ian faith

Dear Shameless writers,
Please don’t turn Shameless into ANOTHER disappointment for the LGBTQIA community. What I mean by that, is I can probably count the number of gay couples with a happy ending on one hand (I mean solidly happy not “ahhh well… THIS could have happened and it didn’t so it’s happy FOR an LGBTQIA storyline. I mean fucking walking off into the sunset happily fucking ever after endings that give us cavities). Meanwhile it’s a treat to see straight films and shows where the couple DOESN’T have a happy ending. Why? Because it’s realistic and refreshing after seeing a million examples where everything suddenly works out in the end. But you know which characters seldom have these kinds of endings? Basically any LGBTQIA couple in media ever.
Please give Ian and Mickey happily ever after endings (with each other if I’m not asking too much). So by that I mean not Trevor in Ian’s case. It’s not that I dislike Trevor, it’s that there is NO chemistry. Think Ruby Rose in season 3 of OITNB. Literally only there to cause conflict but without the chemistry goodies to back it up. Trevor is a Mickey distraction gone wrong. Though he has certainly opened discussions about Trans issues and gender identity as a whole, and I’ll forever appreciate that, the fact is to have Ian end up with Trevor would be a lie because Trevor is not the love of Ian’s life… Mickey is.
Mickey deserves better for reasons I could rattle off in another post, but the bottom line is they both deserve to be with the man who makes them strive to be better, do more, be more–to be with the one who makes them happy beyond anyone else ever could, who makes even the rainiest of days only partly cloudy if not completely sunny.
Please, please, please Shameless writers; do Noel Fisher and Cameron Monaghan justice, do Gallavich justice, give Ian and Mickey the ending they deserve, and finally, do the LGBTQIA community a huge solid and let us have ONE more happy ending to add to the painfully short list. Lots of gay people watched this show with hope after Mickey came out… and look where it got him. We need to see these happy endings especially now because they ARE POSSIBLE in real life, but there are still so many closeted gay people (like Mickey) who need to see that everything CAN turn out okay, if only for some comfort if not for a little encouragement to be open with who they are. I am not demanding, but requesting and pleading to PLEASE not do the LGBTQIA dirty and give us another fallen through pairing. Please give Gallavich the ending they deserve and let them walk off into their south side sunset. Oh, and please go ahead and tell us soon (like, now, please!) Whether or not Noel is coming back so we can finally prepare ourselves for full heartbreak if it turns out he isn’t. I know I’d still watch the show, and if Mickey is truly gone even just for the season, I would like some preparation.

A hopeful Gallavich fan losing hope day by day without news.

This Is Us- Chapter 13

Thanks to @Tammywt a terrific sounding board and all around cheerleader!

I broke this chapter into two parts– it got too long! I’ll need to keep chapters consistent between AO3 and Tumblr so revamped future chapter list at the end of this post.

Catch up on earlier chapters here 12, 11, 10 or by toggling over to the Master Fanfiction List

The promised early morning rain was moving on just as Claire and Faith reached the outer fields being used for the Quarter Day festivities.  It had been a muddy walk over but the sun would soon dry out the paths. Not that such matters had dampened enthusiasm amongst the crowds. It was approaching mid-day and the place was packed.

Music could be heard coming from several different areas over the the fields.  A small demonstration of traditional highland games was in full swing as were the various activities for children from sack races to sheep wrangling. Faith tried her hand at winning a goldfish with a ping pong ball. Faith (luckily) had a terrible throwing arm.  

Every now and then, they would catch sight of someone they knew from Lallybroch in the crowd. Ian tended to draw the eye with his unusual gait and Jamie’s hair and height made him easier to see. They didn’t go out of their way to greet anyone, though. Mindful of Jamie’s observations, they remained two lost in the larger crowd.

Claire and Faith checked out the various strength challenges, impressed by the size of the competitors. She watched participants tossing around massive hammers, stones and logs. Not for the first time, Claire found herself thinking about the national psyche of the place.  

How the games had remained the same generation after generation, still more or less using implements that were used then. Gooseflesh ran down her arms, these men, in kilt and boot, could have walked straight out of a rift in time.

From the corner of her eye she saw Faith standing in front of a cluster of women just as awe-inspiring as they readied themselves for a go and smiled for  there was progress writ on today’s fields, too.

“Good luck, ladies!” She cheered them on as she reached her hand down to Faith and moved her a safer distance from the action.  

After a time, they meandered through the crafts area, exploring everything on offer:  gloves and socks made locally, candles, honey, fine metal, leather goods, cheeses and vegetables of all kinds.  Nibbling samples and touching the knitted items as they went.

“Ooh…What’s it?” Faith asked on a reverent sigh after stumbling on a soft blanket in her favorite purple hue.

“Och, darlin’ ‘tis made from the finest alpaca, no’ more than 10 kilometers from here.” The squat man with a pipe hanging off his mouth proudly declared.

Faith pleaded with her eyes. Claire wasn’t certain if bargaining was part of the expected entertainment but her Uncle Lamb hadn’t carted her from hither and yon without teaching her a thing or two. By the time they were done she’d parted with £70.00 (down from £100).  

She watched as Faith hugged the bag containing her new lovey to her chest, careful to keep it out of the damp path but she caught her surreptitiously rubbing her cheek against the soft corner that peeped out of the top. She smiled, knowing she’d gotten the best of the negotiation.

The afternoon sun was in their eyes as they made their way over to the bleachers set up for the shinty game. Though by the time they sat, the sun was behind them. A light breeze rising as the afternoon lengthened.

Faith had spotted Jamie right away, of course, and then noticed Jenny, Murtagh, Fergus. By that time, though, Claire had spread out the little picnic lunch she assembled from the various food stalls. A tempting array of snacks had kept Faith content and her mouth too busy for idle chatter.

