ian mac

Mac Ruaidh - Part Nine

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight A & B

A universe in which Jamie raises William as his own from the start.


It was dark when they arrived. Jamie held Willie steady across the chest while the lad’s weight leaned heavily against his abdomen. It might have been wiser to stop and make camp for the night rather than press on and risk falling off the horse or losing a shoe, but they’d been so close and Willie deserved to sleep under a proper roof in a proper bed with a proper fire in the hearth. The lights of Lallybroch in the distance urged him onward, a flame luring a weary moth.

The yard was understandably empty as he reined in and fumbled to shift the balance of Willie’s dead weight enough to allow himself to dismount without dropping the lad to the ground. His feet firmly planted, he draped Willie’s arms around his neck and got a secure hold of him under his legs. No one from the house had heard him arrive causing Jamie to wonder just how late it was and whether he ought to bother rousing someone or should take Willie to the barn. He was weary enough at that point to no longer care if the bed was full of feathers or simply a coat laid down upon straw, he and his son needed rest.

He decided to at least try the door but found it bolted. Turning and steeling himself for the return trip down the steps––Willie growing heavier and heavier with each passing breath––Jamie nearly dropped the lad when he heard familiar footsteps on the other side of the thick, bolted door… or rather the sound of one foot and one wooden leg.

“Jamie?” Ian asked a few moments later, keeping his voice low as he peered around the door into the night.

“Aye, man, will ye let me in?” Jamie responded gruffly.

Ian pulled the door open wider and held it while Jamie shuffled in and to the main hall where he lay Willie down on the sofa. Willie wriggled into the cushions then sighed deeply. Jamie brushed the hair back from his forehead and moved back toward the door. Ian stood still holding it open, his eyes fixed on the sofa where Willie slept.

“Ye’re fine if I leave him there while I tend the horse?” Jamie asked, snapping Ian to attention.

“I doubt ye’ll be able to sway the beast,” Ian remarked with a growing smile. “Ye look dead on yer feet. I’ll fetch Fergus to tend him. You go on and have a sit down for now. Rest a bit but dinna drift too far off if ye can help it. I dinna want to be wakin’ ye but I’ll have some word out of ye before releasin’ ye to yer bed.”

Ian pushed the door shut but not all the way closed then made his way to the kitchen.

Jamie dropped into a seat near the fire and stretched his cramped legs toward the forgiving heat. Just as he was lulled into letting his head fall back to rest against the back of his chair, Fergus came rushing into the room with a grin on his face.

“Milord!” he exclaimed in a loud, hissing whisper.

Jamie smiled at the lad who was no longer a lad. Fergus had grown more than a foot in height but not at all in bulk so that he looked scrawnier than ever. He used the hook on his left hand to scratch habitually at the back of his right hand.

With an effort, Jamie pushed himself to his feet and strode forward to embrace Fergus.

“Fergus, mon fils. Ye were already a man when I left,” Jamie murmured pulling back, “but now ye’ve finally grown to look the part as well.”

Ian came to join them and at the sound of him clearing his throat, Fergus started to retreat to the front door.

“I will tend your horse, Milord, and then you will tell me about the brother you have brought me,” Fergus said with a nod to Willie on the sofa.

Ian sat in the chair next to the one Jamie had abandoned. “Will ye wish to wait for the lad to return or are ye willing to tell the tale twice?” Ian asked. He reached for a decanter of whisky and offered it to Jamie.

“Ye mean three times, don’t ye? There’ll be Jenny pullin’ it from me come morning,” Jamie muttered taking the decanter and pouring a finger each for Ian and himself before plopping back into the warm and inviting chair.

“She’ll be down wi’ the commotion in a few more minutes, I’m sure,” Ian predicted.

“Sorry to have come so late,” Jamie apologized. “Couldna bear the thought of making camp when we were so close.”

Ian held up his hand and shook his head. “Ye’ve nothing to apologize for. We’ve been keepin’ an eye for ye three days past though we all kent ye’d no be likely to arrive sooner than tomorrow.”

Jamie smiled. “Willie did better on the road than I expected. He chattered away as we crossed through the north of England but as soon as we passed into Scotland he fell silent and couldna stop gapin’ round him. He didna want to stop till he was near to fallin’ off the horse each night.”

He felt Ian’s steady gaze boring into him as he watched Willie slumbering a few feet away. Jamie raised the whisky to his lips and downed what was left, using the glass to obscure his face. Ian wouldn’t push for his own sake but to spare Jamie the frustration of Jenny’s pointed and cutting questions, he might.

Ian’s attention suddenly shifted to the stairway where Jenny was rapidly descending right on schedule.

