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asrielbelacquaaaa · 3 months

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New verse added! Historical

Asriel Macleod

Laird of Clan Macleod

Born: 1700

Home: Dunvegan Castle, Isle of Skye, Scotland

Clan Motto: "Hold Fast"

Clan Symbol: The Bull

Early Life

Asriel Macleod was born into a time of great change and turmoil in the Scottish Highlands. As the firstborn son of the previous laird, Alastair Macleod, Asriel was groomed from a young age to assume leadership of Clan Macleod. His childhood was steeped in the rich traditions and history of his ancestors, and he was educated in the arts of war, diplomacy, and clan governance.

Ascension to Laird

In 1725, when Asriel was 25, his father died in a skirmish with the rival Clan Campbell. Thrust into leadership, Asriel quickly proved himself a capable and determined laird. He avenged his father's death by leading a successful raid against Clan Campbell, which earned him the respect and loyalty of his people.

Reign as Laird

Under Asriel's rule, Clan Macleod has seen both prosperity and conflict. Asriel is known for his strong yet fair leadership. He has fortified Dunvegan Castle, ensuring it remains an impregnable bastion for his clan. Asriel has also worked to improve the lives of his clansmen by encouraging agricultural advancements and trade with neighboring clans and the Lowlands.

The Jacobite Rising

In 1745, Asriel made the momentous decision to support the Jacobite cause led by Charles Edward Stuart, known as Bonnie Prince Charlie. The promise of a restored Stuart monarchy resonated deeply with Asriel, who believed it could bring stability and prosperity to Scotland.

Rallying his clansmen, Asriel joined the Jacobite forces, bringing with him the strength and loyalty of Clan Macleod. His decision was not without its risks—supporting the Jacobite cause meant facing the might of the Hanoverian government and the possibility of severe repercussions should the uprising fail.

After Culloden

Asriel faces increasing challenges as the Jacobite rising progresses. The early successes of the Jacobite army boost morale, but the reality of prolonged warfare soon takes its toll. The Battle of Culloden in April 1746 marks a decisive and devastating defeat for the Jacobite forces.

In the aftermath of Culloden, Asriel must navigate the dangerous and uncertain terrain of a defeated rebellion. The Hanoverian government is relentless in its pursuit of retribution, and Asriel's leadership and cunning are tested as he seeks to protect his people from the brutal reprisals that follow.

Physique:

Asriel stands tall and commanding, with a sturdy and muscular build befitting a seasoned warrior and leader of Clan Macleod. His years of training and battle have honed his physique, giving him a formidable presence that commands respect and loyalty from his clansmen.

Facial Features:

His face is rugged and weathered, bearing the marks of a life spent outdoors and in the midst of conflict. Deep-set eyes, the colour of stormy seas, reflect a keen intelligence and unwavering determination. His brow is often furrowed in thought or in a stern expression that hints at the weight of responsibility he carries as laird.

Hair:

Asriel's hair, a dark shade of chestnut brown, is kept slightly longer than was fashionable in the courtly circles of Edinburgh or London but practical for a man leading his clan in the rugged Highlands. It falls in loose waves, often tousled from the wind that sweeps across the Isle of Skye.

Clothing:

He typically wears traditional Highland attire befitting his station: a finely tailored tartan plaid wrapped around his shoulders and belted at the waist, denoting his clan affiliation and status as laird. Beneath the plaid, a sturdy linen or wool shirt, sometimes adorned with intricate embroidery or clan brooches, speaks to his heritage and pride in his clan's traditions.

Accessories:

Around his neck, Asriel wears a pendant bearing the symbol of Clan Macleod—a stylized bull, crafted in silver, symbolizing strength and resilience. His attire is completed with leather boots that have been well-worn through years of riding and walking the rugged terrain of the Scottish Highlands.

Demeanour:

In his bearing, Asriel exudes confidence and authority, tempered with a quiet strength and a sense of duty that is palpable to all who meet him. Despite the weight of leadership, there is warmth and kindness in his eyes when speaking with his family or trusted advisors, revealing the depth of his character beyond the battlefield.

#[ 𝟎𝟏 ] ── *𝘵ℎ𝘦 𝘳𝑒𝘣𝑒𝘭𝑙𝘪𝑜𝘶𝑠 𝑙𝘢𝑖𝘳𝑑 (ℎi𝑠t𝑜r𝑖c𝑎l)

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aboardthebasilisk · 1 year

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1687: Ominis and Sebastian born 1692: Salem Witch Trials International Statute of Secrecy goes into effect

1693: MACUSA formed

1701: Death of Charles II (Spain) Start of the War of Spanish Succession

1702: Death of William III (England) Queen Anne (England) takes the throne Start of Queen Anne's War 1704: Ominis and Sebastian come of age

1707: The United Kingdom of Great Britain founded Ministry of Magic founded First Minister for Magic elected: Ulrick Gamp

1713: Queen Anne's War and the War of Spanish Succession come to a close

1714: The death of Queen Anne 1715: Jacobite Rebellion over the matter of succession

Here's what we know to be canon and established in-world for the historical period in which the fic is set.

Aboard the Basilisk takes place in the year 1715. Ominis Gaunt and Sebastian Sallow are in their late 20s when the fic begins, which means they would have been born around 1686-1687, coming of age around 1704.

Hogwarts has been established, of course. Diagon Alley exists in London, as does many of the features we are familiar with, such as the Leaky Cauldron. But many of the fixtures of the Wizarding World as we know them would have been brand new at the time:

The Statute of Secrecy would have gone into place within their lifetime, in 1692, possibly as a result of the Salem Witch Trials, which happened in the same year in English colonial settlement of Massachusetts. Pottermore lists the Magical Congress of the United States (MACUSA) as being founded in 1693 (although the United States would not exist for another 80ish years, so you can puzzle that one out on your own.)

The Ministry of Magic would be in its infancy, first established in 1707 and headed by the first Minister for Magic, Ulrick Gamp.

Indeed, the United Kingdom itself was a brand-new nation, having also been established as a sovereign state in 1707 with the Acts of Union that joined England, Scotland, and Wales.

Ominis and Sebastian served together in the Royal Navy prior to the events that caused them to turn pirate. They would have served under Queen Anne, who reigned from 1702-1714. During that time England was at war with France and Spain, causing tension in the American colonies and throughout the Caribbean and West Indies, where our story takes place. Over the course of the war, letters of marque were issued, which were commissions from the government authorizing mariners to capture enemy ships (usually enemy merchant ships, in order to disrupt trade routes and waylay vital wartime supplies). It was an inexpensive way to bulk up the navy. When wartime ended, however, the marques were rescinded and many of these privateers---who had previously operated with the legal right to pillage and engage in quasi-military activies---continued to employ their skills in the way they knew best. "A privateer is just a pirate with papers," as the saying goes. Queen Anne's death---and the messy matter of who was to succeed her, kicked off what is often referred to as the Golden Age of Piracy.

#ao3 author #ao3fic #fanfiction #archive of our own #aboard the basilisk #historical research #golden age of piracy

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oh-my-fane · 2 years

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THE BASICS

Full Name. Seoirse Rían O'Fannaín the Third Fifth Aka. Fane Species. Vampire Birthdate. September 1, 1709 Age. Three Hundred and Twelve Appears. Twenty-One Gender. Cis Male Pronouns. He/Him Orientation. Panromantic Demisexual Occupation. Owner of Secret Realm, Musician Residence. Deerhaven, Tennessee

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hair. Straight Mid Brown Eyes. Blue Height. 5'9" (176 cm) Weight. 130 lbs. Distinguishing Features. Big blue eyes, Hair that seems to defy gravity Build. Ectomorph Dominant Hand. Left Blood Type. O- Scars. None Tattoos. None Piercings. None Face Claim. Axel Auriant

PERSONALITY

Zodiac. Virgo (Sun), Taurus (Moon), Virgo (Rising) Alignment. Neutral Good Positive Traits. Creative, Loyal, Kind-Hearted, Calm, Adaptable Negative Traits. Clueless, Extreme-Altruist, Naive, Impulsive, Obsessive, Mischievous MB Type. ENFP-T Personality Role. The Artisan Enneagram Type. The Helper, The Generalist, The Peacemaker

BACKGROUND

Birth Place. Carlingford, Ireland Ethnicity. Celtic Parents. Seoirse O'Fannaín the Second (Father, Deceased) and Darina O'Fannaín (Mother, Deceased) Siblings. Ebhlín O'Fannaín (Younger Sister, Presumed Deceased) Pets. None Education. Various Degrees Spanning Decades Notable Skills. Ability to Play Instruments, Vocal Talents, Skilled Lyricist, Adaptable to Most Situations Languages. English, Irish Gaelic, Spanish, French, German

HISTORY

TW: Death of Parents, Death of Sibling

Born in Carlingford, Ireland, Fane's parents were Jacobites, in Ireland, during the time of the most conflict between the Jacobites and the Williamites. Fane grew up believing the the Jacobite cause, even after his father died fighting the English. He still believed in the cause after his mother died in childbirth. Then eighteen, Fane never even met his sister, but he gave her a marked gravestone next to his parents, inscribing the name his mother intended to name her.

With little time to grieve, within the next month, Fane was pressed into service of the British Navy. He was criminally underpaid (rather he barely was paid at all). But he managed to buy a lute off of another sailor and began playing in ports for spare change. He collected the shillings with the hope of buying his freedom from the ship. Until a day that he met a man, Desmond, from his home country and offered him the thing he wanted most. Freedom.

Fane took the offer, determined to have any bit of freedom he could. All things have a price. And Fane's turned him into a vampire. Despite being told by Desmond the details of such an offer, he saw it as a curse, afraid of what he'd become, but Desmond was there, making sure he truly started to understand. As such, Fane learned to embrace it. Fane realised that by giving him immortality, Desmond gave him both a family again and preserved his music for eternity.

He spent most of his life since near his sire, but a few times over the years, Fane decided to go to school. School was not something he could afford when he'd been growing up, and the idea that he could learn and relearn the world was exciting to him. He moved with Desmond to Deerhaven about five years ago, buying the then-for sale Secret Realm and running the place. He continues to make music and grow as a musician, though he's apprehensive about compiling an album or even an EP.

#Intro

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imagineclaireandjamie · 5 years

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i hear the river say your name, part I

anonymous prompt: I just want a new smutty Jamie POV of him having a dirty dream about Claire before they married. It can take place at Leoch, maybe after his oath or something. Have his interactions with her the next day be super awkward, but charming. 😆 I live for this.

I am living for this prompt, anon. I like smitten puppy!Jamie.

show!verse, Episode 01x04 (The Gathering), 01x05 (Rent)

At least one more installment is yet to come of this one.

Rated: T, this part

Soundtrack: ➥ Lord Huron - When the Night is Over

i hear the river say your name, part I

Jamie Fraser has been in hiding for awhile.

Away from his family – though he supposes the only Fraser he has left is Jenny. And the Lord knows he can’t ever face her again. He’s been away from home for awhile now – first to France, then to Castle Leoch. How long it’s been, he’s not sure. Though they don’t comprise the most upstanding cast of characters, Colum and Dougal could be worse, and the machinations of life at Leoch are, to say the very least, interesting:

One, a boy who calls Letitia “mam” and calls Colum “da,” but looks like Dougal, provides a source of suspense he hasn’t known since he saw King Lear acted on stage as a lad by a traveling theatre troupe.

Two, the obvious pandering of Dougal to Arthur Duncan’s witchy blonde wife, made him laugh into a mug of ale two nights earlier. Geillis Duncan’s figure is decidedly less and less waif like with each passing week, and her bones are so obviously shifting to accommodate Dougal’s bairn that Jamie wonders if he’s the only one with eyes, ears, and common sense.

These observations aside, though, Jamie’s heart is not split.

He does not share love for Castle Leoch with his home.

For now at least, his heart lives in one place alone.

Lallybroch.

A place he hardly lets into his subconscious for the ache the distance causes him.

But now he’s hiding again – hiding within his hiding place.

The Gathering thrums along at some distance, the smell of roasting meat making his stomach ache with hunger and his mouth water, and causing the prospect of her (in some borrowed gown with her bonnie pearlescent breasts hitched up to kingdom come) to flit stomp carelessly through his mind while engaged in other more survival-oriented pursuits.

Mistress Beauchamp.

He’s in a pile of straw and probably smells of horses.

Of course that’s when he thinks of her.

He’s half asleep and half hard at the thought of her – changing his bandages with too-soft hands and nail beds as pink as petals, asking him about his back without pity, looking at him like maybe-just-maybe her lips would part and she would arch into him if he kissed her.

