another glasgow

Truth and Love - Part Three (of Four)

Part One, Part Two

They reached Lallybroch shortly after midday. The barking of dogs in the yard was soon overwhelmed by the barking of Jenny, Ian, and others Claire failed to recognize as they poured out of the house first calling to the dogs to quiet themselves and then to the arriving party.

If any of them had been hoping for a warm welcome, they were mistaken. Young Ian tried to approach Claire’s horse to help her down but Jamie nudged him aside with a quiet, “Face yer responsibilities, lad,” said under his breath.

For a moment Claire thought their nephew might stick his tongue out at them, but taking a final deep breath and pulling himself up straight and tall, the lad stepped forward to meet his mother.

Her hand flashed out and caught him upside the head.

“What in the name of the devil possessed ye to run off like that?” she scolded loudly. “Are ye tryin’ to put me in my grave with worry?”

“Mam I––” Before he could answer either question, her other hand shot out and she caught the other side of his head.

“Ye’ll no say a word until I tell ye to,” she ordered.

“But ye asked me a question,” the lad said defensively, already ducking his head and raising his arms so they’d be ready if she moved to strike again.

“I’m no interested in excuses, Ian and I’m no ready to hear yer apology just yet but I advise ye to start working on it now,” she told him. “Into the house with ye and clean yerself up. Ye look a mess.”

Jenny nodded to a young woman who was pressing her lips tight together to keep from smirking––“That’s young Janet,” Jamie whispered in Claire’s ear after setting her on the ground.

Young Ian glanced briefly to his father whose silent frown bespoke pity as well as his own pain. The lad fell into step beside his sister who led him toward the kitchen. “I did wash in the burn this morning,” he muttered defensively. Janet couldn’t contain the squeak of laughter at his declaration but their parents had turned their attention to Jamie and Claire.

“Hello Jenny,” Claire said with a nod to her sister-in-law. Jamie’s hand tightened around hers at her side.

“Ian told me ye were back,” Jenny responded, her face losing the obvious anger it had worn for young Ian and becoming a blank mask instead. “I told him I would believe it when I saw ye with my own eyes.”

“Well… here I am.”

“Here ye are.”

There was a beat of silence before Jamie cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for no sending the lad back to ye right away,” he began.

“What’s done is done,” Ian cut him off before Jamie could begin spinning further apologies and excuses. “He’s home and he’ll be stayin’ here for a long while. If we need to set Janet on him to watch him day and night, he’ll no be sneakin’ off again.”

Jamie shut his mouth and nodded though he knew his nephew would have a few things to say on the subject.

“Would you mind if we came inside for a chance to wash up a bit?” Claire asked meekly. “I’m sure you have questions…”

Jenny’s face softened and a sadness seeped in that brought out the changes of time––more prominent lines around her eyes, mouth, and jaw where the skin had lost some of its elasticity.

“Aye… But none as canna wait till I’ve had a chance to be sure it’s really you.” Jenny stepped forward to embrace Claire warmly. Claire found herself trembling as she let herself feel the lesser pains of those twenty years. The ache of missing Jamie had been great enough to leave her numb to the others but she had missed Jenny and Ian and the feeling of belonging and home she’d had with them at Lallybroch more than she realized.

After a few moments, Jenny released Claire and the two of them laughed awkwardly while they brushed away the tears that had sprung to their eyes.

“Inside with ye now. I’ll have a room readied for the pair of ye while ye have a wee bite to hold yerselves over to supper. Once we’ve talked a spell ye can wash up and rest till then, aye?”

Claire fell into step beside Jenny who proceeded to fill Claire in on her children, their spouses, and grandchildren, throwing names and ages at her without pausing to be sure she caught them. Ian and Jamie looked at each other skeptically before following their wives to the parlor.

“France is where Ian said ye’d fled,” Jenny prompted Claire.

“Yes. I managed to get away. Being an Englishwoman helped when I reached the coast,” Claire responded in stiff and stilted sentences.

“But France is no so far. Why did ye never write to tell us where ye were and that ye lived? We could have found some way to get ye word of Jamie… and if he’d known ye survived…” Jenny kept the harsh, scolding edge of her voice carefully sheathed but they were all aware it was there just beneath the surface.

