#dc#dc comics#batman#bruce wayne#batfam#dick grayson#batfamily#dc universe#tim drake#dc fanart
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Yemen
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from Yemen
seen from Spain
seen from Belarus
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
191018 sangam fansign
Attention! • do not edit
To his extreme surprise, the next few years were in many ways among the happiest of Jamie Fraser’s life, aside from the years of his marriage.
…
Above everything else, he had Willie. Helwater was dedicated to horses; even before the boy could stand solidly on his feet, his grandfather had him propped on a pony to be led round the paddock. By the time Willie was three, he was riding by himself—under the watchful eye of MacKenzie, the groom.
Willie was a strong, courageous, bonny little lad. He had a blinding smile, and could charm birds from the trees if he liked. He was also remarkably spoilt. As the ninth Earl of Ellesmere and the only heir to both Ellesmere and Helwater, with neither mother nor father to keep him under control, he ran roughshod over his doting grandparents, his young aunt, and every servant in the place—except MacKenzie.
And that was a near thing. So far, threats of not allowing the boy to help him with the horses had sufficed to quash Willie’s worst excesses in the stables, but sooner or later, threats alone were not going to be sufficient, and MacKenzie the groom found himself wondering just what was going to happen when he finally lost his own control and clouted the wee fiend.
…
“I shall be leaving tomorrow.” Jamie spoke matter-of-factly, not taking his eyes off the bay mare’s fetlock. The horny growth he was filing flaked away, leaving a dust of coarse black shavings on the stable floor.
“Where are you going? To Derwentwater? Can I come with you?” William, Viscount Dunsany, ninth Earl of Ellesmere, hopped down from the edge of the box stall, landing with a thump that made the bay mare start and snort.
…
The ninth Earl of Ellesmere had his chin thrust out as far as it would go, but the defiant look in his eye was tempered with a certain doubt as he intercepted Jamie’s cold blue gaze. Jamie set the horse’s hoof down slowly, just as slowly stood up, and drawing himself to his full height of six feet four, put his hands on his hips, looked down at the Earl, three feet six, and said, very softly, “No.”
“Yes!” Willie stamped his foot on the hay-strewn floor. “You have to do what I tell you!”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do!”
“No, I…” Shaking his head hard enough to make the red hair fly about his ears, Jamie pressed his lips tight together, then squatted down in front of the boy.
“See here,” he said, “I havena got to do what ye say, for I’m no longer going to be groom here. I told ye, I shall be leaving tomorrow.”
Willie’s face went quite blank with shock, and the freckles on his nose stood out dark against the fair skin.
“You can’t!” he said. “You can’t leave.”
“I have to.”
“No!” The small Earl clenched his jaw, which gave him a truly startling resemblance to his paternal great-grandfather. Jamie thanked his stars that no one at Helwater had likely ever seen Simon Fraser, Lord Lovat. “I won’t let you go!”
…
Without a word, Jamie grabbed the boy by the collar, lifted him off his feet and carried him, kicking and squirming, to the farrier’s stool he had been using. Here he sat down, flipped the Earl over his knee, and smacked his buttocks five or six times, hard. Then he jerked the boy up and set him on his feet.
“I hate you!” The Viscount’s tear-smudged face was bright red and his fists trembled with rage.
“Well, I’m no verra fond of you either, ye little bastard!” Jamie snapped.
Willie drew himself up, fists clenched, purple in the face.
“I’m not a bastard!” he shrieked. “I’m not, I’m not! Take it back! Nobody can say that to me! Take it back, I said!”
Jamie stared at the boy in shock. There had been talk, then, and Willie had heard it. He had delayed his going too long.
He drew a deep breath, and then another, and hoped that his voice would not tremble.
“I take it back,” he said softly. “I shouldna have used the word, my lord.”
…
“Have you really got to go, Mac?” he asked, in a very small voice.
“Aye, I have.” He looked into the dark blue eyes, so heartbreakingly like his own, and suddenly didn’t give a damn what was right or who saw. He pulled the boy roughly to him, hugging him tight against his heart, holding the boy’s face close to his shoulder, that Willie might not see the quick tears that fell into his thick, soft hair.
Willie’s arms went around his neck and clung tight. He could feel the small, sturdy body shake against him with the force of suppressed sobbing. He patted the flat little back, and smoothed Willie’s hair, and murmured things in Gaelic that he hoped the boy would not understand.
At length, he took the boy’s arms from his neck and put him gently away.
“Come wi’ me to my room, Willie; I shall give ye something to keep.”
…
“What’s that little candle for?” Willie asked. “Grannie says only stinking Papists burn candles in front of heathen images.”
