best whisky

How would you feel?

I want to dedicate this story to @littlewhitelies1403 and @whoopsharrystyles

I hope you will have some day such an amazing day in your life, with a man who loves you genuinely. And I hope I can share this amazing and wonderful day with you. I will sit on the obligatory “single table” watching you while you’re dancing. And maybe I will have one or two tears in my eyes. 

I hope you will be happy one day, I hope you will find your imperfect, perfect man. 

All the love 


The paper lanterns wiggle in the balmy summer night wind. It’s way after midnight and the crowd has thinned out. Only a handful of guests are sitting on the round tables which are covered with long white tablecloths. They are your closest friends, your parents, his parents, and his sister with her boyfriend. It was a beautiful day, better even than you dreamed. You had dreamed about this day since you were a little girl, and THIS day bested your dreams. He did everything so that you have the perfect day.

You’re  drunk by the night, he too but you saw him at the bar with his best man, drinking some whisky, but also searching for your eyes.

You’re talking to some guests sitting near the dance floor. Your hand rests on the back of the chair, which is also white and the cold metal cools you off. You danced a lot, with your father, with your uncle and of course with your new husband. As you heard Ed’s voice singing for the first time on your wedding you had to smile. He knows you so well. Harry requested Ed play some of your favourite songs as he twirled you around the dance floor.

Now that the candles are nearly burned down, the waiters start to dismantle the buffet.  Your legs are hurting and the corners of your mouth are hurting too.  You laughed and smiled all the time.

Harry touches your shoulder gently while he’s nodding in Ed’s direction, and he smiles knowingly. Ed walks to the band and grabs his guitar.

You feel his soft touch.  Excusing yourself, you turn around to look into his green eyes. His hair is a little sweaty, and he doesn’t wear his jacket anymore. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up, so you can see his anchor tattoo. With tender fingers you touch his anchor. His heart skips a beat as he feels the metal of your wedding ring on his hot skin. You made him the luckiest man in the whole world today. You married him today, and he wants to scream it from the rooftops.

“What’s the matter?” you ask him with a soft, tired smile.

Ed starts to play. It’s an unknown melody that you have never heard before. You frown.

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Glad to be able to smoke two different pipes today. My first bowl was in my newly repaired Canadian, the second in my BST. Both were Best Brown Flake and I really enjoyed smoking a pipe other than my Meerschaum.

The second was while relaxing watching All Round Mrs Brown’s with a glass of Glendronach 8 year old.


Peter x Reader

Requested By Anon

The entire pack span around as you swaggered into the penthouse, ignoring the gawking stares as you wondered on up to the metal steps, heading up to look for Peter.


“He’s not here.” Derek grunted and you flipped him off and winked making the lanky teen with the turned up nose take in a deep breath and fidget.


“I don’t care, I’ll wait.” You vanished up the stairs and flopped onto Peter’s bed.

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((Pls click and try to take a peek at the group shot image lololol

From left to right in group shot.

 @morose-deserter as the Family’s little bartender. They’re sheltering him from trouble! He’s very faithful to Mr. Wolf. Provides the best whisky. Learning how to burn things.

  @definitely-not-altair is next- he’s a… people person. A fixer. He goes and discusses things with people when they say that they can’t pay. He likes knives. Just as a hobby, you understand.

My Karthus is next- a top doctor that is wanted under a different identity by both the FBI and Interpol at the very least. He and Mr. Wolf have a lot of dirt on one another. Dr. Karthus here is very good at removing limbs and appendages without the patient dying etc and he’s also very good at getting a hold of prescriptions and removing bullets without pesky paperwork. But really, it was probably somebody who looked just like him. That’s all! Don’t believe the deep web stories.

@cervantestheferryman Probably lives above the garage. Mechanic, general handyman, ex Navy Seal. Also hired muscle and probably a hitman but we don’t talk about that, do we? He’s also really good at making an unfortunate housefire look just like a housefire. Not that he’d ever do anything with that.

