#Lassie? Give it a little bit and this man can Silly with the best of them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kdogreads · 1 year

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Imagine being Chibs’ old lady

As ruthless as he can be, he is an absolutely softie just for you

Kisses your fingers one-by-one; your hands; your thighs; your calves; your stomach

Rubs your feet after a long day without you asking; he just slides your legs over his and works out all the tension

Tells you how pretty you are alllll the time: “My beautiful lass” & “Prettiest girl I’ve ever laid me eyes on” & “How d’ye manage lookin’ better everyday?” & “Sorry for starin’ at ya, love, I just cannae believe how goddamn gorgeous you are”

Would literally drop to his knees and worship you happily if you asked, of course you’d never, but he’d do it without a moment’s thought

Talks about you as if you’re a goddess, an angel walking the earth, and not giving a damn if the guys make fun of him for it (though they never would, they think so, too)

If you find a spider in the house

and you ask him to take it outside instead of killing it, he’ll look at you like this…

… and then take it outside. Same goes for any little task you ask for his help on, even if it’s just because you want to see his biceps flex when he lifts something heavy, or his belly peak out from his shirt when he reaches for something high. He pretends to be annoyed by your constant asking, but he loves taking care of you so damn much. He’d do anything you asked with a smile on his face.

Him calling you when the club needs your help

Medical, serving beers, hosting other charters, whatever they need. He’d call you and say:

“Hey baby”

“Hiya, love. Need yer help at the clubhouse. Tigger got bit by a damn doped-up Doberman or some shite. Hell if I know”

“Jesus Christ. Alright, keep him stable. I’ll be there as soon as I can, love”

“Wha’ would we do without ya, my angel?”

“Crash and burn, probably”

“Damn right. Love you, M'annsachd (my blessing)”

“Love you back, my Scotsman”

The club counts on your for so much, and you’re happy to help. That means you get to spend more time with your man and see him in his element. The other guys love you, too, and respect the hell out of you, knowing Chibs wouldn’t think think before chopping their dick off if they ever made a move on you. They tell you how much they appreciate you every chance they get.

THE ENDLESS PET NAMES

Lassie, sweetheart, hen, angel, darling, love; bonnie lass, baby, girlie, lover, sugar

Bonus: Scots Gaelic pet names

M'annsachd (my blessing), mo ghràdh (my love), mo chridhe (my heart), mo leannan (my darling/sweetheart)

After the explosion, you’re by his side every minute

When he comes to here and there during the first few hours, the only thing he mumbles is your name, like he’s desperately searching for your face in an unfamiliar crowd. You squeeze his hands and tell him you’re there, even if he slips back under just after, he knows you’re there. Even when the recovery is hard on him, you’re there to support him in every way you can. The club knows you won’t leave his side and helps fill in the gaps you usually occupy without a second thought. He credits you with his recovery, even though he did it all: “Yer my savior, mo chridhe. Cannae imagine my life wi’out you here, takin’ care o’ me, bringin’ me back ta life. You’ve given me everything. I owe you everything, my angel.”

He is the absolute sweetest with kids, your own or other members’

After Donna, Opie went off the rails and no one else had the means and patience to take care of Ellie and Kenny, so you two took them in.

He would try his best to explain to them where their mom is and that they’ll never be alone.

“Tha’s right, yer ma is heaven, in God’s golden castle, dancin’ ‘n’ singin’ wi’ the angels. You can weep, mo leannan, s’alright. Jus’ means you’ve plenty o’ love left ta give. You’ve a home wi’ us, yer da, yer granddaddy always, loves, ya understand?”

When Abel and Thomas come along, you’re always first to volunteer to watch them. You love seeing your man with the small children, always eager to play silly little games or offer a strong, warm embrace when they take a tumble on the playground.

If you have your own kids together, god, the way he loves them so fiercely but so gently just melts you. He loves to wake up with them in the night, just so he can spend a moment with them in his arms, those big brown eyes staring up at him. You’d give him 10 babies just to see that sparkle in his eye when he holds your child.

The PDA

He’s never shy to show the world how much he loves you.

Kisses on your temple as he passes by, smack on your ass while you stand at the bar, an arm snaking around your waist as you talk to some crow eaters, whistling at you as you walk towards him in the clubhouse (and you put on a little show for him, of course). He’s always finding new ways to show you how much he loves you and your body.

You become a mother figure for the girls

Crow eaters are all there with the hopes of becoming an old lady some day, and they could look at your marriage with Chibs with jealousy, but instead, they admire you. They see the way you have the freedom to do whatever you please and be exactly who you are, while still having a man who worships you just as much as you worship him, and they want that.

You tell them:

“I just got lucky, baby. I couldn’t stop loving him if I tried. You’ll find yours, too, don’t you worry.”

When it comes to the crow eaters, you’ve always known that what happens on the road stays on the road, but Chibs doesn’t even take a second look at any of the girls. He’s loyal to you in every way, even when you’ve told him it’s okay to satisfy his needs with a blowjob here or a handy there. He’d never touch anyone else that way, not without you involved, anyway. 😏

T H E S E X

This man knows how to give you everything you need and more. So much more.

You’ve been together long enough that jealousy or feelings of not being good enough have long gone out the window. You both just want to make each other feel mind-blowing, brain-fogging pleasure. Whether that is with just your two bodies, toys, bringing in thirds (or fourths, fifths…), experimenting with new kinks and locations, Chibs is willing to try anything once as long as you are into it. He’s given you pleasure like you’ve never known and you send him just as high above the earth when it’s your turn to return the favor.

You’re his comfort and his peace

After a long day with the MC, sometimes he just needs you in his arms to remember who he is and why he does it all. He tells you everything you need to know, and you’re smart enough to fill in the gaps. You know he’s done some things that he thinks are irredeemable, but you’re there to remind him he’s a good man. That’s why you love him so much.

Check out My Dove for a sweet, smutty night when he needs some comfort from you (minors please DNI).

Overall, Chibby is just the best partner you could have ever ended up with and he spends every minute of his life reminding you just how loved you are

#chibs telford #chibs telford x reader #soa imagine #kdogreads #chibs imagine #chibs smut #chibs x reader #soa fanfiction #sons of anarchy imagine #chibs sons of anarchy #soa chibs #sons of anarchy headcanon #sons of anarchy

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curvynerdfan · 4 years

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Bookkeeper and the Biker

Thank you @xx—day-dreamer—xx for requesting and being patient! This piece was a lot of fun to write but took forever, sorry about that. I hope you like it! 💕

Also sorry for the overload of samcro gifs lol! I just love when you find gifs that fit the storyline

Jax x Reader

Y/N felt like her heart was gonna jump out of her chest. She was headed home. Well, her hometown, she hadn’t been “home” in over ten years. Her dad was killed on a run when she was sixteen and her mom used the opportunity to get her out of Charming. Not that Y/N wanted to leave. She always saw the club as her family but her mom despised SAMCRO after her dad passed. Y/N thought her mom blamed the MC for her dad’s death.

Y/N had flourished in her time away from Charming but still felt like something was missing. So she was going back. Over the past ten years, Y/N had grown her skills and felt confident in her decision to come back.

She loved growing up in Charming. She could remember running around the autoshop with Jax and Opie, driving Gemma insane because it wasn’t exactly safe. The clubhouse took hide-n-seek to a whole nother level and family dinners were her favorite club activity.

She called Gemma about a year ago and the mama bear of the club was ecstatic. At that point Y/N had no plans to move back. She just missed the rest of her family. They reminisced and caught up on each other’s lives. Gemma let her know how the club was doing and Y/N kept her second mom up-to-date on her life.

At some point, Y/N mentioned that her dream life consisted of running her own eclectic bookshop and living above it. She never thought her dream would become reality but Gemma had other plans. A two story shop in downtown Charming popped up on the market and momma Gemma called Y/N before a sign was outside the building. Once Gemma sent her all of the pictures and told her the price, Y/N snatched it up. While she had some savings, the purchase price was being covered by money her dad had left her in his will.Plus, her association with the clube convinced the owner to lower the asking price. She was given access to the fund when she turned 25 and she couldn't think of a better way to spend her money than to pursue her dreams. She even had money left over to purchase books and some furniture for her new place without dipping into her own savings.

Gemma told her she could stay in a clubhouse dorm until her apartment was set up. She pulled into the lot of Teller-Morrow and parked her car. Y/N felt the anxiety build and took a few deep breaths to settle her nerves.

“There is no reason to be nervous. It isn’t like you abandoned Jax or Ope. Hell, they may not even remember me, no biggie, no pressure”, she mumbled to herself, “Gemma invited you. No one goes against Gemma, right? And it’ll be nice to see my SAMCRO family. It’ll be great!” Y/N said, but she didn’t feel as confident as she sounded.

She opened the door and quickly stepped out before she could change her mind. Once completely out of the truck, she stretched her arm up high and arched her back. She grabbed her backpack and her duffle bag and locked up her truck before heading to the office to look for Gemma.

“Can I help you lassie?” A dark-haired Scotsman asked.

“Umm, yes please. I’m looking for Gemma.” she said.

“Ah, is she expecting you?” he questioned.

“Yes, you can just tell her Y/N is here.”, she clarified.

The Scotsman disappeared around the corner and Y/N took the time to take in her surroundings. Very little had changed. The Teller-Morrow signage was rusted and worn in some places, there was newer equipment It also looked there were members in SAMCRO than before based on the number of bikes parked in front of the clubhouse.

“Y/N! There you are baby!”, Gemma shouted as soon as she walked into the office.

Y/N couldn’t help but squeal when she launched herself at Gemma. They had always been close as she was growing up. Gemma taught Y/N how being a nerdy, tomboy didn’t mean that she wasn’t a beautiful badass too.

“Hey, momma.” she said when Gemma squeezed her tight.

Gemma leaned back to look her over and then kissed her cheeks in greeting before pulling Y/N out of the office and across the parking lot, ranting and raving about how great it will be to have a powerful woman back in Charming. Y/N just giggled and let herself be dragged around.

The momma bear had cleaned up a dorm for Y/N to have for however long she needed. While it still looked like a typical clubhouse dorm, there weren’t any posters of naked women or trash scattered around the room. There was also a gift basket of goodies on the bed for her.

Y/N hugged Gemma, “Thank you for going through all this trouble for me. I am happy to be home.”

“Not any trouble at all sweetheart. You’re not the only one happy that you’re back in Charming.I know Jax has been asking about you for a while!” Gemma said, nudging Y/N with an eyebrow raise.

Y/N’s face flushed, “Don’t start with that Gem! Neither one of us should get our hopes up.”, she mumbled.

Y/N has always been close to Jax and Opie but Jackson never fall into the brotherly category. She didn’t want to get excited about the idea of a relationship with Jax and possibly ruin the amazing friendship they have. Plus, she didn’t think she was his type. Gemma said he dated Tara for several years and was really hung up on her when she left. From what Y/N remembered, Tara was always snooty, looked down on the club, and had no desire to live a small town life.

