uncle willy

Bashful Beauchamp - Teenage AU

Finally! We got to see Jamie over for dinner with Claire and Lambert. Now we get to see Claire meeting the Fraser clan! How will she do? Will they treat her kindly? Read on to find out! 

Shout out to @diversemediums for helping me edit this and @outlandishchridhe for helping me with a new title!

Catch up on Jamie’s dinner in Flustered Fraser

Jamie had worn his kilt when he’d come to dinner with me and my uncle. Now it’s my turn to impress his family. So I’m standing in front of my wardrobe, trying to decide what a sensible English girl would wear. Uncle Lamb is in the living room, waiting for me to dress so we can leave.

I have my red dress, a black dress, and a blue dress all laid out on my small bed.

“Uncle Lamb!” I cry, my voice sounding frantic to my own ears.

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This is Us- Chapter 24 Full Court Press Part 2

Consistency of Chapter Titles between AO3 and Tumblr – making this Chapter 24 because AO3 doesn’t let you change chapter numbers 

Special shoutout to @faeriesfanficemporium.tumblr.com for walking me through privacy protections for married couples in UK.

Later that afternoon, Claire and Jamie took a walk with Faith. They went to view the sheep in the far pasture and made a detour on the way back home. Faith was holding wee Kitty’s hand and Bran was “guarding” them, which, from what Jamie could tell, consisted of trying to steal bites of the package of crackers they were sharing between themselves.  

“This is where you parents are buried?” Claire asked as they approached a large, mossy gray headstone.

“Aye, them and a good many more Fraser ancestors. The cemetery goes back to the late 1600s.” Jamie said very quietly, with the reverence that came naturally to such places. “Willie and Rabbie, as well.” 

She followed the direction of his gesture. Seeing the smaller stones, Claire gasped. Jamie grabbed her hand in his.  

“I’m sorry Sassenach, perhaps I shouldna asked you and the lass to come wi’ me. It’s only that…Jenny and I, we’re both in the habit of visiting, especially when it’s an important date. ‘Tis a foolish habit, maybe, to talk to stones as if they can help you recapture the past, no?”

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Min skat - Frederik Andersen

Requested by anon: I would love to have a sidney crosby and a Frederik andersen one shot….i love both.

A/N: Thank you @carey-pricemas for the idea. I hope you guys like it.

Word count: 1014

Warnings: none.

Master list

Originally posted by rollingdux

You are incredibly jealous. You are also very pregnant, but jealous nonetheless. Today is your little girl’s birthday and you wish you could join her and your fiancé on the ice. Aila has been playing hockey since she was two and a half and could stumble on the ice by herself. Freddie had wanted to put the pads on her since the first minute, but you didn’t want your baby to be in front of the net stopping pucks so, after countless discussions over it, Freddie and you decided that when she would try the ‘goalie thing’ when she turned 4… Today is the day, and Freddie hasn’t wasted a minute in putting his little girl in full gear.

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Scratchy Kisses- William Nylander

Originally posted by mapleleafstrash

Ok so I got this request way before we saw how good Willy looked with a beard and so like… you get a terribly bearded Willy in this imagine. Sorry! Just remember… he’s very good looking in real life! Anyway… enjoy!

PS- Thanks for understanding about this weekend! I love you all!

Warning: none

Anon Request: Your imagines are 👏🏽👏🏽👌🏽😍👏🏽💪🏼 😍😍❤️ would you want to write an imagine where willy is trying to grow a beard for the playoffs and the reader makes fun the result🙂


              “You know… this is worse than I thought” you said idly.

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Morgan Rielly - Mini Morgan’s

Originally posted by motoleafs

hey! can i have a request on morgan rielly playing skates with his toddler sons after practice? hope the mini-plot doesnt kill your amazing skills.

When Oliver was first born, you knew that he would be just like his father. He had the same bright blue eyes, and the sandy hair and as he grew up you saw more of Morgan in him everyday. Then, when Sam came along you feared that he would be upset, but just like his dad he did everything to make Sam happy. At the ripe age of 4 he was nothing but a sweet heart.

“Mom, can I have another water?” Oliver asked sweetly as he turned away from the ice.

“What happened to the one I just gave you?” You asked reaching in your bag to fish out another bottle.

“I gave it to Sam.” He smiled as he took the water from your hands and stared back at his father and Uncles on the ice.