@calix-daesyn Answered an add for a personal assistant. Generally an innocent little smarty, speaks several languages and a great multitasker with an impeccable resume. A little bit in over his head. A little bit. Maybe a smidgen.

@thecrimsonexecutioner The Boss Man himself! Mr. Wolf. Totally innocent. The rumors that he runs an extensive, vicious mob family are completely unfounded. Completely! Come over and he’d be happy to discuss it with you <3

@thefallenstarchild Mr. Wolf’s beloved wife. She is constantly dripping in the finest silks and furs and jewels and always has the best of everything. Don’t make a mistake and think that she’s helpless. Try to kidnap her, you’ll find out that she isn’t defenseless.

@thelanternwretch The Chief of Police! Incorruptible. Has never accepted a bribe EVER. He never employs shady tactics. Has no ties to Mr. Wolf’s infamous crime family. He’s never invited to dinner or anything. He’s never seen leaving the mansion early in the morning. Who said that? He’ll see you in his office, alone. Close the door. Why are you worried?


(I can’t stop writing about these two. I’m in Vaxus/Dorian hell! Don’t send help.)

Magister Cornwall was an evil bastard in every sense of the word.  He had done many things in his sixty-five years that were, to anyone else, regrettable. A few assassinated friends here, a few sacrificed slaves there. Just the general Magister stuff. But stealing a little boy from his injured father’s arms? That was a new one. It was supposed to be a simple pick up job. He ordered his slave to go to the Pavus house, take young master Felix, and return without incident. Little did they know that his other father, the former Inquisitor Trevelyan, would be at home that day. He had put up a good fight and his slave retained a few injuries, but the elf managed to overpower Trevelyan and take the child. At least the slave was worth something. That little five year old elf boy was then thrown in the cellar of Cornwall’s manor with the door locked behind him so the little runt couldn’t escape, at least not until Cornwall got what he wanted.

Sure, it was a dick move, stealing someone’s child (even if it was an ugly little half elf mongrel.) But Pavus had left him no choice. He was trying to change their society even though it had worked fine for years. If Pavus succeeded he would no longer have slaves. And Cornwall would have to pay commoners to come into his home and clean. Actually pay them, the madness of it all! And where would this great nation be without its all-powerful blood magic or how would they ensure the purity of the next generation without some marriage guide lines? No, this simply could not be. Pavus had to be stopped and if he had to steal his son and beat his partner half to death to do it (or get his slave to), then so be it. Besides, it’s not like he was asking too much. Only for the fool to step down from his seat in the magisterium and leave Tevinter as it is, then he could have his son back. Simple, right? If Pavus disagreed, well, the slave traders were always in need of young blood.

Only about two hours later is when things really kicked off. Cornwall was sitting in his living room, drinking some of his best whisky, congratulating himself on what a fine job he did today. That’s when his slave, limping and bandaged up, came rushing in. He had a terrified look on his face as he slammed the doors behind him.

“Master!” cried the slave. “Master, it’s-!”

Before he could finish the doors burst open, throwing the slave forward, after being hit by a wave of magic. Cornwall grinned as he stood up with his hands behind his back, seeing Magister Dorian Pavus storm in. He held his staff tightly in his hands and had a glare that could have sent chills down a qunari’s spin.

“WHERE’S MY SON?!” growled Dorian.

“Ah, Magister Pavus,” said Cornwall brightly. “You’re a little earlier than I expected but that’s no trouble.”

“My son Felix! Where is he?!”

“Calm down, Pavus. He’s safe. But we really should talk.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you got to say!I want my son back!”

“See, that’s it. I got something you want and you got something I want. Your seat on the magisterium, for example. Yes, it is a high price but you know the saying; You can’t put a price on a child’s happiness.”

“You bastard!”

“Now, now, Pavus. It’s not as if you have a choice. See, I’m the only one who knows where your son is. And that a small gesture I can send him away to the slave traders, where he belongs. So you really don’t have a choice. You can’t touch me.”

