about fergus

nigheandownunder  asked:

I just want to let you know that you made me cry with your post of young Fergus and older Fergus seeing Claire and I'm so emotional about anything Fergus + Claire and it's all your fault

Can we cry together? (But a cry from happiness…..)

They are so beautiful….. I can’t wait to see his wedding, when Jamie gives him his “Fraser” name. 

anonymous asked:

I feel like I'm the only person that was like.....I really didn't need a 45 minute sex scene. I really wish they had moved along with the story instead of wasting this extended episode on sex. Like we got it they're reunited now let's talk about fergus, mr. willoughby and young Ian(I really love young Ian) I was just like bleh. I don't really care. I was pretty disappointed if I'm honest. The photographs scene was a flop too. 😔

Hello there Anon. Thanks for dropping by.

Umm… hate to break it to you, but yeah, you’re definitely in the minority. And it wasn’t a 45 minute sex scene. They had sex three times and it took about as long as it did in The Wedding.

I’m not sure what you expected from this episode. Outlander – the story – is them. Jamie and Claire. And this episode was the epitome of that. Discovery. Awkwardness. Getting to know the new them. Filling in that 20 year gap. It would have been inauthentic to rush through that. It would have felt forced and dishonest. I mean, you’re reunited with the love of your life after thinking you’d never see them in this life again. Wouldn’t you want to sequester yourself in a away in a room for as long as humanly possible? 

And we got the (re)introductions of Fergus (one of my favorite scenes of the ep!), Mr. Willoughby, and Young Ian, all in one episode. We now have the rest of the season to get to know them. So don’t worry, Anon, we’ll get plenty of the side-stories you love too.

I’ve already mentioned the photos scene in another ask, but yeah, I’m with you there. I wish it were done better, but the “You gave me a child, Claire. She’s alive. Safe. Because of her we will live forever, you & I” scene redeemed a lot of that for me.

Sorry you didn’t love the ep, but I think there’s hope for the rest of the season for you. But honestly, if we could have more eps like this one, I’d fill an entire season with it.

Bon’s Informal Screechings (3x02) (SPOILERS)

and, as always, “informal” means: TYPOS 

Originally posted by sam-heughan-daily

  • Aghh, yessss, more wanted posters!!! (OH SHIT WHAT IF THE POSTER SURVIVED THROUGH TIME) (FIC FIC FIC FIC FIC)
  • FERGUS and the LallyBoy squad!!
  • Oh, and he’s such a little jamie, talking about how knives are the only brave way to kill. Bless
  • Ohhhhh interesting, a Scottish redcoat. Such an interesting angle
  • AHHH there’s the woodsman shot! Um, Jamie, could you maybe KEEP YOUR DISTANCE WHEN THE RECOATS ARE ABOUT
  • Ooo pretty deer
  • CLAIRE SHOT CLAIRE SHOT…..awwwww her sweet, sweet smile….awww his little bereft face when he realizes it’s only Jenny. GAH. Hang in there, JimJam—there will come a day!!!
  • Jenny: Oh my god, SPEAK WORDS, JAMIE
  • Jamie: Nah, I’ll just sit here, whacking my meat in silence. Over and over. Just pounding all this raw, untouched meat until the day I die. 
  • Jenny

Originally posted by lifetimetv

  • Oh i think she’s
  • OHHHHHHHH, HEAVENS, YES.!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Originally posted by everythingstarstuff

  • GAHHH BREE’S BUNNY!!!! (i love this for fic reasons, especially) 
  • You go, Claire, don’t let the fuckers keep you from reading the globe. 
  • WHO might that casual Irish history mention be for?  Hmmmm…..
  • I’m so fucking obsessed with her talk-to-baby voice and mannerisms. Like OH. my. GOD. TOO CUUUUUUUTE. 
  • Ughh Jamie looks so scared when he walks up to Mary (possibly like he needs to shit) (like… a sadness shit.) (Yep that’s it) 
  • BABYCHILD FERGUS DINNA SHOOT THAT BURD- (although actually, that’s clever. I always thought it was unfathomably stupid for Jamie to have risked such a thingin the book )
  • Oh but Fergus you dum dum, that was not good
  • ….Nice shot though! 
  • AWWWWW, HI WEEIAN! His little weee faaaaaaaaaaace 
  • Redcoats redcoats redcoats 
  • Gah, I’m so glad they didn’t put Jamie in the wardrobe. That always felt a little unrealistic. 
  • ((ohhhhh Jenny must be remembering Black Jack. This isn’t the first time redcoats have barged into her chamber)) 
  • WHOA, MARY WTF! TAKE ONE FOR THE TEAM, GIRL! That was very cool of her. (I really liked that adaptation choice. Gave her character so much more depth. I mean, that’s exactly something Claire would have done).
  • Ohhh i love that Claire’s the one to initiate the sex. It would make me so uncomfortable if they’d gone the route of Frank pressuring her
  • Oh, I see those eyes closed. Its about her and her body, not about Frank 
  • OMG THEY DID IT ON PURPOSE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Originally posted by yourreactiongifs

  • another good adaptation choice, though! underlines the cruelty of those post Culloden years
  • Urgh,, jamie breaking down, crying for Fergus
  • “You remind me i have something to fight for”. “There you are, milord.”
  • “I have always trusted you milord”

Originally posted by nikkiiklebold

  •  “I miss my husband” 
  • Fireplace sex: Oh my that was quite a groan Claire (i may have LOLed)
  • Ohhhh not opening her eyes again 
  • oh shit 
  • ooooo it hurts so good, this marital strife

  • A pain in a part of ye that’s lost
  • “…and that’s just a hand….Claire was your heart” 

Originally posted by haidaspicciare

  • Ooo shaving! Hallo again, pretty baby
  • I LOVE that they changed mary’s line to “something we BOTH need” 
  • Hell to the yas @ that tasteful fade to black. Collective sigh of relief. 
  • From where I’m standing, they handled the Mary stuff BEAUTIFULLY 

IMPORTANT: Neither Jamie nor Claire can open their eyes during sex anymore

  • MED SCHOOLLLLL!!!!!!!!
  • “Gentlemen” (FUCK YOU) 

Originally posted by natforprez

Another great episode, guys!! 

anonymous asked:

So from 208 we got that amazing scene of Jamie holding and talking to Kitty. My prompt is imagine Jamie holding and talking to Faith had she lived in that moment (or in Paris, you choose!) just Jamie taking care of his baby and his wife by staying up with the restless child! Thanks! Love your work!

“Please, Faith,” Claire pled in a whisper as she rocked the fussing six-month-old. “Your belly is full so please go back to sleep.”

Jamie slipped out of bed and crossed to where Claire sat near the fire, clearly exhausted, Faith squirming in her arms and pulling Claire’s hair as she rubbed her eyes with her fist.

“Let me take her, Sassenach,” Jamie offered already reaching and loosening Faith’s grip on Claire’s curls. “I cannae sleep anyhow.”

“Charles?” Claire asked, sighing with relief as the weight of Faith’s restlessness was lifted from her.

“I dinna ken how to approach him on this,” Jamie admitted, his large hand pressed to Faith’s back as she pressed her face to his shoulder and gnawed on his collarbone, her drool soaking his nightshirt. “He’s goin’ to ask me to gather support for him when we go back, I can feel it.”

“I thought the loss of the wine shipment was supposed to cripple his chances of raising the rebellion,” Claire remarked before groaning with satisfaction as she slipped back into bed and relaxed against the pillows.