It was a coed game, that much was clear but Claire wasn’t entirely sure about the teams or the rules. The players were wearing t-shirts of varying plaid designs in muted colors with Slainte prominently displayed. It looked as if  Jenny and Jamie were on opposite teams.

Jenny had a wicked hook and didn’t shy away from muscling anyone who crossed her path out of the way.  The game was physical. The smack of the ball against caman audible as were the grunts and calls of the players. 

Claire watched for a bit and then concluded that whichever team Fergus was on, his only goal was scoring with a pretty blonde woman flirting right back.  

The game looked like it might be winding down. Claire finished packing their food away then asked Faith if she wanted to visit the ponies. Just then, Jenny got in a particularly good shot.

Claire heard an appreciative cheer behind her, followed by young Jamie asking, “Did Mum score?”

She looked over to see Ian standing hand in hand with his son watching the field of play. She raised her hand as he smiled his hellos at them.

Faith called out “Uncan!” and pulled Claire up, urging them to Ian’s side where she promptly offered her lovey for inspection.

“Och, verra soft!” Uncan dutifully agreed.

Then Faith and wee Jamie began inspecting some bugs underneath the row of seats behind them.

Claire and Ian were chatting, eyes off the field when a sudden yell and the unmistakable sound of a collision rent the air. 

Claire knew without looking that she would be needed. Wide eyes met steady ones.

“Faith?” She asked, even as Ian reached his hand out to the lass.

“I’ve got her. It’s no’ Jenny, she’s fine, I can see her still standing. Dinna worry, Claire. I’ll get the bairns back to the house. We’ll meet you later.”  

Claire spun quickly and, running onto the field, reached into her bag for the kit she kept on her person at all times. There was a small crowd gathered around the centerline of the field.

With all of the efficiency of a master drill sergeant she split the crowd and was down on her knees next to the three people splayed out on the ground before she had even registered what she was looking at.

A woman, red cleats, long blonde hair, startlingly green eyes, another woman, short brown hair, shorter skirt- no, it was a skort– and glasses, not moving and a man, naturally, Jamie.

There was that kind of muted murmuring that happens at sporting events when players are injured. Claire caught Jenny’s eyes and with a minimum of mostly non-verbal communication was able to confirm that the first responders had already been called. They were housed under a special first aid tent set up between venues. They’d arrive momentarily.

She only hoped Ian had gotten Faith off the field and looking elsewhere. If she saw her parents, she’d want to come see them. No telling what might happen but there were too many people around to want to risk having to pass off anything Faith might say as accidental.

She eyeballed Jamie. His problem was obvious, though treatment for him could wait. He had a cut along his thigh. It would need stitches. 

Red cleats was moving around but in pain, the skort was still flat out.  Claire thought red had a dislocated shoulder, skort undetermined.

Skort then. Her skin was gray.  A, B, C the three part emergency assessment vital to such situations.

Struck out at A - airway was compromised. She wasn’t breathing. Jamie was about to start chest compressions when Claire shot her hand out and stopped him.

“No, that’s– “ rather than explain she pushed at his body, understanding he was in the way, Jamie quickly moved to the side.  

Claire dug her hands up and under skort’s back and hoisted her into a half sitting position, her body braced against Claire’s knees as Claire’s arms came around to the front of the woman’s chest. 

Claire made interlaced fists just under her rib cage and then heaved for all she was worth, once, twice and a wheezing sound from skort told her she was on the right track, on the fourth squeeze a piece of rubber came flying out of the woman’s mouth.

Along with some water and what looked to be some fruit from lunch.  An audible, grateful wheezing inhale told Claire that she had successfully cleared the blockage. Color was slowly returning to the woman’s face.

“You are alright.” Claire told her. “That’s it. Just shallow breaths, in and out. You’ll feel a lot better in a minute.”

Jamie was on the woman the second he saw she was out of immediate danger. He handed her a wet towel for her face and checked the rest of her out, even as Claire was doing the same.

“Lass, are ye ok? Anything else hurt?” She gave a grunt of negation to his question, still trying to get her breath back.

On a smaller wheeze Claire heard her breathe out, “Jaaaymee-EEE” in a rhythm that obviously had a hidden message.

Jamie chuckled in relief and responded with an answering grin, “Gen-EEEEVA. Tell me true, are ye ok?”

Claire smiled recognizing Wall-E calls – one of Faith’s favorite movies. By  this point Geneva had readjusted her glasses and could see a bit better.

“Yes, Jamie, honestly I am. I borrowed my niece’s mouth guard, I guess I should have just skipped it?”

Jamie hugged her to him.

“Ye scarrit the hell out of me, dinna do that again.”

“Oof, get off! You’re a bloody mess and I just bought this skort!” She declared.

“Well, if I’m bleeding it’s because of you and yer wicked handmaiden -determined to take me out ye were! Between the twa of you and Jenny, I stood no chance!” Jamie pretended to be affronted.

Jamie was bleeding more heavily now. Claire quickly wadded up some bandages from her kit and pressed them firmly into Jamie’s leg.

He gave a grunt of pain.

She slapped his hand over the cut instructing, “Press here, hard, don’t move around too much.”

Jamie nodded at her but then turned to the other woman.

“An’ speaking of which, Geillie, how’s yer shoulder?”

Geneva gave a soft cry and turned her head around to find Geillis hurt though she had managed to sit up. Her eyes were closed and it looked like she was trying not to throw up or pass out. The shoulder needed tending.

Jamie crab crawled over to the woman.

“Geillie?” he asked. “Are ye ok?”

The woman’s eyes opened. She was clearly in pain but heard him.

“No.” She responded.

“Geillie?” Claire said to get her attention.

Her eyes shifted to Claire’s.