Dorian’s glare grew stronger but his staff lowered. What was this? Submission? Of course he was. It was no secret how much the man adored his family. A fool’s error, Cornwall was sure.

“You’re right,” said Dorian. “I can’t touch you.”

Then, suddenly, Dorian grinned.

“But he can.”

Cornwall couldn’t spin around in time to stop the butt of the axe hitting him in-between the shoulder blades. He cried out and fell to the ground, the weapon having temporally paralyzed him. The pain was so great he wondered he had been stabbed. But no, there was no blood. Cornwall groaned in pain and looked up to see Vaxus Trevelyan standing over him, with an axe in his one hand, a black eye swollen shut and a face full of blood lust.

“I don’t believe you’ve met my husband,” said Dorian. “He’s been dying to meet you.”

“Where is Felix?” demanded Vaxus.

“Ha!” scoffed Cornwall, trying to hide his agony. “You think I’m intimidated by a brainless barbarian from the south? Andraste give me strength.”

“Look, I am not in the fucking mood for your bull shit! Tell us where our son is, or else.”

“Or else what? If you kill me you’ll never see your son again. So do your worst, Trevelyan!”

“As you wish.”

Vaxus responded by stamping hard on Cornwall’s…..jewels. He screamed in agony and held his crotch, curling into a ball and biting his lip, trying to contain a whimper.

“Now you want to tell me?” asked Vaxus. “I could do this all day.”

Vaxus stamped on his crotch again, crushing both his hands and his jewels. Cornwall cried out again and let out a tiny whimper escape


Vaxus and Dorian looked at each other before making their way to the cellar. But not before Dorian walked up to Cornwall and kicked him in the head, knocking him unconscious.

“That’s for hurting my Amatus!” growled Dorian before he hurried along to join Vaxus.

Cornwall’s house was large and vast but it wasn’t long before they found the door that led down to the cellar. As they climbed down the stairs they could hear a soft sobbing that reached for their heart strings. They quickly reached the door and tried to open it, but it was locked. Of course it was.

“Felix?! Are you there?!” called Vaxus.

“Papa?” asked Felix’s voice through the door. “Papa, is that you?!”


“Papa! Papa, I thought you were dead!”

“I’m alright, Felix, don’t worry about me. Did they hurt you?”

“No. They just threw me in here and left me alone. It’s dark in here, I don’t like the dark!”

Vaxus and Dorian looked at each other. It broke their hearts, knowing their son was just on the other side of this door, alone and afraid. They had to do something.

“It’s alright, Felix, we’re going to get you out of here!” called Dorian.

“Father!” cried Felix.

“Son, I need you to step away from the door and get behind something if you can!”


Dorian lightly pushed Vaxus’s back and aimed his staff at the key hole. A small yet powerful spell caused a controlled explosion that broke the lock and swung the door open. Felix came out from behind a wooden box and Dorian knelt down as Felix ran into his arms. He hugged him tightly as Vaxus rushed up and hugged the pair on them, Felix wrapping his arms around them both.

“Papa! Father!” sobbed Felix. “They were going to sell me! That man said he would! I was so scared!”

“We would have never let that happen, my little boy,” said Dorian, holding his face in his hands. “You’re safe now. Everything’s going to fine.”

“I love you, Father. I love you, Papa.”

“We love you too, Felix, we love you so much,” said Vaxus. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Dorian picked up Felix and held him tightly as they climbed up the stairs back up to the house. Dorian held his son’s head into his neck so he wouldn’t see the unconscious bodies of Cornwall or his elf slave. Maker knows the poor boy had been through enough today. But Felix had no interest in looking up. He just held his father as tightly as he could, terrified of being taken again.

