#setting: inver

[sanctus-ingenium]

going all-in | print

[ranticore]

hes my bread and butter. my good time boy. and hes back

[a-luran]

What the runaway Arthur au????

it was a short one shot I wrote for a while ago for scoteng week. I ended up publishing The Glasgow Scale instead, so the tone is similar.

I'll go through the set up quickly-- Alasdair is heading up to Scotland for a wedding. He's a boxer, injured pretty bad when he was about to make it out of the amateur leagues. He's still good, though. Always will be, just gets splitting headaches which lay him out flat. He's been away for years, working odd jobs, struggling with the pain, and moonlighting in MMA/boxing gyms.

Here I had two options of how the story was going to go.

Option 1 - He is taking a bus up north overnight. Gets on, it's pretty full, ends up sitting next to a younger guy in a hoodie (Arthur). They've never met before but Alasdair can tell something is up-- his leg is bouncing, he's sunk down into the seat like he is trying to get comfortable to "sleep" but he is so tense Alasdair winces just looking at him. When they're about to pull away a man rushes to the bus station shouting and off his nut, looking for Arthur. He is getting on other buses looking for him and while the rest of the passengers kinda whisper to themselves, speculating about what is going on, Alasdair is paying attention to his seatmate, who is starting to look like he is going to cry or give himself up or both.

He can hear his father's voice in his head telling him not to get involved. But the man is finally at their lane, still shouting, getting physical with the driver, trying to pull luggage out like he is trying to find a specific bag he'll recognise.

Alasdair gets involved and suffices to say he shows up to the wedding with a plus one.

Option 2- Similar set up, only they're on a train. Alasdair and Arthur step into the carriage at the same time. Arthur is tripping over himself, trying to stay calm. It takes every fibre of his being not to run and call attention to himself; Alasdair feels one of his migraines coming on so his eyes are set on the last window seat available.

Arthur beats him to it, hunkers down there with his bag and Alasdair is glaring at him, cursing his luck, when shouting calls his attention. There is a man out on the platform, stalking up and down like he is trying to spot someone inside. Arthur shrinks into his seat, looking for all the world like he is about to pass out. Alasdair's head is really starting to hurt but he can't ignore the situation.

Roughly, but not unkindly, he shoves his coat at Arthur and tells him to put his head down. Arthur is in that state of desperation and paralysis were he'll just follow instructions, anything to get him out of his situation. He slips under Alasdair's coat and presses his forehead to Alasdair's shoulder, like they are travelling together. Alasdair crosses his arms and stares forward. Not the kind of man you'd pick a fight with.

He shows up to the wedding with a plus one

In both versions Arthur falls into a fawn response, slightly. He gets Alasdair paracetamol, switches seats with him. Alasdair shares the food he has on him. It's the dream unlikely and slightly unhealthy relationships are made of. If you've watched Dinner in America, that's the vibe.

[novemberheart]

{overview} You bond with both your alphas— the topic of your heat comes up again

{warnings} fem reader, poly141, a/b/o dynamics, cursing, backstories, things get a bit heated between you and John

Chapter 20 <- Chapter 21 -> Chapter 22

“You went out for what?” John huffed, sitting across from Kyle.

“A walk, sir,” Kyle replied, his eyes straight ahead. He had already mentally prepared for this.

“And you come back with”- he trailed off.

“A puppy, sir,” Kyle was trying to bite back a smile. It wasn't that he wasn't afraid of the captain- he was. It was the image of your happy face in his brain that was causing the battle in his mind. The truth was he wasn't sorry, he would get yelled at every day if it meant you being happy. John groaned, recognizing the dazed look in his beta eyes. He must still have happy omega clouding his brain.

“Dismissed,” he groaned again, leaning back in his seat.

“Love you, Cap,” Kyle shouted over his shoulder bolting down the hall towards the small backyard.

Your puppy- Vernie (for Inverness) as she had been renamed, wasn't blind. She did appear to be deaf, though.

Simon insisted she was just stubborn like you.

“You two kind of look alike,” Johnny smirked, waving his finger in front of the puppy’s snapping mouth. You giggled, scooping the excited pup off the floor. She licked your chin, nuzzling her way against your neck.

“It's the eyes,” Simon commented. Johnny and Kyle nodded in agreement, and each of their camera rolls filled with enough pictures of your puppy dog eyes to prove it.

“Well I take that as a compliment,” you grinned, setting her back down. “Go to Daddy Kyle,” you urged.

“How come he's daddy?” Johnny shot.

“I was with her when we got her,” Kyle reminded, picking the golden retriever puppy up. “When we see Uncle Johnny we what?” Kyle whispered to her. “We growl, that's right! Good dog,” he praised.

You giggled making your way back inside for a bowl of water. You bit your lip as you noticed John sitting at the dining table, deep in thought. You crept over, your hand resting on his shoulder.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greeted, grabbing a hold of your hand and kissing your palm.

“You're not too mad, are you?” you pressed. He pulled you over so you were sitting in front of him, guiding you so you were sitting on his leg.

“You happy?” he hummed. You quickly nodded your head, your hands resting on his broad shoulders. “Then no,” he smiled just enough to where his dimples poked through. You grinned, resting yourself against his chest. “Wish it was more of a group decision, but”- he cut himself off.

“The next time I get a pet I'll make sure to run it by everyone,” you smirked. You jumped when a hand collided with your bottom. It wasn't hard, but it definitely caught you off guard. He chuckled at you.

“Only goldfish from now on, yes?”

“Yes, sir,”

“Come on pup,” you jumped at Simon’s voice. He had the tendency to just appear out of nowhere. Years are training you suppose.

“Where are we going?” you questioned pulling your shoes on.

“Errands,” he responded coldly.

“Could you be any more vague, Simon?” you questioned.

“Maybe.” he replied, causing you to chuckle. As the two of you walked down the street a sudden craving formed in your head. An urge to test the waters. Your hand reached up, gripping onto his forearm as you walked. He made no move to brush you off, actually his body shifted closer, so your arm didn't have to extend so far.

It was weird seeing him outside without his mask. He blended in with the crowd even with his hulking frame.

He led you into a shoe store.

“Simon you don't need to do this,” you began, your chest growing warm.

“I want to,” he pressed.

“Thank you,” you beamed. He rolled his eyes at you, patting you on the hip.

“I'll stay here,” he groaned, sitting down on one of the try on benches. “You stay where I can see you. You're still on parole,” he grumbled. You giggled, heading towards an aisle.

You ended up with four pairs. A pair of dress shoes, a pair of workout shoes, a pair of casual shoes, and rain boots because Simon was tired of the entryway smelling like “wet feet” every time it rained. “Thank you, Simon,” it was around the tenth time you had thanked him, but it was important for him to know how much you appreciated it. He carried the large bag for you and you were surprised when he began walking even further away from the house. “I need lunch after that,” he sighed. Your stomach growled in response. You two ended up in a Chinese restaurant, the smell drawing you in from a few streets over.

“Do you ever miss Manchester?” you asked between bites.

“You ever miss the toilet when you leave?” he shot back. You rolled your eyes at him.

“Was it really that bad?”

“No.” he agreed. “Reminds me of my father though,” he conversed. You suddenly felt favored to be a part of this conversation. Simon Riley was opening up.

“I take it that's a bad thing,” you urged. He nodded his head.

“Piece of shite that one. He was a beta, my mom was an alpha. Spent the rest of his days trying to prove he was the strongest,” Simon shared.

“Did they both pass away?”

“He died from cancer. She lived just fine for another five years. Passed away from untreated pneumonia.”

“That's terrible Simon,” you breathed. “She sounds like a strong woman. I mean she has to be, her son is strong,” you affirmed. You wouldn't be able to tell by looking at him but your words had hit him, deep. It's all he wanted. To be half as good of an alpha as she was. She was strong, loyal, protective, and loving to those who were hers. John reminded him of her in a lot of ways.

“She was, pup,” Simon finally responded. “She’d like you,” he added softly. You blinked back some tears, shifting in your seat. “What about your father?” he asked suddenly.

“He and my mother were both betas, both of them coming from a long line of alpha-omega pairings. We were kind of the odd ones out of the family. It didn't matter much to us though. We were all close, especially with me being the only child,” you paused, your lunch suddenly looking unappealing.

“It was a shock when your mom left?”

You swallowed, nodding your head.

“She came into my bedroom that night and just held me. I'm not sure when she left. My dad was so angry. I didn't know what to do, so I just curled up in her closet with the clothes she had left behind. My dad moved on quickly- I feel like it was just out of spite,” you sneered.

“What was she like?”