“I couldn’t find anyone I trusted enough to deliver the message,” Claire rambled. “If it had fallen into the wrong hands… I never would have forgiven myself if you were implicated in anything because of me. I heard enough of what was happening in the Highlands… If the worst of the tales I heard had come to pass here…”

Jenny went pale at some remembered fear or pain and her gaze dropped to her hands in her lap, the mending she’d taken up lying limp as though she couldn’t remember what it was she’d been doing with it.

“Aye, well… what’s passed is past,” Jamie spoke up. He set aside a plate with nothing left but the crumbs of bread and cheese he’d been given. “We must turn our attention to the future though… that isna goin’ to be so easy with my press and a few slugs of type all that’s left of my shop… and… wi’ someone else sniffin’ about the docks and my other enterprises.”

“Are ye planning to stay here at Lallybroch for a spell or do ye mean to be off again soon as ye can?” The edge in Jenny’s voice began to expose itself.

“We haven’t settled on a plan yet,” Claire informed Jenny. “We’ll need to stay for a few days, at the least, while Fergus is sorting things out back in Edinburgh. We could return there and Jamie can find a new space or… we could return to France…”

“There’s much to be decided,” Jamie agreed, “but after the last few days on the road, I think for now I could settle for a shave and a lie down.”

“The room should be ready.” Jenny rose to take them up with Jamie muttering beneath his breath that he kent the way well enough.

“That went well,” Claire remarked quietly after Jenny had pulled the door closed behind her.

“It isna over, Sassenach,” Jamie insisted. He stood at the basin examining the razor that had been left for him. “There wasna nearly so much yelling.” He paused and cocked his head to the side. “Ye can hear her now. Wee Ian’s gone in to see her again now he’s washed and they dinna have an audience. That’s more the reaction I’d have expected from her.”

“Who’s to say she won’t lecture you more later when she gets you alone?” Claire teased. She dropped to the edge of the bed with a humph. “We do need more of a plan about what we’ll do next. Though it seems she wouldn’t mind if we stayed for a time.”

“There isna much for either of us to do here, I’m afraid. We’re no the Laird and Lady anymore,” he lamented. “And the tenants as remember ye so… well… it’s none so easy to face them when they want to treat ye as before and ye both ken it’s no right anymore.”

“So do you want to go back to Edinburgh? Or maybe we can go to another city––Inverness or Glasgow, perhaps––if Edinburgh is too dangerous just now…”

He looked at her in the mirror wiping the last of the mess from his clean-shaven cheeks and smiled. “I suppose now’s as good a time as any to discuss matters.”

“We’ve done an impressive job of avoiding the subject so far,” she agreed.

anonymous asked:

Did ML have another "meltdown" in Glasgow? That must have made for a fun night for Andy! They must love beach balls in Scotland. Such a train wreck!

Has anyone checked on Andy? Is he okay? 😳

– M

Even more concerning…somebody check his balls! We all know what happens to balls when she gets in a “mood” -L


i get on my first flight at 4pm this afternoon to Halifax and from there get on another plane to Glasgow.

things are queued i apologize if it runs out at points but i will be out living life and activity will be limited until i come back.

i fly back on the 23rd

IM me if you wanna and forgive the occasional OOC post

love you all


There is another side to Glasgow today.

After the rioting by a minority group of unionists in Glasgow’s George Square last night, which shamed and embarrassed our wonderful country, a new scene showed its face today.

Several groups of people have now left over 100 bags with donations for Glasgow’s homeless food banks on George Square under peace flags. This is the Glasgow and Scotland that I know and love.

We will continue fighting for a better country. To bring an end to austerity, to food banks, to immoral, illegal nuclear weapons of mass destruction.

anonymous asked:

How about a modern au where Jamie and Claire meet at a bar and have a one night stand

From her perch at the corner of the bar, Claire sipped her third – fourth? – glass of Japanese whisky.

It was surprisingly smooth – the Japanese whiskys were really giving the Scottish-made ones a run for their money these days. And despite the exorbitant prices of this bar – of *any* bar in Tokyo, really – the Suntory was still cheaper than the Laphroaig.

She crossed her legs, wincing slightly at the soreness. Having jumped at the chance to take a few days off from the hospital and travel to Japan, she’d happily played tourist for the past three days while her husband was locked away in meetings from six AM until midnight. It was good for his career to come – the exposure, the chance for face-to-face meetings, and so on – and the hotel room was already paid for.