Poor Felix was a lot more fearful for a time, after the event. He was afraid about being left with a baby sitter and of other magisters, except for Mea of course. He had one or two nightmares that caused him to wake screaming in a cold sweat. It was a really hard time for him. But Dorian and Vaxus were always there to reassure him that was safe. And as long as the pair of them lived, they would always keep their special little boy safe. And this made Felix feel little better, if only a little bit.


Drink-Tony x Reader

Tony’s parties were never properly remembered by anybody. It was an unwritten law that everybody had to get drunk beyond belief and wake up with a killer hangover. Even Steve and Bucky managed to feel like death and their bodies were enhanced to beyond belief courtesy of Thor and his Asgardian mead.

One thing that you did not like about the parties was that you were sick of dressing up, trying to get Tony’s attention and going to bed alone. It happened every time and you very close to giving up completely. Your crush on Tony was pathetic, it was a little like a teenager pining over a teacher. Pathetic. You had tried to ‘snap out of it’ many times but it was futile. Natasha had even set you up with a few guys but nothing got your mind off of Tony.

You walked into the party with Bucky because he insisted that Tony would get very jealous and very angry too. You deemed that it was worth a shot because you just wanted to see what would happen if anything would happen at all. “Alright, doll.  Pretend to laugh at something that I said, and don’t look so tense. Calm now.”

Bucky wrapped his metal arm around you which lay just above your arse. Bucky pulled a stupid face and you laughed a little. You nudged him with your side a little whilst he shook his head. You saw Tony from your peripheral gulp down his whisky with a tight jaw. “Be subtle. Look left.” Bucky glanced over at Tony and smirked at him. 

“He’s seen and he’s mad. You want a drink, doll?” You nodded and Bucky went to the bar to get you something that would get you through the night. He leant close to your ear and whispered a quick ‘good luck’ before he kissed you on the cheek and went off to get the drinks. 


The night wore on and you spent most of the night with Steve and Bucky. For some strange reason, you thought that it would be funny to see how many bottles of Tony’s best whisky they could drink before anything happened. You swayed your hips as you approached the bar and asked for seven bottles of the amber liquid and a single shot glass. 

Tony sauntered over to you. He had a pretty brunette on his arm and a disapproving look. “I see you’re spending the evening with the grandpas.” He looked down at the alcohol you were carrying. “A few things, that’s some good liquor and I’m guessing that you aren’t drinking all of that so remember, they can’t get drunk on this stuff.” Tony’s voice was sarcastic and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Thanks for your input but I want to see just how many bottles of this shit they can drink before anything happens.” You walked off back to the gentlemen you were with for the most part of the night. You placed the alcohol on the table and smirked to yourself. “Okay, boys, for every bottle of Tony’s finest you drink, I will take a shot. Wanna see how drunk you can get on this.”

Steve shook his head at you. “You know we can’t get drunk, right?” You shrugged your shoulders at the men and opened three bottles. One went to Bucky, one went to Steve and you poured yourself a drink.

“Alright, drink.” You threw back your shot and the smooth liquid burnt your throat. Both Bucky and Steve were drinking it like it was water and they had finished the bottle a lot quicker than you thought was possible. “You two feel anything?”

Steve shook his head and opened another bottle. “Are you just trying to anger Tony? He’s been glaring at the three of us for the past hour.” Bucky took your face in his hands and turned your head to face Tony directly. 

“Oh, that’s probably due to the fact that we’re drinking his favourite liquor.” You smiled back at the men but deep down you were upset that Tony was doing nothing. 

Bucky let out a sigh and shook his head. “Doll, you know that’s not true. He’s mad that you’re spending time with us and not him.” Bucky chugged down the whisky along with Steve and they finished the damn thing before you managed to pour and shoot your own drink.

In the end, you were drunk but the other two were perfectly fine. Steve tried to get you upright to take you to your room but you were unable to get your legs to move. He picked you up and Tony walked over. “You can put her down, Captain. I can take care of her.”

Steve’s jaw tightened and he did not let you go. You were too drunk to speak coherently and so you were limp in Steve’s arms. “Why? You were glaring at her for the whole night. I am going to take her to her room and put her to sleep.” 