“Aye well, God and the mission Charles believes He’s given him cannae be brushed aside so easily.” Jamie turned pressed his nose to the crown of Faith’s head. He found it easier to stifle the shaking rage that Charles Stuart inspired when he held Faith in his arms. She was what mattered––she and Claire were all that mattered. But how to explain such a feeling––an apparent change of heart––to a man like Charles Stuart…

“Tell him God spoke to you in a dream,” Claire said with a yawn. “Charles isn’t the only one whom God can speak to and if He gives you a vision of the Rising failing..”

Jamie chuckled and Faith began to croon her agreement. “I can just imagine how that conversation will go,” Jamie told Faith quietly as he glanced over and saw that Claire had already drifted off to sleep. “Well, yer highness, I cannae be a Jacobite any more. No, it’s no to do wi’ the charges against me being vacated, though I must admit I am grateful for how it’s turned out. Rather, the Lord in His mighty wisdom sent me a vision of what lies ahead should ye take to the field of battle in the near future. It will end with thousands of yer men dead for naught––for worse than naught. If they dinna fight they’d be no worse off than they are now but if they do ye will lose and when ye lose it’ll no be you who pays the price but all the people ye fail.”

Faith began to whimper and rub her face against Jamie’s neck. He cupped her head with his hand and rubbed his thumb soothingly against her temple. “Aye, it will be a sad day should that come to pass,” he agreed with her. He felt her chubby fist slide up his chest to her face and heard the quiet smack of her lips as she began to suck her thumb. The restlessness within her had begun to calm though he could tell she would simply lie against him in a half-awake stupor for some time yet, listening to the rhythm of his words as though he were telling her a story.

“If I’m honest… I dinna think there is a way to stop that wee fool from sailing to Scotland and making his mess… I only hope to keep his foolishness from somehow touching us and Lallybroch… in so far as it’s possible.” Jamie sighed.

He’d come so close to losing everything but time had miraculously worked in his favor. If he had left five minutes sooner or Claire had stayed at l’hopital five minutes later that fateful day, they would have missed each other. He’d have gone to the woods and met Randall, swords drawn. Whether either of them would have died or they both would simply have landed in the Bastille, Jamie only knew with certainty that he likely would have lost both Faith and Claire forever.

Instead, Claire had been in the doorway of their room when he’d finished scrawling his apologetic note. She’d refused to move and forced him to explain what had happened, her hand pressing tighter and tighter circles into her swollen belly as he spoke. She’d asked about Fergus––where was he, had he been examined, was he all right––and Jamie had seen the fear and anger in Claire’s face, felt the shame rise in his own even as he grew frustrated that he was being delayed.

Then Claire had collapsed and getting her to l’hopital was all that he could think about calling for Fergus to come along and help him, Randall forgotten until Claire was settled and her bleeding was under control and his temper had cooled enough for Claire to convince him to have Randall arrested for what he’d done to Fergus.

Everything that happened in the weeks and months after he’d filed the report with the gendarme had been a blur, the passage of time between them marked by Faith’s birth and development. Word of Randall’s arrest and indefinite imprisonment had come as the fear for Claire and Faith faded in the days after her risky birth. Murtagh had arrived back in Paris when it was finally decided Claire and Faith could leave l’hopital and return to the house. The news of Randall’s situation had spread to England by the time Faith had started smiling so all three Frasers grinned when a letter reached them from Ned Gowan that, in the wake of the scandalous tale, he had sought out the Duke of Sandringham to see if one of the additional copies he’d made of Jamie’s petition of complaint might prove more successful in completing its journey than the first; the Duke was only too happy to be of assistance. Faith had just started sleeping through the night when Claire had word from Mary Hawkins about how Jonathan Randall’s disgrace had brought Alex Randall back into his family’s good graces; they hoped her godfather could help convince their respective families to allow their marriage within the year. And now that Faith was cutting her first tooth, word that the petition of complaint had succeeded and the charges against Jamie had been vacated had arrived; they could return to Scotland in time for Christmas.

Yet when he’d shown the letter to Claire he had struggled to understand the weight he still felt on his shoulders, the shadow he couldn’t explain.

“You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop,” she had told him while in the process of changing Faith’s clout. “We still don’t know if we’ve done enough to change things and without the certainty…” She’d looked to the gold ring on her finger. Randall was in the Bastille and it didn’t look like he’d be getting out anytime soon and if he did, it was unlikely he’d be marrying Mary Hawkins, yet Claire still had her gold ring.

He was back to pacing the darkened room slowly, the damp of Faith drooling into his shirt slowly spreading.

“I’m glad ye’re too small to ken how scared I am of such a wee fool,” he murmured into the top of Faith’s head. “But I plan to protect you and yer mother from any danger, even that posed by wee fools… and fools like Charles Stuart can be the most dangerous of all, believing they’re about God’s work when it’s other men’s lives they’re risking. I promise we’ll no be leaving France until I can be sure our place in Scotland is truly safe, that Charles Stuart and his half-baked schemes cannae burn us.”

Faith’s soggy thumb left her mouth long enough for her hand to find it’s way to Jamie’s chin. He smiled and raised a hand to press the delicate fingers to his lips, feeling her smile against his shoulder. She sighed heavily and reinserted the thumb in her mouth, her body relaxing further until she was limp with sleep.

“If I cannae convince Charles to give up the Rising, I’ll just have to make my true allegiance clear,” Jamie whispered, rubbing Faith’s back as he crossed to settle her in her cradle. She looked like Claire when she slept, her hair long enough now to start curling around her ear. Afraid the feathery strands would tickle and wake her, he tucked them behind and let his finger trace the round of her cheek, lightly touch the tip of her nose which wrinkled in response.

The restored calm in the room seeped into him as well. He lifted the covers and crawled back into bed with Claire, her cold bare feet finding the warmth of his legs in moments.

Having an English wife he adored should be a good start toward proving he wasn’t the staunch Jacobite he’d been playing at the last few months.

Draping an arm across Claire’s waist and pulling her closer, Jamie pushed his fears out of his mind and into the shadows where they could lurk until morning.