The sounds of the Gathering have blended and merged with the assistance of a few drams, his subconscious is urging him to just stay put. He decides not to do anything about his cockstand, figures that it’s easier if he just lets it ache and ache until he falls asleep, waking with the Sassenach far from his mind.

And that’s when the mysterious healer who has driven him absolutely mad with wanting trips over him.

Literally trips.

Of course, he doesn’t know it’s her right away – the source of that uncomfortable swelling tenting his kilt, the ringleader in his mind’s afternoon distractions. It is his protective instinct to draw his blade, to rise up over the unsuspecting, fallen target, adrenaline making his fighting spirit soar, and suddenly he’s invincible. It isn’t until the interloper makes some exclamation (“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”) that he realizes it’s her that is about to be speared by the sharp tip of his dirk.

He can’t help his smile (“no, Sassenach, just me” – though she makes him feel like God himself).

She looks so damned pretty in the dress Mrs. Fitz has found for her.

Her cheeks pink, her mouth letting out little frustrated pants, her breasts heaving as her own adrenaline surge blows her pupils to kingdom come.

Aye, she’s a pretty lass all dressed for the MacKenzie Gathering.

Even if she is about to flee.

Oh, he realizes, the Sassenach’s going to flee.

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, to adopt her turn of phrase.

As a prisoner in his own identity and living under an assumed name, he can’t say he hasn’t thought of fleeing himself once or twice. By the venom in her eyes alone, he knows she’s a scrapper alright. He is holding his dirk steady still, still poised to strike.

And as the adrenaline fades, he shakes his head, smirks. He sheathes his dirk, gets to his feet, and helps her do the same. He teases her a little – her satchel of apples and already-hardened bread – his condensation-laden breath coming in pants.

“How far do ye think ye’d get, lass, on a dark night wi’ a strange horse, and half the MacKenzie clan after ye by morning?” he asks, not expecting an answer.

She’s thought it through – the logical wee thing she is. Where she will go, how she will get there. He was walking and found a scrap of cloth, and he suddenly realizes her game. She’s planned.

Ban-druidh, he wonders, the superstitious Highlander that lives in his gut teases for a moment before he consciously, decisively shuts down the notion. No. Not a witch. She is a woman. A smart, cunning woman, ready to survive.

And a dhia, she looks positively enraged that he has foiled her plan to flee.

Later, as he is waltzing through a conciliatory speech without swearing an oath to Colum MacKenzie, he wonders about her.

He wonders if she’s watching.

***

Claire had left Leoch with them, getting further and further from the echoing stone chamber she called a “clinic” one evening as she checked his wound one last time. They have been sent away by the MacKenzie to collect rent. He can’t help but think that her scheme to flee is somehow both more within reach and further away from ever now that they’re on the road.

He watches her – she’s standing at the edge of a loch, separate from everyone, her thin arms crossed over her waist. While Geillis is growing with Dougal’s bairn, Claire is shrinking with Dougal’s oppression.

Before the rent collectors departed Castle Leoch, Dougal had boasted about how he told that Sassenach bitch, that redcoat spy, a feral cat was coming along. Dougal gave the old lawyer a look, and explained that no, he didn’t tell Claire Beauchamp anything, lads. Dougal finished a tankard of ale, wiped the foam from his beard on his sleeve, boasted that he commanded her to come along. Claimed that he’d have her English thighs spread and his cock roosting before they returned with a handsome tithing from the MacKenzie lands. Jamie had risen to his feet, fists pulsing at his side, aching to splinter bone and make his uncle’s nose collapse with a nasty, crunching sound.

Oh.

For more than a moment Jamie entertained punching Dougal – making his adulterous uncle spray blood and spittle spectacularly across the walls of the hall where they were eating a final meal before departing, watching his mother’s brother drop like a stone, where a boot could easily make home in the softening gut of his aging uncle and close in on a throat.

Then Jamie had realized that such violence was no way to protect her.

To protect Claire.

To protect my own, his heart hammering at his own reference to her.

Jamie paused his shaking fists, shook his head, decided to take Dougal’s challenging look on the chin, to let the man think that he’d bested his stupid nephew. Jamie knew better.

“Do ye see that lads? Jamie fancies the traitor bitch.” Jamie sat, clasping his hands beneath the table not in prayer, but in an attempt to keep the violent fantasy from becoming a reality. He stayed silent. “That’s what I thought. Sit, pheathar. Ye stinking jealous fool. Ye’ll find somewhere for yer cock to roost for yerself.”

Now, out here on the road, they are at a quiet gathering. Not the kind that they’ve just left. Not one to swear fealty to a laird, unless of course one is to consider the pillaging of each resident of their entire livelihood and savings.

Dougal chants it first: “Bragh Stuart!”

Jamie’s eyes catch Claire’s as he fights to pull his shirt on over his head.

There is no mystery left in what is happening. She is a smart woman, the realization crosses her face slowly, like she can’t quite believe it at first. That they’re betraying Colum MacKenzie, that the gold they’re collecting will fund rebellion, that they’re engaged in something traitorous against their Laird and the crown. She steps out of the too-warm, too-smoky shed, hair falling across her cheek and her small fist knotted in the cloak around her shoulders.

Jamie wonders what she’s thinking.

If she would just face him, he could tell, but she doesn’t turn around.

#i hear the river say your name #part i #;mod kate #jamie x claire #outlander fanfic #featuring: dougal #featuring: the jacobite cause #episode 01x04 #episode 01x05 #show!verse

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

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Saorsa, Chapter 22

A/N Here is the next installment of Saorsa. At long last, after dragging things out for 21 chapters (21!), I’m finally sending Jamie and Claire on their honeymoon, with all the bow-chicka-wow-wow that implies. Although it’s pretty tame, by my smut standards. Why am I still writing? Go read it!

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging! It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

The honeymoon was Claire’s idea. After two weeks of painfully polite coexistence in which she felt they were both acting the parts of a newly married couple for an audience of two, she suggested the getaway. Jamie had never heard of such a thing. She insisted time spent cloistered away from their everyday lives was now the norm for newlyweds, and he begrudgingly agreed. They left as soon as Murtagh returned from his visit home to the Isle of Lewis.

Jamie was an uneasy automobile passenger, and he refused to learn how to drive, so it was Claire who navigated onto the ferry that crossed the narrow channel to the Isle of Skye.

“Are you alright?” she asked as Jamie clutched the door handle in a white knuckled grip.

“Aye. Jus’ no’ fond of ships, is all,” he answered, eyes pointed out the windshield as though he could bring the looming island closer with the strength of his stare.

“Just a few more minutes, an duine agam,” she assured, taking his clammy right hand in her left.

“Who’s been teachin’ ye Gàidhlig, Sassenach?” he asked, distracted from imminent sea sickness.

“Murtagh. Just a few words, here and there. I thought it would be useful, so I could speak it to the baby once he or she is born.” As it usually did, her free hand came to rest on the softly rounded swell of her belly when she spoke of her child.

There was silence from the passenger’s seat. She glanced over only to be met by a look of stunning intensity. She felt naked before so much bridled emotion, but she could not break away. The only movement between the two of them was the clenching of a muscle high in his jaw.

“Claire, I…”

Whatever Jamie was about to say, it was interrupted by the shunt of the ferry as it met the shore. They both looked away, and the moment was gone.

The drive to their inn at Dunvegan was shrouded in low-lying clouds. She could just make out the lower slopes of mountains robed in snow. Jamie had once again fallen silent but seemed content to gaze at the passing scenery. She parked carefully on the side of the main road in the tiny village, just two lines of tidy single-story stone cottages, a café and their inn.

Jamie rose awkwardly from the car and stretched before walking to the boot to gather their shared suitcase. As he did, a pair of women exited a nearby cottage, talking in loud, animated voices. He froze, then spun around.

The women turned right at the pavement and continued walking and chatting. Seeing the tall, handsome red-haired man standing near their path, they both uttered a polite “feasgar math” before continuing on their way.

“Feasgar math,” he responded belatedly, bowing slightly at the waist out of habit. He turned around, slack-jawed, as the scene came into sharper focus. The signage above the café and inn was in Gaelic. There were horseshoes hung above every door and tartan decorations festooned a nearby fence. Sheep bleated from the fields beyond. Apart from their car and another parked across the street, nothing in view would have been out of place two centuries before.

She stepped onto the pavement beside Jamie and touched his chest.

“You see? The Highland culture did not die. It fled, far to the north and over the sea, but it survived. Here,” she gestured around them. “And here,” pressing her hand against his breastbone. “It takes something tremendously resilient to face that sort of hardship and endure.”

Jamie’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. She could see that he was struggling against tears.

“Come on. Let’s check into our room, and then you can show me around.”

The matronly innkeeper greeted them in a waterfall of Gaelic, to which Jamie answered in kind. He seemed taller suddenly, although perhaps it was the low, timber-beamed ceiling that made him appear so. She heard him say “Claire Fraser, mo bhean”, while looking at her with pride.

If the innkeeper thought it strange that the tall Scot and his obviously pregnant English wife were making heart-eyes at each other across her lobby, she did not let on. She led them up a steep stairwell into a hallway so low that Jamie had to duck to avoid banging his head. At one end was a gabled room with a merry fire already lit. It wasn’t large, having room for just an immense four-posted bed, two wooden chairs facing the fire, and a window with views across the slate roofs to the slate-grey sea beyond.

Thanking their hostess and promising to come downstairs later for tea, they stood facing each other from across the room with nervous expressions. It was strange. They had shared the laird’s bed chamber in the days since their wedding, but the idea of being alone in this strange room felt more intimate. There were no routines or distractions to mask the fact that they were now man and wife.

Jamie spent an inordinate amount of time placing their luggage on a low stool, and then stared out the window like he was searching for answers.

“Did you want to take a walk down to the castle?” she suggested timidly.

“Aye,” he agreed eagerly. “Tis a braw day for a ramble.”

She glanced at the fine drizzle that had begun to fall, shrugged and grabbed her Macintosh.

Jamie was like a giddy schoolboy upon entering the ancestral seat of Clan MacLeod. The castle itself was not open to visitors, but they had the grounds to themselves. He capered about the battlements, pointing out one feature after another.

“What eejit built those turrets? They’re no’ big enough for a wee lad to enter, ne’er mind a marksman,” he commented, looking up at the main stronghold’s façade.

“I imagine they were added recently, merely for decoration,” she replied, smiling at his outraged tone. “I understand the current Chief Macleod made significant improvements, prior to the war.” Jamie replied with a truly Scottish noise that expressed dubiousness and concession in a single, guttural sound. He spun around, taking in the whole view.

“I always heard it was the bonniest castle in all of Scotland, but I dinna believe it. Now that I see it wi’ my own eyes, weel…” Jamie scuffed his boot on the gritty rock, looking guilty for a moment. “I still prefer Lallybroch, ye ken, but this, this is…” he trailed off, at a loss for words.

Jamie face grew pensive, a deep furrow bisecting his brow.

“What is it?” she asked, stepping closer.

“It’s only… Tormod MacLeod fought on the side of the English at Culloden. I didna ken it at the time, but I read in yer husband’s books that the MacLeod attacked the lands of Jacobite supporters after the Rising, causing much suffering. And yet here their laird abides, twa hundred years on, while the Frasers are nought but names on graves…”

She stepped towards him, wrapping an arm carefully around his broad back.

“Listen to me, James Fraser. You fought bravely for a cause that you believed in, even though you knew the odds were overwhelmingly against you. There is honour in that, and honour is stronger than any castle wall. Also, you are my husband now. I’d thank you to remember that.”

He wrapped an arm around her slim shoulders in return. “Duly noted, Sassenach.”

They stood there in the drizzle, leaning slightly into each other until she interrupted the moment with a vital clarification.

“Oh, and Jamie? I never said that a laird lived in this castle.”

He leaned back to gaze at her face, eyebrows lowered in confusion.

“Flora MacLeod of MacLeod, twenty-eighth clan chief of the MacLeod since her father passed away in 1935.” She grinned smugly, watching the perplexity transform to amazement on his expressive face. He let forth a burst of laughter.

“Dhia, I hope she looks fairer in a kilt than Tormod. That man was a hairy beast.”

After a light meal of crusty bread, sheep’s milk cheese, dried sausage, and tea for Claire (“why do ye English insist on polluting water wi’ wee leaves, Sassenach?”), they retired to their room to warm themselves in front of the fire.

Jamie was quiet again, pulling at his lip as he stared into the flames. She sensed he was working something through in his mind and gave him room for silence. She allowed the warmth and crackling pop of green logs lull her into a state of suspended awareness.

