to Hamilton: He was the 10 dollar, founding father without without father got a lot farther by working a lot harder, by 14 they placed him in charge of a trading charter And every day while slaves were being slaughtered and carted away Across the waves, he struggled and kept his guard up Inside, he was longing for something to be a part of The brother was ready to beg, steal, borrow, or barter

THEN A HURRICANE CAME AND DEVISTATION RAINED OUR MAN SAW HIS FUTURE DRIP, DRIPPIN DOWN THE DRAIN

I Think Cyberpunk Shouldn’t Explain It’s Backstory

One of the important things about Cyberpunk stories, at least to me, is the constant feeling that it is the inevitable result of our civilization.

But when it starts explaining the setting’s history, specially  in RPGs, it breaks the spell. The authors start adding convoluted events and out-of-nowhere catastrophes just to justify specific elements in the story.

 There’s always that war that caused that country’s separation, or the epidemic that caused this panic, or the computer virus that led to technology X. It’s stops being about our future/exaggerated-present and feels like just a distant alternate earth. 

Show me a f**ked up civilization and tell me they got to this point just by boiling the frog slowly enough.  

The stars have whispered our names
During the quiet, lonely nights
Long before we were together
And before I had your name on my tongue

But the universe is kind
And it intertwined our futures together

You have stardust in your hair
And nebulas in your eyes
You make me shine,
Bright like a supernova

We bring our universes together
While I hold you close to me
And quietly, I thank the cosmos
For having brought you into my life

—  A. M.// ‘The starts know everything’, A Million Words About You

anonymous asked:

Confession: I have not watched Season 8 TWD since the first episode 1. I’m waiting to see Michonne come back and unite with Rick and the family. I can’t stand Negan (or Jeffrey as Negan) and watching the Saviors, the dialogue isn’t great these days, and my perception is that lately they spend more on Walker special effects and make-up than on quality storytelling. Also I am dreading the major death that we’ll get later in the season (if the spoiler is true). Glenn’s death really did me in.😩

The storytelling from the last ep was pretty sucky…it just was. i enjoyed 8x4… i think i have had enough rallying speeches though…like i got it…we gotta fight, for tomorrow, for our kids, a future, blah blah blah…i got it. and of course not seeing michonne, carl, rosita for like 4 episodes feels as awkward and wrong as it did last season when things were so spread out. i can only hope that their return this sunday means the end to this drought…but……

if we’re gonna talk spoilers i am gonna had a little cut here for those who don’t wanna go there…..so drop off now if you don’t wanna ride through the mindfuck of spoilers…go on now…get..scram…skeeeeeedaddle….cause in 5,4,3,2,1……

SPOILER TALK!

Originally posted by sooper-dee-dooper-natural

Keep reading

Hey guys if you have 5 minutes today (and you do) lets help protect net neutrality

Text “resist” to 50409 to fax all your representatives your outrage that they would consider betraying the American people for a cash benefit.

This is so important, and losing this battle will mean that we will lose so many more in the future as our access to our greatest strength, open information and communication, will be gone.

Imagine living in a city where there are no monuments, no buildings from before 1970, no proof that you had grandparents or parents, no history at all. Wouldn’t that make you feel like you were just a passing fad, that you could be blown away like leaves?… for any community to feel substantial and able to change without losing themselves, a history is absolutely crucial.
—  Emma Donoghue, talking about LGBT history and LGBT historical fiction
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“The way I see it, every life is a pile of good and bad things. The good things don’t always soften the bad things but vice versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant.” - Doctor Who

“There’s the fact that because it’s so good when it’s good and it’s so bad when it’s bad. “