If Jamie and Claire could text: (Ship-bound-and-Horny in Voyager Edition) [[Book Spoilers]]
  • Claire: 🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨
  • Claire: 🚓🚓🚓🚓🚓🚓
  • Claire: ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️
  • Jamie: ...
  • Jamie: what n gods name is all that nonsense
  • Claire: ****RED ALERT*****
  • Jamie: !!!!
  • Jamie: WHERE
  • Jamie: ...semi?
  • Jamie: doesnamatter i'm in
  • Jamie: where
  • Jamie: WHERE WOMAN??
  • Claire: kitchen storeroom
  • Claire: cook taking a nap
  • Claire: get down here STAT
  • Jamie: stat?
  • Jamie: runningfstasi can
  • Jamie: had to get the foul pelican out of th
  • Claire: wait
  • Claire: ...
  • Claire: belay that
  • Jamie: huh?
  • Jamie: whats that mean?
  • Claire: [[sends Chloe face]]
  • Claire: we're on a damn ship and you don't even
  • Claire: it means _NEVER MIND_
  • Claire: Boning spot plans foiled
  • Claire: cook couldn't sleep and came back
  • Claire: if only he were gotten out of the way...
  • Claire: hit in back of head with dirk handle perhaps
  • Jamie: ...ssnch
  • Jamie: fr gds sake woman
  • Claire: oh
  • Claire: ahaha
  • Claire: my foolish wee brain was being /silly/
  • Claire: SHAME ON ME for thinking you'd be willing to go to
  • Claire: MIGHTY
  • Claire: GREAT
  • Claire: LENGTHS
  • Claire: to be able to get ur 🐓inside me right now
  • Jamie: 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩
  • Jamie: must ye be a damnable tease abt it
  • Claire: ...
  • Claire: and now we bothhave to NOT(NOTSLEEP)INIT
  • Jamie: HE's the one thatbrought it all about
  • Claire: POPPYCOCK
  • Claire: //FERGUS// didn't impose sexual lockdown for a bloody two month sea voyage
  • Claire: bc he is a RATIONAL HUMAN BEING
  • Jamie: what else would ye;ve had me do??
  • Jamie: let the wee shite bed her????
  • Jamie: frfckssake
  • Claire: they're probably sneaking about **just** like we're trying to
  • Jamie: oh christ
  • Claire: you just *had* to go be such a //DAD// about it
  • Jamie: and thats a BAD thing, aye??
  • Claire: NO FUN FOR ANYONE 👴🏻
  • Jamie: ...
  • Claire: ...
  • Jamie: ...
  • Claire:
  • Jamie: ...
  • Claire: ...
  • Claire: ...sorry love
  • Claire: I get cranky when i
  • Claire: well
  • Jamie: me too
  • Claire: #droughtlander IRL
  • Jamie: definitely wish I hadna insisted they
  • Claire: 💡💡💡💡💡💡💡💡
  • Jamie: ???
  • Claire: YOU
  • Claire: ME
  • Claire: ////CROW'S NEST////
  • Jamie: ...twill be a bit cramped aye?
  • Claire: twill be a bloody long way to Jamaica aye?
Queen’s Gambit- Chapter 3

I Hate the Name Claudel 

Claire let the events of the past hour go leaning back in a daze as Jamie’s warmth seeped into her, and, lulled by the gentle rocking of the horse, let herself relax, her head thumping against his chest as they made their way down the mountain.

As they rode, the companionable silence would be broken by scatterings of conversations among the other men, discussing the preparations for upcoming matches. Jamie listened but did not comment.

“Not on the team, are you?” Claire asked trying to puzzle out the connections between them.

“Ah, polo? Nay. I am a fair rider, mind, but no, I am a trainer, mostly horses, ken but sometimes mules and donkeys, though a few of those are of the two legged variety.” Claire snorted.

“Are you by any chance associated with Fraser’s Friesians?” Claire suddenly realized the significance of his last name. The stables were known everywhere for dressage.

“Aye, one and the same. Though we breed and board lots of different animals and train for more than just the fancy stepping. I train pack animals to ride backwoods trails and mules and dogs for therapy and work. We also bring the dogs to visit the hospital and rehab centers too.”

“Oh, I think I saw a recent visit at Children’s Hospital, the children were so happy and the dogs were very loving.” She said.

“That would have been Jenny, my sister, she takes the dogs round for visits every two or three weeks. She says whenever her husband Ian is getting on her nerves it gives her proper perspective.” Claire laughed.

“And you are working with the National Polo Club this season?” She asked.

“A wee bit. I travel a fair amount with the work I do so I canna commit to a full season. Do ye ken much about the sport?” He asked.

“Not a thing, except there are horses and mallets and tall boots.” Claire admitted.

“Aye, true enough. The horses are called ponies but they arna’. A good polo pony is verra fast, smart but needs to be taught the sport, same as the rider, or maybe more so because they are switched out every few minutes and so a pairing of horse and rider changes often. The horse has to respond correctly even when the rider is unfamiliar and gives imperfect signals. So, I come in and work wi’ them so they keep sharp.” Claire was looking straight ahead but could feel his smile nevertheless.

“Today though, had nothing to do with polo? I mean you are all a bit far from a field up here, aren’t you?” she asked. He grunted in acknowledgement.

“Ach, I have a string of horses I’m breaking for trail riding. Dougal is my uncle, Rupert my cousin, ken? So out here in the mountains I’m no’ the owner of Fraser’s Friesians and they’re no’ the best polo riders to come out of Scotland in a decade. We’re just lads out for an afternoon of fun.”

“Do you like your work?”

“Aye, I do. We’re still building the bloodlines – cattle cost dear, ye ken? But my life is my own and I like to think I do a bit of good in the process.”

“It sounds lovely, you have a unique skill set.” She complimented.

She shifted a bit, trying to get comfortable. The movement made Jamie notice things about Mistress Beauchamp he had not been aware of before.

“Ach, no’ really just a little exotic maybe for the times we live in. No so impressive as the doctoring ye do.” He said and Claire inclined her head in acknowledgement.

Their sunny day was fast disappearing in a windy rush of clouds overhead that had the temperature cooling considerably. Jamie could see goosebumps appear along her arms. He pulled her to him, adjusting her seat to ease her position.

“Better?” he asked. She nodded.

Neither of them commented on the fact that she was now sitting pretty much on his lap. Jamie because, despite the fact that between her lovely round arse lodged firmly between his legs and the smell of her hair in his nose, he was in danger of getting an erection which the kilt would only hide for so long, she was the best thing he’d ever held in his arms. Claire because she felt like she had just curled up into a furnace and reveled in the solid, warm heat of him.

An hour later, the stables came into view. Cell service was regained and Claire was able to reach Joe on his mobile to arrange for a ride back to her flat.

After bidding the riding group goodbye, Jamie settled her on the small sofa in his office to await her friend while he tended to the horses, allowing the rhythmic movement of curry comb calm his jumbled thoughts but his mind kept turning again and again to Claire Beauchamp. Finally he tossed the comb down with a sigh.

“Mi’lord?” came a surprised inquiry in a bit of a French accent.

“Fergus, lad, can ye put Donas in the paddock and see that Thistle’s hoof is tended to?”

“Where are you going?”

“To see if I can talk a lass into a date.”

“A date, with wh– oh in your office? The lady with the big —” Fergus made a bawdy gesture in front of his chest. Jamie smiled before he caught himself and schooled his features to a more respectful neutral.

“Her name is Claire, and as she is indeed a lady, ye can keep yer mind out of the gutter, wee little gomeral, ken?”

“Oui, Mi’lord!” and all but muscled Jamie out of the way and off in the direction of his office.

Jamie had long since given up trying to get Fergus to call him Jamie. It had started years before. Fergus was one of several children participating in a community service program at the stables. They were part of a special group of at risk youth who spent time at Frasers caring for the animals, training them, being responsible for their needs.

It was one of Jamie’s favorite endeavors. For most of their lives these kids had not been asked to take initiative or responsibility. Most knew about dogs, of course, but not given the chance to work one on one teaching them specific tricks and very few had contact with larger animals.

During the first couple of weeks, this boy had been very quiet, withdrawn.

Jamie had learned a bit about all of them, that was part of the process.

His name was Claudel. His mother had moved here from Paris following a boyfriend when he was around ten and he was fourteen when he first came to the stables. Increasingly getting into trouble, shoplifting, petty theft, hanging out with an older, more troublesome crowd.

After being caught joyriding in someone else’s car, he was offered a diversion program instead of jail. His protection officer had recommend Frasers for his community service hours.