“I havena been entirely truthful wi’ ye, Sassenach, and tis vexing me greatly,” Jamie began without taking his eyes from the fire. Her stomach dropped, trying to imagine what fact was so awful that even his absolute candor bowed to the demand that it remain unspoken.

“When I asked ye tae be my wife, I told ye it was on account of yer bairn, how t’would be… practical for me tae be its Da, and tae help ye in the running of Lallybroch.”

“Yes. I remember,” she said hesitantly. “It’s a little late for second thoughts, Jamie. The Catholic Church isn’t any fonder of divorce than they were two hundred years ago...”

“Ifrinn. That’s no’ what I mean at all. Christ, Claire, would ye let a man speak for once!” He rose and began pacing the small room in tight circles. His speech hurried to catch the cadence of his steps.

“Tis no’ that the reasons I gave were untrue. Tis just that t’werenna the only ones. No’ even the main one. I asked ye tae be marrit, weel, because I wanted tae be yer husband.”

Running out of words, he stopped near the bed and looked at her. At his apparent inability to continue, she ventured, “You are my husband, Jamie. And I’m very grateful for…”

“No’ a husband in body. Only a husband in name.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh!” She felt her cheeks reddening, even warmer than the glow of the fire. “Are you saying that you would want to be a husband… in body… to me?”

“Aye. Och, look at ye, Sassenach. What man wouldna want tae lie wi’ ye? I’m only mortal.”

She tried to imagine how she looked to Jamie. She was wearing a practical cotton dress, cut a little loose to accommodate her expanding waist. Her cheeks were no doubt flushed from the walk in the rain, the fire, and Jamie’s sudden revelation. She was certain her head was surrounded by a veritable Gorgon of curls.

His confession expelled, Jamie was once again able to meet her eyes, and what she saw there ignited a spark inside her that she was certain had been extinguished forever. She rose gracefully and made her way to where he was standing. In her stocking feet, she had to look up into his face. When she did, she felt electricity prickle her skin.

“Well, it is our honeymoon. I suppose it would be the… traditional thing to do.”

Her hand came to rest on Jamie’s damp linen shirt. Underneath, she could feel his heat and the tremor of muscles held tightly in check. A broad palm cupped her hip.

“I dinna mean this verra minute, Claire. Ye can take yer time tae consider. And wi’ the bairn…”

She ignored him, plucking gently at the fabric. “Your shirt is damp. You’ll catch a chill. You should hang it… by the fire…” she finished as he disposed of the offending clothing in a single move. Her hand now was free to rest against bare, gold-hued flesh.

She paced a tight circle around his body, stopping behind him where the firelight and shadows emphasized the lacerated surface of his back. Jamie’s shoulders stopped rising and falling as he held his breath, obviously nervous for his scars to be so closely observed. Before he could comment or grow restive, she pressed a careful kiss along his spine, teasing her fingertips over the sensitive skin of his flank as she completed her turn.

“Yer dress is wet as weel, Sassenach. I wouldna wish ye tae fall ill.” His voice, deep normally, was positively cavernous, pulling her pulse deep into her belly.

She spun away and lifted her hair from her neck, presenting the zipper. After a moment’s pause, Jamie’s fingers fluttered across her nape.

“What do I do?” he asked in an entirely different tone. Gone was his brash confidence, and she reminded herself anew that he was only twenty-two, five years her junior, and came from a world unaffected by modern notions of love or sex. Not wanting to embarrass him by calling attention to his inexperience, real or perceived, she determined that if Jamie was in want of guidance, he’d ask. As he had just done.

“You pull downwards on the little tab. It’s called a zipper,” she whispered back. A metallic tearing noise, and her dress loosened. Moist breath blew against the tiny hairs of her back, causing them to rise in greeting.

“Verra practical wee fastening, Sassenach,” he muttered as the garment cleaved in two, held up by the precarious slopes of her shoulders.

She turned back to him, and the sparks in his eyes rivalled those in the hearth, hot as ingots with a pulsing blue glow. A ratchety breath stuttered from her lungs.

“Ye dinna have tae do this, mo bhean ghaoil. Imma verra patient man. I’ve already bided twa hundred years just tae meet ye.”

Her lips twitched at his beautiful, though not entirely accurate gallantry.

“Mo bhean ghaoil?” she asked as she let first one, then the other shoulder dip. Her dress fell easily to the floor.

“My beautiful wife.” The words withered away to air as the vision of her body unfolded before him. Undulating ribbons of amber and shadow caressed the ivory of her skin, broken by the pale satin of her long line bra and maternity girdle.

“That’s where ye’ve been hiding yer corset,” Jamie muttered, half to himself. They were both drawing hungry lungfuls of breath, the space between them fraught with an oncoming storm.

Very slowly, as though certain she would startle and flee, he raised an outstretched hand until it met her breastbone with the pressure of a feather. She could feel the tremors that shook within him as he dragged each fingertip downward until they gathered in the warm valley between her breasts. The air in the room suddenly felt thick, too heavy to breathe.

Just as it seemed Jamie’s hand was about to venture below the edge of her undergarments, a memory assaulted her addled senses. Jamie, unknown to her as anything other than a mysterious and gravely injured patient, lay sleeping on his side in her room at Lallybroch. He was still fevered, and she had lowered the sheet to his waist, allowing night air to caress his wounded back. The firelight caught the powerful lines of his shoulder and pectorals, lighting each russet hair that bisected his torso so that he glowed like a lazy sunrise. She had been flooded by a sudden desire to know where that trail of hair led.

“It’s my turn,” she asserted, reaching for the belt holding up his trousers.

The buckle clattered to the floor without heed as Jamie pulled her roughly upwards into his descending mouth. It was a kiss without introduction or politeness, a tactical assault on her senses launched through the breach of his open mouth. It bore no relation to the few chaste kisses they had thus far shared as man and wife. She had evidently pushed him past the breaking point of his ingrained courteous behaviour.

They parted, stunned speechless, wet mouths agape. He angrily pushed his trousers past his hips and the two collapsed onto the high mattress in an inelegant flop, limbs battling and grasping anywhere for purchase. Her legs fell open instinctively to cradle the long, muscular arc of his body. A cool button nudged her inner thigh. Calloused hands pushed desperately on the unyielding structure of her girdle. A coarse abrasion between her legs. Heat. And then an urgent plunge, both familiar and foreign.

His forehead was pushed into the pillow above her shoulder. Untutored, laboured grunts echoed in her ears.

“Jamie,” she gasped. “Jamie, you’re crushing me.”

He rose immediately onto his elbows, relieving the grinding pressure on her chest, but seemed unable to halt the tidal surge of his body into hers. In a moment, it was moot. He froze, letting loose a shuddering moan that scaled his spine one vertebra at a time. Collapsing sideways onto his back, his face was a portrait of mute astonishment.

She lay beside him, staring at the beamed ceiling, and tried to gather her thoughts. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t invited this very thing. And while the… encounter had been ephemerally brief, she could not deny that she’d enjoyed it. Enjoyed being the recipient of so much passion, no matter how short-lived.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jamie’s ring finger bouncing, tapping a morse code of disquiet against his chest. Awkwardness was a palpable third presence in the bed between them. She wanted to say something to ease his nerves, but words floated away as she tried to wrangle them into coherent sentences.

“Claire, I… please tell me I didna hurt ye. Ye or the bairn.”

His quiet anguish snapped the cord that had been holding her tongue still in her mouth.

“No. Jamie, of course not. I would have said something, if you had.”

“I didna ken it would be sae… fierce,” he confessed.

That certainly answered her earlier question about his prior experience. She couldn’t help feeling a flutter of… something… deep in her belly at the thought.

“It can be. But my body is designed to protect the baby. It will probably become more awkward, as I grow larger. I’ll tell you, if anything doesn’t feel…nice.”

Jamie rose on an elbow, peering down at her. His face was now alight with novice curiosity.

“Ye liked it then? Men gossip about these things, ye ken, and I had heard that most women dinna like it.”

It was too late, and her nerves were too taxed to launch into a conversation about female sexual pleasure and a man’s role in assuring it. She hazarded it was a better lesson to learn by example, in any event. But she didn’t want him to go to sleep disappointed in himself.

Instead she told him the truth.

“I did like it, Jamie. Very much. I’m tired now, but perhaps in the morning…?”

He grinned like a Cheshire cat. Shucking his trousers carelessly, he splayed naked across the bed with his hands tucked behind his head, looking for all the world like a piece of toppled Grecian statuary. It suddenly hurt to breath. The simmering warmth low in her belly threatened to burst into flame, but she was truly exhausted. What she needed most was sleep.

Turning modestly aside, she unhooked her bra and unzipped her girdle before quickly donning a white nightdress. She could feel Jamie’s eyes run over the bared skin of her back.

“Cuir stad air do cheann, Sassenach,” he said softly as she once again settled beside him.

He lay behind her, fingers trailing through her hair and down her arms like spider webs. She fell asleep to his quiet Gaelic mutterings, a lilting lullaby.

an duine agam - my husband

feasgar math - good afternoon

mo bhean - my wife

mo bhean ghaoil - my beautiful wife

Cuir stad air do cheann - Rest your head

#outlander #my writing

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esoanem · 4 years

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III.

“No matter how many lies we tell ourselves, no matter how many stories we convince ourselves we’re part of, we’re all just thieves awaiting a noose”

Major Content Notes:

Sexual Assault: implied off-screen rape. In a second scene, the rape of the same woman in front of a crowd of onlookers is interrupted part way through. In a third scene, the same woman is shown sleeping naked next to a man, implied to be a continuation of the earlier events

Wikipedia Synopsis:

Flint asks Gates to seek additional help from Captain Hornigold to borrow his ship, Royal Lion, in search of the Urca de Lima. Meanwhile, Silver and Billy tackle a morale problem while they work together on discovering who the remaining mutineers are. During a captain's meeting to strike a deal, Eleanor is impressed by Vane's voice of reason and calm demeanor, which leads to them having an intimate encounter. However, once she finds out Max was raped by his crew, she punishes Vane by giving them an ultimatum. Also, Gates is promoted from quartermaster to captaining his own ship.

This episode is a rough one, and the main reason that I’m doing this series of posts at all, the sexual assault plotline (especially the second scene) is uncharacteristic of the show as a whole & protracted, and definitely should be skipped if you are likely to have a particularly bad time with such scenes

The timestamps section below says when each of those scene are, as well as giving a brief synopsis of those scenes so that you can skip those particular scenes without having to skip the whole episode reading the summary (although that is also a totally fine option)

Timestamps:

As ever, all timestamps are from the “Complete Collection” DVDs which includes a Starz logo at the start, as well as a recap. Depending on your source, timestamps may vary a little, which is why I’ve included the timestamp for the opening titles. Timestamps are only given for the start and end of scenes featuring any particularly warning-worthy content

00:57: opening credits

36:41-39:16: Max is seen chained to a wall, naked. It is implied she has been raped by Vane’s crew. When he finds out Eleanor chose profit over Max, he tells Jack to put her on a boat

43:41-49:58: Eleanor has sex with Vane as Jack takes Max away. The crew surround her and rape her. In response, Eleanor says she’s cutting Vane’s crew off entirely, unless they join Flint, which most do, leaving Vane, Anne, Jack, and a small number of other pirates still loyal to him. Max says she blames Eleanor for this more than Vane and goes to Vane’s remaining crew saying she’s theirs until her debt is paid

51:42-53:54: this scene intercuts between a framing scene and several other characters. One of the characters cut to is Max (52:58-53:08), who is naked in bed next to a sleeping man, it seems this is a continuation of the earlier events

Summary:

Flint wakes up and wonders into the kitchen. Mrs Barlow spots that he’s dripping blood and changes his bandages, saying he should have told her last night. As she tells him that Pastor Lambrick is keeping an eye on her, Flint tells her he found the ship with the schedule, and calls her by her first name, Miranda

Silver is writing out the schedule, supervised by Billy & Eleanor. Mr Scott calls Eleanor outside to tell her Max has gone, and the boat she had waiting for her has left. She says that Max chose it, not her, and returns to Silver, cross, telling him that he’d better be worth it

Miranda seems preoccupied and Flint gives her a book from Parish’s cabin, saying he hoped she’d like it. She says she’d started to think it was a lost cause and, though she isn’t disappointed, she’d hoped to have him all to herself. At that moment Gates pulls up outside with Richard Guthrie lying, still unconscious, in the back of the cart under the sheet, and Flint says he needs a favour

The Ranger’s crew confront Jack about losing the 5000 pesos. He says he’s disappointed too, but they’re welcome to elect a new quartermaster if they don’t think he’s valuable to the crew any more. They don’t comment on this, but tell him to make it right, and quickly. Anne & Vane are watching

Silver finishes transcribing the schedule, but Flint spots that it still isn’t complete. There should be a stop in Florida to take on water, where the Urca will be most vulnerable to attack, but Silver’s schedule stops miles short of the coast. Silver points out that they’d probably kill him if he did give them it all, and that they will have to take him with them, he’ll forgo payment for the schedule in exchange for a share of the prize. Flint points out he stood kill him once they have the gold, but Silver says that’s a few weeks away and, by then, they might be friends

Billy shakes his head, but Flint accepts this, after confirming with Eleanor. He says they’ll need extra powder & shot, as well as at least a dozen new 12lb guns, as well as a second ship as consort, which Eleanor agrees to

Gates takes Billy outside, where Billy points out how dangerous Silver could be onboard, as he knows Singleton wasn’t a thief and, just one day from a mutiny, the resentment won’t have just disappeared no matter how much gold they’re promised. Silver might say something to the wrong person, and set things off.

