it did give me a chance to practice my john wayne

Single Mom

Let me know what you think!


Being a single mom was not something that you had ever expected your future to hold. Having to leave your home in Star City and go back to Gotham in order to get you and your baby away from an abusive ex even less so.

“Thanks for letting me stay with you, Roy”

“It’s no problem, Y/N, you and Jackson are welcome to stay as long as you want. Trust me, I know all about needed to get away from Star City”

You reach out and pull your cousin into a tight hug, “We won’t be staying long, I already have a job and just need to look for an apartment”

“Don’t worry about it. I know that Gotham can be a difficult city to find a safe apartment in.”

“Tell me about it, luckily your dad sent in a good word to Bruce Wayne and I’m going to be his new secretary. It’s a surprisingly good salary, hopefully I’ll be able to save enough to get us out of Crime Alley – Not that your apartment isn’t nice! I just -”

“You just don’t want to raise a three year old in Crime Alley. Don’t worry, I understand”

“You can come live with us, get to a better neighborhood”

Roy ruffles your hair, “Nah, cousin, I like it here, this place has grown on me. And plus, if I leave whose gonna make sure that the girls on the corner ain’t pushed around?”

“So you look out for the hookers?”

“They’re sweet ladies, they just gotta do what they gotta do. I just make sure that the Johns don’t get too rough, and if they need a snack I’ll toss down a few things”

“You’re such a bleeding heart, Roy!”

“I can’t help it! They have kids and some guys can be assholes”

You let out a dry chuckle, “I know all about guys being assholes. Trust me”

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Y/N” Roy pulls you down onto the couch, “Do you think Jacks will remember anything?”

“I hope not, the only time he really saw Lyle hit me was when we were trying to leave, at least I hope that’s the only time he saw it. Jackson’s a smart kid though, hopefully he’s too young to remember anything.”

“You think he’s gonna try and sue for custody?”

“I sure as hell hope not”

Roy smirks, “For his sake I hope to hell he stays far away from Gotham”

Six months later finds you in your own apartment in a much nicer side of Gotham than Roy’s apartment in Crime Alley. Jackson’s been enrolled in pre-school, and then goes to daycare while you’re at work.

“Mommy!”

You kneel down, easily catching your son in your arms, “Hey, pumpkin! I missed you”

“I missed you too, Mommy!”

Scooping up the now four year old boy you turn and head back to your car, “I have a little bit of work that I still need to do at the office, okay sweetheart? Will you be a good boy and draw me a picture while I work?”

The smile your son gives you is bright enough to warm your heart, “Yeah! And I can tell you about my new friends!”

“Of course, Jacks, of course. You know I always want to hear about your day”

Jackson continues to talk while you drive back to WE, “And everyone’s my friend! Even the teacher is really cool! She says that I’m super smart because I already know how to write my name and read some!”

Thankfully Jackson’s always been eager to learn. He took to reading relatively quickly, and even wants to try learning how to speak another language. The woman down the hall from your apartment likes to speak to Jackson in Italian, and has started to teach you and Jackson a few phrases.

“Did you show her that you can add and subtract too?”

“No, Mrs. Ellie said that we get to do math tomorrow, so I have to wait”

“Well, if you want you can practice your math when we get inside, just to make sure that you haven’t forgotten anything”

Jackson’s eyes light up, “Yeah! You’re so smart Mommy”

“Thanks, pumpkin”

Once you get Jackson set up with his math problems, several sheets of paper, and a cup of juice, you can finally finish your work for the day. Most people think that being a secretary is easy work, and it might be if you worked for anyone other than Bruce Wayne. Mr. Wayne who was constantly canceling or rescheduling meetings, having some kind of scandal, or hosting some kind of party, was a lot of work to keep up with.

“Mommy?”

“Hmm?”

“How long are we gonna be here? I’m hungry”

“I’m almost done, sweetheart. I just need to make a few more of these invitations so I can send them out tomorrow and then we can go.”

“Y/N?”

