I am responsible for the misuse of the word "infinitesimal" in the Motivation video
So here is my take on Logic correcting himself:
LOGAN: It was an honest mistake… Serves me right trying to demonstrate my intellectual acuity by employing hexasyllabic vocabulary words. Honestly, what was I trying to prove?
THOMAS: Oh, so you’re going to simplify your vocabulary?
LOGAN: No, I am not. Language can build bridges, Thomas! If I am going to build a bridge, then I would prefer an artisan’s tool belt over a Bob the Builder plastic play set. Anyway– that’s tangential– I misspoke when I used the word infinitesimal, and a true erudite intellectual always rights their wrongs. Infinitesimal is not synonymous with infinite. On the contrary, infinitesimal means very, very small; as in: The number of flying insects that don’t frighten me is infinitesimal. Similarly, the number of times that Donald Trump has corrected himself after getting a fact wrong is also infinitesimal… Donald Trump can fit an infinitesimal amount of animal crackers in his tiny hands. Okay, I’m done.
On July 6th, 2012 16-year-old Skylar Neese snuck out of her house to drive around & smoke marijuana with her two best friends, Shelia Eddy (middle) & Rachel Shoaf (right). They drove to Morris Run Road in Pennsylvania, a long dirt road surrounded with forestry, a place they had been before to hangout and smoke. When Skylar turned her back the girls counted to three & began stabbing Skylar to death with kitchen knives they had concealed under their clothes. The only thing Skylar said during the attack was “why” over & over again. The girls stood over her body until she was dead, cleaned themselves up with Clorox wipes & fresh clothes they had stored in the trunk, went home & resumed their normal lives.
Skylar was deemed a runaway & the girls played the role of concerned friends who just wanted their best friend back. Shelia begged & pleaded for her to come home on her social media, helped the family post missing flyers, & spent countless hours with Skylar’s parents sitting in Skylar’s room talking & crying. When cops began questioning the girls the Neese’s repeatedly told cops to back off because they were going through enough already.
Above screenshots of Shelia Eddy pretending to be a concerned friend on Facebook. Comments by Skylar’s parents, Dave and Mary Neese.
The heat of the ongoing investigation & whispers around town proved to be too much to handle for Rachel Shoaf, who confessed to the murder in December of 2012. She said “we stabbed her” & when asked why she said “we just didn’t want to be friends anymore.” She cooperated with police & lead them to where Skylar was murdered. She also agreed to wear a wire while hanging out with Shelia in order to get Shelia to say something incriminating, but Shelia held out. Below is a picture of them from that night.
Shelia Eddy was arrested May 1st, 2013. On January 24, 2014 she plead guilty to first degree murder & was sentenced to life with mercy, eligible for parole after 15 years. On February 26th, 2014 Rachel Shoaf was charged with second degree murder & was sentenced to 30 years, eligible for parole after 10 years. They are both serving their sentences in Lakin Correctional Center.
Chilling tweet by Shelia Eddy a month before her arrest.
One popular theory suggests Shelia & Rachel were engaged in a sexual relationship & Skylar was the only one who knew about it. There was always drama & fighting amongst them, so to avoid Skylar telling their secret they killed her. However, the true motive remains unknown.
Because of the nature of this crime & the fact that I am the same age as the girls (21 now) I became really invested in it. I watched everything I could about it, read every article, even got in contact with Skylar Neese’s parents who are wonderful people. There are several documentaries about it here & here, as well as her parents’ Dr. Phil episode here. You can purchase the book containing more detailed information here (a must read if you’re interested in this case!)
Wow! The top 10 outfits for Minako were crazy! I love your comments Audrey XD Could you do a 10 ten for Makoto please? 💚💚💚💚
I hope you’re ready for the high waisted pants appreciation post, because that’s what it’s going to be.
10. This is the ultimate Mom Friend look. She is just going out to run some errands and wants to know if you want anything from the grocery store while she’s out.
9. Mom Friend: Summer Edition, a very similar look but for warmer weather. The loosely tucked shirt says “oh this old thing I just threw it on very casually” but is actually meticulously crafted.
8. Serving up ice cream but also serving up LOOKS, correct?
7. Wholeheartedly accepting her color motif into her heart and wardrobe. This ensemble screams “I am the reincarnated guardian of the planet Jupiter, born on this earth as a human.”