Just like Morgan, your boys loved Hockey. Sam loved the Dallas Stars, you were pretty sure it was because their jersey’s were so bold. Whereas Oliver loved the Habs. Of course their daddy’s team was and always their main favorite.

Oliver had just started playing hockey, and tried to go to every Leaf’s game and or practice so he could learn more about the different moves. But, he really loved after practices when he’s dad let him and Sam skate. After all not many kids could say they got to skates with a bunch of NHL players every week. It was something you knew both boys would care with them forever.

“Mommy, can you help me with my skates?” Sam asked holding his little skates in his hands.

“Sure, buddy.” You smiled hoping out of your seat to help your 4 year old. “Do you need help at all Oliver, or do you got it?” You asked as you finished tieing the last skate.

“I got it mommy. Thank you.” He said sweetly.

“Hey! How are my two favorite nephews!” Willy said as he skated over towards you and the boys.

“UNCLE WILLY!” Sam cheered.

Sam was always fond of William more than the other guys. To Sam, Willy was his favorite leaf player. You were positive that he owned more Nylander jerseys than Rielly. Morgan thought it was funny and often teased his younger son about not being his favorite player.

“You guys come to skate with us?” Willy asked as he picked Sam up and placed his little feet on the ice.

“Yeah, daddy is going to teach my how to shoot better.” Oliver said as he stepped onto the ice.

“Hello Mini Morgan’s” Auston smiled as he step off the ice to grab his drink.

“Hello Uncle Aus!” Oliver giggled. Auston and Oliver were always really close.  Oliver was the only person who could make Auston smile when he was in a mood, and that made Oliver happy.

“My names not Morgan.” Sam challenged giving the tall boy an evil look making Willy laugh.

“Yeah, his name’s not Morgan.” Willy joked towards Auston. Auston just rolled his eye’s at Willy.

“Hello Sam.” Auston smiled this time he got a smile from the 4 year old.

“Hello Uncle Auston!”


“Okay, when you shoot, try to kick your leg back. Just a little.” Morgan said showing Oliver what he meant. Oliver watched with ease before trying again. “Better, but make sure to hit the puck a little harder bud.” Morgan smiled.

“Mommy, look! We took Uncle Auston’s stick.” Sam giggled as he and Willy skated down the other side of the rink with an anger Auston following.

“I swear Willy you are a huge child.” Auston spoke as he skate faster towards Willy and Sam.

You just shook your head before going back to watch Morgan and Oliver. They were now just shooting pucks in the net. You felt a huge smile form on your lips. Nothing made you more happy then see your boys all happy. Just as you were about to grab your water bottle your phone went off. You made your way out into the hall so you could hear better and by the time you came back everyone was off the ice.

“Mommy, I’m hungry.” Sam whined as Willy took his skates off and placed them back in the bag.

“What are you hungry for little man?” You smiled as Morgan came over to give you a kiss.


You couldn’t help but laugh at his happiness.

“Does pizza sound good Oliver?” You asked as you four made your way to the car.

“Yeah!” He smiled.


“So what happened earlier?” Morgan asked as he got ready for bed.
“With what?” You asked confused.

“The phone call? Everything okay?” He asked as he climbed into bed.

“Oh yeah. It was just the doctor.” You smiled as you climbed on your side of the bed.

“Doctor?! Did one of the boys get hurt?” He worried making your giggle as you placed your head on his bare chest. He placed his hand in your hair.

“It was for me.” You said running circles around his belly with your finger. “I’m pregnant.” You smiled.

You felt Morgan’s hand stop running through your hair and reach down to pull your head up so you were looking at him. He had a huge smile on his face.

“You’re pregnant!” He repeated placing a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m pregnant.” You smiled.

“This is the best new I’ve heard all day.” He said. “I hope it’s a girl.” He smiled.


“So, we can have a mini you.” He smiled before kissing you again.


Connor Brown - Hockey Game

anon request: can you do a Connor Brown one where you watch your twin son’s first hockey game together ?!

up next is a jonathan drouin imagine!!

requests are open:))

Originally posted by russianlatta

“daddy! daddy! are you coming to my hockey game?” ben my five year old son yelled to my husband of three years. yes connor and i got married after having a kid, well not just one kid. two. just as that thought crossed my mind hunter came running in the room. ben got connors red hair and hunter got my y/h/c hair.

“he better come! i want him to see me play like uncle freddie” hunter said proudly walking around the kitchen. “you wanna know why uncle freddie plays so good?” connor asked walking into the kitchen picking up hunter and resting him on his hip. “why?” both of our sons wondered at the same time. “because he has these before every game” connor said opening one of the dark brown cabinets.

ben made a face at the drinkable apple sauce that connor pulled out but hunter was ready to drink both. “ill take them!” he shouted loudly which caused me to laugh. “well what does uncle willy eat before games?” ben asked as william walked into the house through the garage.

“you don’t wanna be like him do you?” connor made a disgusted face. will stopped in his tracks after a moment realizing what was happening. “wait wha- hey!” william laughed finally getting up to speed and pretending to be offended.

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The Last Night in the Nursery

Really, Killian had been hoping for Star Wars this year. He’d be a great Han Solo and her mother was already Leia in a different time. 

A baby Halloween bit featuring the cygnet.

Rating: T for teeth-rotting sweetness. 

They’ve let little Cait decide their Halloween costume since her very first one, when she put up a fuss about the little crown on her head until her father started into the words of the book that always, always seemed to soothe her.

“…and Max said, I’ll eat you up.”

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I See The Light (TJ Oshie)

Prompt: can you do a cute imagine about a hockey daddy based off now I see the light? (from tangled) can be w mom, w/out mom, whatever!! I just think it’s such a cute song for a baby

TJ Oshie

Requested: yep

Includes: kidfic, single dad

note: there wasn’t a player with this prompt so i just chose oshie since he’s already a dad! hope that’s okay!

Originally posted by bulletproofwhale

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The Philadelphia Story

Librarian: What is thee wish?
Macaulay Connor: I’m looking for some local b - what’d you say?
Librarian: What is thee wish?
Macaulay Connor: Um, local biography or history.
Librarian: If thee will consult with my colleague in there.
Macaulay Connor: Mm-hm. Dost thou have a washroom?
[the librarian points]
Macaulay Connor: Thank thee.

Pairing together Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, and James Stewart, in a romantic comedy under the direction of George Cukor, The Philadelphia Story was always destined to become a certified classic. Light, witty, and filled with old school screwball zip, The Philadelphia Story tells the story of a rich and greatly pampered woman named Tracy (Katharine Hepburn) and her impending marriage to commoner George (John Howard). Having left the equally rich C.K. Dexter Haven (Cary Grant) two years prior, Tracy is going for the exact opposite man when Dexter walks backs into her life with two reporters. One, Macaulay “Mike” Connor (James Stewart), is a published author who has to work for a gossip magazine to pay the bills. Alongside him is photographer Elizabeth Imbrie (Ruth Hussey), who must similarly work for pay to fund her love of painting. What ensues is a series of events before Tracy’s wedding that will open their eyes to the world around them and make them learn about themselves and others.

No matter the lessons the film tries to portray, one undeniable element of this film is just how funny it all is, even in 2017. Often times, comedy ages like milk. Fortunately, this one is a fine wine that only gets better with age. In all honestly, cracking it open now may be a crime because give it a few more years and it could be a perfect score. Grant, Hepburn, and Stewart, are still superstars due to their various leading roles in the Golden Age of Hollywood that have endeared them to the masses. This adoration is not without reason as all three are easy, silky charmers who know their way around a good drama or comedy. The Philadelphia Story, in blending comedy and drama together, allows the trio to show their range in both areas. Playing the dramatic scenes with the requisite power and the comedic scenes with excellent timing, delivery, and natural wit, the trio really make this film. Alongside them, Ruth Hussey and Roland Young’s Uncle Willie stand as real highlights with both taking the lines given to them and making the most out of them comedically. Young especially does this, often stealing scenes with excellent lines that are excellently written, but made all the more funny due to Young’s delivery of them.

Thematically, The Philadelphia Story is quite varied, but most often uses its premise as a way to teach humility and understanding. Tracy is shown as a tough-nosed and proud woman who accepts nothing less than perfection from anybody or anything. In planning her wedding, a comment about whether or not it will rain is met with her little sister Dinah (Virginia Weidler) stating that, “Tracy would not allow that.” She is in control of her environment and expects everybody else to live up to the standards she holds herself to. As a result, she divorced Dexter and cut off her father. However, through encounters with Mike and Liz - who she wrote off as typical sleazy gossip writers, only to find out they are serious artists - Tracy learns to not judge a book by its cover. Everybody has a story behind them that one could never expect. So, if they slip or do something you would not do in their shoes, it is not cause to cut them off. Instead, one must strive to accept them in spite of their faults. Mike must learn this as well in regard to Tracy, who he writes off as a typical rich and spoiled girl. Whereas she learns he is a brilliantly smart and funny guy, he learns that she is a similarly fun and exciting person to be around when she lets loose. Together, they both embody accepting faults and looking past the rugged exterior of those around them.

In conjunction with this, the two must also learn humility. Caught up with themselves being greater than they really are, the two look past people who love them and whom they love as well in order to satisfy their own egos. While she rebukes George for wanting to worship her as a goddess, Tracy undoubtedly views herself as a Queen or a goddess. Dexter does not treat her this way, instead loving her unconditionally in spite of their divorce. Through the course of the film and recognition of her own fallibility, Tracy must discover that she is not some supreme being. Instead, she is a typical woman born into privilege who is no greater than anybody else, no matter their financial status. Only then will she be able to find the true love offered to her by Dexter. Likewise, Mike believes himself to be above everybody else because he is a “serious writer”. Even when Tracy says his work is like poetry, he conceitedly retorts that it is poetic. While his work preaches understanding and not judging people by their cover, he does exactly that as he writes Tracy off without even meeting her. He similarly doubts Dexter and looks past Liz because she is not flashy, even if he knows he loves her deeply. Fortunately for him, Liz is always there waiting for him to get his head out of his ass and see the world the way it really is, instead of through rose-colored glasses. Yes, he is a talented writer, but everybody must make ends meet. While he has dreams of grandeur, he does not need to reach it by marrying somebody just because he believes her to be equal footing in the world as a superior person. Instead, marrying the person he is truly meant for is the right option and is the one staring him in the face. However, in order for Tracy to re-discover Dexter and for Mike to finally open his eyes about Liz, the two must learn humility and it is not an easy journey for either.

A witty and thematically sound comedy classic, The Philadelphia Story’s trio of revered stars and a strong supporting cast make the film a true joy to watch unfold. Whether they all offer up jokes about being hung over, being drunk, or over everyday occurrences, the film has a natural zip about it that only 1940s comedies truly possess. Fast-paced, witty, and always quick with comebacks and jokes, The Philadelphia Story balances out its comedy with great acting across the board and a strong romantic element that is incredibly realistic in how it is portrayed. In love, we can sometimes ignore what is right in front of us in favor of something exciting or short-lived. The Philadelphia Story recognizes this with its commentary on affairs and how men sometimes seek to reclaim their youth with a younger woman. No bearing any mark on the wife, the move is a selfish one and one done out of fear of becoming older, according to the film. This really translates to the nature of the romances with neither Tracy nor Mike’s digression from their proper romantic course being because of their partners. Rather, it is due to both seeking something that in somebody that was already in front of him, but they did not know it: true love. Unconditional and tender to a fault, true love wins in the end if its partakers are able to remain focused upon upholding it against all of the odds. Charming, uproariously funny, and an absolute classic, The Philadelphia Story is an excellent romantic comedy that showcases the talent of its entire cast.

Andrae Deon Davis

What’s good world! This is a story about a young man some of you may know and others may not, but let me take you on a ride through my life. I was born in March 1982 and raised in Little Rock, Arkansas on the south side of the city. The middle child of three, I had an older brother named Chris and a little sister, Katheryn. My single mother, Wendy, was so beautiful, hardworking, church going, and could sing her butt off. She had one of the most beautiful voices you would ever hear. She took care of her kids on her own and made sure we had things provided for.

Chris had a different father while Kat and I had the same dad. Our dad, Ramon, was a preacher and was part of a gospel singing group. His side of the family was into church heavy and could sing very well. I guess that’s how my mother and father met. Just about every weekend, I would go spend time with my dad and my paternal grandmother, Mae. Kat was too young, so she really couldn’t come. Grandma Mae just loved the boys of the family, not really caring much about the girls at all for some reason. I recall going to be with my dad to watch him sing and play drums, and sometimes lead the group on a song or two. My mother didn’t really care for him, as she would sometimes prevent my sister and I from seeing him and often calling him “Reverend Low Down.” I’m guessing she had personal issues going on with him. Sometimes my dad wouldn’t show up when he said he was coming. I would just have a fit and cry often times because I loved being around my dad so much.