Tony’s eyes flared with anger. “Taking advantage of drunk girls, Cap?” He spat his bitter response and Steve shook his head. He knew exactly how to anger Tony and it was working. If this went on for long enough, he’d admit his feelings for you.

Bucky walked over to Steve and Tony with a mischievous smirk. “Hey, Steve, I can’t get Y/N’s door open. We can’t take her back to her room. You got any ideas?” Steve picked up on Bucky’s plan straight away and played along.

“I could put her in my bed and take the couch. That was if she’s sick at night, I can help her.” You had already passed out and Tony was getting more and more riled up and the conversation continued. 

“Look, grandpas, I will open her door and take care of her.” He reached out for your sleeping body again and finally got hold of you. “Your services aren’t needed anymore.”


You woke up groggy and unstable. The vile taste of stale alcohol lingered in your mouth and you couldn’t remember anything after drinking the whisky. Around your room, you saw Tony sleeping. Wait. You saw Tony. In your room. Asleep. 

You stumbled to your bathroom and brushed your teeth. Your head was throbbing and your vision was only a little hazy. The peppermint woke you up a little and you went to your mini fridge to get a cold bottle of water. A shiver went through your body as the look liquid travelled through you.

“You’re finally awake, huh?” Tony looked a little rough too and you shot your eyebrows up in reply. “I told you that they wouldn’t get drunk.”

“Thanks for getting me back to my room and all, but I don’t need the lecture.” You opened the door for Tony but he didn’t budge. “You can leave now.”

Tony stepped closer to you so that you could feel his hot breath against yours. “I don’t think so, Y/N.” Tony then kissed you. His lips were soft against yours.

A Flurry of Green and Red Continued

Anonymous asked: Love your ficlet with Roger and Bree I think they’re a cute couple. I’d like to see this one continued and maybe Roger and Claire go together after her? Either way, this was appropriated.

Well anon you (and multiple others) asked and I’m delivering. As always I love any and all of your alls feedback, please let me know what you think!

You can find the first part A Flurry of Green and Red and all of my other stories on my Master Fanfiction List

Brianna hit the ground, rolling over in pain. However the stones work, they must tear you apart atom by atom and stitch you back together. She thought to herself. As the pain subsided, she raised her head taking in her surroundings.

Roger was gone.

Her heart ached thinking his name. A few tears escaped, rolling down her dirty cheeks.

Pushing her aches, fears, and heart break aside, Bree stood shakily determined to find her mother and father. Inverness was her first step, then Edinburgh and hopefully, her parents.

Claire felt the terrifying and excruciating power of the stones rip her body apart and then piece by piece put her back together again. Never again, she thought, spoke, whispered, or yelled into the haunting screams surrounding her.

When she felt as though her heart was about to explode, and her body would give in to the call of death, Claire slammed into the cold, wet earth on the other side of the stones.

“She made it through,” Claire muttered in disbelief. “She must have—she has to have made it through.”

Staggering to her feet, Claire took in the surroundings, the dark forests familiar, both newer and older than last she was there.

“If I were Bree, where would I go to first?” Claire stood atop the faerie hill questioning the invisible paths to Inverness, Lallybroch, and Castle Leoch. Lallybroch, was her first instinct, but knowing her daughter, that would be the last place to go. Leoch would be empty—if time ran linearly, and she was indeed in the 1760s—taken over and abandoned thanks to the British Army. Logic told her Inverness was the only option, but her gut told her Edinburgh.

Her daughter was always a smart, observant child. Now she had grown into an intelligent and canny woman; Claire prayed that would be enough for her to easily adapt and make her way in whatever time they may be in.

Bree wandered down the cobbled streets searching for any sign of her mother, or the description her mother had told her of her father. The silk dress was tattered; the lime green color stained an olive-muddy green and torn from the harsh travel. The jewels had gradually fallen off, but they proved useful as a bartering item—the crystalline costume jewelry mistaken for precious stones—had gotten her passage, food and what she assumed to be Scottish whisky.