You whip around, coming face to face with your boss. “Mr. Wayne?! What are you doing here so late? I though you left at 3 today”

Bruce raises an eyebrow, “I could ask you the same thing considering I know you left at 5 pm, but here you are at 6:30pm and still working”

“I – I had to pick up my son” you make an aborted gesture towards the four-year-old, “and I had to come back to finish these invitations for the gala in two weeks …”

“I didn’t even know that you had a son”

“Well, I try not to bring up my personal life at the office, I mean I’m just your secretary Mr. Wayne”

“Yes, but you’ve been with me for over six months and I still never knew that you had a son. Hasn’t he gotten sick or anything?”

“Well, my cousin Roy can usually watch Jackson when he’s sick so I don’t have to take time off work. I mean I can’t really afford to miss much, it’s a little difficult to be a single mom and pay rent. I was only just recently able to move out of Crime Alley and I’d like to be able to stay out of there”

“I’m … sorry. I always asked you to work weekends, or come in after hours. I never realized you had a son” Mr. Wayne pauses for a minute, “You mentioned your cousin. Roy? Would that happen to be Roy Harper?”

“Yeah, actually. Do you know him?”

“He and my sons, Jason and Dick, are good friends”

“Yeah, he mentioned a Jason and Dick, but I never got the chance to meet them before I moved out.”

“Mommy, I’m hungry”

“Sorry, baby, I’m almost done. Do you want some fruit snacks?”

“Yeah!” You quickly pull out a pack of fruit snacks and pull it open. “Thanks”

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Wayne, but I need to finish this up so I can figure out some dinner”

“Actually, I was going to go to dinner with my sons and I wanted to know if you and Jackson would like to come. It’d be my treat”

“I can’t ask that of you, Mr. Wayne”

“Call me Bruce, and I insist. You’ve made my life so much easier these past few months that dinner for you and your son would be the least I can do. What do you think, Jackson? Would you like to go out for dinner with my sons and I?”

“Yes, please!”

You narrow your eyes at your boss, “What was a dirty trick, Mr. Wayne, using my own son against me”

“Come on, Y/N, it’s just dinner. And three of my sons are close to your age, I know that you don’t have very many friends your own age, not with how much time you spend here and then with how much you must spend with your boy”

“Please, Mommy? Can we please go? I promise I’ll be good and I’ll use all my manners”

“Fine, we can go, but you have to clean up after yourself first”

Jackson scrambles to get everything in order. He puts all of his papers in his backpack, and throws away his juice cup and snack wrapper. “All clean”

“All right” Quickly logging out of your computer and gathering your own things, you turn back to the billionaire, “So, where are we going?”

You all arrive at the small diner at the same time. “Boys, I’d like you to meek Y/N and her son, Jackson. She was working late tonight and though it would be nice if they joined us”

“Hi, I’m Dick” The man grins, his blue eyes sparkle with the light of a man that’s seen a lot in his life, but still manages to see the good in everyone. “It’s really nice to meet you guys” He doesn’t seem to know how to handle Jackson though, so it’s obvious that he’s never been around kids.

The second man that steps forward is huge. He’s about as big as Bruce, but he has gunmetal grey eyes and a strange white streak in his hair. “I’m Jason” As soon as you let go of his hand Jason crouches down and smiles at Jackson, “Hey, big man. My name’s Jason, what’s yours?”

The little boy grins and to your surprise darts forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Jason’s neck. “My name’s Jackson, but mommy calls me Jacks”

Jason pulls back slightly, a soft smile on his handsome face, “Oh yeah, bud? And what does your daddy call you?”

You twitch not expecting the question, but before you can even open your mouth Jackson answers, “Well, my father liked to call me bad names, like bastard and little shit, and he used to hit mommy, but mommy and me left to come here and live with Uncle Roy”

Everyone paused, either in shock or in horror at what Jackson had just said. Slowly crouching down and pulling Jackson away from Jason, “Baby, we talked about this, remember? We said that we weren’t ever gonna tell people about your father and what he did.”