“She wasn't horrible. She just wasn't my mom. I never really talked to her honestly. I just couldn't wrap my head around seeing her stuff where my mom's stuff used to be. Her curling iron on the bathroom counter, her silverware in the drawer, her couch in the living room- her pictures on the wall. The worst part was she had five kids from a previous relationship. I had to share a room with three of them. I started having a hard time breathing. I even passed out a few times. My grandparents decided to step in and suggested I get put into an omega-holding house. By then, I was so desperate to get away I begged my father to let me go. I think that hurt him more than he ever let on. I lived in that omega house for a year until I was transferred across the country to a different one. I haven't seen any of them since,” you finished. You looked away from your plate. Simon had his arms crossed over the table, his eyes intently on you.

He hated it. Hated the way you had been left in the dirt. You didn't deserve that.

“That's not fair, sweetheart,” he said softly. The tears finally escaped, his thumb reaching out to brush them away before you could.

“It's alright,” you tried to smile, sniffling into your sleeve. He understood you more. He realized the parts of you that drove him crazy were the parts that so deeply resembled himself. You were still in fight or flight mode. Still waiting for the moment you would have to take off into the wind. Still waiting for the moment you would be peeled away from this pack like your old one. He wished he understood it sooner, but he's not sure it would've had such an impact on him.

He was no longer in fight or flight mode, his mind dead set on one: fight. Fight for you to feel safe within this pack- within your pack.

You were a bit nervous to sleep in the same room as both the alphas. At first, you tried to sneak your way into the beta’s room, but John quickly hoisted you over his shoulder, tossing you on the bed. The scent was slightly overwhelming, turning your bones to mush. Simon was still in the shower, and you were curled up on John’s chest, his hands running up and down your thighs.

The conversation you had with Simon was still weighing on your mind. It must've spread into your scent.

“What's eatin’ at you, love?” John hummed, his hands giving your thighs a squeeze.

“Me and Simon were talking about our old packs. It just brought up some feelings,” you mumbled, taking a large inhale of his scent. It settled at the base of your neck, causing a warm buzz throughout your body. “What was your pack like?” you questioned, resting your chin against his chest.

“It was big,” he sighed, his tired blue eyes dancing over your face. “Too big. Lots of power struggles between alphas.”

“That why you left?”

“Partly. My family was pushed around a lot, my father is a good man, but he isn’t strong. I hoped joining the military would make it so that when I went back I could prove our family was strong,” he sighed. You knew what John was talking about.

“Communal pack?”

He nodded his head. Communal packs were very traditional and rarely worked. There could be up to thirty different families living together under the jurisdiction of one alpha.

“What was your alpha like?”

“I never met him,” John chuckled. “He seemed decent enough, though. It was hard for the other alphas of the pack, you know how they are, have to be the toughest in the room. My family still lives there, two of my sisters have bonded and have pups of their own. My brother is still causin’ trouble,” he chuckled fondly and your heart ached for him.

“Do you ever miss it?”

“I miss them. We still see each other a few times a year. My eldest sister and I see each other the most. Her work brings her near base. And I have to call my mother at least once a week or she’ll march up here and give me what for,” he smirked, making you giggle. “I'd like you to meet them someday.”

“I would love to!” you cheered beaming up at him.

“They’ll love you. Probably want us to move back up there.”

“Are any of them omegas?” you pondered.

“My brother is. My eldest sister is an alpha and my two others are betas,” he explained.

“That's a nice spread,” you smiled, stretching out on top of him. You wondered what John was like as a child. Was he always so headstrong? Protective? Determined? Troublemaker? The thought made you chuckle.

“Would you? Move back there?”

“Never. It's just like base, except there are fewer rules and regulations. Not the place for you or the rest of us,” he explained. “Where would you want to live?” he hummed, rolling onto his side, keeping a firm grip on you.

“Somewhere with trees and rain. I want to be near the mountains. I also want to live near a big city so there's always something to do. Oh, and I want a big backyard with chickens and a pool,” you smiled, your fingers smoothing over his beard. His cheeks lifted in a smile.

“Sounds doable,” he whispered, pressing a kiss against your cheek. He let your noses brush, smiling at the way you're crinkled. He closed the gap, his strong arms holding you in place as your lips moved together.

They all kissed so differently. Johnny was all-consuming, his ability to make the thoughts in your head vanish never fails. Even his short ones were eager and overwhelming. Kyle was playful. Lots of teeth and tongue, but never enough to fully satiate you until you yank him as close as you can. Maybe that's why he does it. He wants you to want him. Lucky for him you fall into that trap regularly. John’s were melting. Slow and passionate. He isn’t playful or eager. All of his attention is on you and the rest of the world just fades away.

You wondered how Simon kisses.

John’s hands were messing with the bottom of your sleep shorts. They crept up slowly, giving your bottom a gentle squeeze causing you to gasp. He chuckled against you, his tongue taking advantage.

Maybe he was a little playful.

You had to get him back. You thought back to the little trick Kyle showed you. Your hands bunched around his lower back, and you rolled your hips against his. He cursed against you, pressing you deeper into the mattress.

“Careful what you wish for, honey” he warned, biting at your neck. You whined, tilting your head back even further. The subtle act of submission making his head reel. He kissed and bit his way around your neck until he made it near your collarbone. You became breathless at the knowledge of what he was doing. He was trying to find the best place to mark you. He could tell he found it when you nearly moaned. Just above your collarbone right in the junction of your neck. “That where you want it, pretty girl?” he murmured. You nodded your head rapidly.

“Now, please Alpha,” you begged. If he was a weaker man he would've given in. Your shaky voice, heated skin and needy scent in the air were all suffocating his senses. You're lucky he's had so much training or else you would be howling in pain right now.

“No, pretty,” he soothed, placing another kiss against the spot- a promise that he would be back. “Can't do it now, it'll hurt,” he reminded

“You marked Kyle and Johnny,” you reminded. Betas couldn't have heats or ruts, so when they were marked it was searing.

“They were under anesthetics,” he shot back. Even you couldn't argue with that. The bathroom door opened.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon grunted waving the air in front of his face. You giggled, cuddling your way into John’s chest again.

“Simon took me on a date today,” you whispered to John. He raised his eyebrows, playing along.

“Must've been a different one,” he smirked, looking up at the brooding alpha.

“No, it was this one. He was a perfect gentleman. He opened the door for me, he let me hold his arm, he paid for my lunch and he even bought me new shoes,” you grinned, looking back at the flushed Simon.

“Sounds like a great bloke. Should call him back,” Simon replied, getting under the covers. You and John chuckled, as he shut the lamp on the bedside table off.

“He is great,” you whispered absentmindedly, a yawn escaping you. “I do appreciate the two of you, you know. There aren't a lot of alphas that would be as patient and forgiving as the two of you,” you thanked. John’s chest rumbled at the sentiment.

“Of course, honey,” John rumbled. Simon stayed silent. He didn't quite feel he deserved such praise. He had made too many mistakes. He jumped as a cold hand rested against his bicep. You could be sneaky when you wanted to. You made no move to pull him closer or grab another part of him. He sighed grabbing your hand in his, clamping your hand within his own, resting it against the bed.

The sound of your purrs lulled him to sleep.

You woke up to the sound of groggy groans and chuckles. You could feel yourself moving until your face was pressed against a bare chest. Cinnamon.

“Mac,” you groaned. You felt someone else’s smile against your shoulder and the tickle of Johnny’s scruff against your cheek. You opened your eyes, pulling away from Johnny.

“Good morning, peaches,” he purred all too happy for this early in the morning. Your face pulled into a frown making him and John chuckle from their spot. He pressed a kiss against your lips as you sat up, your legs on either side of his hip. He groaned, his hand instantly finding your hips. You were in the middle, Johnny resting against John. Kyle was back to back with Simon, who looked to still be asleep. You yawned rubbing at your eyes.

“We were thinking we could all go to breakfast,” Kyle spoke, nudging the alpha next to him awake. One thing you learned about the boys is that none of them were into cooking. John seemed to be decent at it- well at least he was good at cooking steaks. Kyle survived off of cereal and Johnny could kill a box of granola bars in a day.

“French toast,” you sighed happily, flopping back down onto the Scot. While the plans had been made no one made an effort to move. It was all too comfortable. Too warm. You purred, causing almost all of them to follow suit. Simon clenched his jaw, swallowing back the rumble in his chest.

You giggled, Johnny's chest vibrating against your skin.

“I'll fall back asleep if I stay here,” Kyle yawned, maneuvering his way out the bed. Simon tumbled out of it too, his arms stretching above his head. His tank top did nothing to hide his flexing muscles. Johnny pulled away, regretfully, heading back down the hall to his room. The chill in the air nipped at you, causing you to cuddle your way back against John.

