see claire this is not a social experiment

However, there’s an important distinction between mourning, a behavior, and grief, an internal emotional experience. Social media may have opened space for public mourning, but etiquette for ensuring that outpouring supports the bereaved (or at the very least doesn’t make their situation more painful) has yet to develop. Certainly, there are people who welcome social media as an effective medium for working through their grief—but nothing could be further from my own experience.

Claire Wilmot, “The Space Between Mourning and Grief”. The Atlantic (8 June 2016).

In my experience, there isn’t anything more terrible than opening up Facebook and seeing an endless scrolling wall of photos and videos of your dead husband. Each photo feels like a physical blow. I chose to mitigate my pain by unfriending a lot of people because I just couldn’t bear it and didn’t have the fortitude to cope with people’s defensiveness about how they choose to mourn. For me, blocking/unfriending is self-care during an epically shitty time in my life. I know exactly what I lost (ie. my entire life) and I certainly don’t need to be reminded of it on a daily basis.

anonymous asked:

We never get to see the first time Claire teaches Jamie that you can indeed do it the back way, like horses. How does he react when he experiences that for the very first time?

Finally. FINALLY. Dinner was over. It was finally socially acceptable to excuse himself from the table and follow his wife to their room.

One day.

One day since last he’d had her.

How could his balls ache this much after only one day?

No matter. She was there and waiting for him and he wouldn’t have to wait anymore. She was his for the taking.

And take her he would.

He nearly burst through the door, hands already unbuttoning his vest. She pulled a comb through her hair and glanced up at him.

“Finally got out?” she asked with a smile.

“God, that woman never stops talking! I thought she’d never let me leave!”

“And you’re just too sweet to tell her to shut up.”

“Aye. I canna be so rude.”

“Well,” she yawned. “I’m glad you finally got away.”

He dropped his sword belt and looked at her, pulling angrily at his boots.

“Ye canna be going to sleep so soon, Sassenach?”

“And why not? I’m exhausted. It’s been a busy day.”

“I must have ye,” he pleaded. “Now.”

“Oh alright.”

Grabbing her hands, he pulled her to him, her shawl dropping behind her. He sought her breasts through her shift, moving her slowly toward the bed. Her hands moved to his hair, tangling in it and pulling it.

He pulled away quickly, tugging at the ties on his shirt. As he pulled it off, she wrenched at the belt holding his kilt on and it fell away, freeing him. He turned and pushed her down onto the bed. Just before he joined her, she surprised him and rolled onto her stomach.


“Do you recall our wedding night?”

Recall it? He dreamed of it almost every night.

“Ah, aye. I do.”

“You remember how I turned to face you? And later you told me that you thought people did it the same way as horses?”

“Aye. I do. But ye taught me the right way o’ things.”

She was right there for the taking! Why all this talking?

“Well… You know, it’s possible to do it the back way. Like horses.”


Slowly, she pulled her knees underneath her and was on all fours on the bed. The sight of her in that position stopped his breath for a moment. Her sweet, round arse high in the air.

“Ye… Ye can?”

She nodded and smiled, wiggling her backside a little.

“You can. Just… Ah… Be sure where you’re putting it.”

“Aye, I will.”

Hands on her round buttocks, he slid slowly into her. She moved herself around until she was more comfortable.

“Are ye alright?”

“Yes…” she said dreamily.

“I’m no’ hurting ye?”


Nodding to himself, he pulled back and pushed forward. Back and forward. Back and forward.

Something primal took him over then and he leaned over her back, pressing her down onto the bed harder. His hips were jerking and slamming madly against her, making her whimper and cry out.

Utterly spent, he lay against her for a few moments until he could breathe properly again.

“Christ, Sassenach. I didna ken ye could do that.”

“There’s all sorts of ways to do it,” she said, sliding out from under him. “I thought you might like that one, since you seem so fond of my buttocks.”

“Will ye tell me more? More ways that I can please ye, mo nighean donn?”

Nodding, she slipped beneath the quilts and curled into him.

“Yes. I can teach you more. Perhaps tomorrow.”