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notevenjokingfic:

Part I

Part II

Part III

Three Saturdays later, after finishing their coffee, he asks if he can ‘call on her.’  She loves that he uses an old-fashioned expression but is surprised by the way his eyes harden, like he’s expecting rejection.

I would like that very much, she says and reaches a hand out, palm up, indicating she wants his phone.  His mouth forms a small Oh! and he digs it out of his pocket, gives it to her.  She puts in her number, hands it back, then asks for his contact information.  He trips over his tongue giving her the numbers.   

When she walks away she looks back over her shoulder to see him smiling at the screen.  A face-splitting grin that makes her heart sing.  He scans the crowd for her, sees her looking, and gives a boyish wave, back and forth.  She flutters her fingers, and promptly walks into another shopper.  When she rights herself, and them, she looks back again and shrugs.  Their laughter is excited, giddy.  

A day later he calls on her.

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notevenjokingfic:

Part I

Part II

Saturday mornings belong to the Market.

Ever since she was a little girl, this was her ritual.  When she went with her mother she chose ripe apples, and fragrant herbs.  With Uncle Lamb she picked out exotic fruits and pungent spices.  For herself it’s fresh and farm grown, organic and rustic.  She eats simply.  She doesn’t need much.  

Every week, in every season, she begins by buying a cup of tea.  She sits on the wooden bench next to the stall to savour it.  In the cold, the steam blankets her skin, the paper cup warms her hands.  In the sun, the tea feels like a garden party.  

She wanders afterwards, picking the ripest fruit, the crispiest vegetables.  She chooses a handful of brussels sprouts, slender French beans, bright red tomatoes.  The tops of carrots peek out from her net bag, the pale green of the leeks she buys pokes through the holes.  

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notevenjokingfic:

Part I

He sees her early, every Saturday morning.  

Jeans.  Soft, well-worn t-shirt.  Sometimes a lightweight jacket, sometimes a bulky sweater. Sometimes a scarf, and a pea coat.  She wears flats most days, until the weather forces her feet into colourful Wellies, or thick-soled boots.  Sometimes her curls are tucked up under a knit hat, or tied into a ponytail under a ball cap.  Sometimes they fly free, dancing, and swirling, with the wind for a partner.

Sometimes she wears her sunnies, sometimes glasses with thick black frames. Sometimes her eyes are  uncovered, and her eyes dart and glow with amber brilliance.  

She is always alone.

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skyliting:
positive-memes:
Keanu being Keanu again

He is breathtaking.

Hallo anon!

I don’t think the Endless Loop Theory just popped into my head fully formed – rather, it’s the culmination of thoughts that have rolled around in my head for years.

Jamie and Claire presumably die ~1800. But we also know that Claire is born in 1918. So – time moves on post-1800, and Claire is born again in 1918. Just like how time moves in parallel, which means that in order for Claire to fall through in 1946 and find Jamie in 1743, Jamie also must be born again. Etc.

And since I don’t like to think that Jamie and Claire are stuck on the loop, I presume that things can change with every iteration of the loop. They don’t – can’t – remember what happened during the previous go-round, but unconsciously their souls remember. So they make slightly different choices, which consequently affect their trajectory on the loop.

Does that make sense? Now I think I may have just confused you all and myself…