Billy takes Silver to Randall, and tells him that, after losing a wager, Silver has to spend all day helping Randall peel potatoes, and asks Randall to keep an eye on him, and yell if he wanders off. As Billy leaves, Randall screams, before saying that that’s what he’ll do if Silver leaves

Mr Scott asks Eleanor how she could promise Flint the guns, when he’s not seen even a pair of 12lbers on the island for months. She says Captain Bryson (of the Andromache) will be back in two days, and he’s always used 12lbers. Scott points out that they’re Bryson’s guns, and he won’t want to part with them, and that the Andromache is likely the last of her father’s ships that will arrive, as the others will all have heard of her father’s arrest (whilst the Andromache was already en route when it happened), and so they’ll have an empty warehouse in less than four weeks. Eleanor says her father will have to help them

Silver asks Randall why he doesn’t like him, and it seems that Randall feels like he’s being made useless by them getting a new cook. Silver then says that he’s still trying to understand how things work, that Singleton seemed to make a lot of sense, but now he’s dead, and Flint remains, those grievances seem to have been forgotten, and asks if Randall knows anyone who still holds a grudge against Flint. Randall stops peeling, and says he isn’t meant to talk about that

Back at the cottage, Richard Guthrie is woken up by Eleanor. He sees that he is being guarded, on Flint’s orders, to make sure he doesn’t interfere. She asks for his help, saying they need a new partner with legitimacy, that they can trust, and who won’t cross them, but he just turns away silently

“who the fuck are you kidding?

It’s help me, or flee to Boston. Beg your father, and brothers for sanctuary.

Oh they might save you from the gallows, but they won’t spare you their scorn. You’ll be right back in the parlour room, listening through a crack in the door to where the real business is being done, back to where you started, before you brought mother and myself here, and we made you into the man that you always insisted to them that you were.

Think on that, whilst you sit there and pretend that helping me isn’t the only choice you have.”

Against Gates’ advice, Billy is asking around the crew about anyone still angry at the captain. We meet Joji (below right), a Japanese pirate whose katana is being sharpened at that moment, and who, after being given back his sword inspects the blade, before silently returning it to the pirate with the whetstone

We see the two pirates who maintained Singleton’s innocence meet up, and note that Billy’s been asking round. The older one, Mr Morley (below left), says Flint doesn’t know, and won’t find out, which the younger one, Mr Turk (below right), takes as an indication that he’s giving up. Silver sits down the Mr Turk to play dice as he returns to his seat, saying he’s been speaking to Randall about suspicions about the captain, and that he thinks they might have that in common

Gates walks from the beach to the fort, and is introduced by a man named Philip. We meet Captain Benjamin Hornigold (below left) of the Royal Lion, an older pirate, Jacobite, and steward of the fort, smoking on a chair. Gates previously served under Hornigold, and the two banter, as Gates threatens to throw him and his chair off the fort into the sea if he has to climb those stairs again

“Philip, do you know the provenance of the chair in which I currently sit?

This chair once sat in the Plymouth office of one Sir Francis Drake. I took this chair from a prize off the coast of Boston. I lost six men in that fight.

Ever since then, this chair has resided here, atop my fort from which I survey the harbour that I protect for the good of an ungrateful island.

Philip, if Mr Gates should ever lay a hand on my chair, you have my permission to shoot him where he stands”

Gates says Flint wants Hornigold’s ship and crew, but not with Hornigold as consort. Instead he wants Gates to command it, as they understand each other well, and the crew trusts him.

“You assume too much, I’m not even certain my men trust me at this stage

The last I heard, James fled to France. They call him the pretender now.

I promised my men that if they stayed with me that they’d be soldiers again that they’d be part of a rebel navy, fighting a war to restore a rightful king.

But now - who knows what they’ll do.

They’re coming to terms with a very uncomfortable truth that no matter how many lies we tell ourselves, no matter how many stories we convince ourselves we’re part of, we’re all just thieves awaiting a noose”

Hornigold begrudgingly agrees, saying “that after fifteen years at sea, you’re the only man I’ve ever met that’s got dumber with age”

Guthrie wakes up and Miranda brings him some food and a book. When he asks who she is to Flint, she ignores him, saying the book is Marcus Aurelius, that he might find it helpful, and offers to discuss it once he’s finished it

Billy spots Silver leaning on a post, away from Randall. Silver points out Mr Turk, Randall, and Morley, saying he’s identified the remaining crew who still harbour resentment to the captain, in the hopes that earning Billy’s trust will keep him alive. We find out that Turk has been spreading rumours about Flint for years, that Randall isn’t surprising either, but that he had no idea about Morley

“Turk thinks Flint is undead. Walks the earth without a soul. He believes that there’s a witch who lives deep inside the island who controls his every move”

As Gates is looking over a chart in a tavern, Jack Rackham comes over, saying he’s come to offer his congratulations on Gates’ first command. Gates tells him to walk away, saying “I don’t know what you’re after Jack, but you sound like one desperate mother-fucker to me”, deducing that the Ranger’s crew have given Jack an ultimatum, and advising him to get on a boat away.

“It won’t take much for you to lose that new crew of yours. You may have the fooled now, but at sea?

Perhaps you’ll oversleep the bells and need to be roused.

Perhaps you’ll be had at the glass, and need help with where to point it.

Perhaps you’ll slip and fall and that knee of yours will finally give out.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

No-one will say anything of course, they respect you too much for that but the moment the Urca looms close and the first shot is fired in anger you know exactly what every last man in that crew will be thinking: Christ almighty, I wish we had a cap’n thirty years younger”

Gates seems taken aback and goes to Flint, interrupting him going over the accounts with Dufresne. He says they need a different captain - Charles Vane. Flint laughs at this, an gets angry when he realises Gates isn’t joking, saying that on top of the fact he certainly won’t even consider it, asks why Gates thinks Vane would even consider it

Jack goes to Vane to persuade him to follow the plan and gets told to fuck off. Vane says Jack is just digging a deeper hole for himself, but jack persuades him by pointing out that Eleanor would appreciate Vane supporting her plans

Jack, Vane, Eleanor, Flint, & Gates all meet to discuss terms. After some diplomatic niceties from Jack, Flint interrupts saying he wants an apology from the “cowardly fuck of a captain” who killed his man, and Gates takes him outside

“That was my fault.

Entirely my fault.

I should have been clearer when I prepared you for this meeting. When I said we would need to keep our tempers in check if we were going to make this meeting happen, I should have specified we’d need to do so for the duration of the meeting as well.

Not to worry, simple setback, now we have clarity and a unity of vision, I feel good”

Gates tries to keep the peace, but has to take Flint back outside to yell at him. Jack comments that “at this rate, the Urca will get to Cadiz and back again before we can resolve anything” and goes for a piss, leaving Eleanor & Vane alone, and he jokes

“Be honest, are you as surprised as I am that I’m the only one here behaving myself?”

They agree terms, but Jack says that as Eleanor has shown Flint favour in the past he wants her father as a more impartial guarantor of terms, but Vane overrules him, saying Eleanor’s word is good enough, and their hands linger together as they shake on it

Jack protests that he could have got better terms as they leave, and he puts on his bizarre (but historical!) sunglasses. We find out Vane has captured Max, as she left the brothel, and is being kept, naked and chained to a wall in a shack. It is implied Vane’s crew have been raping her. Vane talks to her, tries to justify his actions, and asks why she left the brothel even though she was being guarded and kept safe

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, our mutual… ‘friend’… she put guards at your door, tried to protect you, yet you left anyway, why?”

“You really have to ask? How did you feel when she threw you aside?”

Realising Eleanor chose profit over her, Vane tells Jack to put her on a boat after dark, and quietly

Richard Guthrie wakes up, sees Miranda setting out a tea set on her porch, and his guard asleep and starts poking around the cottage. Pastor Lambrick (below) shows up and Miranda invites him to join her for tea, saying he comes every Wednesday. He offers her his Easter sermon asking for her thoughts, it describes love through suffering as the truest form of love and, when he protests that this is God’s gospel truth, she quotes the song of songs as he looks bashful. She ends by saying “true love shouldn’t require suffering, and you don’t have to take my word for it”

Guthrie finds a portrait propped against a wall, one half covered. It is of a couple, and at the bottom is written “Mr & Mrs Thomas Hamilton”, the woman, who had been covered, is Miranda

Pastor Lambrick says he had an ulterior motive visiting, at which Miranda smiles coyly. He says that he’s heard rumours the English are coming and there will be judgement in this world for people on the island, but that his flock’s righteousness will be beyond doubt. Miranda says that it’s not quite that simple for her. He asks if “he” is keeping her there, before she bids him good day

Eleanor visits Vane, straddles him, and they have sex. Jack is leading Max away when he is confronted by the crew who stop him. Jack fetches Vane, and we hear Max scream, causing Eleanor to run out. Max is surrounded by Vane’s crew, being raped as a crowd gathers round. Eleanor grabs a stick and shoves the man off her

“Listen to me very carefully, you are all of you, this whole crew, as of right now, finished!

You will not sell anything, you will not buy anything, you will not eat anything, unless you decide right now to elect yourselves a new captain”

At this point Eleanor switches from rage, to a voice of authority and self-interest, and Flint & Gates appear

“Unless you decide to join the crew of Captain Flint. You will join his crew, and you will grant him disposal of his ship, so what will it be? Beggars under an old captain, or rich men under a new one?”

One by one, most of Vane’s crew move towards Flint, until Vane is left with Jack, Anne, and a few loyalists. Eleanor says she’s “so sorry he did this to you”, but Max says that Eleanor did this to her, not Vane and, rather than letting Eleanor take care of her, she goes to Vane’s remaining crew saying “my actions cost you your pearls. Until the debt is paid, I am yours”. Anne appears concerned, and Eleanor storms off

On the Walrus, Billy approaches Morley who asks if Billy is there to threaten him. He says he has a right to think what he thinks: that Singleton wasn’t a thief. Billy repeats the lie that he saw the stolen page and Morley says that he may be wrong about Singleton, but he isn’t about Flint, and that to him they’re all disposable. When Billy says he doesn’t believe that, Morley says that’s because he doesn’t know about Mrs Barlow

Guthrie is reading the book as Miranda walks in, and he says it is a remarkable book. She flicks to a chosen passage and, as she reads particularly appropriate lines, we cut to different characters

“How should you be?

You should be like a rocky promontory against which the restless surf continually pounds.

It stands fast while the churning sea is lulled to sleep at its feet.

I hear you say ‘how unlucky that this should happen to me’ but not at all, perhaps say instead ‘how lucky I am that I am not broken by what has happened, and am not afraid of what is about to happen’, for the same blow might have struck anyone, but not many who would have absorbed it without capitulation and complaint”

We see Eleanor & Mr Scott as she says “how unlucky that this should happen to me”, to Max, naked in bed next to a sleeping pirate as she says “how lucky I am am that I am not broken by what has happened”, to Billy & Morley talking as she says “and am not afraid of what is about to happen”, and to Silver watching them as she says “the same blow might have struck anyone” before cutting back to her

Flint opens the door, she leaves with him, going into another room, and he closes the door, leaving Guthrie alone in bed

#Black Sails #black sails content notes

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bantarleton · 5 years

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The Battle of Glen Shiel

Today marks the 300th anniversary of the only pitched battle in one of the least-remembered Jacobite ventures, the mini-rising of 1719. Among claims to fame, the battle of Glen Shiel was also unusual in that it featured Jacobite highlanders, usually assault troops par excellence, holding defensive positions against government attacks, and also saw the first battlefield use of Coehorn mortar shells by the British Army. It also saw a Spanish soldier die of heat-stroke in the highlands of Scotland.