As the weeks progressed, Jamie watched him. He was very good with the horses. Donas, who was a prima donna and difficult for anyone but Jamie or Murtagh to manage, tolerated Fergus very well and Jamie trusted the instincts of the animals.

He also had very clever hands, which Jamie discovered after Fergus had picked his pocket, taking a small metal pin, called a snake, which fit the latch mechanism of the paddock gate. He needed that pin but he also wanted to help the kid.

“Claudel, is it? That’s my snake!” Jamie grabbed the snake back.

“I hate that name,” he retorted, rigid and white with apprehension, thinking his next stop would be a police car.

“Mmmph,” Jamie considered, trying to find a way to connect with the boy.

“Well, I dinna have to call ye that but I must call ye something. How about Fergus?”

“Fergoose?” He responded in his lingering Parisian accent.

Jamie nodded and so did Fergus. Jamie then surprised him with a proposal to hire him to work at the stables after school, during weekends and breaks.

The offer was so welcome and unexpected that the newly christened Fergus had exclaimed, “Dieu soit loue!” an expression of habit he used with some frequency.

Over time Fergus applied it to Jamie himself, anglicized and shortened, to Mi’lord.

In the half-dozen or so years since, Fergus had been by Jamie’s side as he built the international reputation of the stables. As his mother grew more and more unstable, Fergus started living with Jamie. After she died, he changed his last name to Fraser.

An unfortunate accident while in the line of duty resulted in Fergus’s losing his left hand. He’d saved Jamie’s life that day and Jamie and Jenny had rallied around him to support him as best they could under his new circumstances. They’d not let him wallow in self-pity but forced him back to work as soon as they may, mostly to give him confidence that he would find a new future.

The injury had limited his horse tending duties but resulted in discovering what an exceptionally gifted riding coach Fergus was. He was light boned, incredibly graceful and sat atop a horse as if the the manor born.

More importantly, clients respected him enormously, he had the haughty disposition of a nobleman condescending to impart some of the wisdom running through his blue blood.

The irony of the entire matter was that as Fergus picked up more clients on the continent, he came to the attention of the family of the Comte St. Germain. Claudel St. Germain might– or might not– be the first son of the recently deceased Comte and his first wife– a circumstance which was of grave importance to the current widow and second son of the Comte.

The investigation and attendant court battle, none of which Fergus had much interest in, had been raging this past year and a half. No one in high society knew what to make of this extraordinary turn of events. How does one address a former one-handed stable boy turned riding coach and possible heir to one of the greatest fortunes in Europe?

As a result, Jamie and Fergus, who had been familiar sights at equine functions for several years found themselves now welcomed in all the society functions surrounding them as well and with open arms. No one wanted to be on the wrong side of a perceived insult to either Fraser.

Both Frasers, though, still spent a good part of each day generally razzing on one another. Neither of them- Lord Broch Tuarach nor the putative Comte St. Germain– took their titles seriously.

After all, horse shite needs to be mucked out of the stable no matter what name is stamped on the back of the man holding the pitchfork.

Fergus now watched as Jamie made his way into the main offices adjacent to the paddock. He had observed that while Mi’lord was generally a great judge of horseflesh, he knew squat about women.

When he dated, he had the unfortunate habit of picking immature, superficial types, ones whose personalities would start to grate just as soon as the flirting attraction wore off.

The woman he rode in with was something else entirely. She was attractive to be sure, beautiful pale skin, lovely figure and a smile that reached her eyes but she was no model.

She also, in a refreshing change, was witty, exchanging banter as the clan all rode in and clearly holding her own.

He watched from the paddock some time later as she was escorted to her friend’s car and smiled in satisfaction as she and Mi’lord exchanged their contact information.

it’s funny when characters tell ailill that he couldn’t satisfy his wife as if medb continuously fucking people was all about that when her ‘friendship’ was the gateway or weapon to attain properties and resources. why do you think they were rich? medb wasn’t just a slut. she was a smart person who controlled men by just being a woman.

Guilt and Forgiveness in Outlander

The Nettles

It’s one of the more famous––or infamous––scenes in Dragonfly in Amber and one that the show largely avoided: the nettles scene. While the show kept a bit of the difficult reunion and reconciliation between Jamie and Claire, mostly in the form of some of the dialogue, they chose not to depict the more problematic scene in which Claire asks Jamie to physically punish her for sleeping with Louis in order to gain Jamie’s release from the Bastille. Personally, I am in the camp that it’s more than a little unsettling that Claire would ask Jamie to beat her with nettles when she made such a (justifiable) fuss over the strapping he gave her in the previous book. But I can largely overlook this because of the emotional underpinnings of what’s going on as Jamie and Claire find their way back to each other in the wake of the betrayals and loss surrounding Jamie’s duel with BJR and Claire’s miscarriage. 

As I discussed a little in my last Guilt and Forgiveness post (and in response to quite a few anons and asks that followed), Claire at least partially blames Jamie and his duel for the loss of Faith and elements of that blame play a role in her seeking the audience with Louis and acceptance of the price he’ll charge for Jamie’s freedom. But in some of those moments when the blame she projects onto Jamie is articulated, she also expresses guilt for her role in that loss; she blames herself for going to the woods when she knew there was likely nothing she could do and when she knew that her pregnancy was becoming difficult and dangerous. Following Fergus’ revelation about what had provoked Jamie into taking action against BJR, Claire begins to forgive Jamie though she remains outwardly harsh when he first returns and confronts her in the garden at Fontainebleau. 

I would argue that Claire’s initial lie to Jamie about what happened when she went to Versailles and met with Louis is the point at which she has fully forgiven Jamie; that her lie is not because she doesn’t trust him or can’t forgive him but because she has yet to completely forgive herself. When the scene shifts to Jamie and Claire bonding alone together outdoors (stripped of their clothes as they work on stripping away the barriers that their grief and miscommunications have built between them), Jamie has also already forgiven Claire without yet forgiving himself for what he has done. It can seem like a lot of this scene plays into Claire needing Jamie to forgive her for transgressing against him in sleeping with another man––and with good reason since that’s the language Claire relies on in expressing herself and the guilt she feels––but this last time I read through the scene, it struck me that it’s not sleeping with Louis Claire feels guilty about; it’s the anger and especially her desire to hurt Jamie by sleeping with Louis she has yet to forgive herself for (it’s a desire which isn’t the main reason she sleeps with Louis so that is still a case of rape). What hurts Jamie and Claire most is seeing the other hurt (physically and/or emotionally); the guilt that stems from being the one to inflict that hurt is, consequently, one of the greatest they feel and so those acts become the hardest for them to forgive themselves for committing. 

When she first confesses after Jamie admits he knows she’s lying, she emphasizes: 

“If I told you that I had let Louis… you would have asked about it. I thought you couldn’t forget… maybe you could forgive me, but you’d never forget, and it would always be there between us[…] I was afraid…[…] Afraid I’d tell you why I did it[…] But then… and afterward… I half-hoped someone would tell you, that you’d find out. I was so angry, Jamie[…] I wanted to do something to drive you away, to make sure I never saw you again. I did it… partly… because I wanted to hurt you

So much of their relationship rests on the trust they place in one another. While the physical act of sleeping with the king is something Claire sees as forgivable, the betrayal of trust––her desire to hurt Jamie through her actions––is something she’s afraid he won’t be able to forget, that the trust he had placed in her is gone. 