“Baby, you know me, I wouldn’t lie to you. Jax has been head over heels for you from the get go. He kept asking if you remembered him, how you were doing, how he can help you find your place here. Hell, he stocked that top drawer over there with Reaper and SAMCRO shirts so anyone new knows you are important to us. I would wear one of those tonight if I were you!”, Gemma suggested, “Give him a chance before you close yourself off again”

Y/N nodded and decided not to argue when Gemma gave her that all knowing look. Gemma helped her unpack your bags before leaving the dorm. Y/N used the hours before the party to lay on the bed and order more materials for her shop. When she had about an hour before the party’s start time she decided to take a shower and get dolled up before joining the excitement.

After her shower, she rummaged through the drawer that was handpicked by Jax. Y/N ended up grabbing a black “fear the reaper” t-shirt, a pair of her ripped jeans and some old sneakers. Y/N knew better than to wear nice shoes to a SAMCRO party. Y/N decided to tie the t-shirt up so it showed a little bit of her mid-riff and enhanced her natural curves. She dried her hair and applied basic makeup before heading to the party.

Y/N weaved her way in and out of the crowd of club members, their old lady’s, croweaters, and wannabe bikers. She made it to the bar and ordered a double before making her way to Gemma. She was starving and knew the momma bear could direct her to the food.

“Damn babygirl! You are just trying to give these boys a run for their money huh?”, Gemma said approvingly, “Atta girl!”

Gemma fixed her up with a full plate and got her settled in with Tig and Piney. Y/N caught up with the guys and dug in on the delicious food Gemma cooked. All of the sudden to mammoth arms wrapped around her from behind and lifted her into the air.

“What in the world!”, Y/N squealed.

A hefty laugh was the only response she received before she was dropped back down onto her feet. She spun around quickly and then gasped.

“Opie!” her shout pierced his ears and he flinched.

“Damn, you still have pipes!”Ope exclaimed as he wrapped Y/N up in a hug.

Y/N and Opie spent the next thirty minutes talking about life and joking around. Opie knew she was moving back so it wasn’t a surprise, but it was finally true now that she was in front of him. He was going to get married soon and wanted her to be there on his special day. Y/N and Opie had always agreed on the simpler things in life. They wanted to find their person, fall in love, get married, have kids, and live in Charming surrounded by friends and family.

Y/N gave Opie a hug and promised to visit more. The noise was getting to her though, after such a long drive the party wasn’t really her scene. She made a quick stop at the ladies room before getting a refill at the bar.

Jax made his way through the party, greeting members and partygoers as he made his way to Opie. His friend had a massive grin on his face and Jax couldn’t help but laugh. It was rare for the giant man he thought of as a brother to look like a silly puppy.

“What has you smiling so big, brother?” he asked, looking over.

“Y/N” was Opie’s one word response.

“Where?”, Jax couldn’t hold back his excitement.

Opie laughed and reached out to physically turn Jax around. His best friend laughed even harder when Jax’s jaw dropped. She was stunning. Y/N was still the beautiful girl he grew up with but he could tell she was more confident and her curves had developed even more. She was wearing one of the shirts he had picked out for him. That caused an odd sense of satisfaction. Y/N got her drink from the bartender and made her way down the hall and away from the party, more importantly away from him.

Opie slapped his back, “What are you waiting for man? Go get your girl!”

Jax felt his cheek warm and shook his head before swaggering after her. At some point she drifted out of his sight. Jax wracked his brain for where she could have snuck off too. After checking her dorm and finding it empty, he realized where she was. He climbed the stairs but paused before opening the hatch to the roof. What was he going to say to her? He hadn’t seen her in almost ten years. His mom assured him that she would reciprocate his feelings but how do you tell your childhood friend you want to be more.

Y/N jumped when the hatch creeped behind her. She didn’t think anyone would find her up here, but if anyone could it would be Jax or Opie. To her surprise, it was Jax. ‘Dear lordy, he is even hotter now,ah and that clenched jaw oof’, Y/N shook her head to clear her mind.

“Jax, you found me.” She whispered in awe.

It was real now, she was really in front of him “Y/N… of course I found you.”, he said with a sigh.

“Wow! I mean, you look really good, umm, not that you have ever looked bad. Well i guess you look bad in the baddass biker MC VP kinda way, congrats by the way. You don’t look bad ugly, not that you have ever looked ugly, you still take my breath away. I am not some flustered sixteen year old anymore and,” Y/N paused awkwardly, “ Oh my god, that is not how I wanted this to go. It’s been such a long time.I’ve missed you and your mom said you missed me to but now I’m not sure because all you’ve done is stare at me so far, so maybe your mom was wron-” Y/N paused when lips were on hers.

She could feel Jax’s lips smirking against hers, “I missed you too”, he whispered before kissing her again.

Y/N hummed, pulling away from him, “That is the best way anyone has ever made me shut up”

She leaned against his chest before looking up at him again, “What does this mean, Jax?”

“Are you really staying this time?”, he asked.

Y/N nodded, smiling at the sheepish look on his face.

“Then, I want to make you my old lady someday. For now, we can just see how things go. I always pictured us ending up together, but I don’t want to force anything. Biker and a bookkeeper, who would’ve thought?” He smiled.

“I did”, Y/N grinned.

She pulled on Jax and had him join her on ‘their ledge’. He chuckled gently in her ear as he wrapped an arm around her. He couldn’t wait to see where this was going to go. The idea of the bookkeeper and the biker felt good.

Taglist: @justahopelessssromantic

#sons of anarchy imagine #request #jax teller #jackson teller #gemma teller #chibs telford #tig trager #opie winston #samcro #sons of anarchy #samcro imagine #sons of anarchy request #jax x reader #jax oneshot #momma gemma #big brother opie vibes #bookkeeper and the biker #my work

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mst3kproject · 4 years

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510: The Painted Hills

You don’t see a lot of movies where the top-billed star is a dog. I’m going to venture that it’s probably a bad sign. When the dog actually deserves it, for being the best actor in the film… well, that’s even worse.

A grizzled old prospector (who has a name but I’m gonna call him Stinky Pete, both for the Toy Story reference and because he looks like he never bathes) has just struck gold. He hurries into town to file a claim, and then he, his business partner Len, a boy named Tommy, and Shep the dog get to work mining. There’s plenty of gold to be had, but you know how it goes – mo’ money, mo’ problems, and the problem here is Len. The more gold they dig up, the more Len is paranoid somebody’s going to come and rob them. Eventually, he doesn’t even trust Stinky Pete anymore, and pushes him over a cliff. Too bad for him, Shep the dog discovers the crime, and now she’s out for revenge!

Okay, first of all, this movie is set in the mountains of California (the Native Americans in it are, for the most part, local Miwok people speaking their own language!), but the Painted Hills are in Wheeler County, Oregon. Apparently Desert Hot Springs, California, is sometimes called Painted Hill, but that’s in freaking Coachella Valley, an area that looks nothing like anywhere in this movie! What gives?

Second of all… have you gotten the idea that I’ve saved the boring movies for last? Because that’s exactly what I’ve done. There were movies like Radar Secret Service and The Starfighters that were so gut-wringingly awful I just really wanted to get them over with, but then there were movies like Time Chasers and The Painted Hills that I just kept putting off and putting off because they were too dull for me to even write about the pain they put me through. It wasn’t a sharp, torturous, kidney-stone type pain like some of those worse films… it was just a low, dull, ache that refuses to go away.

Time Chasers is actually a pretty good comparison with The Painted Hills, in that both take an intrinsically compelling idea and make it as boring as they can. In Time Chasers it was time travel and paradox – in The Painted Hills it’s a good man’s descent into madness. I’m pretty sure Len is supposed to start out as a nice guy, a friend to Stinky Pete and with a fatherly affection for Tommy. Then greed overtakes him, until he is driven to murder one and contemplate killing the other. If this was the movie’s intention, though, it fails. Len is surrounded by red flags from the beginning, and where we should see his growing paranoia, we’re instead watching a cheerful mining montage.

Stinky Pete originally heads into town to share his find with a friend named Frank, who was Tommy’s father. He arrives to find that Frank has died, and part of his share in the mining claim has been bought up by Len. This makes Len an interloper from the beginning, and when he first shows up dressed all in black, we immediately know he’s going to be the bad guy. The arc would honestly be far more powerful if he were somebody Stinky Pete knew and trusted, rather than a relative stranger. What little we see of them working together is not nearly enough to establish that they have become close, and the red flags around Len make his betrayal an inevitability rather than a tragedy.

We see Stinky Pete, Len, and Tommy agree to start building a sluice with Len still a nice guy, and then there’s a montage, and the next time we see Len he’s got a beard and is plotting murder. How much time we skipped I have no idea, but with it went all of Len’s development. The Painted Hills is a short movie, but other than this one thing it’s very careful to establish things. It sets up the fact that Bald Eagle is a skilled herbalist and that Tommy knows his grandchildren. It sets up the pastor and how he knows to recognize Tommy’s horse. Yet it can’t bother to give us even bits of the most significant character arc in the movie?

The other major disappointment in the story is that Tommy, who ought to be the human hero, is never vindicated. He tells his story to the pastor, who doesn’t believe him. When they find Shep later, Len is already dead and they still have no proof that he killed Stinky Pete or tried to poison Shep. The fact that Len tried to shoot the dog may be a clue, but it’s not the same as discovering the hidden gold or the bottle of poison, or some other bit of material evidence. For all we know, Tommy tried to tell the story to his mother only for the pastor to assure her that he made the whole thing up.

While I’m here… why does Len re-hide the gold? Is he hiding it from Shep? Yes, re-hiding it does cast doubt on Tommy’s story, but he had no way of knowing the pastor was coming. Why is he so determined to kill the dog? Does he think she’s going to tell on him? His behaviour here, including running out into what we’re evidently supposed to believe is freezing cold without a coat on, is entirely irrational, and completely at odds with what he was doing a moment earlier, when he calmly told the pastor that Tommy was making up stories.

The most believable character moment Len has is when he thinks Tommy has died in his fall from the horse. The shock of this brings him to his senses and he is visibly relieved to find Tommy still alive. Thoughts of killing the boy vanish, and he takes him inside to come up with another plan. This is also the most captivating moment of the movie, both because it is so well-played and because Tommy is not nearly as annoying as a lot of little kids in old movies. It also lends credibility and tension to the sequence that follows, in which Len tries to convince Tommy he’s jumped to conclusions.

Unfortunately, this bit stands out so sharply because the rest of the acting is dreadful. Everybody is flat and stagey, just standing around with their thumbs in their belts reciting their lines and trying not to look at the camera. Bruce Cowling as Len tries to give a physical performance in a couple of spots, inching his way along a narrow ledge or trying to knock the gun out of his frozen hand, but it never works. It’s always too pantomimey, and the sets are never convincing. There’s no way we believe he’s in danger of falling and he’s obviously not actually cold.

The only good actor in the movie is, as I already mentioned, the dog. She’s clearly very well-trained and it’s actually rather hard to watch when she’s supposed to be writhing in agony from the poison. A big contributing factor is obviously that a dog has to show-not-tell, whereas the human characters do an awful lot of telling. Kudos to her and to her trainers and handlers.

Besides Time Chasers, the other thing The Painted Hills rather strongly reminds me of is old made-for-tv Disney movies and nature documentaries… things like Lefty the Dingaling Lynx (which for some reason I was obsessed with at the age of six) and White Wilderness (the one with the lemmings – the lemming scene was actually staged in the city where I live). Something about the technicolour, the lighting, the pretty but unconvincing matte paintings, and the recited line reads all adds up to warm fuzzy childhood memories.

As an adult I realize that these films contained appalling animal cruelty and a fair amount of dark content of their own, but it’s still weird to see the same aesthetic in a dark tale of murder and revenge. Then again, The Lion King is also a dark tale of murder and revenge, so maybe I’ll get back on topic now.

The theme of this movie, as stated by the narrator over the opening credits, is a dog’s bond with her loving master, so strong that she even avenges his death. Dogs are known to do stuff like this, but the way it’s presented in The Painted Hills makes it look like Shep is less ‘loyal and loving’ and more ‘actually psychic’. First there’s the way she starves herself while Stinky Pete has a fever and is unable to eat. I could believe her refusing to eat because she’s pining for her human, but the idea of some nonphysical link that specific seems a bit silly. Same with Stinky Pete’s death – Shep isn’t actually there to see it, she just somehow knows that Len’s responsible. When she refuses to eat the poisoned food until Len tosses it to her from the table, I was honestly surprised this was not portrayed as her somehow knowing it was poisoned!

The narrator’s speech also left me a bit surprised that Shep actually survives the movie and goes off to live happily ever after with Tommy, especially after the rather shocking shot where we actually see her blood staining the snow from a bullet wound! The movie had seemed to be leading up to her being able to die at peace having avenged her master’s death and ready to join him in the hereafter. I’m honestly not sure how I feel about them not going that route. I mean, nobody likes it when a dog dies in a movie, but having her be fine at the end feels like they chickened out. I dunno.

‘I dunno’ is really my whole response to this movie. There’s not enough substance here to be worth the level of thought I have to put into a review. The fact that it manages to make a revenge movie so colourless would be fairly impressive if I weren’t so bored.

Although I gotta admit… it’s not every day you get to see Lassie just straight-up kill a dude.

#mst3k #reviews #the painted hills #50s

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mybeautifuldecay · 5 years

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Private Tutor. Chapter Twenty-Six; Bad Weather.

Happy Saturday all. Mega thanks to @suhailauniverse who helped me to add a little bit onto the end when I couldn’t figure out where to take it next <3 you’re a true legend!

And to @gotham-ruaidh - without her, I wouldn’t be here writing now.

MASTER LIST: is HERE should you want/need it.

Sitting in the conservatory watching the rain cascade across the vaguely transparent roof, Claire let her mind wander. Jenny, Jamie’s sister, had arrived the day before with her two young children in tow. Her husband, Ian, had been required to attend a course in London and Ellen thought bringing her grandbabies up to the farm might occupy Claire’s mind. Wee Jamie and Maggie were, indeed, a clever distraction but as the clouds had settled overhead, so the morning sickness had quashed her playing for the time being. Instead of running around the garden, she’d made herself some herbal tea and hidden away whilst she allowed her belly to calm once more.

“Here,” Ellen said quietly, passing her the biscuit tin, “have something sweet.”

Although the nausea had abated somewhat, the idea of consuming anything solid made her head spin and she focused on the beating rain in an attempt to pacify her stomach.

Placing the tin on the table, Ellen sat next to Claire, putting her hand over hers where it rested on the arm of the chair. “Yer fretting?” She asked, her eyes full of sympathy.

“It’s just silliness.” She sighed, trying to brush off the fear that something would go wrong at any moment - shattering her momentary happiness.

“Nothing ye feel is silly, Claire. You just want to be content and until ye’ve that news in yer hands, everything will make you question yerself. We’ve all been there, aye? I ken Jamie feels the same way. He’s been nervous ever since ye sent off yer divorce papers, too.”

“He always seems so patient.” Claire whispered, turning her hand over so that she could take Ellen’s fingers in her own. “He’s so good at hiding his emotions and seeming calm that I can never tell when he’s worried. So I try not to panic and give him cause for concern, but I can never manage to stay as composed as he does.”

“He’s well practiced, lass. When we lost Willie he took it hard, ye ken? Ever since then he’s been good at keeping his emotions buried deep. He’s the Fraser rock. When we were all falling apart, it wasna that he wasn’t, but he kept us all upright. He’s strong, Claire, that’s all he knows. But inside, where it counts, he’s worrit I can see it in the way he hovers around ye.”

“It’s only been a few days, I know,” she said, using her free hand to rest over her belly, “but I just want to know whether everything is going as it should.”

“Of course ye do, my darling. Yer in the last stages of being free - ye can smell the fresh air but ye canna yet see the sunshine. It’s so close and yet cruelly out of reach. But, from what Ned said, I dinna think ye have much to be worried about in that sense. Frank doesna have the right to withhold the divorce from ye, Glenna has already made a statement to the solicitors and has promised that she’ll make a full and thorough report should he change his mind on signing the papers.” Pausing for just a second, Ellen held her breath before continuing. She didn’t want to bring up past painful events but she still wanted to make sure Claire was alright with the way things had turned out. “Just one question?”

“Sure.” Claire replied no hint of trepidation in her tone.

“Are you sure ye dinna want to press charges against the man? He assaulted ye, Claire. Ye’d be well within yer rights to do so.”

“And go up against him in court? No, I know Jamie is a little disappointed, but it would mean a lengthy trial which I don’t think I could face. Once I start to show, too, his lawyers would tear me apart. He doesn’t have to admit that he was unfaithful, but the baby will give me away. It would be all the ammunition he needed to ruin my reputation and solidify his own.”

Just then thunder rolled over head, the sky lightening significantly as lightning followed seconds behind. “I spoke to Glenna before we left.” Claire continued once the noise had subsided. “He hasn’t sacked her, in fact he apologised for his behaviour that night.”

“Though he hasn’t said that to you?”

“No, but I think he’s too scared to contact me - which is for the best, I don’t want an apology.” She said with no remorse. “I hope that the knowledge of what he’s capable of scared him enough to never do it again with anyone else.”

“Playing devil's advocate now,” Ellen continued somewhat meekly, “could ye live with yerself if he did. If, in years to come, ye opened the papers to find yerself face to face with the image of the man being held up on charges similar but to another lassie. Would ye be regretful that ye didna press charges and possibly stop it happening to someone else?”

A heavy silence filled the room as both women sat quietly next to one another for a time. Claire mulled over Ellen’s question with a heavy heart. The sick feeling she’d managed to tamper rose up once more and she tasted bile in the back of her throat.

“I don’t know.” She returned at last. “I think I’d always feel some manner of guilt if that happened - but, even with that thought, I don’t think I want to pursue it. Does that make me a horrid person?”

“No,” Ellen said, smiling softly, “not at all, Claire. I think it just makes ye human. Ye’ve been through a lot - it’s natural to just want to move on wi’ yer life. Hundreds of others have done just the same. I just hope, for both of your sakes, and the bairns, that yer right. Ye dinna want that hovering over ye.”

“Are ye alright in here?” Jamie asked, holding Maggie on his hip as he came in search of Claire. “I felt my ears burning and thought I’d better come and see if ye were talking about me behind my back.” Tickling wee Maggie’s sides, he watched as she giggled, throwing her head back so that her think, long hair tickled his bare arms.

Smiling at the scene in front of her Claire cupped her hands around the still pleasantly warm mug and cocked her head to the left.

“We’ve better things to discuss that ye, son.” Ellen chirped back as she stood to take Maggie from Jamie, kissing him on the cheek as she lifted her grandaughter up in the air. “Remember, Claire,” she said as she turned and stepped backwards into the shelter of the main house, “deep breaths and all will be well.”

“What was that about?” He asked as his mother disappeared with his young niece. Coming to sit on the arm of the chair, he let his arm wrap around Claire’s shoulders, bringing her against his side as the clouds began to part overhead.

“Your mother was just being kind.”

“Yer worrit something will go wrong wi’ the divorce, aye?”

Nodding, she turned her head up to look at Jamie, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “It’s just like this bad weather though, eh? A bit of thunder and an ill wind before the sky clears and the sun comes out again.”

Glancing up out of the conservatory roof they both sighed before turning back to one another.

“Still talking about the divorce?”

“Maybe,” she replied, “maybe not.”

“Am I the sun?”

“Always.” She muttered, her mouth creeping steadily closer to his as she pushed herself up on the arms of the chair. “You never fail to chase away the storm. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Placing a delicate kiss at the corner of his mouth, she closed her eyes as she felt the pleasant flood of endorphins - the taste of him calming the less palatable disquiet that had rocked her only moments before.

“I feel the same, my sassenach. When ye came into the library, timid yet wi’ the air of unkempt fearlessness eager to escape, ye chased away the mist surrounding me. I didna even ken I was in darkness until you showed me the light. And now we’re about to have a baby.” He leaned down then, placing his hand over her belly whilst placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“I’m so lucky to have found you.” She whispered, her hand coming to rest over his. “All of you. You saved my life, James Fraser.”

“As you did mine, Claire Beauchamp.”

#gotham's writing workshop #private tutor au #Jamie X Claire

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bounnostra · 5 years

Text

PREGAME || DR EVIL || ROOKIE || RE: OBAMA

They’d noticed that ██████ was nervous days before they stepped onto the platform, even with his usual cool demeanour, he’d not really done a good job hiding how he felt. He could feel his body temperature rising, in part due to the thick London summer heat of 14 degrees celsius, which he felt chilly in so wore a much too heavy jacket, and in part because he didn’t have the best feeling about this trip.

Well, to them, he guessed it was easy to tell anyways. They always knew. Even with big trips, ██████ had a tendency to pack light, but he’d brought not one, but two bags this time. Gently swatting Miyuki off her perch, handing her to his friend. The train was due any minute, and the journey ahead… well All his writing material and travel essentials stowed in one bag, and the rest…. Well.

He needed the comforts of home, and he didn’t know if they sold mi goreng there.

They sighed as ██████ tried to avoid eye contact,

“Listen. Don’t worry about it, man. It’s pretty much just a business trip. You can call me any time once you’re up there”

“Yeah I know. Just don’t let the cat kill you while I’m gone”

██████ may be afraid of this trip, but his friend was afraid of the cat.

…………………………………………………….............

That was…. Exhausting.

██████ wasn’t exactly the first person to arrive but he felt he was too early, his sense of unease growing as the room filled bit by bit and the whole ordeal of having to visit a doctor was prolonged.

Half of him wanted to get it over and done with, half of him was not very keen on the idea of invasive medical procedures being done on him. Oh yikes!

He didn’t like doctors very much. He didn’t like unnecessary surgery very much. Not at all.

A sentiment shared by someone with much more stylish hair than he did, apparently (damn). The silliness of it all, well….

Yeah that broke the tension. ██████s voice cracked for a second, before he broke into a laugh.

Being all dour and depressing about the whole ordeal was only gonna make it worse after all.

“I look that desperate? Ah fuck. You got me. I’m damn nervous. Been here about ten hours”, he grinned a little, getting back into the spirit of things, “Ya know. They’re holding me hostage until I give them my brain plasma… most of the rest of the class has already gone in but-”, nobody had gone in, and some were still arriving, but he leans in anyways, “-just between the two of us? I agree. We gotta defend ourselves by any means necessary”.

A triumphant look crosses his face…. Before he leans back into his coat and gives Obama another pretty average smile.

“Seriously though, about 15 minutes, worst idea ever for an icebreaker if you ask me. Gonna try asking but they seem pretty adamant. Shit’s dumb as hell. Would honestly prefer just trying to learn Japanese. LASSIE’s kinda annoying to use-”, honestly, he was glad at least some of those here seemed to speak his native tongue, “-buuuut it’s better than probably, like, going comatose for a week and having metal in your skull forever-”

His head violently lolled forward as Obama asked about hands, only stopping after a few seconds.

“Oh. Seven... Seven fingers”

His eyes glazed over, he stared directly at her face,

“Maybe they did…”, a wink, “-or maybe I’m just messing with ya. Seriously though… If your name gets called, I got a trick up my sleeve with getting out of it”.

Was it trying to lock the doctor in? Yeah… Drastic circumstances called for drastic measures after all,

“Anyways, I’m-”, you hear a truck horn howling as it speeds past, drowning out his name, arent you all on a mountain?, “You?”

#boun #pregame #rookie #submission

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betweensceneswriter · 6 years

Text

Second Wife-Chapter 6 : The Curse of Eve

Second Wife Table of Contents

Second Wife on AO3

Previously - Chapter 5 : Visions of Leoch Everything Jamie sees reminds him of Claire.

“When I started to bleed the first time, she told me what to do, and about how it was part o’ the curse of Eve, and I must just put up wi’ it…She read to me from the Bible about how St Paul said women were terrible, filthy sinners because of what Eve did, but they could still be saved by suffering and bearing children” (Voyager, 582).

“Joanie,” Jamie tugged the wee lassie’s braid as she stood on a chair before the stove, stirring the pot of stew. “What’s wrong with yer ma? She’s outside doin’ the wash, and she’s crying while she does it.”

“I dinna ken,” replied Joan. “Ask Marsali. She called Ma to the privy this mornin’, and Ma started cryin’. And then Marsali started crying as well. And Ma’s been cryin’ ever since.” Joanie rolled her eyes. “It seems a fair bit of silliness to me,” she announced, returning seriously to her task.

“Well, Joanie, your days for irrational behavior are still ahead of ye. For now, thanks for making sure supper doesna burn.” He planted a kiss on the top of her head, and she smiled at him. Like sunshine, that one, warming everything she came in contact with.

Jamie sought out Marsali, whom he found curled up by the fire with a warm brick wrapped in cloth held to her belly. He’d already had a hunch, from what Joan told him, what was happening—drama in the privy had been his first clue. He recognized the other signs immediately: abdominal pain, soothed by resting and warmth. Marsali must have started her courses for the first time.

It made him smile to know it, giving him a sense of the intimacy of fatherhood; yet he felt excluded as well. Laoghaire hadn’t told him, and she was grieving as if there’d been a death without sharing the source of her sorrow with him or coming to him for comfort. He wasn’t sure why Laoghaire would be taking it so hard, unless perhaps it was time for her courses as well. He found her general moodiness bewildering, but this was even more severe than normal.

Jamie mused that he would like to say something to his daughter, an acknowledgment of her passage into womanhood, but he needed to consider how best to approach Marsali. She was young, and probably embarrassed and fragile.

As he thought, Jamie suddenly experienced a moment of panic. He was in the home of three lassies, and he knew how carefully he had needed to interact with Claire when her time was approaching. What if there were three schedules to manage, three women around whom to tread lightly? At least it shouldna be for a few years yet for wee Joanie, Jamie consoled himself.

“Laoghaire,” he said, approaching his wife at the washtub in the courtyard. Laoghaire’s blonde hair was dangling around her face in wet strands from the sweaty work, the warm water and her breath making steam in the cold February air. He could see that the foam was a rusty brown, and that she was washing white items—sheets and a lace-edged shift.

“Go away, James. ‘Tis not for you to witness this.” Laoghaire said irritably, pushing the fabric down into the water as if to conceal it from his eyes.

“I dinna ken why not, Laoghaire. Has Marsali started her courses, then? It doesna trouble me to know it. Ye ken I had a sister. And a wife.”

Laoghaire’s eyes narrowed. “Dinna talk to me about that Sassenach bitch, James Fraser.”

“Ye willna speak of her that way, Laoghaire,” Jamie said firmly, refusing to retaliate. “I dinna speak of Hugh or Simon with disrespect. I simply meant to say that ‘tis a natural part of life.”

Laoghaire turned and glared at him. “Natural?” she exclaimed bitterly. “You’re a man. What do you ken?”

“I ken that Marsali is growing up, and I think it an amazement to witness it!”

“Ye find the curse of Eve amazing?” Laoghaire turned back to the wash, glowering. “I willna ever understand you, James Fraser. Now leave me be. I have work to do.”

As Jamie left her, he took some comfort from the fact that at least now she was mad instead of tearful. Mad he could deal with.

“Marsali,” Jamie said. “Do you feel well enough for a wee walk?” He had put Joan to bed, and Laoghaire was bathing. His second wife’s further actions that day led him to realize that indeed, more than one lass in the Fraser household was on her courses, an observation that was seconded when he changed his clothes after working in the field and noticed their own bed was also covered with fresh sheets. He had steered clear of Laoghaire for the rest of the afternoon, appearing in time to help set the table for a silent supper, and shooing Laoghaire off to bathe and Marsali to rest while he and Joanie did the dishes. He was getting weary from holding himself back, and a walk would serve several purposes.

Marsali had chewed on some willow bark, and she seemed to be feeling better, but she seemed nervous at his request.

“Go change your clout first,” he urged her. “That way ye won’t worry. But we willna be gone long.”

He couldn’t tell whether Marsali was embarrassed that he knew and that a man was giving her female advice, or if she was relieved by such a matter-of-fact acknowledgement of the subject. After her mother had spent the entire day in tears, the girl needed someone to calm her, Jamie considered.

When they exited the house, Jamie offered Marsali his arm like a gentleman would a lady. She smiled up at him, and wove her fingers through the crook of his elbow.

They walked in silence for a moment, then stopped by a tree, still bare in the February chill. The moon was rising, peeking through the spidery branches, full and glowing.

“Close your eyes, Marsali,” Jamie said, “What do you hear?”

“Cows lowing and baby calves finding their mams,” she said. “Frogs in the pond who refused to burrow and sleep.” They were both silent. “And the wind, in the trees, blowin’.”

“What do you see?”

“Your breath as you speak," Marsali said, looking up at Jamie and then turning her head to focus on their surroundings. "The frozen crystals of ice on the tree. And the moon.” Marsali sighed peacefully.

“What things do you find the most beautiful in this night?”

She looked around again. “I love the bright moon. And the stars. And the thought that though ‘tis cold and the trees are bare, that spring is around the corner.”

Jamie sighed, nodding in agreement, and smiling at her answers. “There is much beauty in the world.” The quiet had calmed him, and he felt ready to talk to her. “I understand that you are to be congratulated today. Is it true that you’ve started your courses?”

Marsali nodded, not quite certain that congratulations were the order of the day.

Jamie persisted. “Did you know that the moon and stars have courses as well?”

Marsali wrinkled her forehead in confusion.

“Depending on the time of year, we see different stars. And depending on the time of the month, we see different moons—the new moon and full moon, the crescent moon. They all follow a pattern. They all have a time.”

Marsali wrapped a strand of her hair around her finger thoughtfully, looking up at Jamie with her bright blue eyes.

“Ye are part of the earth now, Marsali,” Jamie said, pulling her into a gentle embrace as they both gazed up at the moon. “Just as the moon starts over every month, just as spring comes once a year; every month your body is making a new home, readying itself for the day when you can become a mother.”

“But, Ma called it the curse of Eve,” said Marsali, wistfully. Jamie could tell she wanted to believe him.

“Well, I have heard it can hurt. And it isna convenient. But I dinna think creating life is a curse. I think ‘tis a blessing. For me there are few things more beautiful than a mother feeding her wee baby. Or the seedlings in a field that tell you things are growing.” Jamie looked down at Marsali’s face. “Or a little lassie sprouting into a lovely young woman.”

It was dark, but there was enough light from the moon to show that Marsali was blushing prettily at his compliment.

Jamie turned his face away again, his forehead wrinkling in thought. “I do want to say though, that this does mean that ye could have a bairn. So ye must be careful around the laddies. Some of them will treat you wi’ the respect you deserve. But some of them will try to pull you into dark corners and touch your body.” Oh, he was fouling this up. He did not wish to frighten the girl so she ended up like her mother… “A time will come when that is good and right—when ye are married. But until then…Well, I’m your Da now. And if any young men wish to court ye, they must ask me first. I willna let an unworthy man pay his respects to ye.”

Jamie was grateful for the cover of darkness. He wished he had thought his advice through beforehand, as he was currently blushing with mortification.

But as they turned back to the house, Marsali grabbed his hand. “Thank you, Da,” she said, squeezing his fingers with her own. “I felt afeared this morning when Ma talked to me. ‘Twas bad enough to see the blood and think I was dying. Then the things she said, and read to me from St Paul? I was so scairt! Now at least I can see the truth in it. That I am growing, that I will be a woman; that someday I might have a bairn.”

Jamie walked toward the lights of the house, with Marsali swinging their linked hands, and felt a sweet moment of deep and contented joy.

On to Chapter 7 : Never Forgotten Laoghaire had wanted Jamie as long as she could remember.

#Jamie fraser #Laoghaire MacKenzie #CanonCompliant #Why did Jamie marry Laoghaire?#Why did their marriage fall apart?#Outlander fanfic #BetweenSceneswriter

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darkdevasofdestruction · 6 years

Text

~CHRISTMAS WITH THE ASSASSINS~

(Aesthetic done by my friend, @aestheticsforthecreed ~.

Raven and Kitsune are my OCs,and Kim is @romanianbrotherhood 's~

Enjoy! 🎄💚)For some,December 24th might be Christmas Eve,the joyous day where the aesthetics and atmosphere are at their peak,but for the assassins,it meant a great day...of confusion.

Seeing the girls decorate the whole house with various colourful decorations,teaching Ezio and preparing together desserts,the odd melodies in the background and even a huge tree with an angel on top was just too much for the poor new-comers.

It took a while to explain the basics of this holiday,but after a short while,everyone was wearing Christmas sweaters and trying to enjoy this peaceful yet cheerful vibe.

As the girls ran downstairs to go to the living room,Ezio was in the kitchen,preparing small bags with various Christmassy treats for the upcoming carolers,Raven and Connor were cuddling under a blankets,drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows while watching A Nightmare Before Christmas,Malik and Evie were discussing about what and where to spend New Year's Eve.

Jacob and Altaïr?

They were shoveling the snow,trying to make a path.

In the meantime,Kitsune and Kim were preparing the scented sticks&candles and all the other ambient things,as per Raven's request,to make sure the aroma therapy of Christmas is going to be everyone's time to remember.

It was,for the first time in everyone's life,when they saw so many Christmas Gifts under one single,yet huge tree.

As midnight striked,Kim brought everyone together next to the Tree,making sure they all had a mug of hot chocolate and plates of festive-shaped cookies.

The faint cinnamon scent in the air made everyone at least slightly excited for the gift-unwrapping.

Kim:Okay~!Let's see if all the list is checked!Christmas music? Kitsu:Check! Kim:Christmas scents? Raven:Check. Kim:Christmas treats? Ezio:Check~! Kim:Christmas decorations? Evie:Check. Kim:Christmas headwear? Jacob:Check! Kim:Christmas presents? Everyone:Check! Kim:Alrighty,then!Santa Kim will begin the Secret Santa magic!The first gift is for...oh,no way!Altaïr! Altaïr:Such luck.Who is it from, Kim:It's written on the little card. Altaïr:It says "From Kim Best Girl to #1 Novice".Thanks,Kimberly,Very original. Kim:Stupid novice!My name is Kimiko,not Kimberly! Kitsu:You could infiltrate as a Kardashian. Kim:How mean... Raven:Enough,kids.Altaïr,what did you get? Altaïr:A new set of daggers and a new necklace. Kim:A~nd? Sltaïr:*sighs*This.

Covering his face with his hood,he raises a black Tshirt,on which was written #1 NOVICE in bold,white letters.

Of course,everyone laughed,and Kim could only hug him,despite not liking him much,but the Christmas love was overpowering every grudge.

Raven:Lovely!Now,what do we say,Altaïr~? Altaïr:*grumbles*Thanks,Kim. Kim:*cheery*You're welcome~! Kitsu:*claps*Next! Kim:Altaïr,give your gift now!

The man got up,grabbed the green present and gave it to Ezio,who was smiling like a child;and beaming,like Senpai noticed him.

Getting up,he hugged Altaïr,who was extremely awkward,and quickly unwrapped the box.

Raven:Take it easy,Ezio,I can barely take pictures! Ezio:Mi dispiace,mia cara,but you were right!This day is exciting! Raven:*grins*I'm happy to hear that~. Ezio:Oh,this is great!Grazie mille,mio amico!

He got a burgundy red zipper hoodie and a chocolate bar,much to his glee,and put it on,fixed his reindeer head piece,and let his friend take pics of him near the Tree,and with everyone.

Ezio:Perfetto!Now,it's my turn!Here,mia bella volpina,I hope you like it! Kitsu:Ahhh,Ezio,I had no idea!

Not expecting him to be her Secret Santa,the red haired girl jump-hugged the Italian,letting him twirl her around a bit.

She excitedly opened the neatly wrapped gift,to reveal a beautiful fox pendant necklace and a long dark red cardigan,which the fox girl immediately put on,and took multiple selfies with her Santa,and in them,either kidding his cheek,or making silly faces.

They are so ending up on Instagram and Facebook.

Kitsu:Open it!Open it! Jacob:Yasss!Finally,some REAL action! Kitsu:My turn!The Amazing Fox Girl,now reporting in to...The Unstoppable Jacob Frye~! Jacob:Just a second,lassie!

He,too,was trying to hide his childlike excitement under his macho façade,bit it all vanished,when,just as he opened the box,a hot pink powder exploded in his face,scaring him,and making him fall,in shock,while the girl and everyone else were dying of laughter.

Jacob:How rude!This is Christmas,not April's Fool! Kitsu:You didn't think I'd actually give you your real gift BEFORE the fake one,right? Jacob:But this is ridicu-...Wait a...Real gift?What is it?!

Giggling,the girl gave him another box,this time bigger and with "J.J. French Frye" written in black marker.

Slowly,and more cautiously opening it,he skeptically peered inside-

Only to find a new black trench coat.

That's when his eyes started sparkling,and trying it on,he started spewing various pick up lines.

And the mistletoes hanging from his top hat wasn't helping either.

Jacob:Thanks,Foxy!It looks hella great!You have nice tastes. Kitsu:Thanks,Jacob.Took a while to find such a short manly trench,but the women shops were helpful! Jacob:*crestfallen*I'll...pretend I didn't hear that. Kitsu:Happy Christmas!

It's safe to say that in that night,Jacob's Instagram profile was spammed with his "Sexy British Gentleman" pics and Christmassy flirty lines for description.

Jacob:My turn!The Unstoppable Jacob Frye makes the best presents!

Clearly,nobody was expecting Jacob to be Malik's Secret Santa,but great was everyone's surprise when they saw his gift- A hookah and a history book,which basically,could make Malik stay a week in his room without moving.

They shook hands and exchanged 'Happy Christmas'es,then Malik took his gifts to his room,safely. Then,he got a dark blue wrapped box with a shiny purple bow,and smirking,went in front of Raven,winking. Unlike her usual,stoic self,during Christmas she became unlike ever before-

A hugging monster.

So the first thing she did was not open the gift,but hug Malik as tight as possible,earning a chuckle from the Arab,who pet her hair.

Malik:Come on now,open it. Raven:Do I have to?It's wrapped so pretty,I just- Malik:Do you want me to do it?

Hiding her excitement with the sleeves of her too large sweater,she quickly unwrapped the gift and found a photo album filled with pictures with everyone,a nice porcelain tea set,and a necklace with a raven pendant. The girl was close to tears of happiness,and seeing how happy he made her,he hugged his best friend,cuddling on the ground for the rest of the day. Raven:*clears throat*My turn,it seems.And how lucky of me...I got a Tree. Kitsu:No way- Kim:Connor Connor Tree! Connor:*chuckles*I'm a tree,now? Raven:You're as tall as one,love.Use it to your camouflage advantage. He opened the box gingerly,finding a plaid shirt and a blue scarf,which she wrapped around his neck,then kissed his cheek. Connor:Thank you,Kangee.Happy Christmas. Raven:Happy Christmas,love~.I hope the tree is enough to get you back home.Now,smile for the camera~! Connor smiled shily,still slightly flustered at the idea of taking pictures with his paramour,but happy nonetheless. In turn,the man went to give Evie her gift,and smiling,she opened it,revealing a set with black beanie,mittens and a scarf,a Christmas mug and a Chocolate bar. Evie:Thank you,Connor,they are really nice.Might as well make this my every day mug,from now on. Connor:I'm glad you like them,Evie. Kim:That means Evie is my Secret Santa!Oh Em Gee! Evie:Well,it might not be very Christmassy,but i tried. The girl squeed in delight,took the box,and found an agenda with sakura petal theme and a nice,shiny katana with golden leaf handle,and on he sheathe,it was written Kimiko,in Kanji,and Jones. Seeing how Kim was practically radiating with glee,Evie chuckled,but didn't expect an attack hug. Evie:Glad you like it,Kim. Kim:Thank you!Thank you!Thank you!I love it!Merry Christmas,everyone! After the Secret Santa activity was finally over,everyone gathered for a Christmas Movie Marathon in the cosy living room. The cinnamon scent was once again filling the air with a peaceful atmosphere and everyone was finally happy.

All was well.

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hibernianbok · 7 years

Text

Vaults and Ghosts

Word count: 1677

Type: Scotland x reader

Time: Modern day

The Edinburgh vaults, the place where men will scream pregnant woman are told to avoid. For many years the vault were sealed with dirt and gravel to seal the evil within, but that all changed when a couple of mates decided to uncover the haunted hell. Many tourist come below the capital's streets to boost their ego, many of which have come out crying and weeping for their mother's warmth. For Scotland however, it was another place to scare the hell out of his S/o and laugh as they cling to him. England begrudging joined them as the streets of the haunted city is known to be rather spooky at night.

“Oi, oi! Come on, ye canney say you’re a warrior when ye can’t even head into the vaults lad/lass!” The fact that he was practically dragging them through the cobblestone streets to them didn’t exactly help. Adrenaline had got the better of him and the fact that he could see a ghost plastered a grin on his face. Much to the two others despair the stairs to the vaults to just in front of the three, the rumored aura of anger and despair seeped through the crooked stairs. This was the one place many are too scared to even come near.

A lady in a long black dress appeared, in her right hand a long candle, in her left a small book for registration. Scotland laughed has the two griped onto his coat as the lady began to tap on the candle with her long, sharp nail; “Why, aren’t yous a pretty bunch? How about some tea with the others before we head into the ghostly underground~”. Her thick heels clicked as she headed into the small cafe just before the entrance to hell. “Ye alright Y/n? Yer lookin a bit paler than usual” He rubbed their back as England went into the cafe, you could see him shivering as he walked on the wonky planks of wood. “Y-yeah, i’m fine. Why do we have to go here? It’s just a creepy old place after all!” They tried to act like it was all a bunch of fairy tales, much to their boyfriends despise. “Be careful with what ye say lass, these vaults are one of the most haunted places on earth!”

Earl grey and the smell of logs on a fire filled the guests lungs, two new people had joined the party; good old Ireland and the US of A! Now that they had five people the tour guide could finally take the unfortunate souls down the stairs. Y/n tugged onto scotland sleeve as he attempted to drink his tea in peace, he sighed as he put down the cup “You canney be scared already, can ye?” They blushed as they turned their head to find their fear. They know that he knows exactly how they’re feeling, but for their own sake they didn’t say a word, otherwise he would tease them about it for the rest of their trip. “Attention! Lads, lassies and my little birds~ It’s time to head down into the devil's lair~”

Once in the entrance to the vaults a sudden wind spiraled around the necks of all that entered. America, who brought a torch along with him began to sweat; the batteries of the torch had just been replaced and yet...It was dead, no matter how much he hit and shock the torch it wouldn’t turn on. Y/n tapped him on the shoulder “Uh, are torches a good idea? I heard th-” Putting a hand over their mouth the lady lend over their shoulder, Scotland glared at the woman as she pressed herself onto his S/o; “They are right lad, the ghosts here gain energy through electricity. What you have done is give one of them a lot more power, best hope it’s not Mr.Boots~” She then got off Y/n and headed to an arch, Scotland walked over to them and gave their hand a slight squeeze in a protective manner. Not telling them of the transparent man that stood behind them.