“I know, but -”

“You promised that you wouldn’t tell people, Jackson. When people ask where your father is you tell them …”

“That I don’t have one” Jackson’s lip wobbles, “’m sorry, mommy”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Come on, lets meet everyone else and then we can eat, alright?”

“Okay”

Dinner is a surprisingly fun affair. It’s full of the brothers constantly picking at each other, Bruce trying to control his sons, and your own son’s laughter. Jackson seems to bond even more with Jason and, to everyone’s apparent surprise, Damian.

Damian places the menu on the table, “No, Jackson, chocolate milk is obviously superior to plain milk, so that is what we shall get”

“You like chocolate milk too?!”

“tt – of course.”

“Mommy, can I have chocolate milk?”

“Only a small cup, I don’t want you to have too much sugar before bedtime”

Jackson’s smile is bright, “Thank you!”

Jason smiles at you, watching his youngest brother and your son debate which is better, grilled cheese or chicken nuggets. “He’s a cute kid”

“Thanks”

“He’s pretty damn smart too. He was telling me about his math and reading when you were talking to Tim and Bruce about work.”

Your eyes soften when they fall on your boy, “He’s always been smart and he soaks up new information like a sponge. He likes to watch animal documentaries instead of cartoons, and one of my neighbors is teaching him a little bit of Italian.”

“Even smarter than I thought” Jason’s eyes meet yours, “You know you’re pretty awesome too”

“I just your dad’s secretary, Jason”

“You’ve also gotten yourself out of an abusive relationship, and are raising a pretty awesome kid”

A blush starts creeping up your cheeks, “Thank you. You seem to be pretty good with kids you know”

“Before Bruce adopted me I lived in Crime Alley, there were a lot of kids on the street that needed to be looked after. I honestly think that kids can sense that I’ve had experience, that I like to be around kids”

The chocolate milk comes for Damian and Jackson, when Damian just tries to drink it Jackson shows him the wonder of blowing milk bubbles, “I was surprised when he hugged you. Ever since we left his father he’s been wary of strange men, the only man he really likes is Roy. Damian I can understand because he’s young, but you’re huge and basically a stranger”

“Kids have pretty good instincts, especially ones who’ve witnessed abuse”

Jackson lets out another shrieking giggle, this time at Dick and Tim fighting over the last French fry, “You guys are just really good with him” Dick starts whining when he realizes that Jackson stole the fry among all the fighting. Bruce calls the waitress over and orders another three servings of fries.

“So, I know that we only just met, but I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime? Like on a date?”

“Yes!” Both you and Jason look at Jackson in surprise, “Say yes, mommy!”

“You want me to go on a date with Jason?”

Damian snorts, “tt – you would be an acceptable partner for Todd, much better than any other woman he has brought around. The child is also acceptable, I quite enjoy his company”

“Glad we have your approval, Demon Brat, but it’s up to Y/N whether or not she wants to go out with me”

Giving Jason a shy smile you nod, “I think I’d really like to go out with you, Jason. I mean Roy had some pretty good things to say about you, and if you’re his best friend than I guess you must be a pretty good guy”

Jason’s grin is blinding, and Jackson cheers, “Yay, mommy!”

Jason’s out patrolling, making one last round before heading in for the night. He hasn’t been able to stop smiling since Y/N said yes to a date, but that smile is quickly wiped off his face when a red arrow hits his helmet.

“Hood!”

Jason yanks off the helmet, looking up in shock at his best friend, “What the fuck, Roy?! Did you just shoot an arrow at me?!”

“That was a warning shot. You hurt my baby cousin or her boy and the next time I shoot, you won’t be wearing the helmet. Understand?”

“Yeah – Yeah I understand”

Slowly Roy unnotched his arrow, sliding it back into his quiver, “Good. Jay, I love you like a brother, but I’m serious, you hurt either of them and I’ll kill you”

Flood my Mornings: Samhain

@abreathofsnowandashes said: There would have been A LOT of Irish emigrants in Boston in the 1950s, particularly Irish speakers.  There would have been Scots too, but in much smaller numbers and Gàidhlig would have been much less likely to have been spoken for obvious reasons. I’d love to see Jamie overhear Gaelic (Irish Gaeilge or Scottish Gàidhlig, he’d understand both) being spoken, or maybe come across a hurling/shinty game and make a connection


Notes from Mod Bonnie:

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

October 31, 1950

“Happy Halloween,” chirruped the pimple-strewn lad pumping the Gasoline.