The looks strangers had given her as she walked down the street caused her to quicken her step and search all the more fervently for any sign of her parents. Exhausted and in need of a rest, Bree looked for an area that would seem useful and safe for this cause. She set her sights on a large fountain sat in a square, multitudes of people fluttering by. Perfect, she thought to herself.

Making her way across the square and to the fountain, she dipped a shred of her dress into the water to cool her neck off—all the while still constantly searching the crowd for a head of hair like her own and her mother’s wayward curls.

“Brianna Ellen!” She heard the ghost of her mother’s voice shout. Her heart clenched.

“Brianna!” She heard again. This time, the voice seemed to be nearby.

“Mama?” Bree whispered, whipping her head around, desperate to find the source.

“Mama!” She exclaimed launching herself at a figure ten feet away.

Her mother’s arms wrapped around her, tight and comforting. Bree’s shoulders shook with the sobs she’d held back for the majority of her journey. “You…left…without me,” she hiccuped the words into her mother’s neck.

“No, my darling girl,” Her mother whispered into her ear. “You left before me. I ran into young Roger Wakefield before discovering you had jumped through time.” Her mother pulled back and then caressed her face. “Why did you go, darling?”

“You didn’t say goodbye. I couldn’t…I had…” Bree lost the ability to speak, as her throat became filled with raw emotion.

Claire pulled her daughter tight to her breast again, lying her head against the tangled red curls. “Shh, my love. I’m here now.”

Bree’s sobs quieted as she savored the feel of her mother’s touch. “I thought you left me, forever.”

Claire’s heart broke at that. That was what she had been avoiding and yet planning on doing all along. “I did not leave you—I could not leave you, forever.”

Stroking her daughter’s back, Claire gently pulled away from Brianna. “Come, darling. We need to find your father.”

“How do you know we’re even in the right time? He could be anywhere!” Brianna said frantically, unwilling to fully believe what they might find.

Claire smiled softly, “We are in the right time. You lead us to him.”

Brianna looked at her mother puzzled. “How—?”

“That’s how you move through time.  There’s an anchor point you need to focus on. Finding me must not have been your only desire.” Grabbing Brianna’s hand, Claire began to weave her way through the crowded streets of Edinburgh.

“We may be off by a few years,” Claire said to Brianna, offhandedly. Brianna stopped walking, eyes wide in horror. Laughing at her expression Claire grabbed her hand to urge her on and explained, “That’s what happened to me before. When I first traveled back, it was 1945 then I was in 1743. Two-hundred and two years in the past—time may be somewhat linear, but it’s not an exact science.”

“Couldn’t we ask someone? Or grab a newspaper clipping?”

“Oh, yes we could,” Claire nodded and smirked, “If I had not already done so.”

“Mama, where—or rather, when are we?” Bree huffed.

“Exactly two-hundred and two years from whence we came. Jamie should be close by.” Claire said, searching every sign on the street.

Claire’s pace quickened to a run; Bree scrambling to keep up, calling out for her mother to slow down.

“Jamie,” Claire murmured hoarsely, eyes filled with tears as she stopped in front of an old building, it’s doorframe and window frames recently shellacked a shiny black.

Claire’s fingers gently traced the words:

A. Malcolm

Printer Bookseller

“Is it him, Mama?” Bree asked in a barely audible whisper.

Claire nodded unable to speak and unwilling to tear her eyes from the sign. Her heart was overflowing with joy. Her husband, her love, her soul was just inside that door. Her daughter, her other love, her greatest joy and gift by her side was to finally come face to face with the man who should have raised her.

Brianna, noticing the tears welling in her mother’s eyes, wrapped her arms around her shoulders, unable to see her mother upset for any reason. Her mother patted her hand, soothingly. Breaking her gaze from her mother, Bree looked up at the shop and briefly wondered what he would be like. Would he recognize her for who she was? Would he love her? Would he even like her? She felt her heart quicken and sweat break out on her palms.