“Jamie,” she breathed, smacking into him and wrapping her arms around him before he’d fully risen to his feet. “Welcome home, brother.” She released him and pushed him back into his seat so he didn’t tower over her so much. “And a damn good thing too,” she couldn’t help scolding. “If ye’d never come back and the last I’d seen of ye was the Redcoats cartin’ ye away, I’d never have forgiven ye for it.”

He half-laughed unable to summon the energy to do it properly. “Well, if ye’d refused the reward money that came wi’ turning me over I’d never have forgiven you for it, so we’re even.”

“Not as I see it,” she went on approaching Willie on the sofa, leaning on the carved wooden arm to peer down at him. “Ye’ve brought me a nephew and I’ve no more of the like to offer ye––mind, I’ve a few grandchildren ye’re great-uncle to that might balance it out. Ye said his mam was English?”

“Is there a bed where I can settle him properly?” Jamie asked. “I’d rather no talk about it wi’ him lyin’ right there.”

“There’s the room direct across from the landing at the top of the stairs ye can use tonight,” she told him. “Needs a fire lit but shouldna take long to warm and the bedclothes are fresh enough.”

“Thank ye.” Jamie rose again, unsteady on his feet due to the combination of whisky and exhaustion but he made it to the sofa. He inelegantly lifted Willie and slung him over a shoulder, wrapping an arm around the lads legs as the two limp arms hung down his back.

Climbing the stairs was a greater feat than ascending a mountain. Jamie nudged the bedclothes aside triumphantly and then nearly dropped Willie onto the mattress. Rearranging the sprawling body so there would be room for himself as well, Jamie glanced around the dark room. Moonlight filtered dimly through the window. If he wanted a fire he would need to fetch a candle to light the rush and start the blaze but having found solitude once more, he was reluctant to give it up. It couldn’t be more than half an hour since his arrival and the press of his family and their questions was already beginning to feel oppressive.

He needed sleep. It would be easier to face it in the morning. He didn’t want to leave Willie alone in a strange bed in a strange room. What if the lad should wake confused with Jamie not there to calm and reassure him?

Jamie stretched out on the bed beside Willie. They were expecting him to return––well, Jenny and Fergus would expect him to return but he was confident that Ian knew the moment for an immediate and unfiltered explanation had passed.

Closing his eyes and pulling the blanket over himself and Willie, Jamie let himself give in to the oblivion of sleep. His sister’s questions would at least keep till morning.

10

The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus, 11 December 1968.

Jethro Tull (Ian Anderson, Glenn Cornick, Clive Bunker, Tony Iommi), The Who (John Entwistle, Roger Daltrey, Keith Moon, Pete Towsnhend), Taj Mahal, Ed Davis, Gary Gilmore, Chuck Blackwell, Marianne Faithfull, The Dirty Mac (John Lennon, Eric Clapton, Keith Richards, Mitch Mitchell), Yoko Ono, Ivry Gitlis, The Rolling Stones (Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Brian Jones, Bill Wyman, Charlie Watts), Nicky Hopkins, Rocky Dijon

Its A New Era

ASAP ROCKY, EARL SWEATSHIRT, MAC MILLER, PLAYBOI CARTI, IAN CONNOR, MIKE WILL MADE IT, TWO-9, ASAP NAST, FATHER, POST MALONE, A-TRAK, SUPERDUPERKYLE, NAKEL SMITH, REMY BANKS, BRYSON TILLLER, THE WEEKND, TRAVI$ SCOTT, CHANCE THE RAPPER, KEHLANI, BIG SEAN, YOUNG THUG, YG, FETTY WAP, SCHOOLBOY Q, PARTYNEXTDOOR, TY DOLLAR SIGN, SWEA LEE. 

archiveofourown.org
2 weeks at philadelphia - halerry - It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Shameless (US)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Mac/Dennis Reynolds, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Characters: Mac (It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia), Dennis Reynolds, Mickey Milkovich, Dee Reynolds, Charlie Kelly, Frank Reynolds, Ian Gallagher
Additional Tags: soft, Happy Ending, i had to write one ok, my two amazing otps, Tried my best
Summary:

Mickey went to Paddy’s Bar for the first in his life when it was his first day at Philly.

Help A Santa Out

For Obvious Reasons I Can’t Submit This As A Post To My Cindy Lou Who

Originally posted by claryalec

But perhaps one of you is my special someone and will answer or perhaps other participants will find the answers helpful….

So Thoughts?


Not Married or Just Married or Been Married Awhile

Fluff or Steamy or Smutty

First Time or Make-Up or Reunion

Opium & F-Me Back to Life or Blue Cheese & Examine Chamber Pot For Trouble

Hot Springs (OL) or Hot Rocks (Drums)

Possessive Jamie or Witty Jamie

Possessive Claire or Witty Claire

Murtagh or Young Ian

Fergus or Roger Mac

Tom Christie or John Grey

Malva Christie or Philip Wylie

Black Jack or Stephen Bonnet