Jamie’s response to her lie is similarly rooted in his fears that he has lost her trust. He had given her his word that he would wait to confront BJR and broke his word. He feels the weight of everything that might have stemmed from that action and is terrified that she won’t be able to forget his betrayal; while he didn’t want to hurt her with his actions and could not have foreseen the full extent of what would happen (the miscarriage and Claire having to go to Louis to secure his freedom), he did know that fighting BJR would cause her pain (the possible loss of Frank, the danger to himself) and he did it anyway. So when he realizes that she lied to him, he worries that, while she may have forgiven him for the duel and understand that he was protecting/avenging Fergus, she won’t be able to forget the breach of trust. He looks at the parallels between her encounter with Louis and his own ordeal at the hands of BJR because he knows the shame, the humiliation, the emotional turmoil that go with being in that situation (and he blames himself for her having to experience any degree of what he did in Wentworth). 

“You took me to your breast and cherished me. You healed me, instead. You loved me, in spite of it[…] I thought, maybe, that I could bring myself to do that for you, as you did it for me. And that is why I came to Fontainebleau, at last[…] Then when ye told me that nothing had happened––for a bit, I believed you, because I wanted to so much. But then… I could tell, Claire. I couldna hide it from myself, and I knew you had lied to me. I thought you wouldna trust me to love you, or… that you had wanted him, and were afraid to let me see it[…] Ye said you wanted to hurt me. Well, the thought of you lying with the King hurt[…] But the knowledge that ye thought ye couldna trust me to love you is like waking from the hangman’s noose to feel the gutting knife sunk in my belly”

The “betrayal” that the other superficially seeks forgiveness for is painful for them to contemplate––Claire in bed with Louis, Jamie dueling BJR––but the deeper pain is the fear of trust lost, especially trust lost due to their own actions, due to intentionally (and unintentionally) causing the other pain. Though Jamie and Claire have a relatively easy time forgiving the other for physical and emotional transgressions committed against themselves, they both have a much harder time forgiving themselves for the emotional transgressions they see themselves as having committed against the other, especially when those transgressions threaten the trust they share. (I really hope that last sentence makes sense).

Going back to the nettles scene, despite the fact that the nettles are textually linked to unfaithful wives, Claire’s desire for punishment at the hands of Jamie stems not from Jamie needing to beat her in order to be even/to forgive her but because she still hasn’t forgiven herself for wanting to hurt him. It’s clear from the scene as it unfolds that neither of them is quite sure how to forgive themselves but they do seem to know that it requires involving the other. 

I wished desperately for some way to break the silence that parted us; some act that could restore the lost truth between us[…] Better violence, I thought, than silence.

The violence Claire seeks in the above quote shifts from the proposed beating to physically aggressive lovemaking where the participation of both is much more equal. Jamie is able to put it into words as they find their way towards healing and that self-forgiveness:

“Open your eyes. Look at me. For that is your punishment, as it is mine. See what you have done to me, as I know what I have done to you. Look at me.”

And I looked, held prisoner, bound to him. Looked, as he dropped the last of his masks, and showed me the depths of himself, and the wounds of his soul. I would have wept for his hurt, and for mine, had I been able. […]

And I voyaged into him, as he into me, sot that when the last storms of love began to shake me, he cried out, and we rode the waves together as one flesh, and saw ourselves in each other’s eyes.

The proposed punishment with the nettles would have been an externalized punishment one inflicted on the other; the final punishment they each endure is an internalized one wherein they see the pain they have caused and must confront it. The pain of their punishment is bearing witness to the other’s pain knowing they caused it and forgiving themselves for it with the knowledge that the other shares exactly the same pain and same guilt. In becoming one flesh and uniting their pain and their guilt, they also unite their forgiveness; having already forgiven the other, they are able to forgive themselves.

In the course of the scene, while no beating takes place, both Jamie and Claire are touched with the nettles and exhibit the resultant painful skin reactions––they share the same physical manifestation of pain––and after their lovemaking, they take turns applying the same topical relief to their nettles burns so that they heal those wounds to one another as well.

anonymous asked:

Can we get another chapter of The Tagalong?! Merry Christmas!

Did I hold onto this prompt specifically so I could use it for a Christmas-set installment of this fic? Perhaps. And a special merci beaucoup to Mod Eloise for checking and editing my French.- Mod Lenny

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Fergus sat in his chair with his arms braced on the edge of Brianna’s bassinette and one hand hanging in enough for her to grasp his finger. Her tiny fingernails had just been cut but already seemed to have grown out enough to feel like needles when she squeezed tight. She was fighting her nap and Fergus had assured Mother Claire that he would be able to get the baby to sleep while she finished getting their home ready for their Christmas guests.

Brianna’s green velvet Christmas dress was safely concealed beneath the tartan blanket that Mrs. Graham had helped Mother Claire fashion from the arisaid she’d worn on her journey through the stones. It had faded a bit with washing but when it was tucked up close about Brianna’s chin and wisps of her bright hair fell across it Fergus would trace the pattern of the Fraser tartan and recall the way Milord had looked wearing it as he stood in the sun overlooking the fields at Lallybroch as potatoes were harvested or as he draped the length of his plaid about his head and shoulders for warmth in the rain.

In the quiet moments when Mother Claire asked him to keep an eye on Brianna as she completed a chore or if she fell asleep, exhausted in the middle of an afternoon, Fergus would lapse into French and whisper stories to Brianna; stories about Milord, about Lallybroch, about France.

J'ai couru et couru et il m'a poursuivi,” Fergus said quietly as Brianna’s eyes looked up at him, unfocused, and her other fist was in her mouth. “Bien sûr, qu'il m'a attrapé. Mais il ne m'a pas fait de mal; il m'a offert un emploi. Oui, ton père a fait ça.” He leaned in and kissed her tiny knuckles where they clung to his finger. Her eyes were beginning to drift shut. “C'est la raison pour laquelle je suis ton frère… il y a plus, mais nous sauverons cette histoire pour plus tard.”

He heard the front door shut and the boisterous welcomes of Claire to her guests then Roger’s eager footsteps came scurrying down the hallway in search of him. Before the door had even opened, Fergus was halfway across the room hushing his friend.

“Whatever you do, do not wake Bree,” Fergus hissed before glancing over his shoulder to see that she hadn’t moved. The hand that had been clutching his finger was pressed to her chubby cheek, fingers splayed while the drool-covered fist that had been in her mouth rested on the bedding next to her head leaving a damp spot underneath it. The tartan blanket rose and fell with her deep and steady breathing.

“Ye mean we’ll no get to play wi’ her?” Roger asked straining to look past Fergus to see the bairn he’d heard so much about from Mrs. Graham and from Fergus at school. He’d only seen her once at the hospital when they’d gone to pick Fergus up and a few times from a distance when Mrs. Beauchamp came to drop Fergus off to play or pick him up again.

“Trust me, you do not want to play with her when she is needing a nap,” Fergus warned leading the way out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen. “When she is not in a right mood she cries and that is not fun for anyone.”

“Is she asleep then, Fergus?” Claire asked as the boys appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. She and Mrs. Graham were working at the counter and the oven door was hanging open, heat and the smell of cooking meat wafting deliciously into their faces.

Oui,” he told her reaching for a pastie on the counter. Mrs. Graham raised her eyebrows at him and shook her head but smiled as he took a second and held it out for Roger.

“Supper should be ready in an hour or so,” Claire informed him. “Why don’t you go show Roger some of the gifts you got?”