“I’m Claire I’m going to help you. You have a dislocated shoulder. Have you had one before?”

Geillie shook her head no.

“I know it’s painful but in just a minute or two you’ll feel much better.”

Jamie made to reach over and help.  

Claire put her hands on his chest and pushed him backwards, repositioning his bandages.

“You stay right where you are. Damned stubborn Scot! Did you not hear me before? What do you think you’ll accomplish bleeding all over the place? Sit still, apply pressure. We need to stop the bleeding. Geillie will be fine, Jamie. I will take care of her, ok?” Claire reassured him holding his eyes. When she saw he understood she turned back to attend to Geillie.

With Jenny and Fergus’s help, she soon had Geillie in the right position. It took  bit of maneuvering and two tries to pop the shoulder back in and she was sweating considerably before it was done.

“Oh, that feels much better!” Geillie said.  

Claire gave her a quick rundown on aftercare just as the first responders came onto the field. They transported everyone off the field back to the first aid tent.

Jamie had declined the recommended visit to the Urgent Care clinic in favor of Claire stitching him up right where they were.

The ladies would be transported although Fergus had offered to drive them to save the ambulance fees.  Geneva sat next to Geillie a comforting arm resting on her leg, the only part of her that Geneva didn’t think was hurt just then and waited for Fergus to pull up.

Claire numbed Jamie’s leg. There wasn’t a whole lot to look at in the tent so they all watched Claire work.

Jamie saw a small neat row of stitches appearing. Her hands automatically making the movements.

“Sassenach?” he began.

Her eyes came up.

“I…what ye did for Geneva? I dinna think I’ve ever seen anything like it.”

“I told you I was a doctor.” Claire downplayed but smiled when she said it. It had been nothing, every step drilled into her years ago.

“Aye, but there is a considerable difference between understanding something and knowing it. I wouldna figured it out in time. You saved Geneva’s life, Claire. I dinna ken how to thank ye for it but—”

Claire’s hands were still busy with the sutures so she contented herself with gently headbutting him and resting her forehead against his as she softly chided.

“Shh, you. That’s my job, it’s what I do.”

Jamie laughed as his hand reached behind her head and he pressed a lingering kiss of thanks and murmuring the same to her brow.

“Ladies? Shall we go, the car is just outside.”

Jamie glanced up, having forgotten that anyone else was with them. He watched as  Fergus ushered Geillie and Geneva to the car. His eyes locked on Geillie’s and she smiled sheepishly and waved as she left.


Claire gently closed the door to the Laird’s room after making sure Faith was sound asleep and straightened her emerald green wrap dress a little as she turned.

She looked up to find Jamie ambling down the long gallery hall wearing a kilt with a blazer and a black Slainte t-shirt. The cotton worn and faded, it likely would feel soft as Faith’s lovey, she thought.

“Is the lass asleep?”

“Yes, but I’m sure a last cuddle from you won’t keep her up, she’ll be out again  soon as her head hits the pillow. We had a big day.”

Claire watched him make his way toward her.

Jesus, the way he moved.  

“Y-your– leg not troubling you?” Babbling tongue tied idiot! Claire admonished herself. 

“Nah, I was in great hands and it’s no’ in a place that chaffs.” Jamie smiled, continuing to come towards her in slinky strides, as much big game cat as man. Something about the plaid changing his walk or his balance.

Perhaps it was just her, Claire thought. For whatever reason, she was especially aware of his body and how it moved within.

She normally tried to forget how freaking hot he was. He was her daughter’s father. Period, end, finito.

From the very first, she’d felt that pull, but normally she could pretend it came from the pit of her stomach and live with the white lie.

Oh, but not when he was wearing that yum, no.

Now, she couldn’t help but be aware that the clenching in her body originated far lower down.

Claire made a funny humming sound in her throat as he brushed past her, the faded wool of his plaid caressing her hand.  She shivered at the sound his  heel made on the hardwood.

That caused him to pull back from the door just as he was about to open it. He turned his astonished gaze to hers and she could not hide her blush.

“Something I can help ye with, Sassenach?”

Jamie deliberately stepped in closer to her, rubbing up against her the tiniest bit. Not so much it was obvious but in a way that made her feel…why that ruddy Scottish bastard, he knew! He knew damned well how good he looked in his kilt.

A walking inducement to anyone with a pulse.  

Too flustered to do anything about it she tried to soldier on.

“Uhm, no. I’ll just go down and —” Claire lost the train of her thoughts as his hand came up into her hair, light as a butterfly.

He was watching her closely. Pinned under that deep blue gaze,  she had nothing to bluff with. His head moved closer to hers, she tried to move a little away but his body mirrored hers and followed where she led.

Aware of his mouth thisclose to hers, the sound of the soft rumbling noises he made, the smell of his soap, sandalwood and cedar. She tried to take a steadying breath but found herself panting instead.

“Sassenach?” Softly intoned on a whisper.

“What–what are you doing?”  

She swallowed and looked up to find him watching her closely. His face so close she could feel the exhalations of his breath. If she moved a fraction of an inch he’d come straight into her.

Claire stared hard at his lips, tender and just a little sunkissed. He hadn’t shaved in long enough that the hair was just turning from prickly to malleable.

How would it feel against her tongue? She wet her lips. 

He made a little sound that caused her eyes to lift up. He was staring at her mouth with as much intensity as she was his. An aching need spread through her.

She moaned a tiny bit imagining him leaning in with his body, trapping her solidly into the wall. 

Unable to help herself, Claire pushed all the way back imagining how it would feel, the cool plaster behind her, the heat of Jamie in front, pressing inward until their bodies were joined. 

He moved with her, but not pressing against her. He kept the sliver of space between their bodies. Oh, please!

