I Am Here To Read Everything @lovelinus4ever - Tumblr Blog

official-german-medienlandschaft

Oh my 🙈😍😍

unscharf-an-den-raendern

Growing Up German

Always getting a free slice of sausage at the butcher

Hearing stories where people violently died as bedtime stories

Closing your eyes when the Sandmännchen throws his sand so you don’t have to go to sleep

Making your own ice cream with Fruchtzwerge yoghurt

Benjamin Blümchen Cake

Singing a song about chinese people playing contrabass

“Fisher Fisher how deep is the water?”

“Don’t throw snowballs, one time a girl got a snowball with a stone in it in her eye and she went blind!”

“Charlie Chaplin went to Frankfurt…”

A depressed bread called Bernd

Knowing like 2 people who can pronound the English “th” properly

Humilating unathletic students in front of the whole school a.k.a. Bundesjugendspiele

“My grandma rides a motor bike in the hen house.”

Toggo Tour was like Coachella for German kids but you could never go cause they never came to your town

“cat toilet, cat toilet, yes that makes the cat happy”

“Space Taxi to the sky!”

“Now in every 7th egg!”

“Get [insert stupid ringtone here] in the Jamba Sparabo!”

Is it der, die or das Nutella?

Having friends in other states is difficult cause they’ve got school holidays when you’re still in school and vice versa

“Of course with the Mouse and the Elephant”

• Spielegalaxie!

Das bringt s auf den Punkt ☝️

Well I’ve just had beans on toast for the first time ever. Thanks to @thatwetwomaybeoneagain for sending me some genuine British beans for me to use!

I was quite pleasantly surprised. It’s actually really good. Never ever would have thought of doing this on my own, but I quite liked it!

wardley10

Beans on Toast is the best thing ever!! 🙌

supertam87

That is sooo British!!

ipalecollectorpoetry

Do you really need British beans to prepare it properly? New England baked beans won’t do? It doesn’t look appealing to me, but I am curious and I also have some leftover baked beans in the fridge.

abreathofsnowandashes-deactivat

I’m not sure. New England baked beans might do. They didn’t look appealing to me either but they’re surprisingly tasty.

The sauces are different and that really effects the taste. Personally, I’d only use baked beans from Ireland or the U.K., plus you need to use real butter on the toast, not the bubbly kind. I’m pretty sure Whole Foods has Heinz or Batchelor’s Baked Beans in their Irish/U.K. section and they definitely have Kerrygold butter. Pair it with a proper cup of tea, and you are in heaven. 😉

londonerbecky

I can’t be having butter with my beans on toast. My mum thinks the lack of beans in my house is a travesty, but I rarely have them unless it’s cold out.

bonnie-wee-swordsman

@bonnie-wee-swordsman but they’re so good!!!

#outlander #jamie and claire #love

Its so Tasty 🤤🤤🤤🤤

I saw this Today in a bookshop and had To buy it , bc it reminded me of Jamie and Claire ❤️

Fanfiction - My Brother’s Lass (Part Twelve)

This isn’t a drill. It is, indeed, the long awaited penultimate chapter of MBL!! You can find all the previous parts here.

My Brother’s Lass (Part Twelve) – Redeemed

Dead bodies don’t talk – and yet, they scream.

There is something deeply disturbing about a corpse, which goes beyond the smell of rotten flesh and decaying things. Something that compels us to look away, to hide, fearing that we might get a glance of our own fate. To touch a dead person is to knock on a newly left home – still warm but jarring in its emptiness, vacant windows in the eyes of an elapsed soul.

It’s not the dead we fear, frightened beyond reason at the sight of a cadaver- but the line that separates us from them, getting thinner and more real with each spent heartbeat.

I could barely breathe underneath the pile of dead men, laying over me like grotesque blankets. I struggled to inhale in shallow and quick gasps, afraid I would start to retch and vomit, revealing my presence on the back of the wagon. And – I must admit – dismayed with the thought of my soul deciding to make an escape to join theirs.

It had seemed a daring but suitable plan, born in Claire’s mind as we scouted the outside of Fort William, looking for a possible entrance. A disjointed wagon, conducted by a cross-eyed man with a cleft lip, had chosen that moment to swing on its wheels towards the prison. A dark cloud of flies accompanied the march, as small widows immersed in grief, dutifully crying on a wake. Soon enough wee had been able to see the bodies stored in the back, collected over the barracks down the road, to be accounted for and dispensed by the garrison.

“Hm.” Claire had hummed, shielding her eyes from the downing sun to take a better glance at the sad procession, as we hid in the vegetation nearby.

“What is it?” I asked, trying to locate the redcoats on the niches – a well-guarded place, crawling with young soldiers, eager to prove themselves to their King. “I ken that sound means ye’re up to something.”

“Well,” She pursed her lips in thoughtfulness. “How do you feel about an early funeral?”

I gave her a half-amused, half-puzzled look. “Not even marrit yet and ye already looking forward to be a widow, Sassenach?”

“You did say the only way to get in is through the gate.” Claire shrugged and pointed vaguely to the wagon, the driver now saluting the sentinel to ask for permission to enter. “Unless you have a secret army you have been planning to tell me all about, this seems like a way to get in without being killed outright.”

“Are ye seriously suggesting I disguise myself amongst the dead to enter?” I raised a brow, aghast. She gave me a look of unwavering conviction. “And how do ye suppose we were to get out, if I manage to rescue my brother?”

“Haven’t got that far on the plan, I’m afraid.” Claire conceded. “But time is running out. The next round of executions will take place in a couple of days – we must act now or Willie will be forever lost.”

“Aye.” I swallowed hard, watching the wagon disappear behind the gates, one bare foot – almost grey in colour - dangling from the back as an uncanny wave of goodbye. “We’ll manage.”

“We have to do something about your hair. Red Jamie.” Her eyes bore into mine, concerned and supportive, silently apologizing for the harsh words. “If someone sees you helping William, they’ll know who you are instantly. Before you can say “Humpty Dumpty!” Lallybroch will be crawling with English soldiers and you’ll be the next one arrested, waiting for the hangman to tie his ropes.” Her hand searched mine and gripped it. “I can’t have that.”

“I dinna know about Mister Humpty Dumpty, but I ken yer meaning.” I nodded, my free hand mindlessly brushing the red cowlicks of my hair. “Give me yer wee knife, mo nighean donn.”

I recalled the feeling of misplaced tranquillity that descended over me that afternoon, while I sat next to the weeping stream, Claire’s hands upon me. Her fingers trembled a little – and yet her work was precise and decided, baring me of the red streaks that had defined so much of myself through my lifetime. My fallen hair sprawled at our feet, sometimes kissed and swept away by the breeze, a cloak I could no longer use for shelter because it was so strikingly associated with who I was.

When she was done, Claire had placed her hands on my shoulders and leaned over to kiss the naked top of my head – her lips parted and quivering, like a prayer. I held her waist and placed my forehead against her heart, wordlessly asking for her blessing. A warrior preparing for battle, already walking on the outskirts of afterlife - if not for the hold she still had over me, enough to keep me with her. Claire would always keep me grounded. The heart out of my chest, which I had chosen without a second thought.

I groped my bald skull and smirked, attempting to sound more cheerful than I truly was. “Red Jamie no more.”

“Always Red Jamie.” Claire caressed my lips and smiled, sheathing her sgian dubh in its scabbard. “Always my Jamie.”