Fergus nodded and turned to take Roger to his room.

Hearing about Christmas at school, Fergus had come home and asked Mother Claire about the holiday and how it was celebrated.

“We did not celebrate in such ways at Lallybroch but you have said many things in this time are different,” he’d speculated as he lay on his back on the floor tossing a small ball into the air and catching it. Mother Claire had been rocking in a chair with Brianna nursing at her breast.

“Yes, Christmas is one of the holidays we celebrate differently in this time,” Claire said but there was a somber tone as she said it brushing the hair down on Brianna’s small and delicate head. “It’s more like the Hogmanay celebrations we had that first year back at Lallybroch; a time you spend with family and friends. You feast and there are presents.”

“It is a time that is making you miss Milord,” he observed quietly, watching her carefully and holding the ball tightly in his fist, interrupting the rhythm of tossing and catching he’d established.

Mother Claire’s eyes remained fixed on the baby’s intent gaze and strong, suckling mouth.

“Yes and no. I miss him always,” she responded quietly then stroked Brianna’s cheek with the tip of her finger. Brianna released her hold on Mother Claire’s nipple, a dribble of breast milk leaking from the corner of her mouth and making a path down her jaw and into the deepening folds of her neck while Mother Claire eased the drained breast back into her nursing bra and shifted the still-hungry infant so she could access and feed on the other breast. “It would have meant so much to him to see the both of you doing so well and it makes me sad that he can’t be here to share this time with us.” She finally looked away from the baby and caught Fergus watching her, pushing a small smile to her face. “I told him a little about what Christmases in this time were like and I know that he would want you to enjoy it as much as you can; he wouldn’t want us to mope at a time meant to be happy.”

And she had told him then of her plan to invite Roger, Reverend Wakefield, and Mrs. Graham over for the holiday. Mrs. Graham would only be staying a short time since she had her children and grandchildren to spend some of the day with but Reverend Wakefield and Roger didn’t have obligations beyond each other and readily accepted the invitation.

“Oh,” Roger interrupted before they could leave the kitchen. “We brought ye a gift.” The younger boy pulled Fergus in a different direction seeking his adoptive father in the small living room.

Reverend Wakefield stood examining the pair of bookshelves that stood on either side of the television, squinting at Claire’s odd collection of medical and herbal texts. He turned when the boys entered the room and the lines standing between his eyes dissolved, reappearing at the corners in the form of laugh lines. “Happy Christmas to ye, Fergus. Yer mother told me ye’ve had a good mornin’,” Reverend Wakefield said cheerfully.

“Can we give Fergus his gift now, Father?” Roger asked looking up into the taller man’s face with pleading eyes.

Reverend Wakefield’s mouth turned down a bit at the edges into an expression meant to be stern but which in effect proved rather comical. “Now, I dinna see it will be a problem to give it to him now but ye lads must promise ye’ll no be usin’ it in the house; it’s strictly for playin’ out of doors.”

“Of course, Father,” Roger promised turning away from his father’s warning looks to search the room for the gift. He spotted it and ran to get it taking care to block Fergus’ view while he picked it up and then turned with a showman’s flair.

In his arms rested a brand new football with a shining red ribbon tied around its middle like a jolly belt.

“Let’s go ask yer mam if we can go outside to play wi’ it till supper’s ready,” Roger suggested.

“All right but we must play on the side of the house where Bree will not hear us and wake,” Fergus offered as a condition. Roger kept tight hold of the ball as they hastened to the kitchen to ask permission to go outside. Permission granted and warnings issued about the consequences of dirt leaving the ground and finding its way onto clothes, the boys disappeared through the door with Reverend Wakefield following in order to watch and keep them on their best behavior.

Claire and Mrs. Graham smiled as they made tea for themselves to enjoy while the food finished cooking.

“Ye seem to be managing all right on yer own wi’ the bairn,” Mrs. Graham remarked glancing around the kitchen and to the living room beyond. There was a fair bit of clutter but most of it appeared to be the result of having to move furniture in order to accommodate the small evergreen in the corner of the living room as well as the bulky trappings that come with newborns. It was a lived-in home, a place that sheltered children who were loved.

“For now,” Claire remarked with a tired sigh. “I still have time to figure something out for when it’s time to return to work at the hospital.”

“Ye do,” Mrs. Graham agreed, “so do what ye can to enjoy the day.”

“I’m trying and it helps having you here––and having Roger for Fergus to play with. It’s just… a year ago––two years ago… If you’d told me I would be here…”

“It doesna do to dwell,” Mrs. Graham interjected. Out the window they could see that the ball had been divested of its ribbon and Fergus had woven it through the belt loops on his trousers, an act that had Roger howling with laughter while Reverend Wakefield watched with a broad smile. “It’s turning to a particularly good Christmas for Roger too. He’s no had much in the way of playmates before yer Fergus came and the Reverend too hasna had family beyond the lad to celebrate with in some time.”

Brianna cried from down the hall and Claire quickly set her tea down to retrieve the baby and calm her; it was too early for her to be hungry and Claire didn’t want to have to change her shirt. She came back to the kitchen with Brianna held to her shoulder, the tartan blanket folded and tossed over her shirt for the baby to rest against.

“Someone doesn’t want to miss all the action, no matter how tired she is,” Claire remarked as Mrs. Graham approached to look the tired baby in her bright blue eyes and give her a pat on her back.

“Yer life may no be what ye’d expected or hoped two years ago,” Mrs. Graham said quietly as Brianna’s eyes closed again, her mouth hanging open. “But ye’ve got one to be lived and ones to live it with and for. Ye can mourn––and ye will… That part doesna go away. But ye’ll have joy in what ye have left of yer man in his child and though that lad out there mayna be his son by blood…”

Claire smiled and looked to see Fergus laughing with Roger, miming something undoubtedly inappropriate with their backs turned to Reverend Wakefield. Brianna was a warm solid weight clutched over her heart.

“He might not be Jamie’s by blood, but Fergus does carry a bit of Jamie with him,” Claire finished Mrs. Graham’s thought. The three of them would keep Jamie alive.

“Here,” Mrs. Graham said, pulling a small wrapped parcel out for Claire. “Perhaps ye can start some new traditions of yer own.”

It was tricky getting the wrappings undone with one hand but since Brianna’s birth Claire had found her skills in such tasks developing rapidly.

A book of classic Christmas stories, poems, and songs from Dickens to O. Henry, Hans Christian Anderson to Moore, Longfellow, Frost and Blake.

“Thank you,” Claire said quietly to Mrs. Graham. She was familiar with most of the stories in the book and had even outlined a few of them for Jamie on cold and quiet nights as they lay wrapped in the darkness and each other’s warmth. He’d been a born story-teller and enjoyed learning new ones from her. He would have loved telling their children stories at night; she could already feel the warmth of his arms around her as though he were standing behind her, his chin resting on her shoulder so he could look down at the book in her hands. Brianna stirred in her arms without waking as though she’d been brushed by something––or someone––too.

“Happy Christmas, Claire,” Mrs. Graham wished her softly.

“Happy Christmas.”

(Edited to include the links to previous installments cause for some reason, I didn’t realize I hadn’t already added them; oops - Mod Lenny)

anonymous asked:

Hello! I know we are all excited to see the Printshop but what are the top 5 or 10 of scenes you die to see in S3? 😊 xoxo ps if others tumblr could share their top too it would be so fun!