His fingers traced her hair once more.

She squeaked a little and her lips parted as she shifted her weight on her tiptoes unconsciously reaching up toward his  just as he spoke.

“Just getting this out of your hair, Sassenach.” 

He said matter of factly and  handed her a piece of crinkle paper from a box that Faith had been playing with earlier.

Claire looked at his hand rather stupidly. Then she understood what he had said.

“Oh, oh. Well, ah.” She couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought.

“I’ll see ye under the tent, shall I?” A raised brow of dismissal as he stole into the Laird’s room to kiss his daughter good night.

Chest heaving, Claire tried to slow her heartbeats down as she slumped against the wall and sighed too loudly to hear Jamie collapsing against the other side of the closed door trying to catch his breath as well.

Chapter Updates: Chapter 14: Into the Mystic/Kiss Me;  Chapter 15: Like on A Date, Chapter 16: The Date (I think You Will Love This One), Chapter 17: Operation Lard Head, Chapter 18: Three Ravens 

Fake Diamonds Are An Interrogator’s Best Friend

Originally posted by angelpaigex

Request: For @angelsdeadromance who requested prompt #26 “The diamond in your engagement ring is fake” where the reader is trying to get a female serial killer to confess so she says that to the unsub to get her angry. Reid is in the interrogation room with her and he has a hard time not laughing. 

A/N: I did take some liberties with this one and put Reid and the reader in an established relationship because it fit better. Also if you want to request a fic just drop a character and a scenario in my inbox or a character and the number for a prompt off of this list. You can make the request as simple or as detailed as you want it to be. Side note: If I used your name for a vic’s name or the name of our killer I do apologize.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: Some mild descriptions of the crime and murder but nothing too graphic, and some mild foul language

“Hotch please tell me we have something other than that she was in possession of the wedding rings and that she ran?” you asked as you stared through the two-way mirror watching the female unsub sit in the interrogation room quietly humming with her legs crossed at the ankle and hands resting on the table. The BAU had been called in to work a case in Baltimore Maryland. Three women and a man had been murdered over the course of the last month, one a week. All had received quite the beating before receiving a fatal gunshot wound to the back of the head execution style. All of them had been found in alleyways, stripped down to their underwear and all of their wedding rings had been taken. The only thing that the victims appeared to have had in common was that they were married. Well, that was until Garcia did a little digging. 


“Tell me something good Baby Girl.”

“More of a question than a statement, but how do you feel about polygamy chocolate thunder?”

“Mh really not into sharing sweetness,” he shot back smiling. 

“You and Kevin looking into trying some new things, Garcia?” JJ asked. 

“Nothing icky like that my sunshine. Now back to the reason I brought it up. All four of your vics are actually married. Well let me rephrase that, Ian is married to Jessica, Rose, Theresa and here’s the kicker he’s got a fourth wife. Here name is Miranda Kent and she lives well within the desired hunting zone,” Garcia explained and you could hear the keyboard clacking as she typed. 

“I’m sorry you’re telling my this man was married four times and not one of these women had a clue?” Emily asked. 

“Sometimes love can make us blind to the truth,” Rossi replied.

“But only for so long. This is starting to sound like a tale of murders committed by a jilted lover,” you muttered. “Tell me this jerk doesn’t have any more wives.”

“No my sweet, the pig’s last wife and the only one to outlive him is Mrs. Miranda Kent and I have just sent the work and home addresses to your phone,” Garcia replied. 

“Good work Garcia. Morgan, Reid, and Prentis take the work address. JJ, Rossi, (Y/N), and I will go to the house. Kent’s either our killer or she’s our next victim,” Hotch delegated and everyone grabbed their kevlar.

“Spence, wait one sec,” you said jogging over to him. 

“Hm? What’s up?” he asked spinning around to face him. You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him. You felt him start smiling against your lips as he moved his hand to your neck and tangled a hand in your hair. After years of being together you’d both warmed up to the idea of public displays of affection, always doing so before arrests or dangerous field work just in case something bad happened.

“I love you and please be careful,” you muttered as you pulled back and rested your forehead against his. 

“I love you too, and same goes to you about being careful,” he replied, reaching around to smooth down the velcro on your vest. 

“Hey, lovebirds! You can make out later, we’ve got a suspect to bring in,” Morgan teased, holstering his gun and headed out for one of the SUV’s. The two of you laughed. Even after dating for two years and being engaged for about six months, Morgan never got tired of teasing you and Spencer about how caught up in each other you both were. Spencer pressed one last kiss to your forehead before you both jogged over to separate SUVs. Miranda Kent had been at her house that she shared with Ian, polishing four different wedding rings. 

(Back to the present)

“Unfortunately no. All we can prove is that she was in possession of rings and because they are wiped clean of prints and blood there isn’t any way to prove she was the one who murdered them,” Hotch said as he came up and stood beside you. “We need a confession.”

“And you’re planning on getting one how?” 

“Not me, you and Reid are.”

“Excuse me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“We profiled that these were crimes both premeditated and crimes of passion. You and Spencer are one of the happiest engaged couples I’ve ever seen. If Miranda is our killer she probably realized that her husband was finding happiness somewhere else. Seeing a happy couple might just put her on edge,” Hotch explained. 

“Makes sense, just give me a minute to grab Spence,” you said and walked off toward the break room. You found your lovely fiance enjoying a cup of coffee and talking to Morgan. 

“How’s interrogation going?” Derek asked.

“Hasn’t started yet. I need to borrow you,” you said turning your attention back to Spencer. 

“Sure what’s up?”

“Well, Hotch seems to think that seeing a happy couple would somehow trigger an agitated response which might get us the confession we need to convict, but I’m thinking we need to come at this from a different angel,” you explained. 