The wagon jostled along the path and I faintly heard the driver making his usual greeting to the soldier on duty, making a crude remark about his gruesome commodity. The sound of something heavy being open, more laughter, wheels complaining – and then we were across the short bridge and into the Fort’s courtyard. I sighed in relief and instantly regretted it, the moment my nostrils were filled with the smell of blood and loosened bowels.

When we stopped, I opened an eye to spy the ghastly driver heading out to an inner door, dutifully taking the documents he carried with the day’s account. Clenching my teeth, I rolled over like a conniving lizard and peeked through a crevice on the side of the transport. We had arrived during ration hours – no soul within sight. Regretfully smiling to my nearest companion – his eyes still open in shock, death coming much too soon to his expectations, his teeth the colour of old parchment – I slid from the embrace of the dead and into firm land of the living.

I knew where Willie was being kept – Claire had made me an accurate description, the same memory and confidence she applied to her treatments serving her well in that purpose. My heart jumped, hammering against my ribs every time I made a turn in a corridor, each time I dissolved against the shadows to avoid detection by passing patrols. I touched the hidden dirk against my thigh and prayed “Not yet. Please, not before I find him”.

I came to his cell, deep in the guts of the Fort. The guard in the corridor was lulled by prolonged inactivity – he barely struggled when I trapped his neck with my arm, pressing enough for him to faint. I knew the risk of someone discovering the intrusion was getting greater by the minute – expeditiously grabbed the chain of keys from his belt and headed towards the cell’s door.

He had been left in complete darkness. I opened the locked door, holding the small candle I had recovered from the guard’s table.

Willie was asleep, curled in a defensive posture, his back against the door. I walked slowly, afraid of scaring him enough for him to make a loud noise. As I approached, I noticed the bruises on his face, the sickening array of green and grey.

“Willie.” I whispered, touching him on the shoulder – the bones protruding, closer to the surface. He came awake like a man coming for air after prolonged immersion, gasping with his eyes wide open.

“Dinna touch me!” William croaked, his hands shielding his head. “Let me be! Please! Please!”

“Bi samhach!” I hugged him gently trying to silence him, crouching next to him on the filthy floor. “It’s me. Jamie.” And then, noticing his unhinged gaze, I resumed to talk in Gaidhlig, feeling that the soothing ancient words would distance him from the nightmares of his captivity. “Seas, a brathair.”

“Sawny?” He sobbed, his hands turned into claws, seeking to feel the contact of my flesh. “Seamus, is that ye, a bhalaich?”

“Aye, ‘tis me – hairless, but me.” I held his face between my hands. “I told ye I’d come for ye.”

“I thought I’d never see ye again.” Willie confessed in a broken voice, hugging me with abandon. “Not in this life, at least.”

“Ye should have known I’m too pig-headed to allow such a thing.” I said in jest, helping him to sit up. “We have to go, Willie. There’s not much time.”

“I’m too weak.” He glared at me, his lips chapped. “Ye have to leave me here, Jamie. We won’t make it if you take me with ye.”

“I’m not leaving ye!” I retorted in an assertive tone. “Both of us will walk out of this prison or none of us will.”

“Ye have to.” He insisted, agitated, trying to force me to understand. “Randall – the English captain – he’s the darkest soul I ever encountered on this earth. He thrives on his wicked ways and his desires aren’t meant for this world. He’s the lowest of demons, a creature of destruction – he canna see ye, Jamie. If he’s made aware of yer existence, he’ll want ye.” He gulped, an intense tremor taking over his body. “Ye aren’t marked – not in a visible way, as I am. Ye are everything he wanted to be and isn’t and for that he’ll try to possess it – and when he discovers himself unable to, he’ll try to destroy it. Ye’ll destroy you.”

“I dinna fear him, Willie.” I assured him in a calm voice, even if every hair on my arms stood on end. “It’s leaving ye behind that would destroy me. Blood of my blood, aye?”

“Ye should fear him. The things he is capable of…” Willie said between clenched teeth, fighting pain as I forced him to stand. “Leave, Jamie. I’d only ask of ye that ye see Claire safe. That ye make her happy, for as long as she might want ye.”

“Claire loves ye too, a brathair.” I said with gentleness. “She would never speak to me again if I dinna take ye out of this place – probably would stab me herself. Neither of us would know a moment of happiness for the rest of our lives.”

“She sure is a fierce wee thing.” He offered me the ghost of a smile and walked by my side, dragging his left leg, his arm around my shoulders for support. He was indeed exhausted, spent from days of fear and hunger, his leg badly bruised – or even broken – from one of his last beatings. “Thinking of her – of ye both – has kept me sane between these walls. If I never see her again, please tell her that…”

“Ye can tell her yerself, brother.” I stopped him, giving him a lopsided smile. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it more coming from ye.”

Slowly we climbed up the stairs towards the tower. I was grunting with the effort of almost carrying William on my arms – and acutely aware that only a miracle could make us avoid detection, given the pace in which we were moving.

As we came around a corner, an officer almost bumped into us. What followed was a short fight, awkwardly restrained on the small space of the corridor, ending when I clubbed him on the head with my dirk’s handle.

We could hear loud screams coming from downstairs, urgent and angry like a wild beast awakening, urging us to run away. I pulled William with me, ignoring his incessant pleas to leave him behind – I was determined to save him, even if it meant I’d lose my life or freedom. This was my road of redemption – the journey to regain the right to call him my brother, after all the deception and grievances I had inflicted upon him.

Eventually we stood on the battlement above the courtyard, soldiers gathering and screaming, pointing at our figures with accusing fingers. The frenetic sound of trained soldiers running up the stairs in our direction crushed the insides of my head, until all I could hear was the echo of the end coming, marching towards us with an English accent.

“Do ye trust me?” I asked roughly, my hand gripping the back of William’s stained shirt. His blue eyes bore into mine – a spark of past resentment and heartbreak, but then the limpid acknowledgment of earned faith.

“A-chaoidh.” He nodded. Always.

I turned to the other side, facing the cold dark waters bellow us – menacing in their unknown depth. William’s breathing was laboured and superficial, as he realized what I was about to do.

I took his hand, crushing it inside my own, and we jumped together, diving into a sea yet to prove itself merciful. And as we blazed into the sky, our joined hands exploded in heartrending pain, one single bullet shot through them – making us again one flesh, one blood.

thesketchingwitch

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG @kalendraashtar I’m not sure I took a breath while reading this chapter….

archiveofidentityconstellations

Yes , yes ,yes 💋💋💋💋🙈Great one

toobadhesfictional

Find your name with the gif button and add the one that is the most relatable

thisbibliomaniac

under-the-silk-tree

hereeatthiskitten

jackymedan

cerulean-beekeeper-deactivated2

Fanfiction - A Lifetime of Her (Part VI)

Part VI – “My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder”

Twenty-eight

She didn’t come back after that night – I knew she had gone back to Boston, to take control over her life. I waited. The phone never rang to give me news or an explanation, inexplicably silent even though I was certain she could find the number had she wished to. And I waited. My mailbox was painfully empty every day, while I dreamt of letters touched by her fingers, read aloud by her warm voice. And yet I waited.