But Claire was so very *lonely* during the day – an anonymous Western face lost in the sea of humanity that was Tokyo at every turn. Whether strolling up the long gravel walkways under the incredible torii gates heralding yet another massive Shinto shrine – or sifting through the terribly tacky outfits at the Shibuya 109 mall – or standing off to the side to just watch the unbelievable torrents of people streaming through the fare gates at Tokyo Station – Japan was almost overwhelming. There were very few other Westerners she saw during the day – and most of them were men in business attire. Very few women on their own – and almost nobody to talk to.

She’d managed to learn a few words of Japanese before the trip – and a quick *arigato guzaimas* always elicited a tentative smile when she purchased a souvenir or snack. But she hadn’t really spoken to anyone since arriving – a hurried, half-asleep “good morning” and “good evening” as her man slipped out or staggered in, and then a quick conversation with the hotel concierge to help her plan our her day. Hadn’t had an opportunity to share her feelings and observations and excitement at being in such a different, vibrant city.

Fortunately the word “whisky” seemed to be universal – and when she specifically asked for Suntory, the bartender had actually smiled. She wasn’t the only Westerner in this particular bar – but she *was* the only woman. And she was alone.

And she was damned if she would spend yet another night by herself.

So she quickly downed the rest of her drink – ice cubes cold against her upper lip, and slammed the empty glass down on the bar.

The bartender quickly produced a fresh glass, poured a few fingers of the Suntory 18, and gently set a perfectly-folded napkin on the bar.

Claire looked to her right, found the wasabi peas, and slid over the half-empty bowl.

“Excuse me?”

Mid-bite, she turned to see a man – a Westerner – clad in a sharp suit, a glass in his hand, leaning on the corner of the bar.

“May I sit next to you?”

She finished chewing on the wasabi pea, the dry fire of it lifting straight through her sinuses.


“Of course,” she breathed, gesturing to the empty stool beside her.

The man nodded and sat, laying his glass on the bar – ice cubes softly clinking against the sides.

“I saw the bartender serve you the Suntory – I ken it’s supposed to be good, but I canna drink the Japanese whisky. Most likely it’s a psychological thing.”

“Well, from the sound of your accent, you’re a Scot – I don’t blame you. I prefer Scotch myself, but when in Rome…”

The man tilted his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Or in Tokyo,” he teased.

Claire raised her glass, and the man lifted his from the bar to chime against hers with the barest of touches.

“Slainté,” he murmured.

“Cheers,” she replied, and downed half her glass, eyes locked on his.

He swallowed.

“Do ye live in Tokyo? I ask because I canna fathom why such a beautiful woman would be here, in this basement bar in Ginza, all by herself…”

“I’m visiting – here with my husband.” Claire shifted her legs, watching the man watch her bare knees criss-cross, so glad she had worn her little black dress. Glenna had always told her it made her legs look a million miles long.

“Oh, aye? And is he wi’ ye tonight, or…”

“He’s working. He’s been working since we arrived.”

“I see.” The man took a quick sip from his glass. “And ye’re in need of some company? Or is the whisky doing that job?”

She narrowed her eyes, leaning forward just a bit. “It’s doing a fine job – but it’s not the same as…a human touch.

The lad actually swallowed – Claire watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down.

Just who was this man – this Scot – and why was *he* alone in this bar?

And why did he choose *her* out of everyone? Especially with all those lovely Japanese women giggling in a cluster at the other end of the bar…

A soft touch.

Her heart fluttered as he gently ran the pads of his fingers – cool from the ice in his glass – to cup her right knee.

“Would ye like some company, then? Once ye finish yer whisky?”

His eyes – so blue, so wide – bored into hers.

She felt sixteen again.

So she downed her whisky – pulled a 10,000 yen note from her purse – and dropped it on the bar.

He finished his whisky – plucked two 10,000 yen notes from his pocket – gave one to her, and slapped the other on the bar.

“I never let the lady pay.”

He stood – towering a full head over her.

She reached down for his hand.

“My hotel is just next door – follow me.”

They looked like just any other Western couple as they exited the bar – but as soon as they exited the red-tinged light of the bar and stood at the base of the stairwell that led to Chuo-dori Street, he pushed her into the darkest corner.

And kissed her as if he were the last man on earth.

And she let him. And reciprocated fully, tasting the smoky tang of Scottish whisky on his lips.

It went on for a long while. She buried her fingers in his close-cropped red hair. One of his hands swiftly glided down and under her dress, cupping her arse, with his other hand planted firmly on the back of her neck.