Tullibardine, the Jacobite commander, prepared a strong position near the Five Sisters hills of Glen Sheil, with the Spanish soldiers sent to assist the Jacobite rebellion holding the centre and his highlanders on the flanks behind a series of trenches and barricades. A force of British soldiers (most of them Scottish) commanded by General Joseph Wightman arrived about 4:00 pm on 10 June and began the attack an hour later by firing their mortars at the Jacobite flanking positions. This caused few casualties but the highlanders had not encountered mortars before, allowing four platoons of Clayton's and Munro's government infantry to advance up the hill to their lines, then use grenades to bomb them out of their positions.

Once the Jacobite right had been dislodged, regiments under Colonels Harrison and Montague attacked the Jacobite left under Lord Seaforth. This was strongly entrenched behind a group of rocks on the hillside but skilful use of the mortars forced Seaforth's men to give way while he himself was badly wounded. The Spanish in the centre stood their ground but had to withdraw up the mountain as their flanks gave way.

The battle lasted until 9:00 pm; several accounts claim the heather caught fire and smoke combined with failing light enabled the bulk of the Scots to disappear into the night. The Spanish surrendered next morning and as regular troops were shipped home; Lord George Murray, Seaforth and Tullibardine were wounded but the Jacobite leaders also managed to escape. An analysis by historian Peter Simpson attributes Wightman's victory to skilful use of mortars, the superior firepower of his grenadiers and the aggression shown by his infantry, especially the Clan Munro highlanders loyal to the British government.

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scotianostra · 8 months

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On the 18th January 2009 just a few weeks before the completion of a £4m restoration project, Raasay House was severely damaged by fire.

The history of Raasay and the house here is intermingled with The McLeod Clan, of which my own family were septs to on the Island, and quartermasters to the family. . A clan house, home to the Macleod Chief of Raasay, has stood on or near the present site from as early as the 1500's, but the original clan house was burnt to the ground, torched by government troops after Culloden. Like many families there were MacLeods on both sides that day, the Raasay branch were on the Jacobite side. Perhaps the most famous of the clan in modern times is Calum Macleod, who single handily famously built Calum's Road on the Island over ten years, with little more than a shovel, a pick and a wheelbarrow.

Anyway, back to the house. Since rebuilding started on 1747 the present Raasay House history has been recorded right through to today.

In 1773 Dr Samuel Johnson and James Boswell made their historic journey to the Western Isles and were guests of the Macleod chief at Raasay House, but by 1843 the last Laird, John Macleod, left the house and emigrated with his family to Australia, the house was old three years later to a George Rainy from London and changed hands again in 1872-4.By 1746 it was in the hands of It was sold to Henry Wood who added the ornate Georgian-style wings and frontage to the house. It changed hands twice more before being converted into a sporting hotel around 1937, very successfully at first, with many wealthy guests. It closed it's doors in 1960.

Another 3 decades passed under different owners and the house was used as an Adventure centre and Outdoor centre, during which little maintenance work was carried out and the building started to deteriorate, it was finally sold to the Raasay House Community Company in 2007. A multi-million-pound project to renovate and refurbish Raasay House commences a year later.

Fire caused damage to all but the west wing in January 2009, just as the house was about to be reopened but thanks to a lottery grant the house rose from the ashes to what it is today, the house retains many of its historical features which were painstakingly restored. Today, still owned by the community it has returned to it's use as a hotel and has a four and a half star rating out of five on Tripadvisor.

As you can see from the pics it is a beatiful building, and the views from the house over to the Isle of Skye are stunning.

#scotland #scottish #history #inner hebrides #fire #historic building

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cecilspeaks · 5 years

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145 - The Veterans

Fake it till you make it. Mike it till you like it. Book it till you look it. Welcome to Night Vale.

More soldiers of the Blood Space War have returned home to Night Vale. Another craft landed in the corn field of John Peters – you know, the farmer. Beings of astonishing structure emerged alongside four human figures in space suits. The astronauts removed their helmets to reveal they are Night Vale residents James Peters – you know, the brother of Johns Peters – you know, the farmer; twins Drew and Dan Christiansen, and Junior Blay. These veterans of the interstellar conflict were welcomed by the citizens of Night Vale with hugs, a brass band, and delicious unsold baked goods left over from last month’s PTA bake sale to support the Blood Space War.

The returning soldiers thanked the gathering, but warned Night Vale of the Polonian armies of star system Lakaia 9352, who are encroaching at this moment upon our own galaxy. Admiral Junior Blay of the 63rd mountain cavalry said the Polonians are ruthless killers. They are three times the size of humans, with hundreds of sharp teeth up and down their many boneless limbs. They have only one eye, which really messes up their depth perception, (Blay) said, but that eye can also shoot out lasers, so it’s sort of a six of one way, half dozen the other

The crowd did not hear most of what the veterans had to say, as they were mesmerized by the beings of astonishing structure standing atop the landing ramp of their disc-shaped craft. “Oh those?” Sergeant Dan Christiansen said. “They are allies. They’re from the Battlestation Wolfgang. They have no home planet, as it was destroyed millennia ago by the Polonians.” The crowd pointed and shouted “interlopers of astonishing structure” at the beings, but Lieutenant Drew Christiansen said: “Oh, they have no oral or written language. They cannot understand your noises.” Drew then did a kind of b-boy pop and lock dance move and the beings of astonishing structure replied with a balletic prance before entering their ship and departing. They said: “Thanks, but this place is weird.” Drew Christiansen interpreted for the crowd.

Dan and Drew Christiansen were born in Night Vale in 1912. They became tax accountants. They had wives and children. They donated to the old Night Vale Opera House and were avid sports fans. They even started the first ever semi pro sand hockey league. Dan passed away in 1994 of liver cancer, and Drew passed away weeks later of a heart attack. They were survived by their wives, children, and grandchildren. But upon returning to Night Vale this week, these 107-year-old men looked to be in their late 20’s. The Christiansen twins have attempted to reunite with their families, but they were unrecognizable to their grandchildren who are now middle aged. And when Dan and Drew tried to apply for jobs, they were declined on account of an antiquated law that makes it illegal to hire the dead.

Junior Blay, a 50-year-old man, said he was born in 2022 to Oliver and Linda Blay of Old Town Night Vale. The Blay family was contacted about this and said they had not planned to ever have children, so Junior will likely have been an accident or a dramatic change of heart. Blay was wounded in his combat assignment and returned home for treatment. He suffered third degree burns across his abdomen and arms and needs a skin craft, but the Night Vale VA has to wait for approval from the Red Mesa VA to clear his procedure, which could take weeks.

Jim Peters was honorably discharged from service and was heavily decorated with chevrons and medals. But his face sagged with exhaustion and history. His brother John was the first to greet him, but Jim could not match his brother’s tearful enthusiasm. Jim had seen too much, experienced too much, to ever feel normal again.

In light of the physical, financial, and spiritual crush on these men, the City Council announced that it would paint a giant American flag atop City Hall and play John Philip Souza’s famous patriotic march, “Bodak Yellow”, at all hours of the day over a loudspeaker. And the whole town cheered proudly, for they were truly taking care of our vets.

Let’s have a look at sports. The Night Vale High School wheel chair basketball team, captained by junior point guard Janice Palmer, won their semi-final game last night against Cactus Park High School 72-58. Forward Quinn Booman led the team with 20 points and also had 8 rebounds and 10 assists. The Scorpions fell behind by 16 points in the first half, but really found their inspiration at halftime. Coach Jacobite McPhee told his team not to get down on themselves because it’s impossible to make every single shot, you just have to have fun. McPhee then took out an acoustic guitar and sang the following original song.

[Joseph Fink sings] Physics is a science of made up numbers and rules So we can only make joy and pass the ball like fools. To win it leaves our hands of free will it’s true Cause you never ever know what that ball is gonna do. Physics is a science of made up numbers and rules So we can only make joy and pass the ball like fools. Yes we can only make joy and pass the ball like fools.

The team relinquished their illusion of control and dominated the second half offensively. The Scorpions face Pine Cliff this Saturday afternoon in the district tournament final, so let’s all get out there and support our team, really root for the ball to go into the… the hmm hmm, the the, you know the thing that the ball is supposed to go into. And this has been sports.

Senior strategic advisor Jameson Archibald at the Intergalactic Military Headquarters, speaking from an inflatable raft atop an infinity pool filled with Remy Martin Black Pearl Cognac, said he and his top strategists in the Intergalactic Military Headquarters still have no idea what the Blood Space War is about. But they’re glad to learn that the Polonian armies are approaching. “We’ve got all this money piling up for the war and we’re getting bored with hosting Lamborghini demolition derbies,” Archibald said. “The government keeps sending us cash and we’re like OK y’all, but like what are we supposed to do with iiit? And the feds are like, I don’t care start a war or something.” But unfortunately the government allotment for an interstellar war was wiped out on a failed investment in a tech startup that was pitched to them as “the Uber of Netflix of Facebook” by a 7-year-old wearing a suit. So, the Intergalactic Military Headquarters was forced to ask for contributions. Hence, the PTA bake sales. Additionally, the Sheriff’s Secret Police were able to provide several armored combat vehicles, two tons of enriched uranium, and a satellite activated missile launching system, all of which had been donated to the Secret Police by the US army.

Sheriff Sam said they had wanted to keep all that high-tech battle gear, but using a nuclear submarine to stop Night Vale citizens who were fishing without a license, created to what Sheriff Sam referred to as “less than satisfactory optics”. Archibald said he was appreciative of the Secret Police’s charity, but he’d just received word that the Polonian ships are already within the outer limits of our solar system. So not sure there’s much left to do, really. He then took out a roll of 100-dollar bills from his shirt pocket and ate it like a Snickers bar.

An update on the high school basketball tournament. The City Council announced that there will be a parade for the team, win or lose, next Tuesday evening. The parade will feature giant floats in the shapes of famous basketball players, such as Oscar Robertson, Larry Bird, and Little Bow Wow. There will also be a celebrity appearance by Lee Marvin, who will be celebrating his 30th birthday on Tuesday. Aww. Happy birthday, Mr. Marvin!

The City Council expressed civic pride in this talented team of young athletes, and enjoined all of Night Vale to come out in celebration of sportsmanship, regardless of the outcome of the championship game. “Of course,” the single-bodied entity of the City Council said with uncharacteristic mirth, “we think our team will win.” The City Council’s many faces then winked in unison. “Also,” the City Council added, “If you look up in the sky, you’ll see that a large chunk of the moon just exploded and the Earth is surrounded by enemy space crafts, but there’s not much we can do about that, so let’s just cheer on our basketball team.” The City Council then held up their many fists and squealed: “Yay team!” as pieces of the moon began to thunder down around us.

Let’s go now to today’s Weather.

[No Good Day” by Windows to the Sky https://windowstosky.com]

I’ve just received an email from Harrison Kip, archeology professor at Night Vale Community College. Kip told me that while on a dig in 1993, he and his team of researchers found remnants of several spacecraft buried deep in central Nevada. Kip was studying fossilized remains to determine eating habits of early North American habitants, but what he found were several triangular titanium vessels, each roughly the size and shape of a Burger King. He tried to check his notes from that excursion, but those pages had been torn out of his journal. Despite this, he’s positive the ships he can see above our Earth are identical to the ones he found crashed in the desert 25 years ago. Inside those ships were creatures the size of hippos, with long dangling limbs covered in sharp teeth. Kip remembers calling the college to ask for more funding for this research, but before he could do anything, a black van drove up to the dig site and several men wearing business suits that were patterned in desert camouflage got out, they arrested Kip and his assistants, and had them reprogrammed.

Kip said the reprogramming was successful until today, when he heard my news reports about the Polonians, and his memories suddenly returned to him, and now he believes he knows exactly what has happened in the Blood Space War and how we will end it. He’s going to type up his notes while they’re still fresh in his mind, and get them over to me asap. Oh, this is so very exciting! Science saves the day. Once again. Uh huh, here’s a follow up email from Harrison. It says: “Hey Cecil, disregard whatever I said earlier, I don’t even remember what it was. Some guys I didn’t know showed up and put a metal helmet on me, there were a bunch of wires and knobs and lights coming out of it and it felt so peaceful and comfortable, like when you’re eating Belgian waffles with ice cream or binge-watching Terrace House, anyway I don’t remember what I sent you earlier since (--) have been deleted, so whatever it was it couldn’t have been [angrily] that important? Sincerely, Harrison?” No! No, this is terrible. OK, I’m going to forward Harrison’s first email back to him to see if it rejogs his memory. We’ve gotta learn exactly what- Hello? Hello there? Listeners, there are some men entering my studio. They’re wearing business suits made from a desert camouflage patterned fabric! Oh, Gucci, I love it! They’re, they’re putting this crazy hat on me and it has a bunch of lights and wires, hang on Night Vale, listen to this interview I recorded earlier today with John Peters – you know, the farmer. These boys are here trying to get me ready for fashion week, I-I-I think?