“Well, I am a stinking Papist,” Jamie said, with a wry twist of his mouth. “It’s no a heathen image, though; it’s a statue of the Blessed Mother.”
“You are?” Clearly this revelation only added to the boy’s fascination. “Why do Papists burn candles before statues, then?”
Jamie rubbed a hand through his hair. “Aye, well. It’s…maybe a way of praying—and remembering. Ye light the candle, and say a prayer and think of people ye care for. And while it burns, the flame remembers them for ye.”
“Who do you remember?” Willie glanced up at him. His hair was standing on end, rumpled by his earlier distress, but his blue eyes were clear with interest.
“Oh, a good many people. My family in the Highlands—my sister and her family. Friends. My wife.” And sometimes the candle burned in memory of a young and reckless girl named Geneva, but he did not say that.
Willie frowned. “You haven’t got a wife.”
“No. Not anymore. But I remember her always.”
Willie put out a stubby forefinger and cautiously touched the little statue. The woman’s hands were spread in welcome, a tender maternity engraved on the lovely face.
“I want to be a stinking Papist, too,” Willie said firmly.
“Ye canna do that!” Jamie exclaimed, half-amused, half-touched at the notion. “Your grandmama and your auntie would go mad.”
“Would they froth at the mouth, like that mad fox you killed?” Willie brightened.
“I shouldna wonder,” Jamie said dryly.
“I want to do it!” The small, clear features were set in determination. “I won’t tell Grannie or Auntie Isobel; I won’t tell anybody. Please, Mac! Please let me! I want to be like you!”
…
“I baptize thee William James,” he said softly, “in the name o’ the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Willie blinked, crossing his eyes as a drop of water rolled down his nose. He stuck out his tongue to catch it, and Jamie laughed, despite himself.
“Why did you call me William James?” Willie asked curiously. “My other names are Clarence Henry George.” He made a face; Clarence wasn’t his idea of a good name.
Jamie hid a smile. “Ye get a new name when you’re baptized; James is your special Papist name. It’s mine, too.”
“It is?” Willie was delighted. “I’m a stinking Papist now, like you?”
...
“Good.” Jamie reached out and ruffled Willie’s hair in dismissal. “It’s almost time for your tea; ye’d best go on up to the house now.”
Willie started for the door, but stopped halfway, suddenly distressed again, with a hand pressed flat to his chest.
“You said to keep this to remember you. But I haven’t got anything for you to remember me by!”
Jamie smiled slightly. His heart was squeezed so tight, he thought he could not draw breath to speak, but he forced the words out.
“Dinna fret yourself,” he said. “I’ll remember ye.”
— Voyager
Gifs: section1rules.tumblr.com, Season Three, Episode Four, October 1, 2017 (horse riding)
Gif: smartbitchestrashybooks.com, Season Three, Episode Four, October 1, 2017 (walking)
Gif: outlanderamerica.tumblr.com, Season Three, Episode Four, October 1, 2017 (bastard)
Gif: lordjohngreys.tumblr.com, Season Three, Episode Four, October 1, 2017 (“Mac”)
Gif: pinterest.com, Season Three, Episode Four, October 1, 2017 (stinkin’ papist)
Photo: Starz, Season Three, Episode Four, October 1, 2017
Book: Voyager, Diana Gabaldon, 1994
Tumblr: October 15, 2018, WhenFraserMetBeauchamp 🏴❤️🇬🇧
WFMB’s Tags: #Outlander #Season Three Episode Four #S3E4 #Of Lost Things #Voyager #Chapter Sixteen #Above everything else, he had Willie #Dinna fret yourself, I’ll remember ye #Jamie Fraser #Willie #William, Viscount Dunsany, ninth Earl of Ellesmere #William Clarence Henry George Ransom #William Ransom #William Fraser 😬 #146 #101518
10.15.18
Paul G. Allen
January 21, 1953 – October 15, 2018
Shiiit ng araw na nakakakilig. Kanina kasi may recitation sa consys. After kong matawag at makasagot, naglakas loob akong imessage si crush (na nagpapatay malisyang crush ko sya) kasi di ko sya makita sa pwestong lagi nyang inuupuan pag subject na yon. Ang epic kasi nandun pala sya sa likod ko isang row ang pagitan at nasaksihan lahat ng ganap sa room pati yung naging sagot ko sa recitation at binubully nya ako. Hahahahha epic.
Best part yung paglingon ko, ay nandun nga sya sa likod, nagkatinginan at Sumabog kami parehas sa tawa.
Pizza & Squad | 101518
I had a shitty workout but bitch I made it!
Ang itim ko padin. Kainis.