He tore his lips from hers, gasping.

“Don’t stop,” she purred, and pulled him back for more.

And quickly it became too much, as she started to move his hand toward the front of her dress –

But then froze as she heard two half-drunk Japanese salarymen clomp down the stairs and crash into the door of the bar.

Remembering where she was, Claire pulled back, breathing hard. The man licked her lips.

“Five minutes – just up the stairs, next door to the hotel, up the elevator, and then to my room.”

He kissed her – quick and deep. “I need you,” he groaned. “God help me, I must have ye or die.”

So she grabbed his hand and dragged him up the steps. In the neon glare of the street, hundreds of pedestrians rushed by – on their way to and from department stores, designer shops, high-end restaurants, and the other stores that dotted Tokyo’s prime shopping district.

She saw him now for the first time – the neon glare almost as bright as day. Even panting, a bit disheveled, tie now a bit askew around his neck, stubble starting to grow, he was probably the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

And from the look in his eyes, he was equally mesmerized by her.

Grinning like a schoolgirl with her first crush, they twined their fingers together and quickly walked through the lobby of her hotel, trying to avoid making eye contact with the staff. But they had seen everything and nothing – and were doubtless trained to just keep their heads down and smile.

Then she called for the elevator, fishing around in her tiny purse for her keycard as he settled a warm hand on the small of her back.

Then the elevator came – and she pressed the button for her floor, watching him from across the small space.

The hunger in his eyes was staggering.

A soft electric chime – then three rooms to the left, the door soundlessly gliding open, the lights coming up as soon as she gestured to the empty room.

He let the door slam behind him – and she turned, stepped out of her shoes, and dropped her purse to the ground.

Eyes locked on each other, the moment stretched – tension impossibly thick in the room.

Then he slowly walked toward her, took her hands, and stepped towards the bed. She felt the back of her knees hit the mattress and let him push her onto her back, sinking amid the soft, soft duvet.

He hovered over her, and then kissed her sweetly.

“That was fun, Claire,” he whispered against her parted lips. “But next time, ye’ll let me take ye to a proper bar, aye? One wi’ a nice view?”

She smiled, and kissed his chin. “Of course, Jamie – we can go somewhere later tonight. But first, you must make sure your wife is properly satisfied…”

TOP TIP: Have you written a letter to a newspaper in which you stand up for people complaining about having to endure the horror of seeing a man kiss another man in a first-world nation in the 21st frigging century and then follow that up by railing against “pro-gay” people having a voice in celebrating it? Are you worried that people might think you’re homophobic? No problem! Just sign off your letter as “Not Homophobic” and hey presto! No-one will think you’re being homophobic at all because you’ve said right at the end that you’re not homophobic.

First Day of the Rest of Your Life

Jemma had always hidden how smart she was. She kept her test scores to herself, evaded the questions from her friends and played dumb… for a boy. Then, they took the aptitude test in Sixth Form. Three weeks later she found herself on a campus with people who were nearly five years older than her. Little had she known, 756230.7456 meters North in Glasgow another boy took the same test.

She walked through the Campus, feeling like a deer caught at the wrong end of a car. Everyone was a good three feet taller than her (Jemma had not had a growth spurt since primary school) and had… they had friends. She quickly gained friends in her upper class men, getting to know a few of the girls in her Biology class, she sat with them at lunch.

“Who’s he?” she ventured, one week after attending Sci-Ops. It was at dinner, she noticed a boy all alone save for one group of seniors who went over to practically tortured the poor boy.

formerlyanon replied to your post: saccharinesylph: I really, really&nbs…

WOW i really dig how intricate margaret’s pieces are! the rose motifs themselves are lovely too, i can see why you’re so into them

Isn’t she the bomb?? A lot of people think Art Noveau instantly means Mucha, and that’s one example, but there are other art nouveau artists too, and a great deal of them operated out of Glasgow, Scotland. 

I’ve found over time that I actually prefer some of their work to Mucha’s!

So check this out:

(judging u)

Margaret would layer gesso all over her canvas or boards or whatever she damn well pleased, and would soak strings and beads and other things to stick on there to make the raised relief lines. 

Jessie M King is another one of my favorites. Another of the Glasgow Four.

She tended to work in pen and ink, but also did color from time to time.

I have four prints from her framed on my bedroom wall. C: