#092118

[daily-roll-cake-cookie-archived]

Today’s Roll Cake Cookie of the Day is: first Banana talks about leaving the void, then Jujube straight up JUMPS out of the void without warning??? We’re lonely in here!!!

[ateezdata]

ateez_official_ Instagram Update 

[📷] DAILY ATEEZ . Eye-contact experience with Wooyoung👀 . #DAILY_ATEEZ #ATEEZ #에이티즈 #KQ

[byeolipjm]

myg {setting up studio.} : linework;semicolour;caption

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

In the event, we did not leave next day. In the middle of the night, I was wakened by low conversation in the room. Rolling over, I saw Ian bending over the bed, holding a candle.

“The babe’s on its way,” said Jamie, seeing me awake. He sat up, yawning. “A bit early, Ian?”

“Ye never know. Small Jamie was late. Better early than late, I reckon.” Ian’s smile was quick and nervous.

…

At first, Jenny carried on light conversation with me, only pausing to bend forward slightly, holding her stomach, as the contractions tightened their grip. But she quickly lost the urge to talk, and lay back, resting quietly in between the increasingly powerful pains. Finally, after one that almost bent her double in her chair, she rose to her feet, staggering.

“Help me walk a bit, Claire,” she said. Unsure what was the proper procedure, I did as she said, grasping her tightly under the arm to help her stand upright. We made several slow circuits of the room, pausing when a contraction struck, going on when it eased. Shortly before the midwife arrived, Jenny made her way to the bed and lay down.

…

Jenny’s hair was soaked with perspiration by this time, and her face bright red with the strain. Watching her, I realized fully why it was called “labor.” Giving birth was bloody hard work.

Over the next two hours, little progress appeared to be made, except that the pains grew obviously stronger. Able at first to answer questions, Jenny quit responding, lying panting at the end of each contraction, face fading from red to white in a matter of seconds.

She clamped her lips through the next one, beckoning me to her side as it eased.

“If the child lives…” she said, gasping for air, “and it’s a girl…her name is Margaret. Tell Ian…name her Margaret Ellen.”

“Yes, of course,” I soothed. “But you’ll be able to tell him yourself. It won’t be long, now.”

…

There was a deep, victorious grunt from Jenny, and a slimy blob swelled suddenly between her thighs. She straightened her legs against the mattress and pushed once more, and Margaret Ellen Murray shot into the world like a greased pig.

A little later, I straightened from wiping Jenny’s smiling face with a damp rag and glanced out the window. It was nearly sunset.

“I’m all right,” Jenny said. “Quite all right.” The broad grin of delight with which she had greeted the delivery of her daughter had turned into a small, permanent smile of deep contentment. She reached up with an unsteady hand and touched my sleeve.

“Go tell Ian,” she said. “He’ll be worrit.”

…

The survivors now revived and cleaned up, the Murray-Fraser families gathered in Jenny’s room for a celebratory supper. Little Margaret, tidied for inspection and swaddled in a small blanket, was given to her father, who received his new offspring with an expression of beatific reverence.

“Hello, wee Maggie,” he whispered, touching the tiny button of a nose with one fingertip.

His new daughter, unimpressed by the introduction, closed her eyes in concentration, stiffened, and urinated on her father’s shirt.

During the brief bustle of hilarity and repair occasioned by this lapse of good manners, small Jamie succeeded in escaping from the clutches of Mrs. Crook and flung himself onto Jenny’s bed. She grunted slightly in discomfort, but put out a hand and gathered him in, waving at Mrs. Crook to let him be.

“My mama!” he declared, burrowing into Jenny’s side.

“Well, who else?” she asked reasonably. “Here, laddie.” She hugged him, and kissed the top of his head, and he relaxed, reassured, and snuggled against her. She gently pushed his head down, stroking his hair.

“Lay your head then, man,” she said. “Past your bedtime. Lay your head.” Comforted by her presence, he put a thumb in his mouth and fell asleep.

Given a turn to hold the baby, Jamie proved remarkably competent, cupping the small fuzzy skull in the palm of one hand like a tennis ball. He seemed reluctant to hand the child back to Jenny, who cuddled her against her breasts, crooning soft endearments.

At last we made our way to our own room, which seemed silent and empty in contrast to the warm family scene we had just left, Ian kneeling by his wife’s bed, hand resting on small Jamie as Jenny nursed the new baby. I was conscious for the first time of just how tired I was; it was nearly twenty-four hours since Ian had roused me.

Jamie closed the door quietly behind him. Without speaking, he came behind me and undid the fastenings of my gown. His hands reached around me and I lay back gratefully against his chest. Then he bent his head to kiss me and I turned, putting my own arms around his neck. I felt not only very tired, but very tender, and not a little sad.

“Perhaps it’s as well,” Jamie said slowly, as though to himself.

“What’s as well?”

“That you’re barren.” He couldn’t see my face, buried in his chest, but he must have felt me stiffen.

“Aye, I knew that long ago. Geillis Duncan told me, soon after we wed.” He stroked my back gently. “I regretted it a bit at first, but then I began to think it was as well; living as we must, it would be verra difficult if you were to get with child. And now”—he shivered slightly—“now I think I am glad of it; I wouldna want ye to suffer that way.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” I said, after a long while, thinking of the rounded, fuzzy head and tiny fingers.

“I would.” He kissed the top of my head. “I saw Ian’s face; it was like his own flesh was being torn, each time Jenny screamed.” My arms were around him, stroking the ridged scars on his back. “I can bear pain, myself,” he said softly, “but I couldna bear yours. That would take more strength than I have.”

— Outlander/Cross Stitch

Photos: outlander-online.com, Season One, Episode Thirteen, May 2, 2015

Book: Outlander (Cross Stitch), Diana Gabaldon, 1991

Tumblr: September 21, 2018, WhenFraserMetBeauchamp 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿❤️🇬🇧

WFMB’s Tags: #Outlander #Season One Episode Thirteen #S1E13 #The Watch #Outlander/Cross Stitch #Chapter Thirty-Two #I can bear pain, myself, but I couldna bear yours #That would take more strength than I have #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Jenny Murray #63 #092118

[grantxxxnikki]

This relationship had never been easy. The past years was like a fast moving roller coaster. But God never left us. Cheers for our 6th!🥂

@grantvincent

[wolfanddphoenix]

When days go by, I don't want to forget why I'm so angry.

[acutestyle]

09.21.18

[wolfanddphoenix]

The first picture is of a coworker of mine who is like a sister to me, NOT my gf.

But about my gf. I love her so much. I love this apartment that we have. Its seriously so cute. We got a fish named Jimmy-Nemo. God, this is literally perfect. Money is so tight right now but with her by my side it doesn't seem so bad. We had a stay at home date the other night. And I LOVE waking up to her. We get up and run errands. We do it together. We adult together, we get shit done.

I am so happy, im not sure what to think. Things have never been this good for me. Sometimes I have to force myself to enjoy it because I get so scared that somethings going to happen to fuck it up. But I gotta learn to enjoy this and help myself understand that I deserve this good that is happening.

God damn, she is such a beautiful being. I have got to be the luckiest man in the world. She means everything to me. I mean..literally everything. I am going to marry her if its the last thing I do.