“We’re going to get in trouble if we don't start getting ready,” he hummed gently, his hand running down your back.

“I’m getting up,” you assured, making no move to do so. He patted your bottom, sitting up with you still in his arms.

“French toast,” he reminded, pulling you to your feet. You perked up.

“John?”

“Yes, love.”

“When we get back can I talk to you about something?” you questioned. You regretted it as soon as you watched his face turn. You hated it when people did that. Just say what you are thinking.

“Tell me now, love. I’ll go with you to the backyard,” he said, watching as you grabbed the half-asleep puppy out of the bed Johnny had made her.

“Alright,” you agreed, treading down the hallway. He grabbed a cigar on the way, making sure to sit downwind from you so you would breathe it in.

“It's about my heat,” you started. “I want you to help me through it,” you flushed heavily, your face burning so hot the nip in the air couldn't cool it. “I don't know if I'm ready for everyone to help though,” you drew out. He chuckled next to you causing your head to shoot up. God, you have embarrassed yourself haven't you?

“Sorry, honey,” he apologized quickly. “That would be like throwin’ a lamb to the wolves. Wouldn't expect you to do all that,” he assured, making your shoulders relax. His hand reached out his fingers brushing against your cheek. “It would be my honor to help you, sweetheart,” he whispered, making you burn brighter.

“That’s a stretch,” you chuckled. Honor? Surely he had done much more honorable things than take your virginity.

“It's not. It means you trust me. That's all I want, love,” he smiled reassuringly in a way that made your heart beat a bit faster.

“Thanks, John,” you pressed a kiss against his cheek, collecting the curious pup off the grass.

Hello everyone! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Chapter 22 will be in two days and I’m going to warn you now it WILL have heavy smut……hopefully none of you are against that! See you then 🧡

[smashing-teacups]

Atonement Chapter 46: Seasons of Love Part I

A/N: And we're back, folks! Can you believe it? 🥹

In the first month, they worked tirelessly to transform the skeleton of a mill into a functional home. 

Jamie knew each of the staff members at Guthrie’s Hardware by the time a week was out; they greeted him like an old friend, heckling him for getting the wrong sized bulbs for the bathroom lighting fixtures and tossing a few extra screws in the bag for free, “‘cos God knows ye’ll strip a few wi’ the way ye handle that drill.” Day by day, he and Claire could see the cumulative results of their labor as their vision for the place began to take shape, and night after night they collapsed onto their Aerobed with the satisfying exhaustion of a hard day’s work.

While his wee whip-crackers had done a braw job of helping to restore his wasted muscles, he found, to his endless frustration, that his endurance was still not even half of what it had once been. Claire inevitably had to intervene whenever he pushed himself too hard, teeth gritted and muscles trembling from exertion. Leveling him with The Look, she’d put a hand on his shoulder and inform him in no uncertain terms that it was time for a rest break and a drink of water. 

Most times, he ceded to his wife’s wisdom with grace, allowing her to wrap a supportive arm around his waist and guide him to their makeshift sitting area.

Other times, he responded… less gracefully than he was proud of.

“I’ll no’ build any stamina if ye keep forcin’ me to quit every time I break a sweat!” he spat on one such occasion, the long-brewing frustration unleashed on his wife with more venom than he meant. She recoiled slightly, eyebrows raised, then crossed her arms with the fiery defiance of the nurse he’d gone toe-to-toe with many a time in Boston.

“The way to safely build stamina is to enroll in the physiotherapy program we found down in Inverness.” She looked pointedly at the brochure that had been sitting on the kitchen table for weeks, with the phone number on the front circled several times in pen. “I don’t suppose you’ve called to arrange that yet?” 

Jaw set in defiance, Jamie returned to hammering a beam into place. “I’ll get to it,” he said through his teeth.

“I’m more than happy to call for you if that’s the—”

“I said I’ll get to it!” 

There was a long, stunned beat of silence — long enough for him to begin to feel the first twinge of remorse for raising his voice — before Claire said quietly and crisply, “Fine. Do whatever you want, Jamie,” and went into their room with a slam of the door.

The sensible part of him knew that he should go after her and ask forgiveness for his misplaced anger.

He knew, and yet he did not.

Still hot-tempered and bristling with the need to prove himself right, he finished hammering the board into place and reached for one more — the last one he’d need to finish their barnwood accent wall. As soon as the task was done, he reasoned, he’d go speak with his wife.

He took the heavy beam in one hand and hoisted it to the top of the ladder. 

That was the last thing he remembered before everything turned upside down.

Keep reading...

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 7 EPISODE 03 || DEATH BE NOT PROUD ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

THREE NIGHTS LATER, I WOKE FROM a restless sleep in an inn in Wilmington, my throat parched as the salt bacon I had eaten in the dinner stew. Sitting up to find water, I found that I was alone—the moonlight through the window shone white on the vacant pillow beside me. I found Jamie outside, behind the inn, his nightshirt a pale blotch in the darkness of the innyard. He was sitting on the ground with his back against a chopping block, arms wrapped about his knees. He didn’t speak as I came toward him, but turned his head, body shifting in a silent welcome. I sat down on the chopping block behind him, and he leaned his head back against my thigh, with a long, deep sigh. “Couldn’t sleep?” I touched him gently, smoothing back the hair from his face. He slept with it unbound, and it fell thick and wild about his shoulders, tangled from bed. “Nay, I slept,” he said quietly. His eyes were open, looking up at the great gold moon, three-quarters full over the aspens near the inn.

“I had a dream.”

“A nightmare?” He had them seldom anymore, but they did come sometimes: the bloody memories of Culloden, of futile death and slaughter; prison dreams of hunger and confinement—and sometimes, very rarely, Jack Randall returned to him in sleep, with loving cruelty. Such dreams would always drive him from his bed to walk to and fro for hours, until exhaustion cleansed him of their visions. But he had not dreamed that way since Moore’s Creek Bridge.

“No,” he said, sounding half-surprised.

“Not at all. I dreamed of her—of our lassie—and the bairns.”

My heart gave an odd little hop, the consequence of startlement and what might almost have been envy. “You dreamed about Brianna and the children? What happened?” He smiled, face tranquil and abstracted in the moonlight, as though he still saw some part of the dream before him. “It is all right,” he said. “They are safe. I saw them in a town—it seemed like Inverness, but it was different, somehow. They walked up the step of a house—Roger Mac was with them,” he added, offhand. “They knocked at the door, and a wee brown-haired woman opened to them. She laughed wi’ joy to see them, and brought them in, and they went down a hallway, wi’ strange things like bowls hanging from the ceiling. “Then they were in a room, wi’ sofas and chairs, and the room had great windows all down one wall, from the floor to the ceiling, and the afternoon sun was streaming in, setting Brianna’s hair to fire, and makin’ wee Mandy cry when it got in her eyes.” “Did . . . did any of them call the brown-haired woman by name?” I asked, my heart beating in a queer, fast way. He frowned, moonlight making a cross of light over nose and brows. “Aye, they did,” he said. “I canna just—oh, aye; Roger Mac called her Fiona.” “Did he?” I said. My hands rested on his shoulder, and my mouth was a hundred times drier than it had been when I woke up. The night was chilly, but not enough to account for the temperature of my hands. I had told Jamie any amount of things about my own time over the years of our marriage. About trains and planes and automobiles and wars and indoor plumbing. But I was nearly sure that I had never told him what the study looked like in the manse where Roger had grown up with his adoptive father. The room with the window wall, made to accommodate the Reverend’s painting hobby. The manse with its long hallway, furnished with old-fashioned light fixtures, shaped like hanging bowls. And I knew I had never told him about the Reverend’s last housekeeper, a girl with dark, curly hair, called Fiona.

“Were they happy?” I asked at last, very quietly. “Aye.

Brianna and the lad—they had some shadows to their faces, but I could see they were glad nonetheless. They all sat down to eat—Brianna and her lad close together, leaning on each other—and wee Jem stuffed his face wi’ cakes and cream.” He smiled at the picture, teeth a brief gleam in the darkness.

“Oh—at the last, just before I woke . . . wee Jem was messin’ about, picking things up and putting them down as he does. There was a . . . thing . . on the table. I couldna say what it was; I’ve never seen the like.”

He held his hands about six inches apart, frowning at them. “It was maybe this wide, and just a bit longer—something like a box, maybe, only sort of . . . humped.” “Humped?” I said, puzzled as to what this could be. “Aye, and it had a thing on top like a wee club, only wi’ a knob to each end, and the club was tied to the box wi’ a sort of black cord, curled up on itself like a piggie’s tail. Jem saw it, and he reached out his hand, and said,

‘I want to talk to Grandda.’ And then I woke.”

He leaned his head back farther, so as to look up into my face. “Would ye ken what a thing like that might be, Sassenach? It was like nothing I’ve ever seen.

”The autumn wind came rustling down from the hill, dry leaves hurrying in its wake, quick and light as the footsteps of a ghost, and I felt the hair rise on nape and forearms. “Yes, I know,” I said. “I’ve told you about them, I know.” I didn’t think, though, that I had ever described one to him, in more than general terms. I cleared my throat.

“It’s called a telephone.”

121 ACROSS THE ABYSS~ A Breath of Snow and Ashes

[lustjunkiie]

100£ tip

johnny mactavish (+ tf141?) x waitress!reader

tw) descriptions of intimacy, johnny mactavish is also a charming bastard, use of 2nd person, reader is described as female w/ a feminine figure-ish! reader is also southern again i’m sorry im obsessed w her

a/n after writing: idk wtf this is tbh, also not proofread tw

Juggling hosting and waiting on tables, you’re a bit frazzled when a group of four large men come in.

One of them is the tallest, with a blond buzzcut and a black surgical mask covering the lower half of his face. You can’t see much, but his deep-amber eyes are absolutely gorgeous. The next tallest, you can he’s a bit older: peppering of grey in his hair and beard, smile lines gracing his face and he’s positively covered in hair. The next two are about the same height — one of them with a dark complexion and the smoothest skin you think you’ve ever seen, and a nicely groomed mustache. The other, a wavy mohawk and a dashing smile that has you drooling from both sets of lips.

“Jesus fuck,” you mumble, straight to their faces, trying to scan the quaint restaurant for a table that would accommodate them all. They all bust into a hearty chuckle and smile at you, your face heating with the passion of a thousand suns.

“God, I’m so sorry.” You face palm at yourself, and lead them to their table. In your section. You are so cutely unaware at how Johnny’s ogling your sauntering hips, and how everyone else is watching him do so.

They shuffle into the booth you’ve directed them too, smiling as they browse the menu.

You introduce yourself sweetly, your Southern twang ringing out in Johnny’s ears. He decides now that he must have you before the end of tonight.

“Dinnae got drinks here, d’ye?” The one with the mohawk asked. He’s … Scottish? What is he doing in America? What is he doing in Georgia?

“No, sir. We don’t serve alcohol. There’s a lot of rules and regulations around getting permits for that and our owner just ain’t interested.” You explain. “I’m sorry. We got coke products, sugar. And lemonade. And the best sweet tea in the Bible belt. I can make you an Arnie Palmer,” You offer, trying to soften the blow.

“What’s’at?” The one with the mustache asks you.

“What’s what, honey?”

“That drink you said.”

“An Arnie? Oh, it’s a non-alcoholic drink. Made of sweet tea and lemonade.” You nod. “Perfect mix of sweet and sour.”

“I think we’ll all just take one of those.” The oldest one says, shrugging as he looks around the table. Everyone nods in agreement, making it super easy for you.

“Alrighty. Also, excuse me, but where is y’all from?” You ask, slipping your order book into your apron.

“Inverness, I’m Johnny,” answers the Scottish one. You make a note to Google this place later.

“Herefordshire, I’m John,” answers the oldest. Google this one, too.

“London, I’m Kyle,” answers the one with the good mustache. Oh! You know this one.

“Manchester, Simon,” answers the blond one. Oh! Bingo!

You nod in response. “Well, whatch’y’all doin’ here?” You ask, laughing softly. Your hips are eye-level with Johnny now that he’s slouching, and he’s praying to any God who’ll listen that you don’t notice the metaphorical drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“Mactavish,” Simon snaps, raising a cheeky brow. Johnny straightens his face and gives you a grin when you shift your attention to him.

“Came out here to meet with some friends, is all. Friend of a friend told us to come and try out this place.” John explains with a shrug. You nod and saunter off to grab their drinks. You’re smiling like an idiot walking back to the drink station. Your coworker pulls you out of your trance by whisper-yelling your name.

“What?” You respond, just as urgently.

“The blond guy… you need to get me his number. His address, something!”

“Aubrey!” You laugh, as if you weren’t thinking of doing the same thing with the Scottish one. “Just talk to him when he leaves, you weirdo!” She laughs and groans at how you’re no help before walking away to look busy.

You finish making the drinks, shaking your head at your coworker. You walk over to their table, smiling.

“Four Arnies and some straws,” they all nod at you. “Can I get you boys started with some food?” They all nodded and passed you their menus.

“I t’ink we all agreed on just the brisket sandwich. ‘Pparently it’s the best cuts ‘ere, we ‘eard.” You nodded.

“Y’all are so simple! I appreciate that. I’ll get that put in. Y’all just call me over if y’all need refills or somethin’ ‘fore then.” You say and they nod.

Their food is out quickly, and you bring the plates over. “Brisket sandwiches for the whole table!” You smile wide, passing out plates. You make a small little “oh, no,” as you almost drop Johnny’s plate and he’s positively in love with you. More than before.

You tell them to enjoy and Kyle, Simon and John oblige — while Johnny watches you effortlessly work your tables. His food is lukewarm by the time he gets to it, and it’s his own damn fault.

You bring them their cheque and insist that it’s absolutely no rush before sauntering to the table next to theirs. The man at the table, sitting with his two kids and his wife, gives you a bit of lip.

“Asked you for ranch ‘bout fifteen minutes ago. Some service, sweet-cheeks. Probably why you can’t get a real job, huh?” He snarks and you nod softly, promising that you’ll get on it. And you do, with tears in your eyes. But while you’re gone, Johnny demonstrates freedom of speech.

“Bit of a prick, aren’t you? No way to talk to a lady.” He scolds the guy, his voice plenty loud.

“Mind your business, douche. Ain’t even your country. Why not go back onto where you came from?” The guy responds, obviously feeling proud of himself.

“Real mature, wanker. Apologise to the lady when she comes back over, aye? Dinnae make me deal wit’ye. Dinnae wanna hav’a beat ye ass infront of yer kids.” Johnny winks at the man. The man stands up and John matches his pace, holding up a placating hand.

“Lay a hand on my soldier and I’ll be dealin’ with you next. Johnny’s right. Apologise to the lady, pay your bill and take your food to-go.” John explains, his voice deceptively calm.

You walk back over, eyes a bit puffy with the man’s ranch, inordinately confused.

“Sir? Your ranch?” You say softly, and he scoffs at you.

“Bit late, bitch.” He spits out before walking to the counter to cash out with Aubrey.

“I’m sorry,” you say to the woman and the kids at the table before setting the ranch down.

“I’m going to go take my break. But do y’all need anythin’ ‘fore I do?” You say, sniffling softly.

“Nae,” Johnny gently grabs your hand from your hip and kisses your palm. “Take your time. We’re in no rush.” This seems to be the general consensus at the table, so you nod and take fifteen outside.

Once you come back, any trace of that man and his family are completely wiped from the restaurant and Aubrey beckons you over.

“They’re still here, girl! That Scottish guy was the one who said somethin’. Maybe ask him to stick around until we close,” she winks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively and making you giggle. You nod, considering her suggestion and walking back over to their table.

“Refills? Dessert?” You ask and they shake their head.

“When’d’ye close, dove?” Johnny pipes up. Has Aubrey already given him the same idea?!

“Kitchen’s already close because it’s 8:30, but I can do refills and anything from the freezer until nine. Me and Aubrey are the only two working this late.” You smile softly and he nods.

“Mind if we stick around? Walk you two ladies to the parking lot?” Johnny smiles, and you’re dangerously close to collapsing into his arms.

“I’m sure Aubrey’d be fine with that,” she nodded, obviously eavesdropping, and you shrug. They smile softly at you.

At five after nine, you and Aubrey are cleaning tables, mopping and sweeping. You finish cleaning bathrooms and she finishes up cleaning behind the bar. It’s 9:54 when you’re both done and gathering up your purses. John and Kyle are gone, but Simon and Johnny are waiting patiently for you both.

“John and Kyle got called away by their birds, but we’re here.” Johnny explained, and Simon nodded to corroborate that statement.

“Oh! Okay!” You and Aubrey smiled at each other.

“What does John’s girlfriend do?” You asked Johnny, Simon and Aubrey already engaged in whatever conversation.

“Oh, she used to be a den’ist out in Texas, ‘n’ now she does travelin’ den’ist’ry.” He explains, you nod and smile.