I waited because I had no choice – I was meant to wait for her. Our lives were inextricably connected, vessels adrift on the sea with an intended destination written in the stars. I had tried to forget her before, to live pretending I wasn’t waiting – and that had hurt more than the hours I spent awake at night, looking at the spot where she once had laid by my side. But there was that small fraction of time, that heartbeat, just before I opened my eyes in the morning, where everything was possible – and I was happy.

Sometimes I would catch myself checking the weather in Boston, wanting to know if she could see the stars in clear skies – at least I could share that proximity with her. I wondered if she had drank coffee, dark and strong, while her eyes were still half-shut. If she had decided on a specialty yet. That was better than wondering about her marriage – every time I turned my thoughts to Frank, the idea of her being touched by him brought me to a blinding state of anger and fear. I would go outside in those occasions to run, as fast as I could for as long as I was able, until I had fled myself and was somewhat free.

I enjoyed teaching and found great solace in my students, curious and lively little fiends, always looking for trouble. I dedicated myself to the task of keeping their spirits sharp and their curiosity burning.

I had my old friends, with whom I shared whiskey glasses and laughs at the pub – keeping a respectful distance from the place I knew Laoghaire still frequented. They kept me grounded, even with their crudes jokes about my bachelor status. While I was laughing, it was easier to wait – I could almost push Claire to the back of my mind, where she would curl and sleep, satisfied.

Saturday was born in blazing glory, sun shining high in a cloudless sky like a treasure’s coin. I accepted the chance to spend the morning exploring the paths at Arthur’s Seat, pushing myself to the limit. I reached the summit with a delicious pain at each breath intake, the air fresh like crushed mint, filling my chest with the pulse of life.

Back at my apartment, I made plans to shower and spend a lazy afternoon reading and napping on the couch, while I stripped off my sweaty t-shirt, heading towards the bathroom.

That’s when the doorbell rang.

I opened it without thinking twice, expecting perhaps to see Angus or Willie, swinging by to challenge me to watch a rugby match or play a chess game.

Her hair was a bit shorter than the last time I had seen her, framing a face that was slightly flushed from sunlight and anticipation. She was wearing a white sundress and I realized I had been wrong – my memories would never be more than a pale comparison to the woman who stood before me. Her arms were bare, with no visible marks, her flawless skin resembling a painting.

“May I come in?” Claire asked softly, her eyes quickly tracing the lines of my exposed chest before she looked at my face, expectant.

“Of course.” I moved to the side, allowing her in. I brushed my hair with nervous fingers, desperately looking for an old t-shirt to dress. Eventually, I settled for the one I had been wearing, smelling faintly of sweat and crushed leaves.

“I wanted to come sooner.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve been in Scotland for a couple of days, but had to take care of some papers to start my surgical residency here and find somewhere to stay permanently.” Claire searched my eyes. “I’m moving back to Scotland.”

“Aye.” I said in a husky voice. “I’m glad to see ye, Claire.”

“I’m glad to see you too, Jamie.” She smiled, more confident. “These past two years, I -“

“Ye dinna have to explain anything to me.” I interrupted, feeling strangely hollow, fighting against anger which came with a sense of relief.

“I think I do.” Claire insisted, stepping closer to me. “I want you to know that I heard you, Jamie. I didn’t want to make promises until I truly meant them. I had to finish school and decide what I really wanted for my life.”

“And did ye?” I croaked, folding my arms in a defensive gesture, pre-emptively shielding myself from bad news.

“Yes.” She whispered. In that moment she reached out with her hand, offering it to me with her palm down – naked. Her wedding ring gone. “I divorced Frank more than a year ago – and never lived with him again after I was here.” Claire searched his eyes. “With you.”

“Then why did ye never wrote or called?” I asked, hurt creeping into my words. “Why did ye waited two years to show up again?”

“I had to be worthy of you.” Claire said simply, twisting her hands – her fingers touching the ghost of the ring that once had been there. “I had to make sure I was coming because it was the right thing – not because I was wrecked. You offered me everything and I wanted to have something to give back.”

“I missed ye.” I admitted in a whisper, as her hand touched my cheek – I closed my eyes, surrendering to her caress. “A Dhia, I thought I’d go mad with the idea of never seeing ye again.”

“I missed you too.” She gasped, her body so close to mine I could feel the swell of her breasts, the compelling heat coming from her skin. “I haven’t realized I could barely breathe until now.”

“Are ye here to stay then?” I asked serious, our eyes locking. We were gently swaying along some music we could both listen, too eager to stand still, too afraid to finally meet in quietness. “Because if ye’re not…”

She silenced me with her trembling fingers, touching my mouth, learning the shape of my lips. I almost moaned with the pleasure of her touch, so sincere and tender.

“I’m here to stay.” Claire assured me, tracing the line of my chin, where stubble prickled. “If you’ll have me.”

“I’ll have ye in any way I can.” I whispered, my voice almost breaking with emotion – and yet, stronger than ever before. “Always.”

“Jamie…” She sighed with a smile, her forehead leaning against mine. “May I kiss you?” I realized she didn’t wish to rob me another kiss, a thief taking something precious, covered in the night’s cloak.

“I thought ye’d never ask.” I gave her a lopsided smile and our lips finally met, a kiss eighteen years in the making, hesitant at first and then all-consuming.

We spent the afternoon discovering each other, laying in the living room’s rug, slowly and languidly displacing clothes in order to kiss another inch of skin, to draw shapes of desire with our fingertips.

I opened the first buttons of her dress, tracing with my tongue the curve of her breasts; she insinuated her hands on my shorts, caressing the fine copper hairs of my thighs. I nuzzled her neck, softly biting her until she moaned, so I could reward her with a soothing flicker of my tongue. She laughed and playfully clawed my back, making sure I too would wear medals of our war, marks of the victor. I marvelled with the roundness of her arse and the feel of her swollen lips, battered with kisses, ever-wanting. I was mightily aroused – that much was evident to us both – and yet I didn’t move to enter her. I didn’t wish to precipitate the voyage we had started together, to hasten something that would come naturally to us, as each one of our meetings through life had. I would finally get a lifetime of her and planned to savour each small conquest.

“Are ye hungry?” I asked eventually, kissing her shoulder. She looked dishevelled and wanton, pure lust and love in the shape of a woman – I’d never seen her more beautiful or desirable.

“I’m starved.” She laughed, nuzzling the hollow of my chest one final time. “Will you feed me then?”

“Ach, I’m too knackered to cook.” I admitted, playing with her curls – already sorely missing her lips on mine. “But there’s a fantastic Mexican place nearby – I’ll buy ye dinner.”

“If you’re planning to intoxicate me with Margaritas,” Claire sat up and started to compose her clothes. “I have to say it’ll probably work like a charm.”

We left the house walking hand in hand, like two loved up teenagers, giggling and teasing each other. I’d pull her against me once in a while to kiss her again, to the general amusement and surprise of people around us. I didn’t know such happiness was possible – I felt my chest so full that no space was left for regret or doubt.

We were talking about plans to spend Sunday together, when we heard the commotion. A loud crash, someone screaming – the air was thick with tension, harder to breathe in. I felt Claire gripping my hand one final time before she let go, prepared to face what was certainly coming around the corner.

A man with a black ski mask emerged from the sizable jewellery store, which had imposing diamond rings and golden necklaces peeking through the window displays. He carried a dark sports bag at his shoulder and in one hand sported a menacing revolver, while the other grabbed a shrieking shopkeeper by the hair. Blood dripped from the side of her head, where she had probably been pistol-whipped, her eyes blank with shock.