6. A lot of Mako’s look trend toward the femme side of things, but this one outfit is the tomboy within saying “hey today is the day we wear a hooded jersey with a baseball cap” and Makoto (who has learned to accept herself with the help of Usagi) says “hell yes it is.”
5. This might possibly be an outfit of Miss Haruna’s, but truly this outfit belongs to anyone who can pull it off. It’s like the Excalibur of clothing.
4. The shorts are layered over the shirt, which is layered over the jacket, which is layered over the shorts. All is layered, and layers over all else. It’s beautiful, is what it is.
3. Speaking of layers. Sometimes you want to take off all those cute but uncomfortable clothes and slip into something cozy and even cuter than before.
2. I was already a huge fan of the green turtleneck, the high waisted shorts with matching hair tie, and the crisp white vest with a bow in the back. This is already the perfect outfit. But as soon as you add sunglasses, it just becomes….. transcendent. It’s greater than any of us could have imagined. It’s beyond us now.
1. You knew what number one was before this list was ever even made.
Diagnosing someone doesn’t have to be like fitting them into a box. It can be like drawing a map of them. There are thousands of types of maps. Topographical maps; road maps. Water table maps. Population density maps. They are all very different ways of understanding a space. None of them tells the complete story of it, and none of them are the same as the space itself.
A correct diagnosis, like a good map, should serve to orient and clarify; to make the relationships and distances between things easily apparent. The map of depression can draw together anger and poor memory and stomach pain into a coherent space, letting you see the lightless void where grief is hiding like a deep aquifer. The map of autism can link a hundred days alone on the playground and the small pinpricks of light that were understanding and acceptance into a constellation of stars, something with hope for the future.
Bad diagnoses obfuscate, confuse, lead astray; they end in ROAD CLOSED signs of failed therapy or plateaus of stalled progress. The worst diagnoses come from hardly glancing at the ground; they’re a single session, “That looks like a river i saw once.” The best diagnoses are drawn by hand, using the best grids and measures available, with frequent reference to the land itself.
And the land is never, never the map. It is always so much more.
Warnings: death of a character, there are no spoilers because I made my own ending to last night’s episode, small amount of fluff. *The gif I guess could be counted as a spoiler?*
A/N: I said I was going to do it, so I did it. You all get some special treatment today!! Enjoy this extra fic! I hope you all enjoy this! Feedback is welcomed and appreciated! I love you all so much!! <3
Crowley smirked at Lucifer as the fallen archangel fell to his knees. Lucifer withered in pain and all Crowley could do was chuckle. He had big plans to torture Lucifer. Crowley wasn’t going to spare Lucifer, not one bit.
“Do you remember [Y/N],” Crowley asked Lucifer, his tone snarky. “She’s your soul mate isn’t she? Pretty little thing she is.”
“Keep your hands off of her Crowley,” Lucifer seethed as he clutched his stomach.
“It’s more like she can’t keep her hands off of me,” Crowley mused, his eyes traveling to the door of the thrown room. His smirk grew as you opened the door to the throne room. “Oh look who’s here.”
It’s four in the morning, but honestly I’ve fallen victim to my trash pairing (Trikey!) and I am no longer in control of my life, so here are some facts about Trevor. It is a mix of good, bad, and neutral. If you think I should do more about Trevor or another character, message me or leave me an ask.
• Trevor thinks that weed is a childish and weak drug.
• Trevor is bisexual. Through texts he comes close to saying it and shares sexual experiences through stories that have indeed involved a male. As a side note, when Franklin asked Trevor directly if he was gay, Trevor responded with, “No! Yes! Labels are whatever, man.”
• Trevor is a dropout.
• Trevor refers to himself as, “Uncle T”.
• Ron calls Trevor, “Crazy Trevor” to Trevor then calls Ron, “Nervous Ron”.
• Trevor was never accepted by the other children throughout his childhood due to his oddness and constant rage fits.
• Trevor is officially 6'1".
• Trevor is a victim or emotion, verbal, and physical abuse from both parents.
• Trevor has always had rage problems even from a early age. When he was young, Trevor says that he killed many animals and “drifters”.
• Trevor is addicted to Crystal Meth and owns his own drug selling company.
•Trevor has a brother named Ryan who is deceased. Trevor states in a conversation that he wasn’t fond of Ryan and that his death was “accidental”. It is unknown if Trevor killed him, which is very possible, or if his death was truly an accident caused by him or someone else.
• Trevor’s signature color has been confirmed to be orange. Orange reflects on his personality, having traits of amusement and madness.
• In a conversation while hanging with Franklin, Trevor says, “I grew up in five states, two countries, fourteen different homes, eight fathers, three care homes, two correctional facilities, one beautiful, damaged flower of a mother”, and also, “I served time, my country, your country and myself.”
• Trevor’s biological father abandoned him at a shopping mall as a child. Trevor, unknown how many years/months later, burned down the same shopping mall in anger.
• Trevor will hurt himself when he is upset. He mostly will slam his head against a hard object until his head is bloodied and bleeding.
• Trevor almost turned into a professional golf player.
• Trevor was kicked out of the Royal Canadian Air Force because the woman in charge of psychological evaluations saw Trevor as mentally unstable, resulting in Trevor’s discharge and grounding for life.
• Trevor is terrified of clowns and it is implied through his text that he was, in fact, sexually assaulted by a clown at a young age.
• Trevor was planning to only work with Brad and end his and Michael’s robbing partnership not long before Michael faked his death.
• Trevor openly admits that he prefers older women when having a choice.
• Trevor has a very strong urge to be held by another when he is upset or in distress.
• Trevor was also at one point expelled from a school. He claims that if he wasn’t expelled, he would have most likely had a profession in the arts (singer, dancer, writer, actor, etc). He says that he still has something “very big” to tell the world, yet he doesn’t know what it is.
• Trevor gets very defensive when it comes to his accent and being questioned if he is American.
• Trevor, through dialogue when hitting the “insult button” when next to Patricia (he will only say compliments), he tells her that he wants a very strong and confident woman, such as herself.
• Trevor, when it comes to women, wants someone that is as equally strong and crazy as he is. When chasing after Mary Anne, he says, “-It’s a recipe for disaster! That’s why it’s so perfect!”.
As a side note, he will call her “crazy cakes” and ask her to marry him immediately after he confess his love.
• Trevor’s mother, Mrs. Philips, was a prostitute/stripper.
ULRestored Investment Grade Harley Davidson UL Flathead Big Twin 74 ci V-Twin
* Logged zero miles since a full, highly accurate restoration * Restored with a roster of NOS parts * Original, VIN-matched 74 cubic inch flathead * Correct 4-speed transmission * NOS exhaust * NOS wheels * NOS seat * Era-correct scallop stripes
: Harley-Davidson is more than just a motorcycle, it’s a lifestyle. That said; it’s the motorcycles that keep enthusiasts coming back. Nearly every year, model, frame and engine has its own set of diehards that swear by a particular Harley vision. But, no matter your preference, it’s hard to deny the significance of a sweet bike like this 1948 UL Flathead. Restored by one of the best Harley gurus in the country, this world-class scoot is a shining example of why every gearhead loves a HOG. And if you’re in the market for a little 2-wheel royalty, it’s your first-class ticket to open road freedom!
Originally introduced in 1938, Harley-Davidson’s UL Sport Solo line ran the gamut from broad-shouldered cruiser all the way to commercial utility bike. Lovingly restored, and kept on permanent display, this lust-worthy UL hasn’t logged any miles since the last wrench was turned on its NOS Harley hardware. A mirror-like coat of black paint serves as the foundation for era-correct scallops that are detailed with red pin striping. At the front of that pigment, the dark vibes start with an NOS Harley fender, which parades NOS Harley trim and an NOS Harley light in front of a correct fuel tank. Simple and classically shaped, that attractive tank, equipped with a factory dash, breaks perfectly in to an NOS buddy seat that’s propped on NOS buddy springs. That saddle hangs over a second NOS Harley fender that centers an NOS tombstone taillight behind an NOS Harley bumper. And overall, this UL features classy, retro-cool aesthetics that are sure to age just as well as their high quality components allow.
Summary: A day at the park with Reyna and Bucky brings revelations and apologies.
Pairings: Bucky x Reader
Warnings: Uhm. so this is fluff. but there are some mentions of emotional affairs and other sensitive themes. there’s not much angst. Dad!Bucky
Word Count: 1151
You decided to take Reyna to the park early. The walls of the tower were closing in you, suffocating you under its weight.
Reyna was edgy as it was. The departure of her father had resulted in tears and you’d spent a good twenty minutes calming her down. After a quick diaper change, which was a harrowing experience, and an outfit change you trudged toward the kitchen, her diaper bag slung over your shoulder, pushing her pram ahead of you.
You plop Reyna on the kitchen floor, handing her, her favorite unicorn toy. You rummaged through the kitchen cabinets a frenzied attempt to locate child-friendly snacks. You assumed she needed to eat more than three times a day. She was the daughter of a super soldier after all. Who knew what the effects the serum had on her body. She didn’t look any different from other children you had met, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
An intense few seconds followed. The animal crackers were inexplicably missing.
You finally found them stuffed in the back of the cupboard, and sighed in relief. Returning to Reyna, you head down to the park, ignoring the prickle at the back of your neck.
You couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching you. It was unnerving, to say the least, causing you to fight the urge to keep checking behind you, relying instead on your other senses. Your eyes stayed focused on the road ahead and Reyna.
The five minutes it took to get to the park felt like an eternity. You knew you were being followed, the eyes boring into the back of your neck hard to miss.
They were assessing you. Tracking your every move.
You hoped the park would afford you cover and safety. No one was going to kidnap or harm someone with so many witnesses. It would be ridiculous and stupid to do so.
You breathe out a sigh of relief as you enter the playground. Nannies and mothers were everywhere. Children of various ages were playing on the equipment. A bright red swing set, a large sandpit, blue monkey bars and a ginormous jungle gym were among the picks to play on.
You could see why the enjoyed it so much, it was a veritable paradise.
Removing Reyna from her pram, you sit her beside you to apply sunscreen to her delicate skin. She giggles through the entire thing. Her excitement near infectious. “Alright, pretty girl. Let’s get this party started.” You boop her on the nose and haul her into your arms, heading straight for the swing set.
You would vehemently deny it if anyone asked you, but you were enjoying yourself immensely. Despite your slight resentment toward her Reyna was a joyful and happy child, and you found yourself wishing she was yours.
She kicked and laugh with every push. She would stretch out her little arms as if to touch the sky with a beautiful smile and light in her eyes. Her blonde curls shone like a halo in the warm afternoon sun.
Soon you had forgotten all about the men watching you and the danger you were in. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Not today.
Bucky showed up an hour later. You hadn’t noticed him at first. He sat silently on a bench watching you interact with his daughter. On the monkey bars, on the slide, his face set in a permanent smile. You blushed crimson when you finally did catch his eye, acutely aware you were covered head to toe in dirt.
Reyna was an enthusiastic sand castle builder and, you’d lost yourself completely in her. It was the happiest you’d felt in a while.
“Having fun?” Bucky asks, trying to suppress the laughter in his voice and failing miserably. He softly removes a twig from your hair, grinning widely the entire time.
“You did good, Barnes. She’s lovely,” you reply sincerely.
His smile dies for a second. His eyes dimming with your words, before he plasters it back on. “I can’t take all the credit.”
You snort in reply. Taking a seat beside the sandbox, Bucky follows suit. “You’re raising her by yourself, Bucky. You can take all the credit.” You pass a spade to Reyna who’s destroying the sand castle you built mere moments before. “You made a beautiful human being. You should be proud.”
Bucky drops his eyes to Reyna, sorrow flashing across his features.
You’re suddenly aware you’re treading in dangerous territory. You had no idea what you stumbled into, but it was obviously a sore topic. “Bucky?” you ask.
He sighs before he returns his attention to you. “She’s not mine,” he says softly.
You swear your eyes bug right out of your head. Your mouth snaps open, then closed with a click, completely lost for words.
“Henry Monrouex,” he says. “Violent drug addict in prison for attempted robbery. He killed two people outside of a bar in Brooklyn. He’s serving two consecutive life sentences in Great Haven Correctional Facility.” Your blank look draws a laugh from him. “He is… was,” he corrects himself, “Ivanna’s lover. After she died, we did paternity. I’m not Reyna’s father.
Courts granted me custody after a couple of months. Steve convinced Henry to sign away his parental rights. He’s not getting out of prison anytime soon, and he never wanted to be a father. But man, did he fight it. The courts weren’t happy either. They went looking for her grandparents. Turns out Ivanna was an orphan. She never told me.”
“Bucky,” you reply sympathetically, placing your hand over his own.
He smiles warmly. “She’s mine in every way that counts.”
“I’m sorry, Bucky. It must have been awful.”
Bucky shakes his head, his brow furrowed. “No. doll, I’m sorry.”
It’s your turn to look at him in confusion. He smiles sadly and squeezes your hand.
“I’m sorry for being selfish. I’m sorry for the pain I caused you. I’m sorry for breaking your heart. I’m sorry for making you feel like you needed to leave. I’m just… sorry.”
You swallow the lump forming in your throat, nodding mutely at his words.
“But most of all, I’m sorry I couldn’t see what was in front of me. How good I had it. I want you to know, it was never you.”
You bark out a laugh. “It’s not you, it’s me, huh?” you reply sourly.
“I know it sounds cliche, but it’s true. It was never you. This was my fault. My doing. My screw up. You are everything I ever wanted. It was never you.”
“Thank you,” you reply, suddenly very tearful.
It was not what you expected to hear from him. Deep down you’d held onto the thought that the entire thing was your fault.
For the first time, in two years you felt relieved. You had a sense of closure. And maybe, finally, you could move on.
In 1978 Waymann Washington had two major things going for him: As a young man, he had his whole life in front of him. He’d also been granted a scholarship to go to college and play football. Two months into school, he dropped out.
Right now he’s serving a six-year sentence at the Richland Correctional Institution in Mansfield, Ohio, for drug trafficking.
And at 59, he’s found college again.
Because of a pilot program introduced by the Obama administration in 2015, inmates across the country, like Washington, have access to federal Pell grants to take college courses and earn certificates, associates and bachelor’s degrees while serving out their sentences.
More than a dozen other inmates at Richland are taking courses alongside Washington through Ashland University in Ohio. Ashland is a Christian liberal arts school about an hour south of Cleveland and has the biggest group of qualifying prisoners in its program. Generally, prisoners must have a release date within five years to qualify.
In 1991 serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer began serving his 15 consecutive life sentences at Columbia Correctional Facility; out of fears for his own safety, he was kept in solitary confinement for the first twelve months.
When he was introduced into the general population Dahmer was promptly targeted by the other inmates, many of whom were black (most of Dahmer’s victims were black). In July of 1993 he had his throat slashed from behind -Dahmer never identified the culprit -and other sources state he was sometimes involved in fights. He spent much of his time in the prison library and chapel, where he became a born-again Christian.
However, Dahmer still retained his morbid sense of humor. During meal times he would disgust other inmates by shaping his food into body parts, and pretending ketchup sauce was blood. In fact, this habit enraged inmate Christopher Scarver so much that he murdered Dahmer with an iron bar while the two were on work detail in 1994.
He had needed to get away, if so only for a while. It was risky to ride alone in the forest; with his red hair and impressive height he could easily be recognised by redcoats. The English Crown had pardoned him, but he still feared running into the kind of callous officers that would punish a Scot, be there reason or not.
The real risk was, perhaps, not the threat of the English, but the threat of the MacKenzies. Jamie had neglected to inform either one of his uncles that he had escaped Leoch for the day and was sure to face the ire of both when he returned—part of him wished it wasn’t when he returned, but if he returned; part of him wished he had a choice.
Despite these risks, though some of them merely perceived, Jamie’s need to get away was too great to ignore. Walking around Castle Leoch, he had had a gnawing feeling he couldn’t shake. It seemed to him that the air inside the walls of that castle was not meant for breathing, but rather for slowly suffocating.
At this point, Jamie was a good distance away from the castle, and that time alone had him feeling freer than he’d felt since the price was lifted from his head. He couldn’t explain why, but also didn’t care to dwell overmuch on it. He was simply going to enjoy the feeling of freedom and fresh air in his lungs.
Jamie had only told Murtagh that he was away, and only because his godfather had caught him in the act of saddling a horse and inquired where he was going.
“I need some air,” Jamie had said. “I canna … breathe here.”