“She sounds sweet,”

“Not as sweet as ye, dove,” he flashes you that charming grin.

“Simon’s my ride,” Johnny explains once all four of you reach Simon’s truck. It’s a rental, but it’s clean as fuck nonetheless.

“Well, what if I went home with Simon and Johnny went home with you?” Aubrey suggested, clinging to Simon’s arm. You agree with a shrug. Johnny is all too quick to agree to these terms as well.

You make it back to your apartment and you’re changing out of your work attire when you find Johnny posted up in your bed, all too comfortable for a stranger. You giggle softly, already knowing what’s happening tonight as you tuck yourself at his side.

He wraps you in his arm and passes you a 100$ bill.

“Whoa, what the Hell is this for, sweet pea?”

“Jus’ your tip for tonight, ya ken? For dealin’ wit’at prick.” You nod, as he vehement about not taking it back, and set it on your nightstand.

“Now, how about another 100$ tip?” He winks, and you melt entirely too quickly in his arms — despite the corniness of his joke. You nod and his mouth is on yours, tongues dancing and teeth softly clashing.

He slips his hand to the hem of your night shirt, separating your lips only to pull your shirt off. He’s immediately enraptured by your bare chest, despite the unsexy bra you’re wearing. He looks up at you for permission to take this off, too, and you nod.

He flicks the clasp open before you can even say a word and tossing it elsewhere. His shirt finds solace on the carpet, following your sweatpants and his jeans.

He’s kissing all over you, sucking marks onto your soft skin and gently slipping a hand down to your wet heat. He gently opens you up with his fingers and takes him time with the prep. You’re so blissed out already that you don’t realize when he’s buried himself to the hilt.

“Dinnae have to rush, hen.” He grunts, squishing gently at your hips. You nod for himself to continue and eventually he’s got a moderate pace, drawing everything out with deep, intimate thrusts.

He’s talking you through everything when you tip the brink, gently praising you in your ear and cleaning you up afterwards with soft kisses to your abdomen.

“Goodnight, hen.” He whispers softly, and you’re so tired after a long shift and a long session that you’re half asleep when he kisses your forehead.

You hope Aubrey’s having a good time, and that she got two 100$ tips as well.

[blouisparadise]

Today we have the second part to our long fic rec list! These fics are all 100k words or more. If you missed the first part to this rec list, you can check it out here. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word.

1) The Rose of Whitechapel | Mature | 100,181 words

Jack the Ripper AU - Detective Constable Harry Styles and his partner, DC Liam Payne, lead the case on the Whitechapel murders. Louis Tomlinson, the Rose of Whitechapel, is harbouring secrets of his own, along with a dark and sordid past. When their paths cross, truths are revealed, and perhaps hearts are mended… A darkness is brewing, and it’s finally come to collect on the promise it was made.

2) The Maddest Obsession | Explicit | 100,974 words

One fears the dark. One rules it. Harry Styles, the dangerous mob enforcer, finds himself entangled with Louis, the strong-willed mafia-princess. As they navigate the treacherous underworld of New York, their forbidden love sparks a deadly game of loyalty, betrayal, and passion. Will their devotion to each other overcome the chaos surrounding them, or will their love be their downfall?

3) Shadow Dances | Mature | 101,591 words

Louis Tomlinson has a begrudging gift, he’s able to communicate with the spirits of the dead. Often against his will, and almost always at the most inconvenient of times. He and his partner, Zayn Malik, work for a covert division of the New Haven Federal Bureau of Investigations. They aid in all kinds of cases, though their talents lie in the obscure and unsolvable. It’s when a strange new case falls onto their desks that they’re left questioning the extent of their abilities, and whether they were ever truly alone. Harry Styles was brought into the FBI for not only his skills, but his ability to mitigate the influx of spirits surrounding the elusive and obnoxiously infuriating sharp-tongued medium he’d been assigned to. Louis gets under his skin, he’s impulsive and a risk to the team according to Harry. They do however have to find a way to set aside their sordid history, and their reluctant attraction, to track down the murderer plaguing their coastal city.

4) Billow And Breeze (Islands And Seas) | Explicit | 102,506 words

It was bright; that was the first thing Louis could recall. With a groan, he winced at the throbbing behind the sockets of his eyes and rubbed his temples in an effort to soothe the pain. Maybe he really did hit his head when he took his tumble. The omega squinted as he looked at the surrounding rolling hills and fog hanging over the countryside. As strange as it was, the world felt different, though it looked practically the same. Disoriented and confused, Louis padded through the moss and listened for his husband. “Liam?” he croaked shakily. Nothing but a symphony of woodland creatures met his ears. His footsteps were muted by mossy green grass beneath his feet and soil fragrant as he neared the crest of the hill. At the top, he froze, lips parted in horror and eyes widening at the expanse of empty farmland—not a soul in sight. It had only been less than ten minutes prior that he could see Inverness from the crest, but now there was nothing. “Impossible,” he whispered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief—his mind not quite able to make sense of it.

5) Praise the Mutilated World | Explicit | 106,668 words 

An enemies to lovers dystopian au where Harry is an elite alpha and Louis is a rebel omega with too much to fight for. Every move made is monitored, and a fertile omega’s purpose in life is one thing: to give children to their alpha.

6) My Kind Of Love | General Audiences | 108,178 words

Harry marries Louis for one year. Louis has no choice other than marry Harry fucking styles. There is a reason behind Harry’s sudden marriage with Louis and Louis has no idea about that. Maybe Harry married Louis for revenge.

7) Only You And Me | Not Rated | 109,836 words

Note: This is the sequel to this fic.

Louis goes on with his life after Harry, he hopes Harry comes back to him but is also on the search for something new. Will Harry reach out to Louis, or will Louis get over him and find something better?

8) You’ve Got A Higher Power, You’re Once In Any Lifetime | Explicit | 113,444 words

Giving up and letting them think they’re right were never valid options in Louis Tomlinson’s mind. In a society full of prejudices, finding a family and being accepted, also seemed like an unrealistic utopia. Louis sets out to do what no other of his kind ever has before and in doing so, he finds love, friendship and more about himself than he thought he would.

9) Like Water Over Fire (Like Water On Fire) | Mature | 119,264 words

Prince Harry has 46 men and 13 weeks to find the husband of his dreams, Louis has a limited amount to time to live out a royal fantasy. They might just be exactly what the other needs.

10) Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices | Mature | 126,057 words

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they’re forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

11) Chandeliers And Fake Smiles | Mature | 145,010 words

On the brink of winning their first Grammy; up-and-coming rock band One Direction find themselves in the midst of the biggest scandal of their career - right before tickets for their world tour go on sale. in order to save their reputation, Louis Tomlinson must find it in his heart to forgive pop singer and heartthrob Harry Styles after his first impression rubbed him entirely the wrong way. after all, they cannot sell a relationship if it looks like they hate each other.

12) Buy Me Purple Flowers First | Teen & Up | 157,728 words

Louis Tomlinson is a 24-year-old rock star who tends to be rebellious and known as a “brat” in the extended media. The Omega has yet to find a mate and has no interests in being in a committed relationship. Harry Styles is a 22-year-old Alpha Bodyguard known for his past of protecting some of the most important politicians and musicians of their time. He has settled on a temporary job as a favour of a friend to look after the famous Louis Tomlinson to finish the leg of his European tour.

13) How Many Times Will It Take (To Get This Right) | Explicit | 157,805 words

Harry was watching her go, unable to meet Louis’ eyes again now that they were alone, and that’s how he saw him when the young boy leaned around Jay to peer at his mum and Harry. Harry’s jaw went slack, his mouth falling open in disbelief when two green orbs identical to his own found him and stared unwaveringly calm into Harry’s sunglasses-covered face. His small features were undeniably close to Louis’. Their noses, their lips, even their brow line was the same, but the pup’s eyes were an eerily familiar shade of emerald, and much rounder than Louis’. His hair fell in dark ringlets around his small face, which was also much too round to really say the child looked like Louis, despite the similar features. Harry sputtered when his alpha roared in his chest that Harry should follow the kid–should protect his pup. But there was no fucking way.

14) Charmed | Mature | 163944 words

Louis had always felt he was different, but he had never understood why. At least until one particular event devasted hum, turning his life upside down forever and bringing to the surface a past he didn’t know, a present he thought he knew, and a series of unexpected events that will trigger the beginning of a future he’s not sure he wants to live.