An alarm went off inside the store, an unnerving sound that made me shiver, the hairs on my arms erecting in fear.

The robber shouted something – a car was waiting near the curb, another masked man inside it. He forcefully pushed the woman against the sidewalk, her head bumping against the edge with a nauseating sound of crushed eggshells.

I think I screamed, trying to stop Claire from moving – I knew she would go. She had healed me times enough for me to know that she wasn’t capable of witnessing suffering without trying to interfere.

It happened in a second and yet I saw it in slow motion – how she kneeled next to the woman, trying to stabilize her neck, to evaluate her wounds, calling for her with the lips I just had kissed moments before. The man in the ski masked turned and looked at her, laughing at the sight of her unfruitful gestures – she held his gaze in defiance, insulting him with her sharp tongue.

I was already screaming before it happened – I could see it so clearly and yet I was powerless to stop it. The gunshot that announced the ending, loudest even than my heart breaking.

I ran to her, trying to catch her before she fell on her back. For a moment I thought he had missed her – but a drop of red appeared on the white of her dress, spreading quickly across her belly like a net of poison, a cloud of blood drenching the fabric.

She looked at me with her eyes wide open in painful shock. I sobbed and cried for help, trying to keep her with me through a stupor of despair, my hands pressing the wound as my heart’s blood left her body.

“Jamie.” Claire whispered weakly, searching my eyes. And I started to pray, as sirens wept around me.

Note: I know it’s angsty but - hey- it’s canon! :D

Why ?😭

sapphiresassenach

A Far Away Infinity

This is a longer chapter. I couldn’t find a way to break it up, so happy reading! Also don’t hate me and just trust. Enjoy and let me know what you think! Also also, I wanted to get this up quickly, so I edited fast and there might be spelling errors (as per usual) sorry (:

Part 1 2

Part 3 // Broken Shards and Torn Hearts //

#dog4life #dog lover #dog on couch #adoptdontshop #sleepydog #sunshine

Oh my Oh my.....what the FU.......

Linus and Lupo

Jamie is the towns local vet, he is about to close the practice for the day when Claire rushes in with a sick/injured Adso! Sparks fly between the two.

Jamie closed the last chart of the day and stretched, enjoying the soft rock playing over the clinic speakers. It had been an unusually long day, but his paperwork was finally done, and he was ready to close shop for the weekend.

Just then, a cloud of curls burst through the doors, looking about as distressed as the woman who bore them and, for that matter, the wee cheetie she was holding carefully under its belly. It wore a crest of painful looking porcupine quills; the work of a half-hour at least.

Yet his protest that it was a minute to closing died on his lips as he met with the woman’s golden eyes.

Dumbstruck as he was, it took him a minute to connect the crisp English accent to her.

“I’m terribly sorry for bursting in so late, it’s just that it seems there are no other veterinarians open at this hour, nor for the weekend, and I came home to find that Adso had picked the wrong fight -“

The kitten narrowed its eyes and let out a rumble of displeasure, as though remembering its foe and their undoubtedly bitter battle.

“Nae trouble at all!” Jamie said a tad too enthusiastically. “Ms…”

“Beauchamp. Claire Beauchamp.”

“Jamie Fraser. Call me Jamie.” He replied, standing back and motioning the way to one of the exam rooms.

She visibly relaxed and followed him back. “Thank you so much. Lord knows the little fool deserves it -“ was it Jamie’s imagination, or did the “little fool’s” rumbling get louder at that? - “but I worry he’d hurt himself more if I left it for next week,” Claire continued, placing the cheetie on the exam table; either unfazed by its behaviour, or used to it.

Seems ye’ve caught a witch, Jamie lad. He stymied his thoughts before they could say any further stupid things.

“A porcupine, ye say? Weel he’s luckily he didna get it worse then.” Jamie commented as he placed a hand on the cat’s fluffy rear in an attempt to stabilize him.

Lightning-fast, he pinched the quill near its base and tugged, simultaneously freeing it and producing a loud yowl from the unfortunate critter.

“One down, about seven more to go.” Claire beamed at him.

“Ooch the first is the easiest,” Jamie explained, “these last ones, weel it depends on the beast, but I dinna think yon cheetie will let them go without a fight.”

He was somewhat embarrassed to find his Scots accent deepening in her presence, and he wondered if she noticed.

“Shhh wee cheetie, dinna fash” he murmured reassuringly, petting its unquilled lower half as he slowly lowered his hand towards what currently resembled nothing so much as a sentient and very angry dustball.

A quick paw reached out and batted his hand away, hissing.

“Adso!” Claire admonished the cat, strikingly like a parent castigating a small child, “let the nice man help you.”

Jamie couldn’t hide his grin as Adso reluctantly lowered his paw, as though he understood his human’s words.

Weel if she is a witch, I’d let her enchant me any day.

She turned an apologetic gaze towards him, “I’m so sorry, he’s really normally sweet…”

“Aye, it’s the pain doing it. I’ve had it happen with horses, so a cheetie’s no trouble.” He reassured her.

“A horse? Really! I’d wouldn’t imagine they would be so foolish as to take on a porcupine.”

She shot an accusatory look at Adso, and he looked away with as much dignity as he could muster in the situation.

Jamie couldn’t help but smile even more broadly. He was uncomfortably aware that he’d been smiling far more than was normal. Complete dolt, that’s what she thinks of ye, lad.

“Not generally, but some sometimes the two startle each other and there’s a wee stramash.”

Claire laughed, and Jamie felt oddly proud to have achieved that. When, he wondered, had he become such a bonehead around women?

He returned his attention (or at least his eyes) to the kitten, gently questing for information as he divested it of its painful ornaments.

“Ye’re not from here, I think?” He asked.

“No, I’m new to Inverness. Moved here to… finish up my medical residency.”

Caught by the sorrow of her tone, he didn’t get his hand back fast enough, and found it instantly mauled by the offended feline.

Claire let out a huff of laughter, but the echo of sorrow was still there.

Jamie extracted his finger from the beastie’s wee claws and tentatively pushed her on it.

“A sassenach in Inverness? That’s an odd choice, if ye don’t mind my saying.”

For a moment she looked as though she would brush him off, but then she let out a breath and something about her seemed to relax, to accept whatever it was she had to tell him.

“I don’t, it’s just… I’ve just gotten divorced. Wanted a fresh start and all that. Some distance.” She looked past the room as she said it, but returned to the present after a moment, meeting his eyes in a manner that had a hint of a challenge to it.

Jamie held her eyes, hoping he was managing to convey sympathy instead of the pity he imagined she often received.

“I understand, though for what it’s worth, I’m surprised any man would willingly part from you.”

He felt the heat rise in his face once more. Ye damn clumsy fool. She’s being open with ye and ye decide the best response is to flirt? Ye should be happy if she claps yer ears and walks out. No less than ye deserve.

Yet she did not clap his ears, nor indeed did she walk out. Jamie seized on the silence to make amends.

“I’m sae sorry, that was rude of me, I-“

“No, no. It was fine, really.” She seemed to hesitate over her next words, and Jamie held his breath.

“It’s just been a while since… I don’t know, since such advances were welcome, I suppose.”

Jamie felt as though he was bolted to the spot. He knew he should say something, but his mind had gone completely blank.

Strident rock chords broke their bubble.