Jamie gave the boy a smile and a nod. “Aye, many thanks, and the same to—Bree, no!” He lunged across the wide seat of the Ford and grabbed her round the middle.  She protested and scrabbled vainly for the door latch she had very nearly gotten open. “My apologies,” he said out the open window as he righted himself, holding the lass firmly on his lap, “she’s quite the handful.”

The boy gave Brianna a little wave. “Got big trick-or-treating plans tonight?”

“Ach, no, not this year. Just a bonfire with some friends.”

Burgers, marshmallows, candy, and beer! Nothing fancy! Tom had assured him. Just bring you, the family, and maybe some ice? 

Jamie had left work an hour early to drive home, shower, change into clean clothes, and pick up Brianna to drive the two of them back to Fernacre for Tom and Marian’s gathering. Claire was working overnight, this evening, and Jamie was feeling just that wee bit awkward about the prospect of a social gathering without her at his side. Granted, he would know nearly everyone present; and they were his work comrades, after all; hardly strangers. 

Still, when the convenient topics and tasks of work were removed from his social scenarios, there would always come the odd moment where his ignorance of modern times or American tastes or both would be thrust into the spotlight (“What did you think of the game?” or “What’s your favorite John Wayne film?”) and it was Claire who so adeptly diverted attention so he might collect himself, even as he wracked his brain to recall where he had heard the name of Mr. Wayne before. 

Still, Claire had her duties, and a festive night shared among good folk (for whom he had genuine affection) certainly outweighed the other available option: being obliged to bide by the door all evening, passing out sweeties to any costumed child that cared to ring the bell. Would that strangers had been so generous when I was wandering Boston looking for Claire. Baffling, the lot of them, these Americans.  

“Whoops, I’m sorry, mister, I don’t have enough change,” the boy said apologetically. “Can you hold on a minute while I run inside?”

“Aye, dinna fash, lad.”

The boy blinked and made a face of incomprehension. “Dinner what?” Then, realizing how rude he sounded, he raised his hand, looking distraught and about to start babbling. 

“I only said,” Jamie interjected, “‘Take your time.’”

He said it patiently, wanting to be kind, but as soon as the boy was out of sight, Jamie closed his eyes and felt himself sighing, wearily practicing the proper phrases in his mind for the next such time. ‘No problem, man.’ ‘Don’t worry about it, Sport.’ Flatter “R”s. Shove sound to the back of the tongue. Quieter. Less.

We c’n go-to play th’game, too, Da?” Brianna asked suddenly in Gaelic. 

“Game?” He blinked his eyes open and studied her face, looking up from his lap excitedly. “What game d’ye wish to—”?

But then he, too, heard the voices drifting across the lot.

“Oh, definitely: Dan’s crew don’t have a chance.”

“I don’t know, they’ve been training hard—and they’re giving Michael and the boys a run for their money, so far!”

He craned his neck out the window. They were men of about his own age or a little older, their arms loaded with sweeties and Soda Pop bottles from the wee store. And they were speaking GAELIC. 

Irish, from the sound of it, the Gaeilge; but the cadence and syllables were so like his own mother tongue that he actually was gasping from the rush of shock and euphoria.  

He was just about to call after them, but at that moment, the young attendant reappeared. Jamie hastily completed the transaction, tipping a bit too heavily as he watched the men out of the corner of his eye, feeling a pang of dismay as they disappeared down over the hill beside the filling station. Jamie thought he could hear the sounds of a small crowd not far off. 

“Beg your pardon,” Jamie blurted, as the attendant was walking away. “What’s going on over the hill, there?”

“Just a bunch of Irish playing—it’s kind of like football, but with sticks and they’re loud as all get out!” he laughed confidentially. 