“Whatcha thinking mama?” Derek asked taking an interest in your plan. 

“Well think about it, Miranda killed the three women and her husband because they weren’t being faithful. Ian wasn’t being faithful to their marriage and each of those women she saw as one of the reasons for him being unfaithful.”

“Not following how this is going to help us in interrogation. What are you going to do convince her that you and Reid are having an affair of some kind?” Morgan asked, laughing at the ridiculous idea. 

“Exactly,” you answered. “Now let’s see,” you commented pulling Spencer so that he was standing up straighter. “Morgan go find me something that looks like a wedding ring.” Derek rolled his eyes and muttered something about having to do all the work. After he’d left, you tugged Spencer’s tie over his head and undid the top two buttons on his shirt. 

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, going slightly rigid as you pressed your lips against his throat. 

“Because we are amping up the sexy cheater aspect,” you clarified as you pulled away satisfied with the hickey that was now visible on the high right side of his neck. 

“By making it look like we had a quicky in the break room?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you. 

 “Well something like that,” you replied smiling goofily and slipped your engagement ring into your pocket. “Having an affair with a married man might just get under her skin.” You ruffled your hair so that it fell in a more alluring way around your face and ditched your blazer. 

“Alright here’s your- woah, am I interrupting something,” Derek asked walking back in and taking note of both of your changes in appearance. 

“Just some last minute additional touches to sell this thing as much as possible,” you replied fixing the collar on your shirt. 

“Whatever you say Baby Girl and here is your ring. Borrowed it from Officer Jackson and promised to return it within the hour,” Morgan told you and handed the ring to Reid who slipped it on. You looked yourself over and Spencer, deciding that it was quite convincing. You slipped your hand in his and dragged him off toward interrogation. 

“(Y/N) what did you do?” Hotch asked, clearly confused as the two of you came around the corner. 

“Trust me Hotch, I’ll get our confession,” you assured him and picked up the case file, straightening your pile. Hotch gave you a look but chose not say anything as you and Reid walked into interrogation. “Miranda Kent my name is Special Agent (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and this is Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid,” you said taking a seat in front of her and Spencer sitting down beside you. 

“Pleasure to meet you Dr. Reid and to formally meet you Agent (Y/L/N). You look much nicer when you’re not handcuffing me against a wall for crimes I did not commit,” she said smiling sweetly at you.

“Well you know when you try to run from law enforcement, it tends to cast a guilty shadow on you,” you shot back resting your hands on the table.

“I’m behind on my rent,” she defended, crossing her arms. 

“And the landlord usually sends the FBI to collect rent?” 

“Look I don’t know what you think you have on me, but I didn’t kill my husband or those women. I don’t even know them,” she snapped. 

“You were in possession of the women’s wedding rings as well as your husband’s,” Spencer said. 

“Sometimes my husband takes his ring off and forgets to put it back on when he’s home,” Miranda explained. 

“Now see I don’t think a happily married man would just forget to put his ring back on or for some reason be in possession of three other sets of women’s wedding rings. I mean, Spence would you?”

“No, I shower with mine,” he replied. 

“I know you do,” you chuckled running your fingers up his arm. Miranda’s eyes flicked between the two of you. “Oh sorry, sometimes I forget that our relationship shouldn’t be brought up during work.”

“Relationship? You two married or something?” Miranda asked.

“Well, I guess we would technically call it an affair because he’s married but I am about to become a sister wife,” you squealed feigning excitement. Spence looked like he was about to bust out laughing and you pinched his thigh. “See people like you are what ruin our kind of relationships,” you said getting up and draping yourself over Spencer’s shoulders. “A wife like you is bound to get jealous.”

“For the hundredth time, I do not know those women. Look I just lost my husband and I’ve got no idea where the other wedding rings came from,” she said frustratedly. 

“So the rings of three dead women as well as your husband just happen to be in your possession?” Spencer asked.

“Yes. Have you ever considered it might all be one giant coincidence?”

“You’re lying Miranda.”

“And I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” you said leaning forward, “The diamond in your engagement ring is fake.” You watched as she narrowed her eyes at you and visibly paled. You saw Spencer raise an eyebrow at you and smirk like he was about to start laughing so you stepped on his foot. You had no clue whether or not it was fake, but you were baiting her and it was working. 

“What are you talking about?” she demanded. 

“You see the way that the light is glinting off that stone, it doesn’t sparkle like a real diamond would. That is nothing more than some cheap glass. Ian probably bought it for you at a costume jewelry shop,” you clarified, sitting back down in your chair. 

“No, no that’s not possible,” she muttered trying to keep from shaking. 

“Oh but I’m afraid it is, and its funny the diamonds in Jessica, Rose, and Theresa’s rings were all authentic. He must’ve cared about them more than he cared about you. It’s a good thing that my future hubby loves me as much as he loves his wife. I’ve been promised a 1.5 carat diamond ring with two rubies surrounding it,” you explained wrapping your arm around Spencer’s and leaning your head on his shoulder. That was the final straw. Something in Miranda broke and she lunged across the table for you. Both you and Spencer quickly recoiled back as Morgan and Hotch charged the room, pinning Miranda back in her chair. 

“You’re wrong stupid bitch! Ian loved me most, those other whores were just distractions that kept him away from me!” she growled.

“That’s why you killed them? To get your husband back?” you asked, “if so why would you kill Ian?”

“Because he found out what I was doing and tried to stop me. If I couldn’t have him to myself, no one could,” she growled. Miranda looked you and Spencer up and down. Until this point, you hadn’t realized that he was holding you. “That’s all you whores are, homewreckers.” 

“Do you know how I know that diamond is a fake?” you asked quietly reaching in your pocket as you leaned toward her. 

“No, but I’m sure you are going to tell me,” she sneered. 