Without a word, Claire squeezed her daughter’s hand and entered the shop. Her heart jumped into her throat at the sound of his voice, the same as she remembered so many times, only with a hint of frustration and sadness.

“It isn’t Geordie,” she said, aching for him to turn around. “It’s me, Claire.”

Jamie Fraser’s heart tightened at the sound of the voice; the voice of a lingering ghost.  A haunting fragment that not only soothed his soul, but tortured him endlessly. Slowly turning around, he knew to expect a vision of his wife; what he didn’t expect was tall, beautiful, redheided lass to be standing hand-in-hand with her. The lass looked uncannily like his mother, only with a few differences. This must be his mind playing tricks.

Claire stepped closer to him. He smirked at the new vision before him; she had aged well and beautifully, like the best whisky. Those whisky colored eyes bored into his. “I’ve missed you, Sassenach.”

“Jamie,” Claire whispered, allowing a tear to fall as she hesitantly reached out to stroke his face. Cupping his cheek in her hand she whispered to him, “I’ve missed you, more than I can bear to say.”

“Dear God, you’re real!” Jamie exclaimed, grabbing on to her hand. “You’re real!”

Tears and nerves started to flow and shake both of them, smiles reflecting one another. “How did ye find me, mo nighean donn? How did ye get here?”

Claire smiled at his remark and leaned forward she to gently place her lips against his. Warmth spread throughout his body; an indescribable course of emotions flowed through him as he deepened the kiss. Pausing, savoring the feel of her lips—a feeling he never thought he would experience again—he let himself fall back into love, and back into happiness.

“Jamie?” Claire whispered breathily against his mouth.

“Aye, mo nighean donn?” he whispered back, kissing her forehead and gathering her up in his arms, never wanting to let go.

“There’s someone with me you should meet.” Claire tipped her head up and gazed into the blue eyes of the man she loved, overwhelmed with the feelings he produced at every touch.

His eyes shot over to the lass, standing awkwardly by the door. “Yes, you need to meet her.” Claire told him, watching his eyes focus unknowingly on his daughter.

Guiding him across the shop to where Brianna stood, Claire caressed his hand with soothing circles of her thumb. Brianna stood, shoulders hunched and head down. Jamie’s hand reached out and retracted multiple times before Claire took hold of it and together, they eased Brianna’s chin up. Jamie gasped as he got the first full look at his daughter. His heart knew what his head could not yet process.

“Is she…is…is she?” he stuttered out, voice quavering with emotion,

“Jamie, this is your daughter, Brianna Ellen.”

Jamie sobbed, clapping a hand to his head and bending over before falling to his knees before them. Brianna timidly knelt down in front of her father. She reached out and touched his right hand, the fingers callused and ink-stained, seemed to sit at awkward angles.

“He is real,” she murmured to herself.

“Aye, mo chridhe, I’m real.” He said, turning his hand over and lacing his fingers with hers. “God, ye are so beautiful, mo chridhe. Ye look just like your Grannie Ellen, my Mam.”

Gently with his free left hand, Jamie touched her hair. “Mo nighean ruaidh.”

“What are you saying?” Bree asked, searching her father’s face and finding similarities that made her stomach flip.

“Ach, no but a wee pet name my Da used to call my Mam: my redheaded lass. I can see ye, touch ye, smell ye and speak to ye, and yet my mind willna let me believe what is here. My wife and child, with me, I—I—” his voice cracked as tears slid down his face. “I have loved ye since before ye were born, mo nighean ruaidh, and I will always love ye. I have prayed for yer safety, happiness, and health since the moment I kent yer Mam was with bairn; and now to see ye,” he reached out and stroked her cheek, “touch ye, I’m overcome wi’ joy.”