John Peters: Jim came home this week and I was real happy, happier than a pig starring in its own TV show about pig detectives solving pig murders. My brother taught me to play football when we was boys. He’d throw the ball and say: “Johnny, move your hands together like salad tongs when the ball gets near you, that’s called ‘catch’.” I tried so hard to catch that ball, but I never could. [chuckles] We had fun. Jim taught me so much and he took care of me, running off the bullies at school, buying me soda pops and candy canes from this man who lived in a trunk of a broken down ’56 Chevy in the alley behind the post office. I’m almost 60 years old and my brother left for the war back when I was 15. And to see him again, boy to see his face after so long, he ain’t changed one bit. He literally is the same age as when he left, 22 years old. But he’s not the same Jim. He don’t wanna throw the football or go looking for discount sodas and candy in weird alleys. No, Jim looks sad. His body’s strong but his mind seems so weak. I saw him crying the other day and told him what our papa always said to us: “Jim, boys don’t cry. Not without talking through their feelings with someone else.” So I put my arm around young Jim. I must have looked like a granddad - me so old, him so young - but our memories of each other were the same age. Jim cried into my shirt and said, “Johnny, I’ve been in that war darn near a hundred years. That’s a lot of space travel, not a lot of fightin’ but when there is fightin’ it’s gruesome.” Jim said he didn’t wanna see no more war, but he said that in his last battle he risked his life to disarm a bomb that would have killed ten of his fellow soldiers, and one of them was the General. “The General has a plan for ceasefire,” Jim said, “the General has a plan for peace. But I think the General needs me, Johnny.” I said, “Jimbo, I need you.” But I knew that I’d been without him for 40 years, while this General was with him for nearly 100. I knew I was lyin’ to Jim and myself. Jim hugged my neck and kissed my cheek. He donned his space suit and walked out into the corn field and disappeared. I think my brother is gonna save us all. Anyway, it’s a sad story, but it’s also happy. Like a goat playing a piano, stories carry lots of different emotions all at once.

Cecil: [sounding high] Alright, listeners, I’m back. I don’t remember what I was talking about, nor where I got this really cool hat. But City Council announced that the space ships that were surrounding our planet are gone. But they were deeply unnerved by the fact that the ships did not retreat, they simply disappeared. The City Council then added that the moon is still broken but honestly, they see this as a crisatunity to buy a new one.

Oh, don’t forget to come to the basketball championship parade on Tuesday.

Stay tuned next for simultaneous panic and relief, As you realize all of your emails are gone.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Develop your chi. Really work that chi hard. Get sixpack chi. Totally swole with chi. Roll up those sleeves and welcome people to the chi show.

#welcome to night vale #welcome to night vale transripts #eipsode 145 #the veterans

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maximumwobblerbanditdonut · 2 years

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Culloden Battlefield stands as a silent and eternal monument, it's not a theme park for Outlander’s fans in the Scottish Highlands.

A lot of visitors seem to think they are on a film set rather than a war grave.

I have said it before and I repeat it with more reason. The Culloden Battlefield in Scotland has reportedly been damaged caused by high foot traffic, according to the Daily Record. Well, this is disturbing news but this is not the first time, since at least 2018 that Outlander fans of the novels and TV series have been mentioned and have been urged not to trample the area around the Clan Fraser memorial and be respectful of historic sites, but that has been easier said than done.

The National Trust for Scotland (NTS) had already applied for permission to repair the turf surface around Fraser's Stone before. But, now the NTS have been taken action and the Clan Fraser’s memorial stone sought out by Outlander fans visiting Culloden Battlefield has been cordoned off following the deterioration of the surrounding ground.

The Fraser Stone at Culloden Battlefield has been cordoned off after heavy volumes of visitors damaged the surrounding ground.

The Clan Fraser stone has become a popular and favourite tourist destination of Outlander fans. These graves are only a foot deep. It's easy to ruin soil whose conditions have become worse because of the cold and wet winter weather, and soft and wet in spring. They ask people to respect what is a designated war grave where over 1,500 men lie, members of the Jacobite forces loyal to Bonnie Prince Charlie at the battle of Culloden in 1746.

Some even left behind little cutouts of Sam Heughan, who plays Jamie Fraser on the Starz drama.

Have been observed fans pouring out whisky atop the mass grave in Culloden Battlefield stemming from the battle. The need to respect the site as a war grave when visiting and not treat it as a visit to a film set leaving little cardboard cutouts of Sam Heughan, the Jacobite Jamie Fraser, and visitors photographing themselves on the landmark which has previously been cordoned off for similar reasons.

It's also worth remembering that it's a monument, like others at Culloden Battlefield; because it is inappropriate to sit around the stone just to post a photo on social media. Show some respect for all the real people who fought and died on the battlefield.

Why has an additional path to the Clan Fraser stone been built to help manage visitor numbers to the scheduled monument? If Outlander is fiction. The Frasers featured in the series never existed and were not buried there. It’s a marker that has no connection to a fictional character. People can be very ignorant at times!

Special treatment encourages the pilgrimage Outlander’s fans to visit Clan Fraser’s stone at Culloden Battlefield. In addition, they added Outlander items in the visitor centre to promote this circus. Swamped by Outlander fans with a peace-shattering effect of this place that would no longer be a sanctuary, just a commercial tourist interest.

Culloden Battlefield marks the site where around 1,500 Jacobite soldiers were killed.

All memorial stones have the same level of importance. There are no exceptions. Memorials dedicated to the battle dead provide a place of remembrance for those who lost theirs ancestors and have no grave to visit. A simple point stone marker is placed over the grave as a sign of respect to identifying it. You must treat a grave site with dignity and respect. The people must respect what is a designated battle grave where Jacobite Scots, members of a regular army, died on Culloden Moor.

Walk the grounds (on the designated paths) and think about the weight of what happened there. NTS urges people to be respectful and learn about the real people and battle and the effects it had on the Highland way of life in Scotland should be the focus during the visit.

Staying ahead with an influx of tourism only helps if the Outlander fans who turn up in droves as they do in the Scottish Highlands respect the historic sites they visit, including some places that don't expect visitors. Some fans are away fans and don't always act rationally.

NTS should be more proactive if they’re interested in allowing crowds they should insist that people keep their distance and stay there otherwise close the battlefield for visitors. They get to teach a lot of history there, which is more important than Outlander, an American fictional TV show. Culloden Battlefield is a cemetery, but it is also a museum.

#CullodenBattlefield #monument #NTS #TheNationalTrustforScotland #clanfraser #ScottishHighlands #Scotland #tvseries

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lawofavgs · 6 years

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The Sacrifices We Make - Chapter 7

A/N: WHAT? What is this? No, this isn’t a dream. This is a new chapter! I want to thank every reviewer, every person who said nice things about this fic (despite how long it’s been since it’s been updated). It was certainly the motivation and the confidence-booster I needed to finish up a half-done chapter.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Clouds were insistently rolling in, blocking out the sun and matching well with Jamie’s mood. I could see him gripping the paddock railing, head bowed and shoulders rising along with his ragged breaths.

I stopped 10 feet away, clutching my fingers before I spoke. “You realize that if you can’t keep your anger in check, you’re proving your father right. He’ll never allow you to be in the presence of the English army.”

At first, it didn’t seem like I would get a response. His shaky inhales and forced exhales filled the air between us for stretching moments. My sense of self-preservation was whispering at me, telling me to retreat to safety at once.

“Aye, I ken. I’m just…Christ!” His voice, starting off soft, rose in anger as his palm slapped the wooden beam. “How long does this go on? How long must we live under the thumb of those bastards?”

I sighed and closed the remaining distance between us, taking a place on his right side and gazing up at the ominous cloud cover.

“The Act that Parliament is going to enact soon will remain on the books for decades. Scotland will eventually become more of an integrated part of the Kingdom, and will not attempt another uprising. This level of intrusiveness will not last, since your father and grandfather did not support the Jacobite cause, but the Redcoats won’t leave you be for some time,” I answered plainly. There was so much more information, and so much more I did not know, but that was better saved for another time.

Jamie’s head turned my way quickly, brows drawn tight. “My grandsire? How do you know about him?”

“Oh,” I exclaimed, mind searching for the best answer that would not be considered a lie. “At the start of the Uprising, back in my time, I was at Beaufort Castle when your uncle Colum was making his argument to stay out of the fighting.”

I felt Jamie’s stare hot on me for endless beats of time before his eyes dropped, the acceptance of my story clear on his face. A large part of me wished to tell him I went to Beaufort Castle with him, another version of him, the version I called my husband. A slow inhale of breath calmed my unchained emotions and alerted me to the rain threatening to fall.

“I want to stand with my father when they ride up to our front steps, but I dinna ken how I would stay calm if I saw anyone strike him,” he told me with a strained voice. Without much thought, I placed my hand over his on the wooden railing, wishing to soothe him with a simple touch, just as I did in the priest hole not even a few hours past.

“You would grit your teeth because you knew any outburst would put your family in danger. I know how much you love them, how far you’d go to protect them, and that’s how I know you’d never do anything to risk their safety. Even if it meant punching an innocent, unassuming piece of wood afterwards,” I informed him with a soft smile.

His eyes searched mine for the span of several heartbeats, the attention making my breath come faster. He used the hand I was holding to turn us until we were facing each other, separated by a meager half foot of space. I was frozen under the weight of his intense gaze.

“Even knowing what you are,” he started, swallowing before continuing, “it still takes me by surprise when I see how familiar you are. You know me, my family. And I swear it’s like I know you as well.”

I wanted to answer, to tell him everything about me, to confess the secrets I’d been holding on to so tightly. Every word died in my throat as he bent down, lips softly touching mine in a tender question. As soon as I responded, I felt one large, calloused palm cradling my cheek with a heartbreaking gentleness.

With a start, Jamie took a step back, disengaging from all contact. His eyes were panicked, his breathing laboured.

“I’m sorry, lass. I dinna ken what came over me. To be so bold and forward with ye….”

“Stop,” I interrupted, laying my hand lightly on his forearm. My cheeks were flushed from the brief kiss and sore from my futile attempts to contain my smile. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he could hear my heart beating a rapid rhythm against my ribcage. So much time had passed since our last kiss. The contradiction between that frenzied, heart-shattering moment and this soft, tender one was staggering. A goodbye and a hello. So many days had been spent around him, getting closer to him, yet never close enough. The simple act of a undemanding, almost innocent kiss was enough to send a riot of emotions through me. Words failed me, so I merely leaned in, lifting my lips to meet his once more.

“Jamie!” Ian’s voice cut through the bubble Jamie and I created and we broke apart hastily. If I hadn’t been so annoyed by the intrusion, I would have enjoyed the fierce blush steadily creeping up the back of his neck and covering his ears.

“Aye, I’m coming,” Jamie grumbled, eyes noticeably not meeting mine. My hand, still wrapped around his muscled forearm, gave a reassuring squeeze. When his gaze finally lifted, I offered what I hoped was a calming smile. He released a shaky breath before replying with a grin of his own and a respectful bow. I watched as he turned, walking away in his reluctant retreat.

Memories flashed before my eyes as I replayed that reverent bend of his head and shoulders. Our wedding day. His ill-fated departure from Lallybroch. The soldier on his way to battle at Prestonpans. I fought for every breath as I worked to steady myself.

I had to tell Jamie. I had to explain everything I had kept hidden during my time here.

Room for secrets, but not for lies.

With a secret this large, it could not be viewed as anything other than a lie. A sin of omission.

A sin I was ready to repent for.

- - -

“Ach, lass, would ye give me some peace?” Brian grumbled out as I removed the bandage covering his wound and prepared to clean and re-dress it. “Tis merely a scratch.”

I shook my head with an almost-contained smile, noting the Fraser trait of stubbornness alive and well in Laird Broch Tuarach. I pretended not to notice his wince has I swiped the cut with an alcohol-dipped cloth.