“Because mine is the real deal,” you replied sliding your ring on your finger. “He’s not married and we aren’t having an affair. He’s my fiance. Your first mistake was not leaving your asshole of a husband when you found out he was cheating on you and got married to the other woman,” you said in the same sweet tone that she had used with you earlier. You smiled and grabbed Spencer’s hand, starting to leave interrogation and headed for coffee. 

“You were awesome in there,” Spencer said as he poured two cups, one for you and one for him. 

“Eh, all in a day’s work. Just had to find the right angle to get under her skin. Although, you did almost ruin it when you started laughing,” you replied bumping his shoulder. 

“Sorry, it was hard to keep it together. The idea of sharing your significant other with another person is ridiculous to me,” he explained stirring his sugar. 

“Not into sharing, Dr. Reid?” you asked teasing him by quoting Derek from earlier that day. 

“Not at all,” he said lowly, almost growling as he wrapped his arms around you, lacing his fingers together behind your back. You giggled draping your arms over his shoulders and brushed your lips against his. 

“When we get back, I’m thinking we go out tonight. Dinner, drinks, and then head back to my apartment for some more private entertainment,” you suggested, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Sounds like a plan,” he muttered in reply. 

“Alright you two, let’s pack up and go home,” Hotch said sticking his head in the room. “And don’t even think about joining the mile high club on the jet ride home.” You and Spencer both burst out laughing at his comment. You pulled away after giving him one last kiss and walked off in search of your bag. 

 “Told you I’d get the confession,” you muttered as you passed Hotch. He gave you on of his rare smiles and shook his head. 

For a Lost Daughter: what’s next?

Inspired by a note from @daliciouslyours​, i’ve decided to post a quick flyover of what happens in the Adult Faith AU after the final chapter I posted last summer. 

If this is the first time you’re hearing about my For A Lost Daughter story, the basic premise is that when Claire comes back in Voyager, she learns while in Paris before chasing after Ian that Faith actually survived, and was raised by Master Raymond. The story is about Faith learning this truth, and making her way to find her family. The story starts here with chapter one

If you’ll recall, in the last installment ( “Someone from Home”), Faith, Claire, Jamie, and Fergus arrive back at River Run and reunite with Bree, Roger, and Ian. The series ends with Jamie and Claire watching their daughters and reflecting on when and if they will return to their own times. They agree to enjoy every moment while it lasts and to leave those worries for another day. 

Just because I’ve got so many (so many FOR ME) stories going right now, I’m choosing to give you an overview to tide you over until I post a scene or two for the one-year anniversary of the story in April. But beyond that, I will take your feedback into account! So if there’s a part of the story that you’d really love to see, please leave me a message in the comments!  Otherwise, I hope this is a nice gift for you. 

Thank you all for your continued love for this story. It really means a lot to me! 

And now, without further ado…. 

Keep reading

This person, ‘Tsuji Jun’, is the most interesting figure in Japan today… He is like a commandment-breaking monk, like Christ…
Vagrants and labourers of the town gather about him. The defeated unemployed and the penniless find in him their own home and religion… his disciples are the hungry and the poor of the world. Surrounded by these disciples he passionately preaches the Good News of Nihilism. But he is not Christlike, and he preaches but drunken nonsense. Then the disciples call him merely 'Tsuji’ without respect and sometimes hit him on the head. This is a strange religion…
But here Tsuji has regrettably been portrayed as a religious character. It sounds contradictory, but Tsuji is a religious man without a religion… As art is not a religion, neither is Tsuji’s life religious. But in a sense it is… Tsuji calls himself an Unmensch… If Nietzsche’s Zarathustra is religious… then Tsuji’s teaching would be a better religion than Nietzsche’s, for Tsuji lives in accord with his principles as himself…
Tsuji is a sacrifice of modern culture… In the Japanese literary world Tsuji can be considered a rebel. But this is not because he is a drunkard, nor because he lacks manners, nor because he is an anarchist. It is because he puts forth his dirty ironies as boldly as a bandit… Tsuji himself is very shy and timid in person… but his clarity and self-respect exposes the falsities of the famous in the literary world…  to many he really comes across as an anarchistic rogue…
Tsuji Jun is always drunk. If he doesn’t drink he can’t stand the suffering and sorrow of life. On the rare occasion he is sober… he does look the part of an incompetent and Unmensch-ian fool. Then his faithful disciples bring him saké in place of a ceremonial offering, pour electricity back into his robot heart, and wait for him to start moving… In this way the teaching of the Unmensch begins. It is a religion for the weak, the proletariat, the egoists, and those of broken personalities, and at the same time– it is a most pure, a most sorrowful religion for modern intellectuals.
—  Hagiwara Kyojiro, fellow anarchist and friend of Jun Tsuji

My favourite gallavich kiss is their very first one. I just love that Mickey kissed Ian first. He wanted to kiss him because Ian essentially told him that he liked being with people who weren’t afraid to kiss him, so Mickey proved to him that he wasn’t afraid. He wanted Ian to have faith in him, to not give up on what they had just because he wasn’t out and proud, wasn’t buying him fancy things or taking him to expensive hotel rooms. The kiss was somewhat a desperate attempt to show Ian that he didn’t want them to end what they had. It’s my favourite even though it’s so short and doesn’t seem like a huge moment. It is to me. I love it.

Mother Claire


“She was perfect,” I said softly, as though to myself. “So small. I could cup her head in the palm of my hand. Her ears stuck out just a little—I could see the light shine through them.
The light had shone through her skin as well, glowing in the roundness of cheek and buttock with the light that pearls have; still and cool, with the strange touch of the water world still on them.
“Mother Hildegarde wrapped her in a length of white satin,” I said, looking down at my fists, clenched in my lap. “Her eyes were closed. She hadn’t any lashes yet, but her eyes were slanted. I said they were like yours, but they said all babies’ eyes are like that.”
Ten fingers, and ten toes. No nails, but the gleam of tiny joints, kneecaps and fingerbones like opals, like the jeweled bones of the earth itself.