“HEAVY PETTING / COME UP BREATHING” growled the singer

Jamie looked as though someone had dropped him in a boiling pot. Ears glowing bright enough to rival a phone booth, he leapt out of the room and fumbled with the computer, mumbling something about “damn playlist,” and “Alec’s nephew, wee sod.”

Claire burst into laughter at this sudden spectacle, gasping for breath and earning an inquisitive “mrrp?” from Adso that perfectly matched the expression Jamie turned towards her as he re-entered the room. This did nothing to help with the breathing situation, which was becoming quite dire, all sound having been cut off in her mirth.

“Are you laughing at me?” Jamie asked, grinning as he leaned against the door frame.

“Yes, I most certainly am!” Claire gasped, trying to regain her composure.

Jamie found himself unable to resist laughing with her.

Another delicate bubble of silence enveloped them as they recovered.

“I should be on my way. Weekend clinic tomorrow.”

“Oh, aye. Of course.” He agreed, clearing his throat and trying to hide his disappointment. And what did ye think ye’d do, hey? Invite her to yer home just after meeting her? Along with her cheetie?

Claire picked up her unhappy but now de-quilled kitten, tucking him in the crook of her arm to prevent him from squirming too much as he saw her to the door.

She opened her mouth, her face seeming to indicate something was on her mind. But she seemed to decide against it, simply smiling, thanking him, and bidding him a good night.

He beamed, transfixed by the warmth of her smile; a heat he felt right down to his bones.

“Nae trouble, Claire. Good night to you as well.”

Jamie stared at the door for some time after she left, enjoying the flittering of butterflies in his stomach before he realized he’d not thought to ask for her number.

—

The following week was one of the rare busy weeks at the hospital, and as such, Claire pushed her plans to meet the hot vet once more to the back of her mind. Yet as luck would have it, life intervened to give her another chance.

A plaintive howl emerged from behind the nurse’s desk as Claire walked up to it, eager to confirm her shift was indeed over so she could go home for the weekend.

Nurses Hildegarde, Fitz and Duncan were crowded around its source.

“I dinna care if it’s ill, it’s a mangy dog, no’ a person!” Geillis griped.

“Oh no, is Bouton under the weather?” Claire asked, leaning over to get a look at the miserable dog. Affectionately known as the “petit docteur,” Bouton was a familiar presence on the ward, beloved by the patients and staff (save for nurse Duncan, who seemed to be the only person in the world he didn’t get along with), and known for catching things that even the doctors missed.

“I am afraid so. He has been under the weather for the past few days; I am concerned for him.” Nurse Hildegarde explained, casting a sympathetic look at the poor beast.

“I’ll bring him to a vet!” Claire offered, rather too hastily.

At the nurses’ raised brows, she tried to amend her enthusiasm. “It’s just that I know a very good vet, and I live close… well, close-ish…”

Seeing her rising blush, Nurse Hildegarde hid a smile. “That would be so kind of you, Claire.”

“No trouble at all!” Claire hastily threw on her coat and rushed out, bearing a somewhat startled terrier.

“A vet, then? Geillis grinned slyly. “Think that means he likes it doggy-style?”

Nurse Fitz whacked her with a chart.

I almost choked with laughter with that ending LOL. This was so fun and adorable! AND ADSO! More??

More please 😍😍😍😍🙈

OMG I LOVE THE VIETNAM AU. Finally, the reunion! So wonderfully written. But hold the phone WHAT happened to Jamie and why does he look like that and how is Claire gonna heal him? *sigh*

Vietnam AU

“Stuffed cabbage, Claire?”

Claire turned to her left, meeting the kind brown eyes ofIan Murray – Jamie’s best friend and brother-in-law.

“Sure – is it grown here on the farm as well?”

Ian served her a good-sized helping. Jenny – at her right– poured a bit more wine into the tall glass by her plate.

“Most of the simple vegetables come straight from thekailyard – always have, as long as we can remember. Nothing is as fresh to us. Oras rewarding.”

Claire took a tentative bite, keeping her eyes firmly onthe gorgeous old dinner plate – clearly used only for special occasions – as Jamie’sfoot silently nudged hers beneath the table.

Somewhere around three that afternoon, Ian had hobbleddown to the barn – he had lost his leg in a childhood car accident, Jamie laterexplained – finding a doubly rare sight. Jamie Fraser was idle – and JamieFraser was in the company of a woman.

That he had somehow, sometime told Jenny and Ian who shewas had been clear – but just exactly what they knew about her was not. She hadhelped Jenny and the kind housekeeper Mrs. Crook prepare dinner – over Jenny’s proteststhat a guest should rest – seeking the opportunity to quietly introduce herselfto Jamie’s sister, and needing the time away from him to just reflect on herwhirlwind day. She had had months – years – to prepare. He had had no notice,and yet had taken it all in so gracefully.

Had pledged himself to her, fully. Unequivocally.

Would she do the same for him?

She’d immediately accepted his offer of a place to stayfor the night. Jamie had proudly shown her to one of the beautifullyapportioned rooms on the second floor of the Big House – Lallybroch – sharing incrediblestories of the many Frasers whose blood and sweat had been poured into the verystones and floorboards of the house since before the Revolution.

Light streamed through the windows of the room that wasto be Claire’s – the hand-carved bed covered in a worn but exquisite bluebedspread that had been quilted by Jamie’s grandmother MacKenzie; two plusharmchairs of a 1940s vintage cozily angled before a small fireplace; on the wallabove the bed, a vibrant watercolor of the Big House amid the glowing orangeleaves of autumn.

“There should be some spare clothes in the bureau,” Jamieremarked softly, remaining just inside the doorway as Claire quietly acquaintedherself with the room. “And my Mam painted that when I was small. We have herdrawings and paintings up all over the house.”

From her position at the window, admiring the kitchengarden and small orchard of fruit trees clustered near the old outhouse, Claireturned to smile at him. “Do you paint?”

He shrugged. “I’ve tried. But Jenny has the real talentfor it – some of her pieces are downstairs.” He paused, licking his lips. “Wellthen. I’ll be down in the study with Ian. Have some orders to straighten outfor tomorrow. Will – ”

“I’ll be all right,” she reassured him. “Thank you,Jamie. Truly.”

His smile – small, glowing – was absolutely beautiful. “Thank*you*, Claire.” Then he turned and disappeared down the hall.

“The apples in that pie you helped me with come rightfrom the orchard – great-grandmother Fraser planted them, right after the WarBetween The States,” Jenny continued. Claire snapped back to the present as thetoe of Jamie’s boot curled around the back of her shin.

“I’m normally not much help in the kitchen, but you’ve allbeen so incredibly warm and generous – ”

“Nonsense,” Ian insisted, tearing up a piece of Mrs.Crook’s thick homemade oat bread – a bannock, Jamie had called it – for histhree-year-old son – Jamie’s namesake holding court at the worn but homelykitchen table between his father and uncle. “You’ve made Jamie smile again.Lord knows that’s been a rare sight since he returned from ‘Nam.”

Jamie withdrew his foot – and Claire looked across thehalf-empty portions of roasted pork and Brussel sprouts and corn bread. Meetinghis intense blue gaze. Hoping her eyes could convey everything her voice couldnot.