“Now my dears, this is the room where the ghost of a landlord stays, a lady saw him once and believed it to be Abraham Lincoln...Silly lass.” She laughed at the thought of the woman yelling in excitement, she laughed more as she watched America’s eyes sparkle in the hope of seeing the old president. A prick like feeling came to the Scot as painful as it was he held his tongue, praying that his S/o didn’t see him in pain.

The cobblers and Wee jack’s room was next, the welcoming warmth greeted all who came in. Scotland began to ramble on about a pub that had the exact same feeling to it. The lady rambled on about how the room is where many would stay in order to escape Mr.Boots, Y/n felt a gloved hand run up and down their back. Looking up they saw a rather monotone looking scot, “Alistair? You don’t see a ghost do you?” The starring scott snapped out of his trance and turned to his S/o, pulling them into an embrace. Their back to his chest so that they could see what he was looking at. Leaning into his S/o he began to whisper “Ye see that wee glow, that’s Mr.Boots waitin’...Stay near, imma protect ye pet.” For once his bright and cheery voice was serious and monotone, it was rare to see him in such a state. Last time he was like this he was about to knock the lights out of some weirdo cat-calling, this worried Y/n.

Reluctantly the group moved out of the old cobblers room, Scotland held Y/n near so that not a hair on their head would be harmed. He couldn’t care less if he was harmed but his S/o was off limits. Scuffling along the cobblestone flooring to the room from hell, Mr.Boots’s room. For those who have been in the room are rather quickly driven out. In the pasted many have been yelled at and shoved out by Mr.Boots himself! Scotland knew going within the room he was a target, Mr.Boots was known to target the strong willed and proud. Having him be the target for torment meant nothing though; In fact, he has been feeling the urge to fight for a while now. A battle against a ghost would surely go down in the books~

The Guide stood by the broken hinges of the door, her long fingernails still tapping along the dripping stick of wax. “Now my bird, you’re in for a treat~ Mr.Boots seems to be rather cranky today, best to keep quiet and hide in the shadows till he’s gone~” With that she blew out the candle with a gentle blow. America in the hopes of getting a reaction from the ghost, began to slag it off, every word he spoke a sense of pride and ego could be sensed. Scotland held his S/o closer, if the booted man was to show his presents once more he was not going to let his S/o be harmed by him.

Suddenly a gust of wind swept passed the group, causing England so scream as a sharp sting rippled along his arm. America began to push and shove the group in retreat, the guide grabbed his arm and hushed him as the rest of the group looked around. “Get out, get out, GET OUT, GET OUT! OUT!” The yelling of the ghost made contact within all of the group's ears, many crouched in the hope that Mr.Boots wouldn’t get them. Scotland stood his ground and held Y/n close, pressing them to his chest so they don’t see it. Soft folk songs were whispered into their ear in the hopes that they would cover up the screams of Boots, his hopes were surely met as the transparent man walked passed them.

“Alistair? Ally? If you would let me go that would be swell.” Y/n tapped on the Scot’s chest in the hopes of being let go, his rather tight grasp didn’t allow them much room to let them breath. Slowly letting go he stared at the woman as she re-lighted the candle whilst giving the group an innocent smile; “Well my dears, our little tour is over now. Please follow me to the stairwell before our new friend returns~”

Walking back to the crooked steps Y/n looked back the the entrance hall, a young boy and an elderly man were standing together. The man held a small dog in his arms whilst the boy held the rim of his rolled up sleeve. Both of them were smiling as they waved the group goodbye. Scotland gazed over Y/n’s shoulder to see what they were looking at, he chuckled and waved back as he guided his S/o up the stairs “Best tae get going, wee jack and the cobbler will protect ye on our way back. No need tae worry about ‘em, they’re a lot stronger than ye’d think!”

Looking back once more, the old man and young boy walked off. Sighing, Y/n leaned into the Scotsman. What an odd night it was and what else lies within the vaults of their beloved will make their mind wander for quite a while.

Extra ending: “Y/N! YE MIGHT WANT TAE LOOK AT THIS” Rushing over to the hotel bathroom Y/n found Scotland in nothing but a towel staring at his hips, seeing them come in he turned over with a large grin upon his face. Slowly he began to remove his towel. Standing there with what god graced him with upon his birth on display he pointed to either side of his hips, “Look at this! The old ghostey man left wee scratch marks along ma hips! Isn’t that a gift!”

“That’s nice and all BUT CAN YOU PLEASE PUT ON SOME CLOTHES?!”

Mainly based off something that happened to me and some mates (Except the extra ending, I just wanted to make someone laugh.) Hope you enjoy ^^

#hetalia #hetalia aph #aph #aph hetalia #hetalia scenarios #hetalia imagines #hetalia headcanons #hetalia fanfiction #aph scenarios #aph imagines #aph headcanons #aph fanfiction #aph scotland #scotland x reader

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the-meandering-manuscript · 7 years

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How to Learn from Your Favorite Characters

Hello!

Today I thought I’d take a look at some of my favorite characters, and see how I can use them to improve my own writing. This post may contain spoilers, so be careful!

Benjamin Tallmadge, TURN: Washington’s Spies

This character is actually based on the revolutionary war hero of the same name, and the same revolutionary war hero that my Benjamin is based upon, which probably accounts for why I love him so much. Now I’ve only been watching TURN for a little bit, but he has easily become one of my favorite characters. Incredibly brave, and at times a little reckless, Ben usually is the one who takes action into his own hands, whether it's starting a spy ring, or laying a trap to catch traitors. But that isn’t why I’ve come to love him. Ben makes mistakes. A lot of them. He doesn’t follow orders. He doesn’t know when he is asking too much. He guides himself by his own innate sense of right and wrong, rather than George Washington’s instructions. Even if I’ve never had to start a spy ring to save my country, I can relate to him. Ben wants to do what’s right, and he’ll stop at nothing to make sure that it gets done. And, like a lot of us, Ben wants validation. He wants George Washington to be proud of him, but that doesn’t always happen. For all the times he’s succeeded, there’s been a time where Ben has gone too far, and plenty of times where Washington almost fires him. In the end, Ben is like all of us. Desperate to prove himself, learning as he goes through life, and just wants to do the right thing.

What we can learn from Ben: Just because your character is in an unimaginable situation- he’s an alien trying to blend in among humans, or an assassin just wanting to make enough money to scrape by- doesn’t mean that reader can’t relate to him. By giving these characters fears that we all have, readers are able to see a piece of themselves in your character, even if they will never experience the same situation.

2. Mary Woodhull, TURN: Washington’s Spies

I’m sorry for another TURN character, but the show is really good, and everyone should go watch it. As much as I love Benjamin, Mary is my favorite character on the show. Once a staunch loyalist, she soon loses her loyalty to her country and decides that her family is more important than choosing between King George and the Congress. With her patriot spy husband, Abraham, constantly putting their family into danger, Mary quickly adapts and starts to cover up his crimes, and she begins to take matters into her own hands. When a British officer starts to terrorize her town, Mary is the one who tries to shoot him, and even if she misses, she does incapacitate him for a couple of days. But don’t think she’s doing it for the Patriots. In the process of shooting the British officer, she uses a patriot spy, one of her husband’s best friends, as a decoy, sending the redcoats after him so she would have her chance. On top of it all, Mary does all of this for little to no credit. Her own husband didn’t even know that she shot a British officer to protect him, and the patriot spies still see her as Abraham’s interfering, loyalist wife.

What we can learn from Mary: Play with your character’s loyalties. What happens when they’re not loyal to a side, but one person? How does this change their actions? How do other people view this character? Or, instead of one person, try a character whose only loyalty is towards their family. Mary will do anything to keep her son and husband safe. Does this make her dangerous? Or is she less of a threat this way?

3. Carlton Lassiter, Psych

In Psych, Lassiter is usually the one who squashes the main characters’ plans, which can make him come across as a grumpy old stick-in-the-mud. But trust me, he has his redeeming qualities. Lassiter, or more affectionately known as Lassie, puts himself fully into his police work; is always looking out for his partner, Juliet; and he’s been hurt, just like the rest of us. Lassie always fully applies himself to his job, and always strives to do a good job, and while sometimes it seems like police work is the only thing he cares about, he is truly passionate about it. To me, Lassie views his partner, Juliet, as more of a little sister, and while this dynamic can sometimes be problematic (suggests that women need a man protecting her), their relationship is truly very sweet, and Lassie doesn’t want Juliet being hurt like he was by his ex-wife. Also, while it can seem that Lassie is incapable of loving anyone or anything, he does find love and get married, which shows a side to Lassie that hadn’t been seen before.

What we can learn from Lassie: Even if a character is usually at odds with your protagonist, that doesn’t make them wrong or evil. Make sure this character is well-rounded, with both flaws and redeeming qualities, so they don’t come across as one-sided. Also, if this character is one-sided, it reflects poorly on your protagonist, since it can make them look perfect and Mary Sue-like if everyone who disagrees with them is bad.

4. The Eleventh Doctor, Doctor Who

The Eleventh Doctor is my favorite doctor for a reason. While he comes across as kiddish and immature, he really feels quite guilty over his past lives. He struggles with coming to terms with his past actions and truly is running away from his mistakes until he is forced to face them. This inner darkness is something that separates Eleven from his counterparts, and what makes him my favorite character. He isn’t completely consumed by his guilt though. He’s silly and awkward, and extremely compassionate, almost sometimes to a fault. But it’s the combination of his silliness and the darkness that make Eleven so interesting. His occasional angry outbursts are somewhat terrifying, and they’re something we haven’t seen from the other doctors, but they’re always sandwiched between episodes of goofiness, which makes him lovable as well.

What we can learn from Eleven: All characters need balance. They can’t be all bad, all good, all silly, all serious. It’s impossible to pick one trait to define a person, so you can’t do the same with your characters. Maybe you have a silly character, but they need to have a personality trait other than silly. Take a note from the Eleventh Doctor and give your character a conflicting personality trait so they don’t come across as one-sided and unbelievable.

5. Eowyn, The Lord of the Rings

In fantasy, a genre where many women are saved by men and don’t do much else, it is refreshing to see a character such as Eowyn. Loyal to Rohan and her uncle, King Theoden, Eowyn wants to fight to save her homeland but isn’t allowed to because she is a woman. She finds solidarity in Merry, who is also unable to fight because he is a hobbit. In the end, she is the one who slays the Wraith King, one of the most powerful villains in Middle Earth. Sadly, J.R.R. Tolkien’s female characters really aren’t very developed past their love interests (Eowyn and Arwen both serve primarily as Aragorn’s love interests), but Eowyn shines the most out of all the female characters. She is guided by her emotion, and though does fill the stereotype of a disgruntled princess, she will to anything for her home and her people.

What we can learn from Eowyn: Women can be just as effective as men in battle. Eowyn kills the Wraith King, something that no man can do. We can learn from Tolkien’s mistakes here. A character can be a love interest, but that shouldn’t be their only defining quality. Think about it. If you like someone, it’s usually because of their personality. They’re funny, smart, kind, just like love interests in books should be, but hardly are, especially in older fantasy. Also, remember that people in real life have other interests other than their romantic partners- consider hobbies, schooling, a career, and a family for your character. Also, be careful about just making your love interest useless in all other aspects. If they have no place in the story, other than being a love interest, you need to rework your story or get rid of the character altogether.