“Waste of perfectly good whisky,” he muttered under his breath as he fought to school his features. I quickly finished the re-bandaging with a practiced hand before passing him a tumbler of the amber liquid – this time to be used as intended.

I sat with as much grace as I could, desperate to be off my feet after such an emotional day. It would have been easy to tilt my head back and find respite in the arms of sleep. “We’ll leave that on until it’s scabbed over, so don’t pick at it.”

“How was Jamie? The lad seemed rather intent on avoiding me today,” Brian noted, taking another sip from his glass.

“He’s a 25 year old man being treated like a child. He’s angry and frustrated and worried about his family.”

A familiar Scottish noise erupted from Brian’s throat as he shook his head. “Ye saw how quickly his temper came about when he saw what the Redcoats had done to me over something as small as a lack of meat to give them. I cannae risk it.”

“He was upset at being locked away while you were the one in danger. It isn’t that he would have started a brawl, he just wished it had been him being struck instead of you,” I reasoned passionately. Brian eyed me warily, perhaps wondering if Jamie had told me this or if I figured out his feelings on my own.

“And what if they only gave me a quick blow to the head because I’m an auld man? What if that was their idea of compassion, something not afforded to a young man such as my son? It wouldn’t be the first time someone saw his size as an unstated challenge and decided to have a go wi’ him.” He set his tumbler down with a little extra force, the mix of his fear and ire bubbling under the surface.

“Brian –“

“I will. Not. Lose. Him,” he cut me off with clear, concise words. “This family has mourned enough, as I’m sure ye ken well. Ellen, Willie, wee Rabbie, all taken too soon. Jamie’s name will not be added to that list. For all ye’ve done to keep him alive, I’m sure you agree.”

I took a moment to collect myself, his words hitting their mark. I knew loss as well. My mother and father, Uncle Lamb, Faith. For a brief moment in time, Jamie had been included as well. “I do agree. I also know you can’t keep a Fraser out of the skirmish for long. You tend to be a stubborn lot. Eventually, it will be his duty to represent Lallybroch against less-than-friendly forces. Who better to learn how to do it from than you?”

His eyes softened dramatically, his frustration ebbing away like water down a drain. He shook his head in wonderment as he sat back in his chair.

“I couldna have picked a more suitable lady for my son if I had been given a lump of clay and told to create her from that. Whip-smart and headstrong enough to walk beside him and to keep him in line.” I blushed at the praise, finding an interesting spot on the floor to focus my gaze on instead of meeting his eyes.

“Perhaps a little less English?” I joked in an attempt to regain my composure.

“Nah,” he replied with a smirk so familiar to the one I’d seen from Jamie countless times. “English or Scottish, it doesna change your heart or your mind. Are ye planning on telling him the whole of things soon?”

I sucked in a startled breath at his impromptu question. Surely I was running out of time to tell him about everything before he realized I was pregnant. Into my fourth month, there was only so much my corset and layers of clothing could hide. Even with the rationed food, I was showing. I had seen Jenny eyeing my midsection earlier with a knowing gaze. It would only be so long before Jamie noticed, too. While I didn’t know for sure the words I wanted to say, I did know it was a conversation I wanted to start on my own terms – not because news of my pregnancy got out and forced my hand.

“I’ll have to,” I responded quietly as my hand unconsciously moved to my belly. “All I can hope is that he’ll listen with an open mind.”

“He’s yers, Claire. His heart belongs to you, whether he kens it yet or not. Gather your words and give them to him gently. If he willna listen, box his ears until he hears your story. As someone told me recently, us Frasers are a stubborn lot.”

My spirits lifted from Brian’s pep talk. His unshakeable belief that everything would work out, that Jamie would accept what I had to say, gave me the confidence needed to have one of the most difficult conversations of my life.

Tomorrow, I promised myself as I bid Brian a good night and headed up the stairs to my room. Tomorrow I would gather my courage and explain my wild tale to Jamie, and I would keep telling him until he believed every word.

I fell into a deep, restful sleep with the feeling of hope residing in my chest.

#outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #jamie x claire #claire x jamie #outlander #the sacrifices we make #fanfic

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otheroutlandertales · 6 years

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Anonymous said: Hi, this is a prompt for Abby. Abby would you write a missing scene of Fergus reuniting with Bree after she comes through the stones in DOA? Thanks!

Starlight, Starbright

by @abbydebeaupreposts

He knew they would be there, had no doubts whatsoever that milord would come for him and that Marsali would be right by his side. Still, it was a relief to catch sight of her blonde tresses and milord’s ruddy curls pressed together sharing a conspiratorial whisper as they waited for his case to be called. The room was packed tight, he was definitely today’s main attraction-- or, rather, the crowd had come to see what Jamie Fraser had to say, how he might react.

Milord’s story-- pardoned Jacobite prisoner and claimholder of thousands of prime North Carolina acreage was well known in these parts. As was the tacit understanding that Deputy Berowne was in cahoots with Sergeant Murchison, an old foe of Jamie’s from Ardsmuir. Together, the two officials of the crown conspired to drum up false charges of assault and tax evasion against him hoping to cause trouble for Jamie during the busy harvest season. But he trusted milord to handle it and seeing the knowing gleam when their eyes met, he relaxed and prepared to enjoy the spectacle like everyone else.

Glancing towards Marsali at milord’s side, he saw she was giving him one of her melty, doe-eyed looks. He cleared his throat at the yearning he read in her expression. Her heart-shaped face, so dear to him that when she smiled, he couldn’t help returning it. It was hot in the stuffy room. He looked at the window longingly, maybe they would open it soon? Just then his attention was diverted by someone reaching around Marsali to touch Jamie’s arm.

Fergus watched milord’s face as he leaned over to speak to her. There was an unutterable tenderness around his eyes, something of wonder in his features that surprised him. He followed the line of that arm, across his wife’s middle-- his eyes narrowing at the imperceptible thickness he thought he detected there-- and he looked up… and up… and up until he saw her. The woman’s hair was bound in a tight chignon but the color of it was unmistakable, as were those sharp cheekbones and slanted, piercing blue eyes. Mon Dieu! It was milord’s petite étoile -- his little star-- it had to be!

Fergus’s gaze shot back to Jamie just as the realization dawned and a silent question and answer volleyed between them. Jamie’s look of pride and the small private smile of confirmation was enough. Fergus’ face flushed pink with pleasure. A puff of amused breath came from Marsali whose cocked, raised brow and small flick of her eyes left and right made him chuckle, too. His wife’s sense of humor was still intact and she was quite right--- bookended between those red-headed giants, she looked more like a small child.

From that point until he emerged from Jocasta’s bathing chamber, freshly washed and in clean clothes at last, the afternoon had been a blur. They’d had all charges dismissed, of course. Fergus hadn’t doubted Jamie’s abilities on this front and he’d thanked Ian for his fast riding to get an official copy of the grant of lands from the governor in time. He’d snuggled up with Germain as Marsali was putting him down for a nap and had time to reassure his wife in private. They’d exchanged a little gossip about the girl, Brianna, who had turned up so unexpectedly yesterday afternoon. Now, finally, he came face to face with Jamie’s daughter.

“Mademoiselle,” he bowed low. Up close, he saw her eyes really were the exact replica of her father’s. Fergus offered her his arm and then walked with her down to the riverbank. “Your mother must be so happy that her letter reached you in time.” He felt her startle at his words.

“Her letter?” Her brows rose up in puzzlement.

“Oui, when we realized the Artemis had landed in the Colonies, well, you can just imagine how excited we all were that providence had flung us upon the very shores where she had raised milord’s long lost daughter.” Fergus looked sideways at her.

“Oh. Well yes, I was raised in Boston, but when she decided to go… back to find Jamie, I wasn’t able… that is w-we decided that it would be too difficult a trip for me to make with her not knowing exactly what she would find, if it was even him… A. Malcolm. So I stayed… behind.” Brianna told him. “I, uhm, actually was in Scotland when I found out my father was stateside… er in the colonies. Aunt Jenny told me where to find him and I came as soon as I could. My mother doesn’t even know I’m here yet.” She told him, looking away under the scrutiny of Fergus’ soft brown eyes.

Her hair, he couldn’t help but notice, had been restyled in a looser, less formal way and he could see every shade of red, glinting in the sun.

“When Marsali asked when we could expect your arrival, Claire became upset and so we-- Ian and I, you have met him? Milord’s nephew?” Brianna nodded toward the long whipcord thin teen sitting on the veranda. “Ah, well, we thought maybe there was something -- some kind of ailment that you were suffering from? But I can see for myself you are hale and whole. Then milord explained that milady was upset because you were bound for France and they thought perhaps you had left already and she wouldn’t be able to send for you in time. Such a sad turn of events. And now, here you are, la petite étoile!”

“The little star?” Brianna’s high school French was good enough for simple translations.

“Oui.” Fergus gave her a genuine grin of warmth and love. “Do you know much about his life after Culloden?” Bree shook her head. “That is just as well for it was not much of a life. He was ill for months after and then lived in a cave for many years.”

“I have seen the cave.” Brianna blurted out. “When my mother left, we arranged for me to live with friends for a few months and then go to… France.” She said hesitantly, feeling her way through her story. Fergus waited patiently, observing that she did not share her mother’s glass face for he was uncertain how much of the tale was true and how much she was making up on the fly. “But it felt so wrong, her being back with Jam— Da, I mean, and me so far away that I — I set sail after she left, hoping to find her. I was too late to catch you in Edinburgh, but I made it to Lallybroch and met everyone there. They told me a bit about him… Da.” She spoke, shly, in that strange accent of hers and he could tell she wasn’t practiced at calling Jamie “Da” for the word sounded new on the tongue.

“Then you know a little of what it was like for him. The confinement and isolation?” Fergus asked and when Brianna nodded again, continued. “I was the link between him and Lallybroch, transporting game he caught to them and books and fresh greens to him. You know, the only time I heard Jamie speak your mother’s name after Culloden was when I would bring him a basket from Mistress Murray’s garden?” Brianna shook her head, suddenly the Dunbonnet wasn’t a story in a book. “Claire told him he would keep his teeth in his head so long as he scrubbed them everyday and ate his greens. I would make the trip at dusk so the redcoats wouldn’t find the path and follow me. Sometimes we would sit on top of that mountain just outside the cave after it was dark and look up at the sky. Milord would find the brightest star and pray for you and your mother. Many, many times I would overhear him talking to the two of you. He called you his wee bairn in fever dreams when he didn’t know I was with him. But other times, when we sat together at night, he always called you his petite étoile as he looked for you to appear in the evening sky,” he told her. “We thought you were both dead.” He added softly, “And there were times I truly thought the pain of it would kill him.”

Brianna looked stricken, a shudder of recognition went through her. His brows rose up inviting her to answer his unspoken question. She smiled a little. “I thought Daddy-- uhm, the man who raised me?-- was my father. I didn’t know she’d been married before but sometimes when we went camp-- uhm-- travelling... my mother would stargaze and she would get this peaceful look on her face. I don’t think she ever forgot him, Da, I mean.” Brianna’s face was flushed a little. Ah, more like her mother than he thought, or maybe she had yet to learn how to wear her mask as well as milord.

“Well, no, how could she have? For that matter how could he have forgotten her? And now that they are together once again, the two of them are like newlyweds-- for all that they just celebrated their twenty-fourth wedding anniversary! Theirs is a rare kind of love, so wonderful to see them back together after all these years!” Brianna’s confused expression finally registered.

Fergus could’ve kicked himself, how would she know what her mother was like with milord? He realized to his surprise just how few people there were that had known what they’d been like in the time before… before Culloden. Then, again she’d been spared the sight of them in the depths of despair when they both thought all was lost between them.

Fergus’ memories of Paris came fully to his mind. How lost milady was after Faith, how desperate and raw milord seemed upon his arrival at Fontainbleau. Brianna didn’t know Jamie well enough to understand the depth of his feelings for his family… for the child he just met or for Claire. On top of that, he’d unwittingly insulted the marriage between Claire and her second husband, a man whom Brianna had clearly loved very much.

“Oh, pardonne-moi, I am usually not so gauche.” But she smiled at him, he was relieved to see.

“It’s okay,” she said, using an expression Fergus had never heard. Ohkay - he committed it to memory. “So you come from Paris?”

“Oui.”

“How did you meet my father?” she asked.

“Ah, at the brothel, when I was picking milord’s pocket.” Fergus laughed and noticed Brianna smiling awkwardly. Milady was so worldly, Fergus hadn’t been mindful of the fact that she would have raised Jamie’s child to be modest, a lady. “Not that milord was there for that!” He rushed to reassure her. Thank God, Brianna hadn’t found them in Edinburgh, what would she have said upon finding Jamie had moved her mother into his apartment at Madam Jeanne’s? “His job took him there in the company of Tearlach, whose tastes were rather more… base.” Fergus added.