Jamie turned to look at Claire, who had knelt beside him, her hands resting on his shoulders. “Thank-you, Sassenach.  You’ve managed what I couldna… the ability to raise our daughter.” He leaned down and kissed the hand closest to his head, resting his face against it.

“You gave me that chance, Jamie. You’re the reason she’s alive.”

Releasing Brianna’s face, Jamie reached out and pulled Claire to his chest. Brianna eased her hand out of his and wrapped it around the side of his neck, burying herself into a hug with her mother and father for the first time.

“Mo graidh, mo chridhe,” Jamie reverently whispered, as he melted into the embrace of his family.

So today my lovely Owl llewellyenanchaisleaindubh turns 22 and she wanted mormor birthday headcanons so Happy Birthday babe:

  • Neither Jim or Sebastian are ones to celebrate birthdays. Sebastian doesn’t care, it’s like any other day of the year and anyone. Anyone. knows when Jim’s birthday is so no chances to celebrate. 
  • Even if Sebastian had tried everything to discover it. Once Jim sprained his wrist when the sniper was prying on his wallet. He wanted his ID to know when James Moriarty was born. Unsuccessfully, of course.
  • The first year Sebastian moves in with his boss he doesn’t expect even a word from the criminal about his birthday even if he knows Jim knows the date. He knows everything after all. 
  • Sebastian didn’t get any word about it, that’s true. But at night after they have finished the day of work Jim entered the living room where Sebastian was sitting and went to his drinks cabinet. He poured his best whisky for them, that cost a fortune and offered a glass silently to his right hand man. They drink together in silence and for Sebastian it’s just perfect.
  • The next year things had escalated and they have finally succumbed to the sexual tension. Finally. Even with that Sebastian doesn’t expect anything for his birthday. If Jim is something, is not sentimental. But he gets a gift for his surprise. A very fucking good gift. Jim buys him a spectacular Harley Davidson. Aparently it’s because he hates Sebastian’s current bike, too loud and too old, the only thing the ex-Colonel could buy after his discharge but he never replaces it. Until Jim does. Sebastian fucking loves it.
  • Sebastian’s attempts of discovering Moriarty’s birthday always end in failure. There isn’t any record of him anywhere. It’s like the man is a ghost. And he never slips. Sebastian had tried everything. Sly ways of asking him, after sex when Jim is thoroughly fucked and very much acting like a contented cat. He never slips. Never.
  • Even asking directly which just leads to Jim smiling that little, dangerous smirk that makes Sebastian’s knees go weak and saying I’m afraid that’s not your business, sweetheart”.
  • Sebastian gives up until one time they are having a very long night in bed. It’s January and cold and the sniper has been out for a week in a job abroad. Sebastian has lost track of how many times Jim has fucked him but he can’t get enough of the criminal. It’s finally dawning when both have come a last time and while Jim pulls out from him, he presses his lips to Sebastian’s neck. He whispers a very breathless Happy fucking birthday to me” against his skin, while they are blissfully tangled around each other. And that’s how Sebastian finally finds out.
The Storyteller - 2

I have a feeling this isn’t going to be the last we see of this one, because I’m kind of obsessed with Baby!Jamie and Murtagh’s relationship. Would love to hear your feedback on whether you’d like future installments!

Previous: One


It was eerily quiet in the dooryard in front of the Lallybroch estate. Murtagh was leading the mare, Jamie still perched on her back proud as a peacock. An unfamiliar man came around the corner from the blacksmith and stopped short when he saw the pair of them.

“Found him, my Laird!” the man yelled out and Murtagh looked up at Jamie with a sigh.

“Well then a bhalaich, there’s nae hiding now.”

The look on Brian Fraser’s face as he came around the house and spotted them was an equal mix of anger and fear. It was a look that Murtagh hadn’t seen on the man’s face since they fought together at Sheriffmuir in the ‘15, watching kinsmen fall around them as they stormed the battlefield. He never thought he would ever see that terrified look again, but his youngest running off barely a week after the death of his eldest was enough to leave any father panicked.

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