“Aye, I can tell, what wi’ yer uncles breathing down your neck and that lassie—”
“Don’t,” Jamie sneered, perhaps a bit harshly. He knew Murtagh had his own ideas about why Jamie was so miserable.
“Ye need to go home, lad. Leoch isna yer home and ye ken it. Ye dinna belong here,” he’d said.
Jamie knew Castle Leoch was not his home by choice, but it was the home he had. He couldn’t go back to Lallybroch after everything that had happened. His ties to Leoch were too strong to sever now.
Yet his dreams were filled with the green pastures outside his true home and his sister’s smile. His father was there, too. But all too often the dreams would turn dark, and instead of Jenny’s smile he would see her tears as she was being led away by Captain Randall. He would see the whip, coated in his blood. And he would see his father’s eyes go round before his body slumped to the ground.
No, Jamie Fraser could never return home.
So deeply immersed in his thoughts was he that he hadn’t realised what was happening in his vicinity until a woman’s high-pitched cry jerked him back to reality.
His head immediately snapped in the direction of the distressed scream and his eyes landed on the red-coated back of a man. He was taller than the woman who had emitted the cry, so Jamie didn’t see her at first, but when he did, it didn’t take a second for Jamie to understand what was about to happen to the poor woman.
He was swiftly off the horse and launched himself forward to knock the man out of the way, but the redcoat had heard his movements as he stepped on a dry twig and turned around just in time to see Jamie coming at him.
Jamie stopped dead in his tracks as recognition hit him. He knew that man. It was the man that haunted his nightmares, the man whose scars he carried on his back as a constant reminder of the cruelty that existed in some men, and of his own failures.
Disgust seeping through him, Jamie, in a rash move, flung his fist at Randall’s face, hoping to knock him out. Unfortunately, Jamie’s pause of surprise had given the captain time to anticipate what was coming and smoothly dodged Jamie’s clenched fist.
Randall grabbed Jamie’s arm and swung around him, wrapping his arms around Jamie’s throat.
Jamie heard the woman gasp and his eyes found hers. He had momentarily forgotten her in his rage at seeing Captain Randall again. Now he was mesmerised by her eyes that appeared to be the colour of whiskey.
Jamie had been distracted for mere seconds, but Randall seized the opportunity to hurl him against a stone wall, twisting his arm in the process. He hit it with his shoulder and pain seared through his arm.
Randall seemed delighted at the pain he had caused. So delighted, in fact, that he failed to notice the woman behind him before her fist connected with his temple and he fell unconscious to the ground.
She stood frozen for a moment, stunned at having knocked a man out cold.
Jamie tried to stand upright again, but let out a groan as the action reminded him of the pain in his shoulder. As adrenaline slowly faded, the pain worsened.
Hearing his groan, the woman was by his side in a second, inspecting his injury.
Jamie made an attempt to move, intending to leave the site before that devil of a man woke up.
“No, you’re hurt,” said the woman, preventing his movement. To his surprise, he realised that she was English. He wondered for a moment why an Englishwoman would find herself in such a situation with Captain Randall, but an interrogation would have to wait. They had more pressing matters, such as escaping the scene.
“We should go.” Jamie motioned to the unconscious captain. “Ye don’t want to be here when he wakes up, lass. There’s a cabin nearby, you can tend to me there if ye please,” he added before she could protest.
She hesitated for a moment, but then nodded in agreement.
As Jamie approached his horse, the woman said, “Surely you don’t mean to ride with that shoulder!”
“I don’t have a choice. Come on, it’s no far.”
She cast a final glance at Jack Randall before seemingly deciding that staying was not an option. She got up on the horse and they rode away.
It was already dark when they reached the cabin. Once they were inside, the woman didn’t waste any time before continuing what she’d started before.
“Your shoulder is dislocated,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I need to get the bone of the upper arm in the correct position—”
Between his aching shoulder, her gentle hands on him, and her bonny face deep in concentration as she described what she needed to do, he stopped listening to her words.
He was once again mesmerised by her golden eyes and opal skin. She was beautiful, to be sure. He dared say she was the most magnificent woman he’d ever laid eyes upon.
“Are you listening to me?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but said, “I wish I had someone to hold you steady for this, but I suppose you’ll have to … steady yourself.”
He nodded in acknowledgement and steeled himself.
When his joint slipped back in its correct position, he was relieved to find the pain gone in an instant.