Hi! What a great idea. Here are my top 10 in no certain order, just as I think of them. If others want to join in and reblog with your top picks that would be fun.

1. Claire letting the cellophane drift on the wind after eating her PB&J

2. Jamie unzipping Claire’s dress

3. “God that’s romantic”

4. The fight between Jamie and Claire at Lallybroch

5. LJG telling Claire about William

6. Fergus and Marsali’s wedding

7. Turtle soup

8. Jamie being a Da to toddler Willie

9. Fergus and Claire’s reunion

10. When they discover Mrs. Abernathy’ identity

I’m sure that I’ll think of more. But those are off the top of my head.

Layers of Fear ↔Crowley x Reader↔

Summary: Based on the Psychedelic horror game ‘Layers of Fear’. Rowena narrates the story of her son Fergus and his wife Y/N to the Winchester Brothers when he yet hadn’t sold his soul and eventually became the king of hell. She highlights the day of her death and what followed after Fergus had lost the love of his life and left behind their little son, Gavin, driving him to insanity, depression and a dellusional alcoholic addiction.

Warnings: Angst, Major Character death, Mentions of Alcohol Addiction and Depression, Blood

Taking a sip of her hot beverage, Rowena sat at one of the century old armchairs in the now Winchester household, the Men of Letters Bunker. Humming, the powerful redheaded witch admired the atmosphere in the library, reminiscing the old times, almost 500 hundred years earlier. It was only when the youngest of the brothers occupied the sit accross from her and cleared his throat, taking her back to reality.

“What are you thinking about?” Sam questioned Rowena as she smirked, not realizing Dean Winchester had also joined the duo in the room with an ice cold beer in hand, sitting right next to his little brother he loved dearly.

“Probably about how she can live a hundred or more years in addition. What now? Drink goat’s blood Martinis?” Dean joked, chuckling to himself. Rowena ignored his remark and rolled her eyes.

“Nothing. Just thinking about the old days.” She replied to Sam’s question with her beautiful accent that never failed to impress when she met new faces. He nodded, thinking a bit before moving to a second question.

“H-How was Crowley before he became a demon? And with whom did he have Gavin with?” Rowena almost spit the cinnamon biscuit she was chewing. She tensed up and with wide eyes she stared into Sam’s hazel orbs before relaxing.

“And why would you like to know, Sammy dearest?”

“Moments before the angels fell we held Crowley captive in a barn and he said some…Sensitive things. About how he deserved to be loved and that there was only one person in the world that completely understood and loved him and that she was taken away by our god. He also mentioned that he hated everything.” Sam hesitated but admitted, at least.

“Typical.” Dean groaned and downed the golden liquid in the glass bottle that rested at the wooden table.

“Then, why don’t you ask him?”

“He won’t open up”

“Hmmm…I’ll tell you” She smiled and wiggled in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position. “Get comfy gentlemen, it’s gonna be a long talk.” She cleared her throat and begun analyzing her son’s story. “So, a while back…”

“Mother there is no way this looks good” The young woman spoke as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Apparently, her aunt’s birthday present was oversized for her body, making it impossible for it to stay in place and look classy or comfortable for the girl to wear.

“Aunt Gertrude must have thought you needed the bigger size”

“Aunt Gertrude can go and..”

“Easy there. What did I tell you? We do not swear for the sake of this family. Honey what will the people think if they hear you, a person of the high class talking like that?” Her mother asked.

Scoffing, Y/N ignored her mother’s lecture and brought up the problem she had with her dress. “Do you maybe know any tailor that can fix it?”

“Of course. There is a new shop downtown. Minka and Vallerie told me that he did a good work on their wedding dresses.” She listened carefully. “William will get you there with his carriage.“

“No, no. I would rather walk”

And so she did. With a smile she faced the world. She found many friends on her way to the tailor. If you could call them friends of course. Maybe they were just acquaintances. Or maybe she was the victim of their lies and their snarky remarks.

Finally she reached her destination. Her face fell when she came across the ‘close’ sign on the glass door. Though she could still make the figure of a man through the window. So she knocked.

“Hello” She spoke in a small voice. Even though her rich and aristocratic inheritance, the almost 25 year old woman could not help but feel shy most of the time. She was surely a kind girl. “I’m sorry if I’m bothering sir.”

“No, it is alright. Come in. My name is Fergus Macleod and you must be?”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. Pleasure to meet you sir.” He was awestruck by her beauty and kindness. In his eyes, he had never seen such a beautiful person before him.

“From the Y/L/N family? What can I do for you M'Lady?”

“My aunt is a b- Sorry, I mean, she wanted to buy me a dress and got the wrong size so, is there anything you can do to help me? “ He nodded and gently smiled at the young woman .

“Sounds like a bitch” He winked and she chuckled. “I will make it perfect for the perfect girl”

Something about Fergus lit a spark inside her. He was something different than the oh so classy fake men she met. He was kind and funny to her. He made up for every friend she never had and soon, she found herself visiting his little shop more and more often.

“My son fell in love and it ruined him. It was worth it. She was the only good thing that has happened in his doomed life.” Said Rowena.

“No way! Crowley actually fell in love! What happened then, mommy and daddy wouldn’t let their little girl get married to the poor tailor? Aw poor Ferg-”

“Dean! Shut up!” Sam scowled his older brother. “Rowena, go on”

“Not quite. They were pretty fond of my son and maybe a year after they had met, they got married. I’ve never seen someone love so much as Crowley did Y/N and vice versa.” Dean and Sam were shocked to learn that centuries ago, Crowley, the man that almost killed and tortured thousand souls without any mercy was head over heels for someone. Dean was intrigued but Sam already knew it would end in a tragedy. They couldn’t imagine how much pain Y/N’s death costed to Crowley.

Y/N and Fergus had a big wedding and her parents gave the couple as a present a huge mansion over the hills they could use as a home. Fergus at first insisted that they didn’t need to spend that much money and that he would be okay, even with a small cabin as soon as he was with the love of his life but Mr and Mrs Y/L/N wouldn’t have any of that.

So they moved in and had a fresh start. Their love for each other only grew with them and it gave them a son they both adored so much. Little Gavin Macleod.

Nothing lasts forever.

“Daddy where is Mommy?” A three year old Gavin asked Fergus as he sat in his lap in the couch of the one of the many luxurious living rooms in the mansion.

“Mommy is out getting you treats for being such a good boy” The little boy cheered and Fergus’ heart swelled. He had everything he needed. A family. “It is late, little man. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I wanna wait for mommy. She is gonna be home soon, right daddy?”

“Course she will. She’s been really stressed lately so why don’t you go ahead and sleep on your time? She’s gonna be so proud of her responsible little man” The little boy nodded and kissed his father’s cheek before hurrying to find his bedroom excitingly.

No more than an hour later, Y/N joined him in the living room carrying heavy bags. He rushed to her and helped her, kissing her cheek in the process.

“Gavin is a big boy, my love. He went to sleep early tonight with his own accord” He told her, chuckling to himself and winking to his wife. It was then when he started to notice that something had changed. The poor woman looked like she had seen a ghost. He ran to catch her as he realized she was about to fall. “Hey, hey, you’re okay, I’ve got you,okay? I’m gonna get you to our room.” He whispered to her ear before picking her up bridal style and carrying her up the never ending stairway.