Game, Da!” Bree whispered in Gaelic.

“They’re harmless, though, I promise,” the boy said hastily, leaving Jamie to wonder what exactly might be feared from a bunch of Irishmen. The boy blanched. “Oh but you’re–you’re Irish youself. I didn’t mean any–” He didn’t bother to correct the boy as to his heritage, simply thanked him once more and sent him on his way. 

He checked his Watch, and finding that they were still ahead of schedule, he set Bree on the seat next to him, saying in Gaelic, “Aye, a leannan, let’s DO go see the game.”


It was a group of about thirty men on the field, playing a fast-paced game that Jamie wagered was very close indeed to shinty.  The players’ wives and families (and a fair number more, it seemed) were congregated on the sidelines, tending wee coal-grills, drinking, chatting, and calling after the swarms of children running about hither and thither. And all of it was in Gaelic. Jamie wanted to cry, just hearing and seeing this slice of something so like home, the drink-fueled joy of a Gathering, something he hadn’t experienced in many, many years. He could feel the warmth of it all surrounding him with every step he took closer, like the arms of a long-lost friend slowly coming around him. 

As he and Bree drew within a few dozen yards, a whistle sounded and the match broke. The players jogged to their wives and comrades to drink and chat. One man on the nearest edge of the crowd, dark-haired and wiry, caught sight of Jamie and did a double-take, turning sharply to face him in the first pink rays of nearing-sunset. “Can I help you?” he called in English, strongly accented; not unkindly, but definitely on guard.

Jamie called back a greeting in as close to Gaeilge as he could recall, though he wasn’t at all confident in his pronunciation.

It must have been close enough, though, for the man’s face brightened at once. “HEY, NOW!” he roared, walking forward with his arms raised in welcome. “A new kinsman! What county?”

County *Scotland,* I’m afraid,” Jamie replied, slipping into the Gàidhlig without thinking as he returned the man’s warm handshake. “James Fraser, and my daughter Brianna. Do forgive me for intruding; it’s only that it’s been so verra long since I heard anything like my own tongue. I just couldna resist seeing what was what.”

And we’re glad you did! It’s grand to get to meet a new cousin from the old places.”

The Irish tongue did have its differences, certainly, but Michael Riley seemed to have no trouble understanding Jamie, nor he, him, with only the occasional What was that word? or confidential laugh over differences in emphasis or tone. 

Bree had been staring at Michael intently, apparently astonished at hearing Gaelic spoken at close range by someone other than her Da. When Jamie nudged her, she gave a tiny, startled ‘Hi’ in English, then grinned and buried her face in his shoulder, making both men laugh.

D’ye live in these parts yourself, Fraser?” Michael asked eagerly. 

Not far, but no—I was just stopping for Gasoline on my way out to the countryside. Do all of ye live nearby, then?” Jamie asked, astonished, surveying the huge, lively crowd of players and onlookers. 

Sure do—the station owner turns a blind eye to us using the field, thank the saints, else we’d all likely be arrested.” 

“Arrested? For playing a wee game?” 

Well, technically, it *could* be considered trespassing—have a drink?” Jamie politely refused and Michael shrugged, wiping his sweaty brow and taking a deep swig from his own bottle. “There’s a long history of bad blood between Irish and the other folk in Boston. I’m sure there’s plenty of arseholes that would love to see us get comeuppance for whichever dumb mick offended great-great-uncle so and so.” 

Perhaps that went some way toward explaining the odd looks Jamie tended to get when speaking to strangers about Boston. He’d always tacitly assumed something in his manner was out of place in some indeterminate way—some eighteenth-century way, that is—but perhaps it was that he was being assumed Irish in a place where that wasn’t altogether a pretty thing to be. He would have to ask Claire. 

Christ, he chuckled to himself, an Outlander thrice over, he was, in Boston. At least he wasn’t the only one.

Michael introduced him to the members of his team, one and all bringing Jamie and Bree further into the crowd, offering drinks, and asking about their history and family. He felt as if he’d walked into a clan gathering, even after only ten minutes among the Irish. “And what about you, then?” he asked of Michael, after giving his (presumed) backstory for the half-dozenth time, “From whence in Ireland do you folk hail?”