“It doesna hurt anymore.”
“It will. It’ll be tender for about a week. You’ll need a sling.” Her eyes darted to his belt. “Give me your belt,” she demanded.
Had it been anyone else he would have protested, but her tone of authority made him abide her request.
“Are ye some kind of healer?”
“Something like that.”
As she tied the belt around his arm and shoulder, she instructed him not to move his arm for a couple of days. When she was finally done, she sat down next to him.
“Thank ye, Sassenach.”
“It’s nothing. It’s I that should be thanking you. Hadn’t you come to my rescue …” She shuddered at the thought of Captain Randall and the near-rape.
“I think ye rescued me as much as I did you. It was you that delivered the final blow if memory serves correct. It was verra impressive, Sassenach.”
Her lips curved upwards. “I suppose we did rescue each other.”
He offered her his flask and she wordlessly accepted it, drank, then handed it back to him. As he took a swig as well, she asked, “Why do you call me ‘Sassenach’? I do have a name, you know. It’s Claire.” She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Claire Beauchamp.”
“I didna mean to offend ye, Sass—Mistress Beauchamp, but you are English, are ye not? What were you doing alone in the woods wearing”—he eyed her dirty shift—“that?”
She looked down at her hands. Her long fingers were twisting around each other in a nervous fashion, deliberately avoiding the golden band on her left ring finger.
“I lost my way in the forest,” she began tentatively. “I was robbed of my belongings by some highwaymen before I had the misfortune to encounter Captain Randall … an encounter that relieved me of most of my clothes.”
Claire was lying, of that he was certain. She didn’t seem like a dishonest woman, though, so Jamie thought whatever her reason was for lying it was a good one.
He decided to not to interrogate her further, even though he very much wanted to know how she’d found herself in the Highlands in the first place and what had caused her to end up alone in the forest.
“Do ye have any friends or family here? I should like to see ye safe there.”
She shook her head. “I’ve no one here.” Her voice was a mere whisper, as though she had not intended to speak aloud.
“I dinna want to force ye, Mistress, but I think ye should come back with me to Castle Leoch. I’d feel uneasy to leave ye here alone tomorrow morning. Especially when Captain Randall is in the area. You don’t want to risk running into him again.”
He really did feel uneasy about leaving her alone if she had nowhere to go, but that was not the only reason he’d offered to take her with him. He didn’t want to say goodbye too soon. He wanted to stay in this fascinating woman’s company as long as he could. Being in her presence had made him forget the dull life he had tried to escape for a few hours.
Hey guys! So this is a collab with the awesome @loshka !!!!
We were both like, you know what would be great Ignis and Noctis…with Mindflayers and so that’s exactly what we did!
This fic contains Ignoct, along with Mindflayer/Ignis/Noctis. I hope you guys enjoy and have fun with it~
I would give warnings but I don’t want to spoil the surprise~
The soft kisses on his neck were what stirred him awake. Ignis sighed quietly, and his hand slowly moved to rest on top of the head resting against his shoulder. Noctis’ hair was damp and soft, probably from a shower he’d just taken. He was leaning against Ignis, pressing his chest against his own as he slowly moved over his neck with those soft lips of his. In all honestly, it was a perfect way of waking up. Ignis couldn’t remember the last time he had the chance to be woken up like this, it probably hadn’t happened since they left Insomnia.
Ignis kept his eyes closed for a bit longer, enjoying the moment. It was rare for Noctis to wake up before him, even less be this affectionate early in the morning. For starters, he was usually more than grumpy after waking up, and it would take him a good hour to actually be awake enough to function right. Ignis relaxed against the soft touches, and moved his hand from Noctis’ hair to his bare back. The soft skin was slightly wet still, and if it weren’t for Ignis being so relaxed and comfortable he probably would have said something about Noctis needing to dry himself properly. He could nag him later, for now he was just letting him do as he pleased.
Noctis’ arms ended up sneaking around Ignis’ chest and he was squirming closer to him. He was lazily grinding against him, his lips moving from his neck to his chin as he smiled. “Iggy,” Noctis’ voice was quiet and almost muffled by something. He gently nibbled on Ignis’ chin, just to bury his face against his neck again and suck on the skin there. Noctis’ hands moved over the skin of his chest and back, before slowly moving down to his belt to unbuckle it with his trembling fingers.