–

Apple pie and whisky before the fire in the sitting room –lined floor to ceiling with books dating from the 18th century allthe way up to shiny new editions of Slaughterhouse-Five and In Cold Blood. Comfortablesilence between them when Jenny and Ian departed to tuck the children into bed.And then when Claire had yawned for the fifth time, Jamie rose, banked thefire, and helped her rise from the couch. Then gently led her upstairs to theroom that would be hers for as long as she wished. Holding her hand the entiretime.

They paused in the doorway.

“Will you be warm enough? There are extra blankets in thehallway closet – ”

Claire rested her hands on his solid shoulders. “I’ll bejust fine. I’m not fragile, you know.”

He settled his hands on her hips, eyes creasing with happinessin the dim light of the hallway. The silence of the house buzzed in their ears.

“I know you aren’t,” he breathed.

Then drew her close – holding her. Enveloping her. Feelingher melt against him – her heart thrum in time with his.

After a long while she pushed back, kissed the corner ofhis mouth, and quietly slid out of his arms.

“I’ll be right here, down the hall,” he whispered. Eyesdark.

She blew him a teasing kiss, then quietly swung the heavyoak door shut.

On both sides of the door, Jamie and Claire rested theirforeheads against the wood. And sighed.

–

Despite her exhaustion, Claire slept fitfully. Tossing andturning on the heavenly soft mattress and under the almost sinfully warm quilt.So many images flashing through her mind – the bullet-scarred palm tree on the helicopterpad at Chu Lai; the faded anchor tattooed on the forearm of her anatomyinstructor; the checked shirt Uncle Lamb loved to wear when presenting hislatest findings to a group of his peers. The graceful, invisible shapes Jamiehad traced with his hands as he shared stories about himself and his Fraserforebears – helping her learn about all the gifts he would give her.

Did she belong here? Could she belong here – the lady ofthis great house? Sharing such a well-respected name? Enjoying dinner everynight in the rustic kitchen built two centuries ago, surrounded by so manyFrasers, alive and dead? Quietly at peace here on the ridge which Frasers hadcalled home for longer than Beauchamps had been in America?

No.

Yes.

Perhaps.

The house groaned and settled around her – easing intosleep.

Except the shuffle of steps in the hallway. Pausingoutside her room, then continuing down the stairs.

At least she wasn’t the only restless person tonight. Jenny,perhaps? Maggie was still nursing – perhaps just another late-night feed?

Claire wrapped the tartan blanket – Fraser colors, Jamiehad told her – from the foot of the bed around her shoulders, draped over the AppState t-shirt and flannel pants that had been neatly folded in the bottomdrawer of the bureau, gently pushed open the door, and stepped downstairs.

Only one room to visit at this time of night – the parlor,where books and the warmth of the fire could lull even the most restless to sleep.

But it wasn’t Jenny who sought solace, deep in the night.

Jamie stood after adding a fresh log to the fire, rubbinghis face with his hands, clad in an olive-green Army-issued t-shirt and wornwhite long johns.

Claire must have made a sound – for his head snapped up,startled.

“Can’t sleep?”

His wide, sweet mouth twisted in a wry smile. “You couldsay that. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in three years.”

Claire blinked harshly in shock. “You mean – ”

“Yes – since Chu Lai. I – well.” He swallowed, graspingfor words. “I re-live all of it every night.”

She crossed the room to stand in front of him. Rested atentative hand on his elbow. “Tell me?”

He did. Terrible storied of men blown to pieces. Villagesburned. Dead livestock floating face-down in rice paddies. The faces of men he couldn’tsave. Memories of pain, and anguish, and isolation.

“And the worst one –” his voice broke.

At this point they had curled up together at the cornerof the couch, her legs tucked against his, sharing the warmth of the plaid. Shesqueezed his clammy hand. Encouraging.

“The worst one is when the VC attack Chu Lai – and I can’tfind you, Claire. I can’t protect you. And then I’m scrambling down the hallwayand they’re firing at me and I trip over your body.”

He wouldn’t look at her – preferring to stare into thehypnotic flames.

She wiped the tears from his eyes. Stunned.

“Have you ever told this to anyone?” Her fingers twinedin his hair, damp with sweat. Bringing his face to rest in the curve of herneck.

All he could do was shake his head. Breathing hard.Burrowing closer to her.

“Nobody here understands. I’m a war hero. The owner ofthis estate. I’m not supposed to be scared. I’m not supposed to have a backtwisted with scars. I’m not supposed to be terrified of going to sleep everynight.”

Claire eased onto his lap. “Shh,” she soothed. “I’m here.Just let go, Jamie.”

He inhaled deeply. Shakily.

“Let go,” she repeated. “I understand. I’m here. You don’thave to pretend.”

A beat.

Then –

“I love you.”

His awed, red-rimmed eyes lifted to meet hers. Smiling throughthe tears.

Then her lips found his – and they clung to each other indesperation and joy.

I Love this AU soooooooooooo Mutch 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

writtenthroughtime

Welcome to the Dark Side

For the last year or so I’ve conversationally mentioned Outlander to my friends when we talk about books/tv, well this weekend one of my best friends asked me to tell her more. Naturally… I can’t keep my mouth shut or the passion I have for this series a secret and gushed to her about the books, the adaptation, the actors who bring my beloved character to life, my fanfic writing, my projects I’ve done on the side with Outlander themes, and so on. She was so enthralled that at first she said she didn’t want to watch the show until she read the books….

Well……

That didn’t happen. Saturday night I found her curled up on my floor, clutching one of my blankets to her chest as she sat in awe watching Sassenach. As soon as the credits ended she turned to me and asked if the next episode would automatically play, and it did.

She’s now watched up to By the Pricking of My Thumbs, and has downloaded the audiobook and started to listen to it on her commute in to work. She’s obsessed. This morning she texted me asking questions and saying that she can’t stop thinking about Outlander and Jamie and Claire’s relationship. She’s in love with Jamie and the way he treats Claire. She’s in awe and love of Claire’s badassness/strong female lead. Now she’s telling me she can’t wait to fully finish the tv show and read all the books.

I created a monster.

And I’m not even sorry.

thesketchingwitch

Yepppp, sounds about right - I introduced three fellow Mums from the school run to the TV series, and all three binge watched both Seasons over the course of a couple of weeks, and now two have started reading the books… and keep asking me about whats going to happen next….and when is Season 3 coming….😈😈😈😂

I did. it. Too My Besti she Never reads or Listen To audiobooks now she is Obsesst . After one year she Said ok I watch the First Episode , i Didint Hear anything from her on that Weekend 😂monday she calls me "i hate you , now Tell me what Happens Next "

bonnie-wee-swordsman

When asked my favorite episode of season 1

bonnie-wee-swordsman

It bears repeating.

scatterations

Seven, Sieben 7,7,7,7,7,7,7

thesketchingwitch

Is this a trick question? Is there actually a different answer to this conundrum?

I Love Seven but for me 11 is the best one 🙈😍😍😍😍😍

Can you please write about Jamie and Claire's first encounter on the plane in your modern AU?

Modern Glasgow AU

Jamie Fraser settled back into his lumpy economy class chair, idly watching the passengers slowly make their way up the airplane’s central aisle. He was finally going home. Colum and Dougal had worked him to the bone these last few weeks, knowing that his time was almost up – and wanting to take advantage of his labor as much as they could. Much more than was proper, to be sure – but Jamie was willing to do just about anything to turn the page on this time in his life.