“Well, we’re mostly Corkmen here—” Michael said, which elicited cheers from the Cork contingent. “Some like me, born here stateside, but plenty of folk fresh off the boat, like Barny, there, except he’s from Tipperary. Then there’s Fergal whose folk are from Sligo,” he said, scanning the crowd and methodically cataloging. “Then Vance and Peter and the other Michael, of Galway. And then over there, there’s Charlie, but he’s not—OY!” He gave a sudden whoop of excitement and cupped his hands around his mouth to yell, “EY, CHARLIE!! COME OVER HERE!! FOUND YE A WEE CLANSMAN!!

A stocky blonde man jogged over eagerly and Michael clapped him on the shoulder. “Charlie, here, plays for those bastards on Dan’s team, but we won’t hold it against him just at present. Charlie, this is James—James, right? Aye, good—James Fraser. He’s from your precious highlands!

Charlie was an open, eager sort, ruddy-faced and jovial, quick with a joke and an easy word. Jamie quickly learned from rapid conversation in the Gàidhlig that the man was a Highlander-born, a MacAlister whose family had come to America when he was nearly sixteen. He’d hated the new place, and had planned to return to Scotland the moment as he was of age; but then war had broken out just days before his eighteenth birthday, and he’d been compelled to go fight. He worked as a builder, now, feeding the demand for suburban homes from families in the growing prosperity of the post-war times. Jamie decided he truly liked the man, and knew without asking that he must have children himself, when he grinned at Bree and said, “And hello there, a leannan,” with a little bow. 

Hi, how-wer you?” she responded, to Jamie’s astonishment, in almost-perfect Gàidhlig. 

I’m verra well, thank ye verra much for asking, sweet lass,” the blonde man laughed, straightening and looking impressed. “Does she speak it at home, then?

“No, not often,” Jamie said, rather apologetically. “I do try to speak it around her when I think of it, but her mam is English, so we—

“American, you mean?”

“Nay,” Jamie laughed, with a mock-sneer, “an honest-to-goodness Sassenach.”

Charlie matched Jamie’s manner with groan of false-disgust. “Christ, but ye must have balls of steel, Jamie, to  oh!” he said abruptly, looking a bit embarrassed, “Sorry—is it alright that I call ye Jamie?”

Jamie could feel the warmth of kinship flood through him like water. “Of *course,* friend,” he said with feeling. 

Charlie introduced his Irish wife Saoirse and their two small boys, to whom Bree took at once, sharing their toys on the grass.

They talked about Scotland, about America, about Boston. About Gaelic. About talk of a free and independent Scotland. About the Celtic traditions that had crossed the ocean, and those that had not. Of gatherings that apparently took place all around the country, in hill-and-mountain places, for folk to remember the old clan ways, even if in naught but a faint imitation. Even of bannocks, whiskey, and wool; the simple things of highland home, even two hundred years hence, it seemed. It was more a balm to Jamie’s heart than he could comprehend: that the Scotland he knew hadn’t vanished entirely. 

A whistle blew and Charlie brandished his stick deftly as the crowd began to shift. “Ever played a game of hurling?” 

“It’s like shinty, no?”

“Not too far off, not at all. Here,” he said, beginning to walk backward toward the pitch, “come wi’ me and I’ll give ye the rundown.”

With a jolt, Jamie noted the position of the sun and remembered the ice in the back of the Car. “Sadly, we must be going, Charlie.”

Oh, come on!” Charlie wheedled, taking one last deep swig of beer and kissing Saoirse exuberantly. “Wee Brianna seems to be having a fine time wi’ Nolan and Will. And I’ve got some extra gear if —”

“it isna that at all,Jamie said, turning an apologetic smile toward his new companion, “it’s only that we’ve got a Halloween gathering to attend, and we’re expected shortly.”