“Good morning, Noct,” Ignis chuckled quietly.
Noctis replied by leaning in and kissing his lips. He was needy, his craving so evident and easy to read when his tongue greedily pushed against Ignis’ lips. He snickered, and gently bit on Ignis’ bottom lip. He tugged on the soft flesh and then pressed his lips against Ignis’ again, letting his tongue push inside his mouth. Noctis slowly worked on the zipper of Ignis’ trousers, his hands trembling too much for him to be able to do it efficiently.
All of Noctis was trembling a little bit too much. Ignis tried to open his eyes but his eyelids just felt so heavy, he must have been exhausted from yesterday. He let out a quiet noise and pulled Noctis closer, his hands gripping his waist. He leaned his forehead against Noct’s, feeling his soft breathing and listening to the quiet noises he was making. He was letting him do as he pleased, his mind not fully awake yet. Or maybe he was just too comfortable. Noctis’ hands were now slipping underneath his underwear, his wet hands gripping his cock before he slowly moved his wrist to stroke the length.
If Harry taught at Hogwarts, I bet Teddy would have started calling him “Professor Dad” as a joke. And when the rest of his kids came to Hogwarts, they just joined in. Eventually, all their close friends started doing it too. Pretty soon, it caught on, and almost everyone was calling him that. New first years were always very confused because, “I thought his last name was Potter??” Then one day another teacher slips up, like: “Miss Lee, I understand you’re missing the Quidditch match because you’re serving detention with Professor Dad. Is that correct?” And it takes them a minute to realize what they just said.
Sixteen-year-old Michael Woodmansee of South Kingstown, Rhode Island didn’t look like a budding psychopath - with his thick glasses, obese frame, and shy demeanour, Michael could easily pass for a square peg amongst his more popular classmates. Unbeknownst to anyone around him, Michael nurtured graphic fantasies involving death and rape, and considered murder easy to get away with. On May 18, 1975, he made his deadly fantasies a reality.
Five-year-old Jason Foreman was playing with a group of boys at the top of the street Michael Woodmansee lived on when he heard his mother calling him home. Jason lived on a corner, and Woodmansee’s house was opposite the path Jason would have taken home. His mother last recalled seeing Jason walking through the front gate to the house, until she turned to answer the phone. Jason never walked through the door. His disappearance would baffle police for over eight years.
It was 1982 until a break in Jason Foreman’s case, and came about as a result of Woodmansee attempting to kill another young boy. The now twenty-three-year old had lured a teenage paperboy into an empty house and drugged him with alcohol. After an unsuccessful attempt at strangling the boy, Woodmansee gave up and left him for dead in the house. Instead, the injured boy went home and told his father about the incident, and who did it. The victims father then went to Woodmansee’s home and beat him up, after which Woodmansee did something incredibly stupid - he called the police and reported the assault.
At the police station Woodmansee tried to excuse the attack on the paperboy as ‘losing his temper’, but officer conducting the interview had a hunch that Woodmansee was responsible for the disappearance of Jason Foreman seven years before. After continuous prodding Woodmansee broke down and confessed to killing the child, and admitted he still had much of his body in his bedroom. Before a police unit searched the house, Woodmansee remarked that they would find a journal written by him in his room, but its contents were pure fiction.
In Woodmansee’s bedroom police discovered a number of gruesome relics; Jason Foreman’s skull, coated in high-gloss shellac. The little boy’s hip and rib bones, picked clean of flesh. Crude drawings of children being stabbed and decapitated. And the aforementioned journal, the contents of which were deemed too disgusting to be discussed in court. Though its never been reproduced in its entirety anywhere, the journal was said to contain graphic descriptions of Jason’s murder, his dismemberment, and how Woodmansee disposed of his body by boiling it over a stove and eating the cooked flesh.
In 1983 Michael Woodmansee was found guilty of second-degree murder and sentenced to forty years in prison. His relatively low sentence was the result of a plea bargain with the prosecution to ensure none of the horrific details of the murder were discussed in court, as the police were fearful about copycat crimes.
In a shocking move by corrections, Woodmansee was released from prison after serving 28 years of his 40 year sentence. Jason Foreman’s father has publicly declared his intention to murder Woodmansee for his crime against Jason.