#writing #favorite characters #how to #the meandering manuscript #original post

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years

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ASK BOX IS OPEN! What a great gift :) Could you please write something where Jamie and Claire get stuck in an elevator together and one has to help the other through a bit of anxiety. Bonus points for resulting hanky panky :P

Love in an Elevator:

The lift dinged as the doors began to shut, the slide of the metal juddering the small box and jolting Claire as she clung to the cheap, plastic rail that ran just at hand height.

“Do ye hate these things too?” A deep Scottish voice broke through the nervous haze that had her pinned to the floor with fear.

Nodding, Claire leaned her head against the wall, “yeah, I usually use the stairs,” swallowing audibly, she tapped her foot against the cheap linoleum floor panels, “but I don’t think I’m fit enough to master sixteen floors.”

“Dinna write yerself off, lass,” the young man replied, clicking his nails against the rail, “I’m sure ye could if ye tried.”

Glancing at the list of offices named on a panel to the right of the door, Claire’s eyes narrowed at the labelling for the sixteenth floor.

Divorce Lawyers; it read, a stark reminder of her short lived marriage.

“What’s a young lassie like ye doing needing a divorce?” The young man broached, hesitance in his tone as he spoke.

Before she could give him an answer, the lift shook and stalled, the lights flickering on and off intermittently as they came to a shuddering halt.

“Jesus H...Roosevelt Christ…” Claire stammered her heart pounding as thoughts of plummeting to her death flashed before her eyes.

“Dinna fash, lassie,” her companion soothed, reaching across the small space towards her, but hovering just to her side as if worried to touch her.

“We won’t die, will we?”

“Nay, o’ course not.”

Standing aside, Claire moved so that he could press the emergency button to summon the lobby. A brief squark filled the shaft as the ringer cut out half way through, disconnecting before anyone could respond.

“Shit,” Claire cursed, her mouth drying at the thought of being left here to rot, “shit, shit SHIT!”

“Hey,” her mystery friend continued, his eyes filling with worry as her vision began to blur, “listen, it’s just a faulty system, that’s all. It’s all perfectly safe, aye? The shaft is made to support the car should the pulleys and hooks jam.”

“H-how do you know so much about this?” Claire panted, her back throbbing as the handrail dug into her. Pushing all of her weight backwards, she focused on the joining point of the plastic lined metal and her body. Anything to stop contemplating an uncertain future.

“I’m an engineer. Lifts are easy, ken? No’ too much required in keeping them secure. I’m Jamie,” he replied, finally, holding his hand out to meet hers. An attempt to take her mind of their entrapment.

“N-nice to meet you, Jamie. I’m Claire,’ she returned, thinking how, actually, she’d rather be anywhere else than here, no matter how gentlemanly and attractive he might be.

Jamie chuckled, hearing the undertone of falsity to her polite response.

“If we get out of here alive,” she continued, hearing Jamie’s laughter, “maybe you can take me for a drink and I can actually be pleased to meet you.” She appeased, sliding down the interior of the elevator car, curling herself up on the floor in a small ball.

Seeing her open display of distress, Jamie crawled to her side and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, bringing her to his side. No longer was he worried about forcing his possibly unwanted advances upon her. She seemed to need the contact right now, and he didn’t think she was capable of being honest without being snarky on top of it should he ask for permission.

“We *will* get out of here alive, Claire. For one,” he paused, biting his lip to stop from laughing too loudly, “don’t ye need to finish yer business on sixteen? Canna have yer husband set free o’ his obligation that easily, can we?”

Claire snorted, whoever this guy was, he could read her well already.

“He cheated on me,” she began, squeezing her eyes shut tight to waylay the panic attack she was on the verge of.

Jamie smiled to himself, proud of himself. Talking about something else would take her mind of their current predicament.

“Multiple times. I didn’t know it, but he’d been seeing other women for years, even when we’d only been dating a few months.” Swallowing back the feelings of inadequacy, Claire battled to get the whole story out. This would be the first time she’d actively spoken about it, other than to the lawyers. “I don’t even know why he asked me to marry him, but he did, and I said yes. Unknowing, of course, that he’d been unfaithful.”

“He’s a fool, Claire. A silly wee cretin that doesna deserve yer affections. How long into the marriage was it when ye discovered him false?” Jamie questioned, keeping her attention fixed on her failed marriage instead of her incarceration in this broken box.

“A month.”

“Ah Dhia!” He cursed in Gaelic, his go to language of preference for profanity.

“At least it wasn’t years. I --we--” she corrected before continuing, “wanted to start a family. Can you imagine? Bringing kids into that…” turning further against him, Claire buried one of her hands into Jamie’s jacket, grounding herself in him, “I can’t even *think* what I’d have done.”

“Ye’d have done what was best, Claire.” Jamie interrupted, running his hand over her hair as she began to open her eyes once more. “I dinna ken ye, but I have a feeling that ye would always do the best ye could.”

“That’s very kind of you, Jamie,” she sighed, pulling herself away from her earnest saviour, “we’d all like to think that, wouldn’t we?”

“Aye, I’m sure we do. But I think, for you, it’s true.”

Darkness surrounded them as the lights failed, the tiniest of sparks flickering and lighting them up for a second before stilling.

Silence encased them as the pitch black of the car stole their free and easy conversation.

Claire tensed, the deadly quiet piercing her ears as if it were the most punishing of sounds.

“It’s alright, a leannan,” Jamie sighed, holding her in his lap now as he rocked her, the deep shuddering breaths she made juddering his arms as he held her, “it’s just the site staff, ken? They’ll switch the main power supply off, turn it back on again and reboot the systems. It’s just an electrical misfire, they canna get us out wi’out wiping the basic fault from the programme.”

“You’re a good person to be trapped with, aren’t you, Jamie?” Claire replied, her throat aching as she spoke, being as dry as it was.

“Thank ye, Claire. I hope that I’m at least a wee bit useful, aye?”

Minutes ticked by and the darkness wore on. The longer the blackness surrounded them, the easier it got to breathe and Claire slowly relaxed into Jamie arms.

“More than a *wee* bit, I’d say.”

Lifting her head a little, Claire inhaled the scent of him, her nose coming dangerously close to the warm skin of his neck.

‘You’re still married, Beauchamp!’ she castigated, internally as she suddenly realised just how intimately joined they were.

Not wishing to exhibit any of Frank’s less than desirable characteristics, Claire tore herself from the comfort of Jamie’s arms.

He understood of course, guessing as to the reason for her sudden departure.

The inky dark that had filled the car had faded as their eyes had become accustomed to the dark, and they could now make out the outline of the other as Claire re-positioned herself a short distance away from Jamie.

“Can I ask ye something, Claire?” Jamie asked, his voice calmly slicing through the quiet that had encompassed them.

“Of course…” Claire replied, her tone wary but open. Hearing the trepidation in his voice, she readied herself for his query.

“When ye are, ye know, free once more…” plucking at the cheap fibres of the lift floor, Jamie closed his eyes and dipped his head forward, preparing himself for rejection, “would ye consider going for a drink wi’ me?”

Fingers caressed his as Claire reached across to make contact once more.

She didn’t know what to say. Joking about it was one thing, but did she really want to open herself up to something new so close to the end of her failed marriage?

Shutting off her brain, she allowed the combination of their hands to sway her decision. Clearly, her head wasn’t the best at making choices where romance was concerned.

“Do ye feel it, Claire?” Jamie broke in, an attempt to clear the haze that seemingly swirled around them in the murky shadows.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice steady and strong, “yes, Jamie. I would love to meet up...once the divorce is finalised.”

A clunk echoed around them before a whir and a buzz as the lights illuminated the car, the fluorescent bulb blinding them as they blinked, wiped their eyes and stood. Holding onto one another as the lift began to move upwards, the car continued its journey as if nothing had been amiss, leaving Jamie and Claire to dust themselves off.

Dinging, the doors opened, revealing the worried faces of several maintenance staff and the building manager.

In a flurry of activity, the pair were swept up by the team and taken to separate rooms to assist in filling out health and safety forms in the aftermath of their misadventure. Having missed her appointment, Claire helped as best she could, eager to be away from this whole mess.

It wasn’t until she took her first fresh breath on the street below that she remembered Jamie’s kind offer and her shoulders dropped. She hadn’t even stopped to take his phone number.

Sighing, she turned on her heel and headed for her car. There was nothing for it now, the large building housed so many people she would never find him, and waiting was foolish since he could already be long gone.

“Was my company that bad, Claire?”

His voice rang out through the half empty street, and Claire’s heart began to race as she, slowly, swivelled back towards the entrance to see him stood on the step by the revolving door, a large smile plastered across his face.

“Well, I wouldn’t say the circumstances were ideal,” she quipped in return, “but you didn’t smell *too* bad.”

“Smell, eh!” he chuckled, taking the stairs two at a time as he rushed towards her, “I didna make it personal, but since ye seemed so incapacitated by our predicament, I’ll forgive yer manners, Claire.”

Blushing, Claire dipped her head, smiling at their easy conversation.

“So, Jamie…”

“So, Claire…”

They spoke at the same time, reaching out and touching as they unconsciously walked closer to one another.

“Does your offer still stand?” Claire continued, taking the lead.

“Aye, it does.” he replied, taking a business card and holding it aloft, a glint of happiness dancing behind his eyes. “Rid yerself of the ball and chain,” he winked, placing the small card into her palm, “and give me a call. I’ll be waiting, mo nighean donn…”

The words meant nothing to her, but before she had time to process it, he had disappeared. Glancing down at his business card, Claire bit her lip and smiled, looking up at the space where he’d been only moments before.

“I look forward to it, Jamie...Fraser.” she sighed, pulling the tiny piece of paper to her heart and rocking slightly on her heels, feeling hopeful now instead of desolate.

Some things, she thought, internally, were just meant to be.

#Anonymous Ask #;Mod MBD #Love in an Elevator #Sorry there was no hanky panky #But Jamie is always the gentleman #...and in my head I tried to reason raunch #And then thought it might happen #but possibly not at that precise moment #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp

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how2to18 · 6 years

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“A PROTEST POETRY intended to induce funks of ambivalence.” That phrase appears in Stan Apps’s “Free Dolphin Radio,” the opening poem of Flarf: An Anthology of Flarf. While its placement may have been fortuitous (given the book’s alphabetical arrangement by author), it seems a fitting motto for the entire collection, as well as for the movement the book presents as a whole. “Flarf” refers to a self-styled avant-garde collective that sprung up around 2000 and was devoted to exploring the web, then in its “wild west” phase, as a resource for making poetry. On a private email list, its members developed a technique they refer to as “Google sculpting,” which calls for the poet to trawl the internet for preexisting language, usually by putting combinations of intentionally silly or offensive keywords into a search engine (“pizza” and “kitty,” “Rogaine” and “bunny,” “pussy” and “turtleneck”) and then creatively arranging the results into strange, funny, and unsettling collages. Voilà: “Arthur Treacher grabs my assclown / Assclown grabs my squid / Squid signs me up for the NOW Action Alert list.” (This is from Sharon Mesmer’s “Squid Versus Assclown.”)