15) Sewn Into You | Explicit | 167,486 words

Harry Styles thinks soulmates are a fairytale, or in other words-a lie. He has no interest in entertaining anything that has anything to do with the very name that had been etched along his collarbone since his eighteenth birthday. Louis Tomlinson won’t be answering to another alpha for the rest of his life if he can help it. Fuck happy endings, his soul mate can choke on it. Problem is, Harry needs a personal assistant to save his family’s business, Louis needs the cash to officially move off of his childhood best-friend’s couch. They can manage. Surely, nothing will go wrong.

16) Don’t Let It (Me) Break | Explicit | 168,297 words

The one where Harry is oblivious, Louis is broken, Zayn and Liam are in love, Gemma and Lottie are lovely, and Niall is just waiting for everyone to get their shit together.

17) Non-Disclosure | Mature | 170,219 words

Being a world class Director, producing some of the best rated Romance movies to date, Louis was easily a sucker for the ‘Happy Ever After’. Except, in a world where he pretends and imagines true love. He was stuck inbetween what he thought was the love of his life and everything trying to stop them. “I did a lot of thinking when I was gone and every scenario I came up with ended with you. I’m fucking scared and I have no idea what will happen from now but I’d risk it all, if you could promise me a lifetime”

18) You Smell Like | Explicit | 185,369 words

The one where Louis is the Alpha’s mate and everyone is aware of it except for Louis and Harry. Go figure!

19) Three Days in February | Explicit | 187,642 words

How close is too close? Harry and Louis are about to find out after a drunken night leaves Louis cursed. With only a week before tour starts, the race is on to fix things before they lose Louis forever. Oh, and Harry has to keep his long-time crush on Louis a secret while the lad can literally hear his thoughts. Easy, right?

20) Collision | Not Rated | 226,294 words

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

21) Truth Behind Golden Eyes | Explicit | 228,727 words 

Louis is a royal servant born with magic in a kingdom where his sole existence is outlawed with a war he has no idea he has a part in upon him. Harry is the prince on whom the burden of mending a broken kingdom falls upon and he might be willing to risk it all for a simple servant if only he admitted it to himself.

22) Join Me In The Afterlife | Explicit | 262,289 words

Louis is a simple guy - all he wants from his summer break is to spend some quality time with his mother, get to know her new husband, and learn to play the guitar. Nothing out of the ordinary, that is for sure. However, life has a funny way of working and when Louis finds a strange boy sitting on his bed one sunny day, his summer break takes a turn for the better (or worse) when he discovers a ghost has stolen his heart from the get-go.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[sanctus-ingenium]

VII OF SWORDS | buy a print of this here

[ranticore]

Shapeshifter Problems... 2!!

It's a small exploration of old concept art, characterisation, and presenting designs using a visual vs written format, etc. this time looking at some other stuff

[adsosfraser]

Promise

an outlander drabble set during dragonfly in amber/season 2

wc: 602

The words echoed in my mind, from a life so long separated from the present, as though I were wading through a thick fog of memory, like the smog that had choked the streets of London as leather Victorian shoes slapped up and down the cobblestones. Or would choke the streets that was. The last words from Jamie rang clear and true in my mind as I navigated the glimpses of a time gone by. To care for you both. 

But it clashed with the words I struggled to bring forth again. 

“Couldn’t feel properly…toward a child not of my blood.” 

I looked back to Jamie as the words bubbled to the surface, missing most details but still delivering the destructive truth behind them.

“-an intruder…I’d resent it.” 

The butterflies returned in my stomach and I clutched at them, reassuring myself they were still there. Still safely tucked away up inside me. 

“Jamie…”

His eyes stayed firm on me, expectant. 

“I can promise you I’ll go through the stones should it come to it. But it won’t.” My hand reached out to hold his large and calloused one. Maybe if I squeezed hard enough, our touch would run off all visions of death and destruction on that perilous moor. 

“But you can’t make me promise to return to-” My throat bobbed as I swallowed the thickness that had built up. “To, well, him. Nor leave our child behind.” I thought of Fergus, the surprisingly delicate and endearing soul Jamie plucked from the brothel. My heart swelled thinking of him, and the child nestled under my heart. No, I didn’t want to make them suffer through feelings of inadequacy and to wonder why Frank would be so indifferent to them, based solely on their parentage. “They deserve a father who loves them. Wholly. A child shouldn't have to grow around resentment.” 

“Claire, surely Frank,” Jamie nearly spat out the word. “Wouldn’t turn either of you away. No man that loves you as you say he does would.” He reached for my face, stroking the skin of my cheek as I leaned into him, fluttering my eyes closed. “I certainly couldnae leave, save you begging me to leave ye be.” 

I finally said what had been plaguing my mind since the pure desperation of our agony clashed the other day, where he forced my hand to a blade, a blade intended to stab right through his flesh. 

“Now that we both have clearer heads that have prevailed, as it were. I’ve been thinking.” I paused. “I don’t want to cause you such torment. It’s as though a dagger has pierced my own heart as well. But, had you killed Black Jack Randall in a fit of rage, it’s likely our baby would not be alive either.” I rubbed lazy circles over my womb, comforting its inhabitant. “I wouldn’t have come to Inverness and thought the stones at the right time had Frank not brought me.  Or I might not have come to Scotland altogether.” 

Grabbing a glass from the nearby table made of a dark cherry oak , I swallowed, oblivious to its contents before the sweet and acidic wine hit my lips. I just needed some conduit to imbue the clarity and resolve I needed for my next words. Jamie waited patiently, rubbing the flesh of my knee through my thin shift. 

“I promise to do what’s best for our children. And I trust to follow your lead in that.” 

I made a promise to myself then too. That my children would only know love. Even if I had to be the sole provider of it.

[scotianostra]

On June 13th 1814 The Strathnaver Clearances began on the Sutherland estates. Families were given half an hour to remove their belongings before their cottages were set on fire.

Strathnaver was part of the estate of the Countess of Sutherland and her husband the Marquis of Stafford. They had decided to “improve” their lands by turning them over to profitable sheep farming and were intent on moving their tenants to new villages built on the coast.

From 1814, the evicitions were undertaken by the Sutherland Estate factor, Patrick Sellar. He was ruthless in his actions, destroying homes and burning crops to force people from their land. His actions were so extreme that in April 1816 Sellar stood trial in Inverness on a variety of charges including fire raising and culpable homicide. However, he was acquitted and returned to Strathnaver where he had leased a large area of the land to farm sheep.

There are the remains of many abandoned townships throughout the Strath, the best known of these being Rosal. This is mainly thanks to Donald Macleod, a native of that township, who witnessed the clearances and wrote passionately about them. He is remembered in a memorial close to the site of the settlement.

[cristaq]

This is part of my apology tour for all the angsty stuff I’ve written recently. So I give you og pricesoap retired and living a happy life. This is a longer one, close to 1.5k words but I think these two idiots are worth it. Small exerpt below!

Price opens his mouth to say something but a nasty cough stops him. Years of smoking are catching up with his lungs. The pain in his joints caused by the cold starts to become unbearable, so he rubs his hands together. Against his better judgement, Soap grabs Price’s hands and removes their gloves. He rubs both of their hands, blowing hot air over them. He leaves small kisses on Price’s knuckles, as an apology for spoiling him. Price hates feeling old and in need of help, but this time he is in a good mood.

If you dare, dear traveler, to cross the Antonine Wall and head up north towards Scotia’s Highlands, just a couple of miles away from Inverness, you will find a small village that seems undisturbed by the war’s fallout. Twenty years have passed since the end of WW3, yet you can still hear metal screeching in Western Europe, as the French are rebuilding their Eiffel Tower and capital. But here? Peace and serenity dominate the land, enshrouded by its protective mist.

But that doesn’t mean the Highlands are not witnessing an improvement project of their own. Soap opens the door of their cottage and faces the windy weather with a smile. He grew up with this kind of weather afterall. Over his shoulder rests a pretty heavy sack, but the veteran has no issue balancing its weight. It’s much lighter than combat equipment anyways.

He heads towards the open and deserted fields, not thinking about much. There was a time when all he did was worry, plot and think. Not anymore. He whistles though, some random tune. These lands used to be covered with trees until the English thought about making warships out of them, some hundred years ago. What ensued was one of the biggest deforestation projects, leaving Scotland with a bald spot where once the great Caledonian forest used to be. Such a pity.

Soap drops the sack on the ground when he feels satisfied with the integrity of the soil he is walking on. He falls to his knees with a wince and opens his care package. Inside, there are Scots Pine seeds, collected from cones a week ago. He puts on his gardening gloves and digs a small hole in the ground and places some of the seeds inside with care and covers them back with dirt. Then he moves a couple of metres away and repeats the process. It might not look like much, but there are already small saplings bursting out of the ground all over the surrounding hills. All Soap and his husband’s doing.