“Och, that’s too bad. First one since you arrived? Weel, it isna nearly so ghostly as Samhain, let me tell ye. All the spooks you’re like to encounter look as if they came out from a children’s book or a Walt Disney film. I tell wee Nolan when he’s scairt in the night that all the ghosts are back in Scotland. No doorways to the otherworlds in America, so no Old Folk to be afraid of.“

(Oh, aye? Ye have one right in front of ye, man.)

Charlie held out the stick once more, inviting. "Sure ye canna be persuaded to celebrate wi’ us instead, Jamie?”

“I truly canna stay, but thank ye, Charlie, I should verra much have liked to.” Jamie knelt to break up the play-circle. “Can ye say ‘farewell’ to your new friends, Bree?” 

Farewell,” she chirped, waving her chubby hand enthusiastically.

That’s not’th’right way,” chided Nolan, who was a year or two older. “You say it funny.” 

Bree looked crestfallen, but Charlie ruffled his son’s hair, laughing as he gently scolded. “Nay, a chuisle, you’ve just grown up wi’ Gaeilge—YOU’RE the one who ‘says it funny.’” 

Jamie scooped Bree into his arms, whispering in her ear about how proud he was of her before turning back to Charlie. “Do ye play every week, then? I’d truly be honored to come back another time.”

“Oh aye. The winter snows will start falling soon, but we’re here most every chance we can get, when the ground’s clear.” Charlie sized him up frankly, nodding with approval. “You’re a braw-looking fucker, alright. Dinna let Michael steal ye for his lousy crew, aye? They’re naught but loud bastards. The *real* talent’s wi’ us.” 

Jamie made a general farewell to the crowd and received a hearty chorus of well-wishes and toasts in return. 

At the risk of seeming too eager, Jamie…” He turned to see that Charlie was looking sheepish, “might the wife and I have ye and the family over for dinner, sometime?” 

When Jamie didn’t immediately respond, the man shrugged, but didn’t falter. “Mebbe it’s daft, but as much as I love my Irish folk, it’s grand having someone to talk to in the old ways again; who’s truly my countryman. D’ye ken what I mean?”

Jamie swallowed down the lump in his throat as he clasped the man’s hand. “Aye, a caraidh, I ken it more than ye can possibly know.”


Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Promp #3 with Damian and Dick?

For some reason the answers to these asks keep getting longer and longer, and guess what? I love it. I tweaked the dialogue a because it flowed a bit more naturally this way.

Thank you @audreycritter and @thegalacticpope for helping me plot this, and thank you @camsthisky for betaing! 

Rating: Gen

Words: 3,045

Summary:  Dick’s life has gone from busy to the busiest since he took up the mantel of Batman. He’s late and running later to a meeting, but in trying to explain that to Damian he hurts him instead. Dick’s trying not to do the same things Bruce did when he was Robin, so how come he keeps falling into the same traps Bruce did?

AO3 Link


Dick was busy. It seemed to come with the territory of being in charge of– well everything. He had no idea how Bruce had done it. It seemed an impossible task to balance Wayne Enterprise work, meetings, the cowl, and raising a Robin. Add to that Dick’s social life, and he was pretty sure the hours needed to do everything in his day didn’t match what the sun had in store for him.

If he’d ever thought he’d been busy before, he’d had no clue. Not a single one. He’d never realized what Bruce dealt with on a daily basis. No wonder he liked to skip charity events, they were time suckers that Dick could use doing literally anything else. He got tired just thinking of his schedule for the day.

Already he was running late for a meeting, one that was bound to take forever since John Harris was going to be there. The man did not know the meaning of brief. Or subtle, for that matter. Dick wished he could skip the whole thing, but Lucius wouldn’t appreciate him missing so, he was going.

He piled everything he needed, loose papers and a folder, on top of a binder and made his way out of his office feeling a little like he was back in school.

When he walked out Damian was sitting at the kitchen bar, working his way through the homework Alfred had assigned him for the day. Dick had tried to convince him to attend regular school, as a way to have interactions with people beyond his brother and butler, but he’d refused. That was fine, he was young and adapted quickly, Dick had just hoped to give him something of normality.

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