The name “Flarf” is a neologism, which one of its founders, Gary Sullivan, defines as describing “a kind of corrosive, cute, or cloying, awfulness. Wrong. Un-P.C. Out of control. ‘Not okay.’” It is also, he explains, a verb, meaning “to bring out the inherent awfulness, etc., of some pre-existing text” (thus, one can “Flarf” any unsuspecting piece of writing). Flarf, you might say, is what poetry would sound like “if pirates pumped the stuffed-up airwaves full of dolphin hymns and rat speak,” to quote another line from that same opening poem.

In the early 2000s, Flarf was a big cartoon thumb stuck in the eye of the poetry establishment. Pumped full of “rat speak” by pirate poets sailing the high seas of the internet, Flarf poems were disjunctive works made from the ugly feelings, vulgarity, and raucous surreality that colors our everyday experience in the digital age. With language extracted from chat rooms, message boards, and the underbelly of our online lives, the poems were deliberately messy, abrasive, and distasteful. But Flarf was also ostensibly “a protest poetry”: from the start, the Flarfists explained that they were supplying a subversive response to the nightmarish absurdity and deceit of contemporary culture in the post-9/11 era. Mostly, though, it seemed custom-designed to provoke misgivings from arbiters of taste and to induce “funks of ambivalence” about its aesthetics, its politics, and its worldview from both staid cultural gatekeepers and other avant-garde poets.

The funk continues to linger over Flarf, now more a period style than a going concern. While it has been claimed as a powerful and enduring intervention in the development of American poetry, some see it as little more than an extended prank; others insist it was only a tired retread of Dada and other earlier avant-garde experiments. Some claim its practice of borrowing language from “ordinary” people on the internet (often riddled with misspellings, stupidity, racism, and xenophobia) is ultimately patronizing, elitist, a form of punching down. Flarf has been dogged, too, by ethical questions about whether the reproduction of hateful, offensive language perpetuates rather than critiques harmful stereotypes and prejudices.

This anthology will probably not put such questions to rest. For one thing, it’s not clear why the Flarfists decided to publish this collection of their work (co-edited by five of its members) now, at a time when many of the poets themselves have moved on, and the more heated debates about the movement have subsided. Is the anthology meant to provide a snapshot of a vital and ongoing phenomenon, like Donald Allen’s The New American Poetry? Is the timing of its appearance intended to suggest that Bush-era Flarf is now newly relevant in the dark age of Trump? Or is it more a bid for canonization, an enshrinement of a now-defunct avant-garde in poetic history?

It’s even harder to answer these questions because, unlike many such collections, Flarf is completely devoid of scholarly apparatus and critical framework: it has no preface or introduction, no manifestos or statements of poetics. There’s no effort to define Flarf or trace its origins or goals, no attempt to explain its methods or sketch out its intellectual or poetic investments. It is nearly impossible to tell when the poems were written, or whether any of the material in the book is new or recent, or if it all dates from Flarf’s heyday, over a decade ago. Of course the editors’ decision to remove all context and helpful framing is probably deliberate, in keeping with the anarchic spirit of the movement, which is as allergic as Dada was to high seriousness, “official” institutions, the canon, and so on. But if that’s the case, then why produce an anthology at all? At the very least, a few signposts would have helped orient a younger generation of readers who missed the Flarf moment the first time around.

What we are left with, of course, are the poems themselves, giving us the opportunity to take stock of Flarf’s achievement, as it gathers in one place many of its best-known, and best, works, including Drew Gardner’s “Chicks Dig War,” Jordan Davis’s “Pablo Escobar Shopping T-Shirt,” Michael Magee’s “Mainstream Poetry,” Sharon Mesmer’s “Annoying Diabetic Bitch,” K. Silem Mohammad’s “Mars Needs Terrorists,” and selections from Katie Degentesh’s The Anger Scale. Left to fend for themselves, these poems do make a sort of argument for Flarf’s value, and relevance. From the vantage point of 2018, Flarf can be seen as a compelling extension of the long, vital tradition of avant-garde collage, appropriation, and remix, updated for the internet age in intriguing ways. The best Flarf poems use the resources of search-engine technology to capture the exuberance, the strangeness, and the cracked beauty of what Anne Boyer calls our “electronic vernacular.” Jordan Davis suggests as much in one poem when he writes, “‘What I love about the chat rooms / Is that they’re already halfway to poetry, / What’s poetry but lines, what’s a chatroom,’ / He started rubbing the squid.” Where else can one find a poem titled “Humanism Is Cheese” or another with lines like these: “Phoenix is the land of milk dowsers, / and I’ve always been / a wolverine bunny cage xenocide forum asshole”? The poems teem with a density of reference, evincing the strange magnetic power of labels, names, and data in a culture drowning in signifiers: “Dag Hammarskjold rolls off our lips as easily as Lassie,” Boyer writes. “I just killed the Pillsbury dough boy,” the speaker of one of Gardner’s poems announces, before quickly bouncing off toward Terry Gross, “Charman” Mao, Shelley Duvall, Wallace Stevens, Minnie Driver, and Dan Rather.

Other poems crackle with the upending of clichés (“Same old job, / same old Diplodocus bong water orgy” — Gardner again). They frequently delight in the twisting of expectations, as in these lines by Mohammad, where the hackneyed language of romance is infused with militarism and violence:

love is a Pakistani Mirage fighter jet frozen, strange like it had, you know, bubonic plague

I’m a bit less crazy about Flarf’s fondness for goofy, supposedly “transgressive” scatology and the sometimes exhausting levels of zaniness — poems where we learn that “I have to conduct snot viscosity experiments / with ass-lint,” (Mitch Highfill) and so on. But although the movement has been maligned for focusing too much on play and hijinks, for being just a bunch of friends “fucking around with google on the man’s dime” (as Gardner himself once put it), Flarf can in fact be fiercely political: poem after poem takes aim at toxic masculinity, American warmongering and imperialism, virulent racism, the intersections between porn and rape culture, and the penetration of neoliberal capitalism into every sphere of daily life. I fully expected to find that revisiting Flarf at this particular historical moment would feel like stepping out of the Tardis into the now distant days of “Shock and Awe,” where John Ashcroft makes jokes about Abu Ghraib over the sound of Howard Dean’s scream and ends up in a spider hole of denial. But many of the poems feel surprisingly timely, very much in touch with our own batshit zeitgeist. “I hate the high levels of jerk war around here,” Gardner writes in “Skylab Wolverine Bunny Cage Nub” (Twitter, anyone?). Benjamin Friedlander’s potent poem “When a Cop Sees a Black Woman” has a different charge in a post-Ferguson world:

Black hair is more fragile than most.

It requires TLC when a cop sees a black women he can’t think

everything through. She is the shiznit. She tempts and she taunts. She speaks in a bold

outspoken manner. But bypassing a metal detector, his forced and never-bending

monotone drone is not a factor in her arrest.

The same could be said of Gardner’s “How to Watch a Police Beating,” which follows its title with these scathing opening lines: “First off, there should be two sets of laws — / act like an ox and try not to be nonwhite…”

Other poems repurpose gender codes and tropes in ways that resonate powerfully in the #MeToo era. Consider Nada Gordon’s “I Love Men” (“I love men, but they wear me out with all their confusing issues. One day they / say they love you and the next they see someone with bigger ass. // I love men, muscles, sex, porn, and chocolate”). Or Katie Degentesh’s “I Was Horny,” which stitches together a series of found statements, substituting the word “boy” for “owl,” creating an affecting, creepy commentary on predatory masculinity and the culture that fosters it:

Boys are interesting creatures.

[…]

The boys tear their prey, swallow it whole, and spit up pellets. They prey on small things. Boys fly silently. They see well in the dark, hunt at night and sleep in the daytime. They scare others by fluffing up.

[…]

I hope boys never go extinct and I hope they never get endangered. I love boys.

In the decade and a half since Flarf emerged, strategies of appropriation of the sort these poets deploy have spread far and wide. It is worth noting that they have proven particularly useful as vehicles of political critique and dissent for a long list of poets of color not affiliated with the (largely white) Flarf coterie itself, who have seized on such tools to create works that take aim at racism, US foreign policy, police brutality, oppression, and misogyny, often more directly and powerfully than Flarf. In her award-winning collection Look, for example, Solmaz Sharif incorporates euphemistic phrases from a Department of Defense manual but scrutinizes, dismantles, and subverts them, redeploying this found material for both intimate personal reflection and for expressing coruscating outrage at contemporary racism, xenophobia, and anti-Muslim policies. I would recommend reading this anthology of Flarf alongside other contemporary poets like Sharif, Tracy K. Smith, Robin Coste Lewis, Philip Metres, Layli Long Soldier, Shane McCrae, and Tyehimba Jess to get a fuller sense of the ends to which such tactics have been put in recent poetry.

Faced with the daily calamity of the Bush years, Flarf testified that verbal play, and the creative détournement of our culture’s own language, could be a liberating act of resistance. Its antics were a valuable method of pushing back against what Wallace Stevens called, in another dark time, the almost unbearable “pressure of reality.” Perhaps right now we desperately need art forms that can seize on the language of our time, expose its absurdity, its deceit, and its sinister designs on us, and repurpose it for different ends. But in 2018, the online culture of misogyny, racism, stupidity, and hatred that Flarf exposed doesn’t need much further unearthing: it seems to be everywhere. As we gasp for air and sanity in the depths of Trumpworld, Flarf seems prescient but also somewhat redundant. To paraphrase Man Ray’s famous remark about why Dada could not survive in New York: Flarf cannot live in America. All America is Flarf, and will not tolerate a rival.

Andrew Epstein is the author, most recently, of Attention Equals Life: The Pursuit of the Everyday in Contemporary Poetry and Culture.

The post Funks of Ambivalence: On Flarf appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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love is a Pakistani Mirage fighter jet frozen, strange like it had, you know, bubonic plague

Black hair is more fragile than most.

It requires TLC when a cop sees a black women he can’t think

everything through. She is the shiznit. She tempts and she taunts. She speaks in a bold

outspoken manner. But bypassing a metal detector, his forced and never-bending

monotone drone is not a factor in her arrest.

Boys are interesting creatures.

[…]

I hope boys never go extinct and I hope they never get endangered. I love boys.

Andrew Epstein is the author, most recently, of Attention Equals Life: The Pursuit of the Everyday in Contemporary Poetry and Culture.

The post Funks of Ambivalence: On Flarf appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books https://ift.tt/2LBSmbD

#Los Angeles Review of Books #topmixtrends

0 notes