He hadn’t minded that his uncles didn’t even spring for a business class ticket. As long as he was going back to Scotland, he didn’t care exactly how – Murtagh’s snide comments on the cheapness of the MacKenzies notwithstanding. Still, he wouldn’t feel entirely at ease until that door closed shut and the plane gently pushed back from the gate.

The stream of passengers had dwindled to a few stragglers now. Jamie stretched, hoping that the window seat beside him would remain empty for the flight. His legs always had no place to go in these cramped seats. Even sitting at an awkward angle was better than losing circulation from the knees down.

Jamie sifted through the magazines and catalogs in the seatback pocket. No good movies to be shown on this flight, and he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to focus on a book or crossword puzzle. There was always sleep, but he was still so keyed up from his whirlwind final day in New York…

“Excuse me?”

Jamie looked up, and his heart nearly stopped.

She smiled back hesitantly, curly hair askew and cheeks slightly flushed. Clearly she’d run all the way to the gate.

Jamie blinked, then remembered his manners.

“Of course,” he breathed, quickly jumping up and stepping into the aisle. “Do ye need a hand wi’ those bags?”

She tilted her head and gently eased a satchel into his waiting hands. “Sure – if you don’t mind?”

Jamie shook his head and heaved the small – but heavy – satchel into the overhead bin. “What do ye have in here? Rocks?”

She raised one eyebrow and squarely met his teasing gaze. “Textbooks,” she said deliberately.

He nodded, then awkwardly extended a hand indicating her to sit. She settled into the window seat and Jamie eased in beside her. He buckled his seatbelt and stared at his hands, watching out of the corner of his eye as she unpacked a magazine from her purse. His mind grasped at something, anything to hear her voice again.

“What kind of textbooks?”

She smoothed her right hand over the cover of the magazine – The Lancet. “Medical. I’m a nurse.”

That got his attention. “Oh, aye?” he replied, a bit surprised. “What kind o’ nurse, if ye dinna mind me asking?”

“Well, I don’t have a specialty, really. I’m an emergency room supervisor at a hospital.”

Jamie’s eyebrows shot up. “Ye live in Glasgow, then?”

“Yes, going on three years now.”

“But ye’re clearly no’ from there originally – unless yer parents sent ye to school in England when ye were a wee bairn?”

She smiled, and his heart raced. “No – Oxfordshire, originally. I moved to Glasgow with my – my fiancé, when he accepted a teaching job at the university.”

Fiancé. Of course. Jamie glanced down at her hands, neatly spread side-by-side on the magazine. How could he have missed that diamond ring? He swallowed, limbs numb from the adrenaline. What was this woman doing to him?

“What about you?”

Jamie’s eyes snapped up to hers. “What?”

She raised one eyebrow, teasing. “You’re clearly not from Oxfordshire.”

“Aye – weel. I was born at home, near the wee village of Broch Mordha, in the Highlands up near Inverness.”

“You were born at home?” Her voice was incredulous.

“It was my Mam’s choice.” He shrugged. “My family lives in our ancestral home, and all the heirs have been born there – in the same bedroom, even - since the eighteenth century.”

She shook her head. “You Scots and your traditions.”

He arched one eyebrow. “You English have a fair bit of tradition as well. The Queen and all that, aye?”

She smiled. “So, do you live in Glasgow now?”

“Yes and no. I’ve been in New York for the past two years, working with my uncles in the printing business. My time here is done, so it’s back to Scotland. My godfather lives in Glasgow, and I’ll be living wi’ him for a while.” He sighed. “I’ve got a job at a printshop waiting for me. I dinna want to do that kind of work for the rest of my life, but it’s a place to start, ken?”

She nodded. “How come –”

“Excuse me.” Jamie reluctantly turned to face the grizzled flight attendant. “Will you need a card for UK Customs?”

“No, thank you,” he said slowly, glaring at her. The flight attendant moved on to the next row without asking the woman next to him whether she needed a card – clearly assuming that they were traveling together.

Jamie swallowed and turned to face his seatmate. “How many miles do you think that one has on her?” he asked quietly.

She grinned and shook her head. “You’re terrible.”

He smiled back, absolutely entranced. “What were you doing in New York, then?”

Her demeanor changed immediately. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and looked down at her hands – almost nervous. She twisted the diamond ring around her finger. “I was visiting Frank – my fiancé. He’s on a sabbatical at Columbia – he’s an expert in Scottish history, actually. The ’45 and all that. Columbia has some wonderful resources, and he’s trying to write a book.”

He longed so desperately to take one of her small, trembling hands into his. To comfort her, ask what was troubling her, and put her mind at ease. But he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. Another man had already laid claim to her – and what a lucky man he was.

So Jamie did the only thing he could do – find a bit of humor.

“Bonnie Prince Charlie. What a daftie that one was.”

She snorted softly, the tension broken. “Scots, as a rule, have very long memories.”

He nodded, meeting her gaze as she raised her eyes to his. “My family’s estate was never taken over by the English, not even after Culloden” he said, with not a small bit of pride. “My six-times great-grandfather was able to hold on to it. And today we run one of the largest and most prosperous working farms in the county.”

“That’s no small accomplishment,” she remarked softly. “Why did you come to New York, then? Why leave the farm?”

He opened and closed his mouth. How much to tell her, this beautiful, smart, absolutely captivating stranger?

An announcement from the flight deck, shortly followed by the terribly-produced safety video, filled in the silence between them. Their connection was broken.

She leafed through her magazine, he stared dumbly at the backs of his hands. He longed to answer her question – tell her the truth about why he had left Lallybroch and come to work for his uncles. He felt he could trust her – could open up to her – and that she would really, truly listen. Some part of him believed that by opening himself up to her, she’d want to know more about him – and come to see that he was worthy of her. More worthy than the university professor ever could be.

Enough. She’s not yours, lad. Let it go.

He turned to peer out the window at the runway, slowly tracing her profile with his eyes. Dear God she was beautiful. Funny and charming, with a solid iron core. Strong. Capable.

He swallowed and lay his head back on the headrest, closing his eyes. It was going to be a long flight.

—

Twenty minutes until landing now. She had settled back into her seat, but her hand hadn’t left his grip – their fingers were still tightly laced together.

And she’d removed her ring, with little ceremony, and tucked it into her purse.

“I’ll be moving out of the flat,” she said softly, gazing down at their hands. His thumb hadn’t stopped stroking her knuckles. “It’s in Frank’s name – university housing. I don’t want to spend even another night there.”

Jamie’s other hand settled against her palm, fingers idly tracing the sensitive skin of her wrist. “I’ll help ye,” he said quietly. “Ye can live wi’ me and Murtagh until ye land on yer feet.”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe this. Six hours ago, I didn’t even know who you were. And now I’m planning a new life – and you’re in it.”

He swallowed and met her eyes. “Only if ye want me to be.”

She nodded. “Yes. I do want you to be in it.” Her gaze softened. “Though I have one condition.”

He bit back panic. “Oh, aye? What is it, then?”

She smiled. “Tell me your name.”

He let out a sigh and grinned widely. “Ah. It’s Jamie. Well, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, if ye want to be formal about it.”

She ran the tips of her fingers up and down the inside of his palm. He swallowed. “Well then – fair’s fair. What’s yer name?”

She smiled. “Claire. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.” Her left hand, naked, traced his brow gently. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jamie.”