The visitor was a young man of about thirty, slightly built and strikingly handsome, with thick black hair and brows. He glared at me under these, and as he got a good look at me, an extraordinary change went across his face. The brows rose, his black eyes grew huge, and his face went white.
“Milady!” he exclaimed, and flung himself on his knees, embracing me about the thighs as he pressed his face into the cotton shift at crotch level.
“Let go!” I exclaimed, shoving at his shoulders to detach him. “I don’t work here. Let go, I say!”
“Milady!” he was repeating in tones of rapture. “Milady! You have come back! A miracle! God has restored you!”
He looked up at me, smiling as tears streamed down his face. He had large white perfect teeth. Suddenly memory stirred and shifted, showing me the outlines of an urchin’s face beneath the man’s bold visage.
“Fergus!” I said. “Fergus, is that really you? Get up, for God’s sake—let me see you!”
He rose to his feet, but didn’t pause to let me inspect him. He gathered me into a rib-cracking hug, and I clutched him in return, pounding his back in the excitement of seeing him again. He had been ten or so when I last saw him, just before Culloden. Now he was a man, and the stubble of his beard rasped against my cheek.
“I thought I was seeing a ghost!” he exclaimed. “It is really you, then?”
“Yes, it’s me,” I assured him.


“Sassenach.” My heart nearly stopped at the sound of Jamie’s voice. I spun toward it, relief being rapidly overcome by annoyance. What did he think he—
For a split second, I thought I was seeing double. They were sitting on the bench outside the door, side by side, the afternoon sun igniting their hair like matchheads.
My eyes focused on Jamie’s face, alight with joy—then shifted right.
“Mama.” It was the same expression; eagerness and joy and longing all together. I had no time even to think before she was in my arms, and I was in the air, knocked off my feet both literally and figuratively.
I hadn’t any breath; what hadn’t been taken away by shock was being squeezed out by a rib-crushing hug.
“Bree!” I managed to gasp, and she put me down, though she didn’t let go. I looked disbelievingly up, but she was real. I looked for Jamie, and found him standing beside her. He said nothing, but gave me an face-splitting grin, his ears bright pink with delight.


I sat down in the hay next to him and put an arm round his shoulder, pressing his head toward me. He came, reluctantly, though I felt small constant shudders of exhaustion and grief running through him like a chill.
“I loved her,” he said, so low I could barely hear him. “She was like my grandmother. And I—”
“She loved you,” I whispered. “She wouldn’t blame you.” I had been holding on to my own emotions like grim death, in order to do what had to be done. But now … Ian was right. There was nothing, and in sheer helplessness, tears began to roll down my face. I wasn’t crying. Grief and shock simply overflowed; I could not contain them.
Whether he felt the tears on his skin or only the vibrations of my grief, I couldn’t tell, but quite suddenly Ian gave way as well, and he wept in my arms, shaking.
I wished with all my heart that he was a small boy, and that the storm of grief could wash away his guilt and leave him cleansed, at peace. But he was far beyond such simple things; all I could do was hold him, and stroke his back, making small, helpless noises myself.


Marsali was standing at the counter, sorting stacks of paper. She glanced up as the bell above the door rang, blinked, then gaped at me.
“How are you, dear?” I said, and, putting down the basket, hurried to put up the flap of the counter and take her in my arms.
She looked like death warmed over, though her eyes lit with a passionate relief upon seeing me. She nearly fell into my arms and burst into uncharacteristic sobs. I patted her back, making soothing sounds and feeling somewhat alarmed. Her clothes hung limp on her bones, and she smelled stale, her hair unwashed for too long.
“It will be all right,” I repeated firmly for the dozenth time, and she stopped sobbing and stood back a bit, groping in her pocket for a grubby handkerchief.


I ached for him and would have liked so much to take him in my arms and comfort him. But he was a man, and a young one, fierce about his pain. He’d deal with it as he could, and I thought it would be some years—if ever—before he learned to share it.

if you were born on the last month of the year and just like me felt some hard times being the youngest during your childhood, let me friendly remind you that

  • Taylor Swift
  • Vanessa Hudgens
  • Brad Pitt
  • Bruce Lee
  • Jimi Hendrix
  • Britney Spears
  • Miley Cyrus
  • Ian Hecox
  • Nicki Minaj
  • Scarlett Johansson


  • Walt Disney

also are Sagittarius.

anonymous asked:

Jamie's thoughts as he's walking away from Helwater and thinks about how the ones he loves are taken from him or has to give them up.

Jamie slowly walked along the side of the uneven country road, mindful of the ox carts and horse-drawn coaches and random travelers all bustling past. All with somewhere to go – someone to come home to.


He’d been dreaming of this day for so long – the day when he could walk through the sturdy iron gates of Helwater because he chose to – not because he was asked to. The day when, for the first time in fifteen years, he could walk as a fully free man, without fear of being discovered by redcoats or being questioned about his time in prison or being tied to Helwater by his indenture.


So he was a free man. In the truest sense of the word – free to do whatever he pleased. No home to call his own, save the estate he had signed over to his nephew. No wife to go home to. No child to greet him when he did arrive – and the child he *did* have would never know him as his true father. John was a kind man, but he couldn’t imagine any circumstance where they would cross paths again.


He drew a deep breath, setting his sights on the coach stop about a half mile down the road. From there to Inverness – John had insisted on paying for his passage, and Jamie had had to swallow every ounce of his pride to accept – and from there, he’d make his way to Lallybroch.


But to what? What life was there now, save for a quiet life of farming and minding to tenants?


It was the life he’d always wanted – and had had, with Claire, for that blessed year between their return from France and that heart-shattering moment he’d received Charles Stuart’s letter.


And now that he had it – he didn’t want it.


Jamie dodged a wagon full of grain and settled his satchel – containing all his worldy possessions – tighter against his shoulder. His free hand went to his pocket, fingers running through the handful of stones he kept close to him like talismans. The round, familiar edges were like the beads of his rosary – and the same names were on his lips as when he said his prayers.


Murtagh. Jenny. Ian. Mam. Da. Willie. Faith. The unknown bairn whose safety he prayed for every day.


And the hunk of amethyst that was Claire.


Claire. Always, always Claire. Her lovely face a talisman against everything he had endured during their years apart.


He’d had to sacrifice himself to save her. Would do so again, gladly – if it meant re-living those years they had been one flesh, those years which were the only ones when he’d truly been *alive*.


He dropped the other stones within his pocket and caressed Claire’s stone.


If she was still alive, in her own time – was she in England? Was she close to here? What was she doing?


Was she with the bairn?


Was she thinking of him?


Did she ever think of him?


“Oy! Watch it!”


Jamie startled as a ruddy-faced farmer pushed his mule forward – the beast’s fat sides brushing against Jamie as it pulled a cart full of cabbages toward the inn that sat beside the coach stop.


“Sorry,” Jamie murmured, throat dry.


The farmer turned back at Jamie’s voice. “A Scotsman! You’re far from ‘ome, aren’t ye?”


Jamie swallowed against the sudden emotion in his throat. “I am,” he whispered.


He stopped, holding still, watching as the mule cart rattled by and came to a halt in front of the inn a few minutes later.


“I am,” he repeated, clutching the amethyst so hard – grabbing at his anchor - that he felt the uneven facets of the stone cutting into his skin. “That I am.”

Finally he spoke the three simple words that no amount of bad art or bad faith can every quite cheapen. She repeated them, with exactly the same slight emphasis on the second word, as though she were the one to say them first. He had no religious belief, but it was impossible not to think of an invisible presence or witness in the room, and that these words spoken aloud were like signatures on an unseen contract.
—  Ian McEwan, Atonement
The First Wave

This ficlet is part of the Faith lives AU which starts with A Garden of Worries.

This ficlet is a direct continuation from Lasting Impressions

My Fanfiction Master List

Available on AO3 as Faith Restored.

This Outlander canon divergence AU ficlet alludes to information/events that appear in Voyager.

Let me know what you think.

Keep reading

Anonymous said: Prompt: Faith and Brianna welcoming a little brother? I love your writing!

nyhnight said: Big Faith with a lot of little siblings? (Heey Lenny I couldn’t miss the faithlet days ;**)

“I held you when ye were born,” Faith whispered to Brianna as they followed their father up the stairs to go see Mama and their new brother.

“Ye did?”

“Aye. And I was younger than ye are now. Besides, ye’ve seen Auntie Jenny after she had the twins and ye play wi’ young Ian all the time.” Faith couldn’t quite understand why Brianna appeared to be so nervous about the prospect of seeing little William.

“Aye, but tha’s different,” Brianna insisted. “They’re no ours, ye ken?”

Faith shrugged. “I do.”

“We dinna want to overwhelm them,” Jamie warned them though he knew they were old enough to know by now.

“Girls,” Claire called quietly to them from where she sat up in bed. She held her arms open to them and they scrambled up, Faith gingerly climbing over Claire’s legs to take a seat on her other side. “How have you been holding up?” Claire asked, wrapping an arm around each of them and pressing kissed to the crowns of their heads. “I’m sorry William here decided to take so long.”

“We’re just glad ye’re all right,” Faith said, curling into Claire’s side.

“Can we see him?” Brianna asked eagerly.

“Of course ye can,” Jamie told them bending to lift the small bundle from the cradle at the foot of the bed.

He had a shock of dark hair but no sign of it curling—yet. He slept soundly as Jamie handed him over for Claire to lay in her lap where both girls could see him.

“Is he supposed to peel like that?” Brianna whispered.

“Yes, he’s fine,” Claire assured her. “Lots of babies have their skin peel like that after they’re born. It’ll stop in a week or two.”

“Can I hold him? Faith said ye let her hold me when I was born.”

“I want to hold him too,” Faith added, trying not to sound like she was whining.

“Ye’ll both get a chance to hold him—and likely ye’ll get tired of holding him soon enough,” Jamie said. “Bree, ye can hold him first but ye must keep still.”

Claire passed William to Brianna who shot Faith a look with a hint of smugness as the transfer was made—Faith rolled her eyes and told herself it would be childish for her to let it bother her too much.

Brianna stared down at William who slept without moving or making much noise.

“He doesn’t do much, does he?” she remarked, the novelty wearing off.

Claire chuckled. “You didn’t either at that age.”

“My turn,” Faith declared, reaching for William. Brianna didn’t object so Claire shifted the baby over into Faith’s arms.

“Are ye gonna have more babies, Mama?” Brianna asked.

Claire’s brows shot up and she looked over to Jamie who had used a hand to cover his smile.

“We’ll uh… we’ll just have to see,” she told her younger daughter.

“The three of ye are more than yer mam and I ever thought to hope for,” Jamie told the girls. “We’ll take as many of ye as the Lord sends but if it’s naught but you three, we’re more than content.”

Last of my Faith fluff days. For those prompts I don’t end up getting to today, I’ll try to fill them when I get a chance and for those prompts that aren’t really related to Faith, I’ll be putting them in my drafts for when I have the proper inspiration to work on them, or I’ll shuffle them over to my fellow mods at @imagineclaireandjamie