“Can you tell me about my mother and Da, what were they like, then?” Her eyes were alight with interest.

“Oui! Your mother was the most unusual lady in Paris! She was a rare healer-- feared and loved in equal measure. They called her La Dame Blanche and your father knew everyone who was anyone in the city. He was welcome at Versailles. Imagine it if you will-- he was on intimate terms with the pretender to the Scottish throne and King Louis! He had a camel, in his gardens, did you know?” Fergus was off and running and he knew he sounded exactly like the little orphan Jamie had rescued from the streets in Paris, but he didn’t care.

Gone was his customary air of sophistication and calm, warming to his subject. He was hoping maybe he could smooth the way between Jamie and his daughter as a small measure of repayment for the life he had been given. So he told her, not caring whether he sounded like a babbling fool, not worrying whether she could see through his soul to the lost, scared child he had been.

They were his parents, in a way, too and he wanted her to understand a little of their hearts, a bit about the Frasers of Paris and Lallybroch and he didn’t think there was anyone else who would tell her these things, who could tell her these things.

How her father looked in a puce velvet suit with a sword and dirk tucked into his belt walking around the streets of the city like he owned them; or milady in the most shocking red silk dress Paris had ever seen, wandering the shops looking for rare curatives, speaking like a native born. He was the only one left who had see milady’s strong, capable hands ruling the infirmary after a fight, or milord side by side on the battlefield with Murtagh. No one else had walked in the dark and light with them as he had.

He’d been the one who had tried to care for milady when her heart and child had been ripped from her body. It was he who changed milord’s bandages and begged him to live one more day, just one more, after all had been lost. So he told her, everything he could think of in that one short afternoon as they walked along the river. He held her as she cried for her sister, Faith, and for the time they had all lost.

When she was done, Fergus stroked the hair back from her face and smiled at her, for he was also the only one who had loved them unconditionally in the time before and the present time, who watched every moment of shattering heartbreak reversed in a second upon miladys arrival at the printshop mere months before.

“Your parents, Brianna, they are the best people I have ever known. Both have the gift of treating people with kindness and dignity--- be they beggar or royalty--- it makes no difference to them, and yet they are fiercely protective of those they love. To them, words like honor and duty, loyalty and family have true meaning. Your father would sacrifice everything again to know you were safe and loved and happy. Now that you are here, you will come to know him, as he knows you.”

“How can he know me?” Brianna asked.

“Because he was with you every single night of your life, Brianna. He looked to the heavens waiting until he saw his petite étoile. You have always been his guiding light.”

#outlander fanfiction #otheroutlandertales #mod abby #ch: fergus #ch: marsali #ch: jamie #ch: bree #canon compliant #book: DOA #missing moment #oot #*

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oh1-my-fane · 2 years

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THE BASICS

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

PERSONALITY

BACKGROUND

HISTORY

TW: Death of Parents, Death of Sibling

He spent most of his life since near his sire, but a few times over the years, Fane decided to go to school. School was not something he could afford when he'd been growing up, and the idea that he could learn and relearn the world was exciting to him. He moved with Desmond to Wolford about five years ago, buying the then-for sale Secret Realm and running the place. He continues to make music and grow as a musician, occasionally asking Desmond to record songs for him. But he's apprehensive about compiling an album or even an EP.

#Intro #Welcoming Any and All Plots

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greenglasslov3 · 7 years

Text

Unnamed Cannon Divergence - Exulansis Excerpt

Gotham’s Writing Workshop Week 2 Prompt:

Exulansis

According to the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows:

n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.

The Preface:

This piece is from a new nameless fic I’m working on: what if Claire had gone through the stones the first time Jamie tried to send her back (post witch trial) and what if he accidentally had gone with her? Would she stay? Would he stay? How does Frank work into all of this? Below the cut is an excerpt from a little later on in the story where Claire meets an old, yet familiar acquaintance somewhere unexpected. Shout out to @anoutlandishidea for being absolutely wonderful and pushing my writing to it’s absolute best place.

Exulansis Excerpt

“Oh, darling, it’s the Dean. Do you mind if I…?”

I smiled weakly and shook my head no. Frank pressed a kiss to my cheek before ducking into the fray.

“I’ll only be a minute!” He called back to me.

The crowd enveloped him instantly, and I lost sight of him before I could even blink. In a sea of average height men with their hair all fashionably slicked back and sporting similar suits in varying neutral shades, how was I supposed to know him from Adam? I tried to recall his many years in special operations. Of course, Frank could easily blend with a crowd; it was his job, for Christ’s sake. Yet, I couldn’t help searching for a flash of red hair and the familiar plaid...

No… I scolded myself.

Before I could catch myself, I was falling freely into the abyss, as vibrant memories flooded my vision. Every sight and sound and touch was just at the tips of my fingers. A bodiless voice whispered in the shell of my ear, its breath warm on my neck.

Jamie.

It was Jamie’s hand I felt on mine, as he guided me through the great hall to our seats to hear Gwyllyn sing. It was Jamie’s bashful blush I saw, when I had found him sleeping on the floor outside my bedchamber - protecting me. It was Jamie’s voice echoing in my ears, proudly introducing me his wife to the Duke of Sandringham. Jamie had included me, treasured me, respected me… loved…

“NO!”

Brash and loud, my own voice echoed harshly against my ears. The conversations around me crashed to a deafening halt, and I could plainly hear my breath crashing against my lungs in relentless waves. Loud and steady, my heart hammered like a tipper thrumming a strong rhythm against my chest that served as its tightly strung bodhrán. One by one, conversations resumed, and the voices rose to a familiar, buzzing hum that made me dizzy.

Desperate to escape their judgmental glances and slanderous whispers, I staggered to the far end of the bar. I nestled into the dark corner and prayed that the shadows would swallow me whole. I collapsed onto a wobbly stool, my body crumbling and retreating inward. Tingling pins and needles shot up my arms as the tips of my elbows found the bar top with a painful bang.

Couldn’t I do anything right this evening? We were late to the restaurant, I spilled soup all over my dress, and now I was making a spectacle of myself because I couldn’t keep my end of the bargain no matter how hard I tried. Don’t talk about him, don’t think about him, leave the him in the past like he left you here in the present. I buried my face in my hands to keep the tears at bay...

“Madonna,” a voice croaked. It was barely a whisper, and I strained to hear the thin, strained syllables over the din of the bar around me.

I lifted my head from my hands. “What did you just say?” I whispered back into the void.

Suddenly, a man appeared behind the bar. His chest barely cleared the bar ledge, which I imagined made serving patrons a bit of a challenge. His silvery hair crowned his head in thin wisps reminiscent of clouds on a perfectly clear summer’s afternoon. However, what truly caught my attention was his face. There was something almost amphibious about his features with his eyes sitting almost too far apart and his lips pursed into a thick, bulging line. I should’ve been wary of him, this odd stranger who seemed to have materialized out of thin air...but I wasn’t. Something about this man felt oddly familiar. From deep inside my chest, I felt a piece of me calling out to him, as if I already knew him.

A sputtering cough escaped his pursed lips; the squat man spoke again, “Something to drink?”

Christ, he even sounded like a frog.

“Ah, whisky,” I ordered, keeping my request as plain as possible to avoid stumbling through the simplest of sentences. “Neat, please.”

I watched as he poured the amber liquid. He paused to glance in my direction and then continued to pour a bit more whisky than what was socially acceptable to drink in public into my glass. The bartender presented me the drink with a wink and a small smirk.

“This should settle your nerves,” he promised as I took a generous sip. “Honestly, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

I coughed violently, the whisky burning the back of my throat and nostrils. Did he just...? I shook my head, clearing my sinuses and any thought ghosts, particularly those of the Scottish variety.

“No, no! Nothing like that,” I insisted. “Just… abandoned by my husband is all. He saw some colleagues just now, so I’m leaving them to talk shop I suppose.”

Cautiously, I took another sip, drinking slowly as not to choke again. The liquid warmed me from the inside out, chasing out the chill set into my bones by memories that seemed to chase me at every turn.

Nodding, the bartender pursed his lips again, he asked innocently, “And your husband, what does he do?”

Exhaling forcefully through my nose, I smirked. “He’s a professor at Oxford. History - The Jacobite Rising, The ‘45, and all that.”

Flippantly, I waved my hand and took another healthy gulp from my glass. I could hear my new frog-like friend muttering to himself while he wiped down the counter with a clean towel. While his sentiments weren’t clear, I made out the words “figures,” “Tearlach,” and “understanding.” His brow creased as the train of thought pulled away from him, and he shook his head in frustration. I eyed him cautiously over the rim of my glass.

“What was that?” I demanded, arching a suspicious brow.

He returned my stare and frowned slightly.

“It’s nothing.”

I took another sip and decided to broach a more neutral subject. “Your accent - it’s very interesting. Where are you from? Originally, I mean.”

“France, a small village north of Paris near Amiens, but I’ve traveled quite a bit, which is why my accent might seem... unusual. But that’s normally a question a bartender asks.” Wiping his hands on his apron, he finished with a playful wink.

“And you? You’re a traveler like me?”

Get a hold of yourself! That’s not what he meant.

Clearing my throat, I provided the perfectly rehearsed answer that I had given for most of my adult life. “Yes, I was born in London, but my uncle - he raised me - was an archaeologist. Try as he might to lock me away at a proper finishing school, I simply couldn’t be parted from him, so I followed him around the world on his many expeditions.”

Listening thoughtfully to the tales of my adventures with Uncle Lamb, the Frog nodded. He pressed his pointer finger to his lips as if to keep a secret at bay. When I ended my story of my famous blunders in Morocco with self-deprecating laugh, he sighed.

“Do you find it...frustrating?” the bartender asked as he topped of my drink and ready a few more for other patrons sitting at the other end of the bar.

“Do I find what frustrating?” I asked.

He paused for a moment. As if to steady himself, he placed his hands flat on the bar top. His eyes shifted to the patrons at the other end of the bar. A man was telling from what I could hear some terrible joke and completely ruining the punchline; encouraging him, his date for the evening barked out an obscene laugh that was loud enough for the entire bar to hear. Either way, they were completely ignorant to the Frog and me tucked in the corner. He chewed on his swollen bottom lip, as he turned his attention to me. Black, beady eyes examined me intently like I was a fly he intended to pin.

“For me, I cannot speak of where I’ve been or what I’ve seen because most people won’t believe me or they simply cannot fathom what I am - what we are, Madonna. It’s so frustrating that I normally try not to think on it, pretend that it didn’t happen. But even hiding in stifling silence can be so very… frustrating.”

He exhaled slowly, and I nodded. Of course, I understood. During the war, doctors and nurses alike had been given a crash course in basic psychology - a “What To Expect When Your Patients Have Been Completely Traumatized” if you will. With massive casualties and at times endless waves of critical patients, we were pressed for time to treat our most dire patients. Where were we supposed to pull the time to sit and listen - truly listen - to our patients who were suffering in ways that were hidden from plain sight? We were equipped to treat the body but not armed to heal the mind. Day after day, I found soldiers hunkering down and forcing themselves to forget; one young man from Philadelphia had convinced himself the war hadn’t even happened.

Exulansis - they called it. I knew the term, the causes, the symptoms… but none of that knowledge could prevent me from succumbing to my surroundings.

After the whirlwind adventures of the past couple of months and the heartbreaking complications of the more recent weeks, I found myself simply coasting. Cresting each wave, letting a cruel riptide carry me where it may, I was stagnant, frozen, indecisive. I was drowning, and I didn’t even bother to put up a fight. I gave up. I didn’t even know who Claire was anymore…

But I knew how to find that answer.

“Who are you?” I growled, feeling the words rumble low in my chest.

The Frog slowly blinked at me several times until he finally smirked and said, “Why, no one of consequence, to be sure.”

I felt the fire reignite. He was baiting me now...he knew.

“What are you implying?” I demanded. “What do you mean what we are?”

A stray hand brushed against my arm. The bar was quickly becoming crowded, too crowded. Our time was over.

“I should think it quite obvious. We both wore blue tonight, no?” The bartender stated. “I think it’s time you rejoin your husband.”

“Which one?” I hissed.

The Frog smiled knowingly. “You know which one, Madonna.”

And, with his answer, the fire within me restarted anew.

#gothams writing workshop #week 2 #exulansis #unnamed fic #outlander fanfic #cannon divergence

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