“I don’t feel good, baby, not at all. It hurts so much.” She tried to say as her breathing unevened and cold sweat covered her sweet face.

“You’re gonna be okay, my darling, you are gonna be fine. Where does it hurt?” She closed her eyes and tried to focus on eliminating the pain, even though she had no success.

“E-everywhere, baby. It’s s-so cold and I’m in so much pain i-I just want it to stop please m-make it stop” A tear escaped his eye as he watched the woman he loved with all his heart hurt. He couldn’t do anything.

“I-I’m sorry Y/N, I can’t. I promise it’ll go away. I promise”

“I love you so much” she said. “You and Gavin. So so so much” She sobbed. He never got to say it back. The last thing he heard her say was his name. It was the most painful sound he ever heard. It came out as a choked sob. Nothing in the world compared to the pain he felt the very moment he felt her last breath against his lips.

“Fergus changed his name to Crowley. He despised that her last words came out so painful.“ Rowena sighed and the boys stared at her in shock. They could have never guessed the true, tragic story of the deadly King of Hell they met years ago.

“Wow…” There was a pause in the room. Sam and Dean were taken aback by the shocking story they were just learning about. They felt a sudden pity for Crowley. Of course, that wasn’t a reason to kill millions of people and corrupt thousand homes throughout the years that he held his title.“Did he sell his soul to bring her back?”

Rowena shook her head in order to show her negativity. “My son is crazy. He knew that it would just offer him 10 years of life and those weren’t enough to spend with her and maybe after his death, he dreaded the thought that Y/N would be able to find someone better than him and forget him. He needed her all by himself. He was hers and she was his.. He is hers and she is his.“

After his beautiful Y/N’s death Fergus fell victim to the world of alcoholism and depression. He never got out of their shared room for months. The only reason for him to exit his room or the house was in order to buy more liquor. He completely forgot about his son who was asking for his mama all the time. He did not take care of him after what happened. He had been a father to him, now he was nothing. So Gavin learned to take care of himself. He learned to make simple meals alone, wash his clothes by hand and clean his room. Y/N wouldn’t be proud though. That was not a way for a child to grow up. Sure thing, she would be happy that her son is a responsible little man. Nevertheless she would absolutely hate the distance between her beloved son and husband.

Sometimes the Macleod household would receive letters by many friends and relatives sending their sympathy. He didn’t need their sympathy. He needed her, and pieces of paper with meaningless words wouldn’t bring her back.

The house was even worse. It was a mess. Scattered empty bottles of whiskey and wine were everywhere littering the what it used to be a welcoming house, broken furniture were everywhere and some paintings had fallen from the wall to the floor.

Crowley had melancholic illusions cause by his alcohol addiction and they mostly involved Y/N. Sometimes he would see her being there next to him, humming an unknown anthem and other times he would see her dead body looking broken and fragile crying and spasming in the distance. It was a scary sight. It broke his heart.

“Does he still think about her? Why hasn’t he brought her back?” Rowena shrugged her shoulders. Only if she knew the answer… Deep in her cold heart she believed that he thought of Y/N every passing day.

“I do” A voice echoed through the walls of the bunker. “I do think about her every day of this damn life. I still have visions of her.” Crowley announced catching everyone off guard. “Mother, I see you haven’t revealed all of my personal life to Animal Kingdom. Wanna say more?” He said sarcastically.

“I’m sorry” Sam attempted to comfort the King but he only received a death glare.

“Sorry isn’t going to bring her back”

And then, he vanished.

A month later

“Moose. Not Moose. Meet my beautiful queen Y/N Y/L/N. I believe you’ve already heard of her” Crowley admitted proudly, wrapping an arm around the woman dressed in obviously expensive clothing as she smiled brightly. The Winchesters just shared a confused look.

Cause they saw noone but the King standing in front of them, all alone.

Outlander 03x02 Surrender

Last year I was thrilled by the season premiere and then completely disappointed in the second episode of the season. I am so thrilled that that wasn’t the case again this year. The storylines weren’t as well balanced as last week and there were some… distractions within the episode (especially visually) to contend with but on the whole I was thrilled with the episode. Most of what I felt were its weaknesses are really––in my opinion––the result of missteps in Season 2 rather than true problems in Season 3 so far. 

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DuckTales Episode Idea:

As you might have noticed, on Webby’s corkboard there’s a piece of paper asking “Dismal Downs when (sic) is Castle McDuck???”. I take it that she is unfamiliar with the name (she might only have a general idea), and given that the nephews were unaware that Scrooge is their grunkle grand-uncle, no one in the quartet knows about Scrooge’s (and by extension, theirs) homeland.

So here’s the episode idea: one day, after Scrooge utters “What in Dismal Downs…?”, Webby asks him what are Dismal Downs and eventually, Scrooge, the nephews, Webby and Donald set out to Scotland to visit McDuck’s home.

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anonymous asked:

Can you post Ian and Rachel's wedding night again? Thank you!!! 😍

Of course! I love how Rachel completes Young Ian. They are perfect for each other. I’ll put most under a cut since it’s a long passage. 

IAN LIFTED THE GREEN gown off in a whuff of fabric, and Rachel shook her head hard, shedding hairpins in all directions with little pinging sounds. She smiled at him, her dark hair coming damply down in chunks, and he laughed and plucked out a few more of the little wire hoops. 

“I thought I should die,” she said, running her fingers through her loosened hair, which Jenny had put up before the party at the White Camel tavern. “Between the pins sticking into my head and the tightness of my stays. Unlace me, will thee—husband?” She turned her back to him but looked over her shoulder, eyes dancing. 

He hadn’t thought it possible to be more moved in his feelings or more excited in body—but that one word did both. He wrapped one arm around her middle, making her squeak, pulled the knot of her laces loose, and gently bit the back of her neck, making her squeak much louder. She struggled, and he laughed, holding her tighter as he loosened the laces. She was slim as a willow sapling and twice as springy; she squirmed against him, and the small struggle heated his blood still further. If he had had no self-control, he would have had her pinned to the bed in seconds, stays and shift and stockings be damned. 

But he did and let her go, easing the stay straps off her shoulders and the stays themselves over her head. She shook herself again, smoothing down the damp shift over her body, then stood tall, preening for him. Her nipples stood out hard against the limp fabric. 

“I won thy wager for thee,” she said, passing a hand over the delicate blue satin ribbon threaded through the neck of her shift and fluttering the hem, adorned with embroidered flowers in blue and yellow and rose. 

“How did ye hear about that?” He reached for her, pulled her close, and clasped both hands on her arse, bare under the shift. “Christ, ye’ve got a sweet round wee bum.” 

“Blasphemy, on our wedding night?” But she was pleased, he could tell. 

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I just really love Elinor and Fergus’ relationship. It is fairly balanced and romantic and sweet and just feels real.

Originally posted by dailyglamorous

Crowley ~ Trust

Word Drabbles 400 Followers Challenge!

Requested by @everyjourneylove

I also combined it with @sdavid09​ The ‘What if’ Challenge (I hope you don’t mind) with the prompt - “What if Crowley tried to have a nice family dinner with Rowena?”

The word count got a little bit away from me for a drabble but oh well.

“I don’t think you want to do that.”

The tone of Crowley’s voice surprised you, and you raised an eyebrow over the steaming pot on the stove. “Oh?”

Crowley’s expression became one of refrained panic and loathing, something you weren’t used to seeing. “Love…out of all the talks we’ve had, surely-“

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