An hour later, a loud whistle breaks the silence of the place and it makes Soap turn his head from his kneeling position. He smiles towards the man with a boonie hat approaching him and waves. 

“Mind giving me a hand you lazy bawbag?”

Once Price gets close enough he shoves Soap’s shoulder. “You didn’t wake me up!”

“Aye, I didn't want to disturb your afternoon nap. Now, did you come here to help or to just chat?”

Price scoffs and tries to kneel as well, placing his hands on the ground for support. His knees and back complain with a loud pop but he doesn’t say a word. His joints are not what they used to be, but Soap doesn’t make any move to help. He knows Price would throw a tantrum.

Once settled, he puts on his own set of gloves and helps Soap dig the next hole. They keep going at it for some time in silence and whenever they try to cover the exposed seeds, their hands keep touching. A small moment of casual affection, hindered a bit by the gloves that stand in the way of skin contact.

“Sometimes I can’t believe this is actually making a difference. But seeing all these saplings… I am glad we are doing this. For the first time I feel like we are building or creating something rather than destroying,” Price says at some point.

“We’ve built so much more here. The two of us.”

Price opens his mouth to say something but a nasty cough stops him. Years of smoking are catching up with his lungs. The pain in his joints caused by the cold starts to become unbearable, so he rubs his hands together. Against his better judgement, Soap grabs Price’s hands and removes their gloves. He rubs both of their hands, blowing hot air over them. He leaves small kisses on Price’s knuckles, as an apology for spoiling him. Price hates feeling old and in need of help, but this time he is in a good mood.

“Better?”

Price just nods and rests his forehead on his lover’s.

“Let’s head back. We should have dinner anyway.”

Soap tries to rise from the ground and now it’s his turn to show how old age and wounds hold him back. He did fall off a building and almost got blown up to bits after all. Price does his best to get up first and offers a hand to the struggling man. He accepts it.

“Everything alright, love?”

“Yeah, just a sharp pain in my side. I will live.”

Price gently strokes the place and pulls Soap in an embrace. They hold this pose for a while, taking in the scenery over each other’s shoulder.

“Better?” the older man asks. Soap just nods in response.

They head back towards their cottage hand in hand, talking about politics and weather. They still haven’t decided who to vote for in Scotland’s next parliamentary election but at least the government plans on rising military pensions regardless. They speak about the upcoming veteran day and their yearly trip around the world to visit the resting places of their comrade-in-arms. Gaz, Ghost, Roach, Yuri, the Delta Force… They’ve never skipped this tradition. Their sacrifices are the ones that secured this happy future.

Back in the comfort of their home, Price heats up two portions of Haggis, cooked by himself actually. After all these years, he got better than Soap at cooking Scottish dishes. He takes a bite out of both portions, checking to see if the food is too hot. Finally satisfied, he places one of the plates in front of Soap and a kiss on his forehead. He mutters a thank you but the TV has his full attention. Glasgow FC is playing tonight and even though Price never cared much for football he tried his best to pick up some lingo.

He digs into the food right away, but as he brings a full spoon to his mouth he gets startled by a loud scream.

“GOAAAAAAAAL” Soap slams his fists on the table and gets up to do some laps around the kitchen table, as Glasgow’s team scores a point. Price grabs a cloth off the table and throws it at the man.

“Are you fucking mad?! Almost gave me a cardiac!” 

“This means they are qualifying for sure!” He smashes his lips to his husband’s. “Fuck yes! Haha! We will have to start hunting for tickets for their games!”

“Yeah, yeah…” Price loves seeing his Scot like this, all jittery and full of life.

“Smile, old man! After the match you might get to score too.” He winks. “I am feeling good today.”

Price’s tone shifts to a serious one. “When does it fucking end?”

“Well it’s minute 35.”

Price grabs his partners cheeks, squeezing them together. “Don’t get smart with me, muppet! How much time?”

“An hour, give or take!”

In the bedroom after the match, they basically tear each other apart with their mouths, hungry and needy. Soap palms Price’s groin but no matter how hard he tries he can’t seem to get it hard.

“Sorry, it just needs a minute…” Due to his age, Price struggles with erection problems. He learnt to deal with the shame that comes with it, with the help of his patient partner.

“No worries, love. Take all the time you need…”

15 minutes later Price lets out a frustrated sigh. “Fuck’s sake!” He puts some space between them and looks at the ground, cheeks flushed from embarrassment. Soap wastes no time in going to their nightstand and picking up a blue pill, placing it between his teeth.

The older man laughs at the gesture. “I really wish there was no need for that.”

Soap answers with a deep kiss, using his tongue to push the pill inside his husband’s mouth.

“I will bring you some water. Think of something to do while we wait for the pill to do its thing, aye?”

When the Scot returns, a chair has been moved to the middle of the bedroom and Price, buttnaked, taps the backseat with a sly smile.

“Saddle up. Let me take care of you.”

“Like old times?” Soap grins and moves towards the chair, slowly stripping his remaining clothes.

“Are you calling us old?” He downs the glass of water.

“Sorry, I meant ancient times.”

“Someone is a fucking brat today.”

“Learnt from the best!”

They keep the banter going as Price restrains Soap’s wrists behind his back, followed by his legs. Face to face now, he cups his cheeks.

“Everything alright?”

“Mhm… I love you, John.”

“I love you too, John.”

They snicker and seal their declaration of unconditional love with a kiss… for the millionth time.

[the--highlanders]

what do you think jamie does after he's sent back to scotland without his memories?

i think he's always been torn between loving his home, the house he grew up in and the river he played in as a child and the hills he knows like the back of his hand, and yet still deeply longing to leave his little world behind, because he never quite fit right. (and he did! he got out!) but then suddenly he's right back there. he goes back to his childhood home but it's not home anymore and he doesn't know why.

so would he stay and try to fit again, even though he's grown out of his place there? or would he leave, and go looking for whatever had changed him?

YESSS I am so 100% on board with everything you said here. jamie really feels to me like he's someone who's so deeply rooted in his place and his culture, and yet someone who's been battling off this sense of isolation his whole life, and it's all tangled up and complicated inside him. in part he knows his home like the back of his hand /because/ he was somewhat isolated and spent a bunch of time wandering around on his own, and connects to his culture so much because he was chasing a sense of belonging. and on the other hand he had friends and was probably well-liked! but the isolation is still there. maybe even worse for the fact that he wasn't entirely alone.

I do think the crucial point to what jamie does when he's back in scotland is. why exactly he stepped on board the tardis in the first place. which is something I still don't feel like I've fully been able to express even after literal years of trying, maybe because it works best as an impulse borne of him having a deeply traumatic turned deeply strange day. I hc that while jamie's father, brother, and best friend have now died, his mother is still alive and at home, along with other relatives and much of the rest of his community. he /has somewhere to go back to/. he chooses not to go to france and to try his luck with making it home instead, and then all of a sudden he's stepping onto the tardis. sure, he's somewhat confused, and certainly doesn't know what's happening or that he won't be able to get back - but he does still go with them. in that moment, some part of him wanted /out/. going with people he knew to france didn't tempt him, but running off with basically total strangers did. he wanted an entirely fresh start, a blank slate.

on the flip side, the jamie who gets sent back after the war games is /different/, even subconsciously. somewhere buried in there is a person who's more mature, has had three more years of experience, has dealt with so much more and stepped up in ways he probably couldn't have dreamt of when he first left scotland. he's dropped back on drumossie moor, apparently in daylight, presumably with something implanted in his head telling him that the doctor and ben and polly left, he waved them off and turned towards home. so I think that's what he'd do - he'd go home, and try to pick up the pieces as best he could.

at this point, and as he realises more and more that something's /not right/ and he's missing something, I think his sense of isolation is worse than ever. he's so, so close to snapping. but his whole world is holding on by a thread, now - his own family has been decimated, many others are in the same position, they're close enough to culloden and inverness to be subject to a few reprisals and raids from the government - and oddly enough I think that holds him together. he steps up, because somewhere deep inside he knows how to do that now. he's grown up. maybe everyone else just puts it down to the war. it's not like they know any better. and if we know anything about jamie, it's that he can hold himself together if someone else needs him. is it good for him? certainly not. but he's hanging in there.

in my timeline for things he does settle down somewhat once he starts to regain his memories and understand what's happened to him. it /is/ just another thing that sets him apart, and that always hurts, but he's also more confident and understands more about himself than he did growing up, so it rattles him less. he's probably easy to talk to and go to with problems, and friendly enough that you never really realise he doesn't open up about himself. he grows into a bit of a leadership position in his village, and it's good for him, in a way. he's also his own person, not his father's son, and I think that's a sick sort of relief for him. marrying kirsty also helps, because she's a fellow misfit and a great friend, and someone who he can share the truth with. their 'more children than there are days of the week' are lost and orphaned kids they collect, because he's not going to let anyone else grow up alone. it's a weird sort of limbo where he's waiting for the doctor but also has no certainty that he'll ever see him again, where he's made a life he's proud of with people he loves and yet there's always parts of him that are desperately unhappy - but he's getting by. he's good. he's got good things that get him through.

if he /didn't/ get his memories back, though, if he was just caught in that confusion forever... that's where I could really see him leaving. at some point he /does/ snap, and he just. heads off on his own, looking for something he can't remember. it feels good, to always be on the road, maybe to help people where he can as he passes through. he's not tied to anyone, doesn't have to be who anyone else wants him to be, and there's freedom in that. but he always feels like he /shouldn't/ be alone in this, that he should be wandering with someone.