Holy God, the way she said his name…

He raised her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss. “The pleasure is all mine, Claire.”

gotham-ruaidh

Happy Valentine’s Day, with an oldie but goodie from Modern Glasgow! 💕💕💕💕💕

Wait 😳what Happend in 6h , i want To know 🙏🏻

More Vietnam AU please!!!

Vietnam AU

Claire blissfullysettled back a bit on the bench, resting her head against the whitewashedsiding of the barn, watching a red squirrel scamper through the clearing andchase a gray squirrel up a fir tree.

Jamie’s Fraserforebears had built a few stalls in the 1760s. Right after the main rooms ofthe Big House – Lallybroch, after the estate they’d lost in the Highlandsfollowing the disastrous ’45 Rising – had been completed. Governor WilliamTryon had given another James Fraser a spectacular land grant, which stillformed the core of the family’s farm and landholdings. They had farmed thisland – poured their blood and sweat into the dirt and trees and fields – for morethan two centuries.

And prospered.

How sheenjoyed just listening to Jamie’s rich, melodious voice spinning incredibletales of valor and love and sacrifice. Without breaking a beat, he handed heran apple from his rucksack – exchanging it for the remaining half of the roastbeef sandwich Jenny had made him this morning – smiling at how she’d chewedaround the tomato slices.

“Not a fan,hmm?” he teased.

Her teethcrunched around the apple. “Never liked them – too slimy.” Smiling.

“I’ll have toremember that, then.”

She didn’tthink her heart could beat any faster.

“And thenSimon Fraser, my grandfather, decided to expand the whisky operation – we stilluse the caves he carved out to age the bottles. Murtagh always talks aboutgoing more commercial, but I prefer keeping it all in the family.”

It hadprobably been several hours since they’d been able to stop just staring at eachother, and Jamie had led Claire by the hand into the sunshine outside the barn.

Suddenly shyaround each other, Claire had grasped at something – anything – to keep themtalking.

“Tell me aboutyour family?” she asked gently, gesturing toward a bench tucked against theside of the barn.

And then he’dlaughed.

What shewouldn’t give to hear that every single day for the rest of her life.

“How manygenerations back?” he’d teased, eyes flashing. Still holding her hand.

“Your parentswill do.” Her thumb caressed his injured hand. Carefully. Gently.

“Ach, no way!I’ll tell you the entire history of this place. It’s in my blood, you see?”

And it was –it clearly was. Never had she seen anyone so proud of his family – and what somany generations, united for the same purpose, had accomplished.

So they hadspent the next several hours talking – and laughing – and genuinely getting toknow each other for the first time. Jamie was a born storyteller – charming,witty. Flirtatious.

And as thehours passed – and they shared Jamie’s simple yet delicious lunch – they beganto relax.

They did notdiscuss why Claire had come. What she had been doing. What Jamie had beendoing, since they’d parted on the helicopter pad at Chu Lai.

That wouldcome. But now – now they celebrated the simple fact that they were with eachother again.

It wasoverwhelming. Claire had had weeks to mentally prepare – Jamie had had nonotice.

“Don’t youhave chores?” she asked after a while – now that lunch was over, Jamie’srucksack tucked away, and their hands had found each other again. “Don’t youneed to fix that saddle, or whatever you were doing when I interrupted you?”

He shrugged,eyes facing forward out into the forest. So quietly green and lush. The woodshe had grown up in.

“It doesn’tmatter. None of it matters anymore. You’re here.”

Claire pursedher lips – sensing an opening. She turned on the bench to face him directly.

As always – hewas right there to meet her.

“What happensnow, Jamie?”

He took her lefthand between his, tracing his thumb around the base of her ring finger. Eyesstrong on hers.

“Why have youcome, Claire?” His voice was soft, vulnerable. “To tell me you’re well – or sothat we could make a life together?”

“I’m notmarried anymore,” she breathed. “I went home to him, like you asked me to. Ittook me until Christmas to see him. And I told him we would move forward, ashusband and wife.”

She closed hereyes – suddenly overcome with shame.

Jamie waited.

Patient.

Giving.

Tears trickledfrom her eyes. “He told me he had fallen in love with someone else – and thatour marriage was over. He didn’t even want to try.”

A soft, softtouch on her cheek.

Jamie’s lips,kissing the tears away.

Kissing theapple of her cheek. Her nose. Her forehead.

Cherishingher.

Infusing herwith strength.

She opened hereyes – and he was right there in front of her.

“We got anannulment. And I got into medical school, in Boston.”

Jamie had sucha beautiful smile.

“And then Ihad a chance to come down to App State – to work with Dr. Beaton. I want tohelp people find their voices – to help them heal from tragedy and injury. Tohelp them find themselves.”

She twinedtheir fingers together.

“You have aknack for that, Claire,” he breathed. “You can do *anything* you set your mindto. Don’t you know that by now?”

He held hereyes. She felt invincible.

“I do,” shesaid after a long while. “I do.”

“Good. ButClaire – you didn’t answer my question.”

She shifted abit on the bench. “I don’t think it’s only my decision, Jamie – it’s yours aswell.”

He licked hislips, dropping his gaze to his knees.

“My life isyours, Claire.”

She reeledback – stunned.

“I – Jamie, I –you can’t – ”

“Yes, I can.And I will. You saved my life, at Chu Lai. You restored me to myself. I owe youa debt. So it’s up to you to decide what we shall do – where we go next. Myheart has been yours since the first time I saw you, and you’ve held and healedmy soul and my body between your two hands – and kept them safe.”

None of thiswas real. Real people didn’t talk like this.

But Jamie wasreal, all right – more real than anything had ever been to her. More than Frank– more than school – more than anything else that had ever mattered in herlife.

“Do you knowwhat I was saying to you, all that time when I was locked in my mind? When mymouth couldn’t form the right words?”

He nudged hisknee with hers, getting her to look up. To see the tears shining in his owneyes.

She shook herhead. “No, I don’t. Tell me?”

He tilted hishead. “I was telling you how beautiful you are. How you remind me of the fairystories my Mam told me as a child – of the sorceress who bewitches the mightywarrior. The kelpie who comes from the sea to claim a human man as her love.The enchantress whom the brave hero is compelled to fall for.”

He took a deepbreath. “And then I’d tell you of my home – of here, Lallybroch. And how I knewyou’d fit right in to life here – how happy we would be here, together. Of thelife we’d have, if things were different.”

Claire’scheeks pinked at his words – at the praise she felt she did not deserve. “Whatdo you mean, if things were different?”

“If I’d metyou at a different time or place. If you weren’t married. If I could court youproperly, the way you deserve.”

Hestraightened his back, licking his lips.

“So. I willask you a third time, Claire. Why are you here?”

Preparinghimself for anything – including rejection.

But those werewords that would never fall from her lips.

The next wordsshe had asked him so many times in her dreams. It was the most natural thing inthe world.

“Will you haveme?”

Anextraordinary look of terror and joy and jubilation flashed across his face.

He grabbed herhands, kissing them feverishly.

“Yes,” herasped. “Yes, I’ll have you.”

“Will you have me?” AND I DIE!!!! Talk about amazing iconic line swap, miss Master! This is just gorgeous and I have unicorns inside my chest!

There’s a reason you’re the queen, @gotham-ruaidh!!! I really don’t know how you do that, weave the canon lines so beautifully into your AU’s. I love this so so much.