[sassenach77yle]

THREE NIGHTS LATER, I WOKE FROM a restless sleep in an inn in Wilmington, my throat parched as the salt bacon I had eaten in the dinner stew. Sitting up to find water, I found that I was alone—the moonlight through the window shone white on the vacant pillow beside me. I found Jamie outside, behind the inn, his nightshirt a pale blotch in the darkness of the innyard. He was sitting on the ground with his back against a chopping block, arms wrapped about his knees. He didn’t speak as I came toward him, but turned his head, body shifting in a silent welcome. I sat down on the chopping block behind him, and he leaned his head back against my thigh, with a long, deep sigh. “Couldn’t sleep?” I touched him gently, smoothing back the hair from his face. He slept with it unbound, and it fell thick and wild about his shoulders, tangled from bed. “Nay, I slept,” he said quietly. His eyes were open, looking up at the great gold moon, three-quarters full over the aspens near the inn.

“I had a dream.”

“A nightmare?” He had them seldom anymore, but they did come sometimes: the bloody memories of Culloden, of futile death and slaughter; prison dreams of hunger and confinement—and sometimes, very rarely, Jack Randall returned to him in sleep, with loving cruelty. Such dreams would always drive him from his bed to walk to and fro for hours, until exhaustion cleansed him of their visions. But he had not dreamed that way since Moore’s Creek Bridge.

“No,” he said, sounding half-surprised.

“Not at all. I dreamed of her—of our lassie—and the bairns.”

My heart gave an odd little hop, the consequence of startlement and what might almost have been envy. “You dreamed about Brianna and the children? What happened?” He smiled, face tranquil and abstracted in the moonlight, as though he still saw some part of the dream before him. “It is all right,” he said. “They are safe. I saw them in a town—it seemed like Inverness, but it was different, somehow. They walked up the step of a house—Roger Mac was with them,” he added, offhand. “They knocked at the door, and a wee brown-haired woman opened to them. She laughed wi’ joy to see them, and brought them in, and they went down a hallway, wi’ strange things like bowls hanging from the ceiling. “Then they were in a room, wi’ sofas and chairs, and the room had great windows all down one wall, from the floor to the ceiling, and the afternoon sun was streaming in, setting Brianna’s hair to fire, and makin’ wee Mandy cry when it got in her eyes.” “Did . . . did any of them call the brown-haired woman by name?” I asked, my heart beating in a queer, fast way. He frowned, moonlight making a cross of light over nose and brows. “Aye, they did,” he said. “I canna just—oh, aye; Roger Mac called her Fiona.” “Did he?” I said. My hands rested on his shoulder, and my mouth was a hundred times drier than it had been when I woke up. The night was chilly, but not enough to account for the temperature of my hands. I had told Jamie any amount of things about my own time over the years of our marriage. About trains and planes and automobiles and wars and indoor plumbing. But I was nearly sure that I had never told him what the study looked like in the manse where Roger had grown up with his adoptive father. The room with the window wall, made to accommodate the Reverend’s painting hobby. The manse with its long hallway, furnished with old-fashioned light fixtures, shaped like hanging bowls. And I knew I had never told him about the Reverend’s last housekeeper, a girl with dark, curly hair, called Fiona.

“Were they happy?” I asked at last, very quietly. “Aye.

Brianna and the lad—they had some shadows to their faces, but I could see they were glad nonetheless. They all sat down to eat—Brianna and her lad close together, leaning on each other—and wee Jem stuffed his face wi’ cakes and cream.” He smiled at the picture, teeth a brief gleam in the darkness.

“Oh—at the last, just before I woke . . . wee Jem was messin’ about, picking things up and putting them down as he does. There was a . . . thing . . on the table. I couldna say what it was; I’ve never seen the like.”

He held his hands about six inches apart, frowning at them. “It was maybe this wide, and just a bit longer—something like a box, maybe, only sort of . . . humped.” “Humped?” I said, puzzled as to what this could be. “Aye, and it had a thing on top like a wee club, only wi’ a knob to each end, and the club was tied to the box wi’ a sort of black cord, curled up on itself like a piggie’s tail. Jem saw it, and he reached out his hand, and said,

‘I want to talk to Grandda.’ And then I woke.”

He leaned his head back farther, so as to look up into my face. “Would ye ken what a thing like that might be, Sassenach? It was like nothing I’ve ever seen.

”The autumn wind came rustling down from the hill, dry leaves hurrying in its wake, quick and light as the footsteps of a ghost, and I felt the hair rise on nape and forearms. “Yes, I know,” I said. “I’ve told you about them, I know.” I didn’t think, though, that I had ever described one to him, in more than general terms. I cleared my throat.

“It’s called a telephone.”

121 ACROSS THE ABYSS~ A Breath of Snow and Ashes

[un-codru-de-luna]

Am găsit pe pagina alegeri 2025 România din Wikipedia engleză şi o împărţire foarte interesantă a votanţilor în categorii sociologice, pt t1 - este f bună de analizat (mi-a confirmat nişte predicţii, cum ar fi că pe Ponta îl vor vota mai ales băbuţele PSDiste) şi relevantă în special pt a înţelege cauzele creşterii fenomenului extremist:

Mă interesează mai ales împărţirile pe 1-educaţie 2-sex 3-urban/rural, cred că sunt foarte grăitoare în ce priveşte genul de oameni care au putut fi manipulaţi să-i voteze pe extremişti şi putem deduce şi unele motive pentru care discursul AUR a prins la ei.

La urban/rural adaug la ce-i în imagine şi ce am auzit despre t2, că, în general, Dan a fost votat mai mult la oraş, Simion la sat. Cred că aici se suprapune mult cu punctul 1: lipsa de educaţie, dar are şi o nuanţă proprie: sărăcia, lipsa perspectivelor de viitor, de-aia l-am păstrat ca important.

Nu mă mir că e o diferenţă pronunţată între nr de femei care votează Simion şi cel de bărbaţi. Atitudinea lui de bădăran şi discursul agresiv, pompos şi cu iz autopupîncurist prinde mai bine la ei; femeile e mai probabil să fie reticente, dacă nu chiar îngrijorate de aşa ceva.

Diferenţă mare e şi la Dan, în sens invers. Atitudinea lui simplă, retrasă, la obiect, uite care e problema - uite ce vrem să încercăm - nu promitem, are şanse mai mari să creeze un răspuns "a, ok" la femei, pe când de către un public masculin, el poate fi perceput ca nefiind "destul de bărbat".

Cea mai mare problemă e împărţirea pe educaţie. Este cauza nr 1 care ne-a adus aici, faptul că oamenii nu şi-au dezvoltat gândirea critică şi nu pot discerne cine îi minte şi cam în ce direcţie se află adevărul, chiar şi atunci când semnele sunt clare.

Se vede şi în tabel: votul Simion este dublu, efectiv, între cei cu studii superioare şi cei cu minimă educaţie.

Asta e problema nr 1 care ne sapă, din ea pornesc toate celelalte.

Dacă nu ştii istorie, nu vei înţelege prezentul. Dacă nu ai un oarecare set de cunoştinţe despre lumea în care trăieşti, eşti un om în ceaţă, fără repere, căzând în toate gropile. Dacă nu înţelegi, frica e mai mare, iar şansele să ţi-o îndrepţi către cauza greşită sub formă de atac total se apropie de certitudine. Ura, violenţa care au apărut recent îşi au aici izvorul principal, nu în altă parte. Ăsta trebuie retezat cel mai drastic, altfel lucrurile se vor linişti doar aparent şi vor izbucni din nou peste câţiva ani.