As the years progressed, the streets started taking a bad turn in the late 80’s. Drugs and gangs were on the rise and my brother Chris was slowly getting more involved in the streets. He was hanging with his neighborhood friends. They all went to Mitchell Elementary, hung out every day, and played for a little league football team called the Sunset Tigers. One day Chris and his friends got together and made up a posse. This was during the time that gangster rap was thriving. You had your N.W.A’s and other similar groups, etc. Chris and friends, Alex, Harold, T.J., Bobby, Frankie, and Ant used to hang on this corner called Shillier, and on this corner the street number was 23rd. They decided to take 23rd and make it into a posse. They were kicking people’s butts fighting, stealing, and they were even doing makeshift tattoos with erasers putting “23rd” on their arms. The click took a turn in the early 90’s however. Some of the friends went their ways, but the posse continued to grow, turning into “the Crips.” Alex, Ant, Frankie, and Bobby, remained “23rd” and my brother Chris, Harold, T.J. became “8ball Bloods.” Later through the years, the friends became enemies, and over time relations worsened.

During this time in the early 90’s, it was evident the streets weren’t safe anymore. You had “Bloods” around the corner, and “Crips” on the next. There was drive by after drive by, killing after killing, and violence was rampant. Seeing this, my mother moved around quite a bit, but never quite out of the area. Chris would go spend time with our maternal grandma, Henrie Lee, and our uncles Willie, Mooney, Kwanis, and Aunt Edwina to try to keep him out of trouble. But that didn’t help anyway. Chris was getting into a lot of trouble, so they moved to 29th and Summit in a big, beautiful house on the corner. Though the home itself was a nicer place to live than the last living environment, it was directly across the street from the Sunset Projects. The whole block was full of “Bloods” and “Vice Lords,” drug dealers, killers, and crack addicts. Anything and everything you can name was on that block. There was something peculiar going on. Chris started to really change, selling dope heavy, getting busted, and the streets just took him under. My mother, too, started to change. She was a janitor for the school district making good money, but lost her job because the streets were getting to her. Things just started to change for the worst it seemed as she later on became a crack addict herself.

My brother’s friends were serving off our porch, and serving my mother as well. I was finding crack pipes all around the house, seeing my mother sleep with all kinds of men, walking in her room and seeing her lie across the bed butt naked, sleep with a crack pipe on the side of the night stand. Winter came and we would have no lights, water, or gas at times. Roaches and maggots were in our food, and we’d only be surviving off of Faygo pop drinks and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. Often times, we’d ask the neighbors for clean drinking water. Things were so bad, not only did we have pests and rodents living with us, rats would chew up our clothes. So one day, my Grandma Henrie Lee just got sick and tired, and came and got Kat and I while we both were still in elementary school. My brother, Chris, was in jail for beating up a teacher at Southwest Jr. High. Grandma Henrie made sure Kat and I were good, showing us how to respect others, and how to take care of ourselves. My mother continued to stay out in the streets. Progressively declining and starting to be more visibly battered, becoming very skinny, and not looking like the mother I had known. She looked like she could die any day.

As a young man entering junior high at Henderson, I also was straggling the line between being in the streets like my brother or growing up to be a good young man. One day I got caught throwing up gang signs. Somebody told my Uncle Willie, who was a police officer by trade, and understandably stern with me. My uncle got on me tough, put a whipping to my backside, and told me forcefully that he would not let me end up in these streets like Chris. He just didn’t want to lose another nephew, so he did what he could to influence and rear me. By this time it was the late 90’s, and I was entering high school. My grandmother sent me to live with my Uncle Willie and his wife because she felt that I needed a father figure in my life. After reviewing her options, she thought that Uncle Willie was the best fit, and I must say Uncle Willie did a good job at it. He took me in and showed me how to be a respectful, clean, and responsible young man.

While I was in high school, my mom went to prison. The drugs did her so bad, and she just didn’t want help. She was in jail my last two years of high school. Hoping she would get out by the time I graduated in 2000, when she didn’t, my mother sent me a letter telling me how sorry she was. I was just in tears uncontrollably. The slight bright side was that my brother Chris actually did get out of jail in time to watch me graduate. I don’t believe people in high school ever knew what was going on in my life because I never showed it. I would always dressed nice and kept a smile on my face. I would try to keep people smiling, laughing just to be silly, and enjoying being the life of the party. My Uncle Willie’s wife was trying to get me to go to college heavy. She had me applying for school after school. I loved drawing, and was looking at art schools, but there was something different I wanted to do. I wanted to cut hair though never in life had I picked up clippers. I told my uncle’s wife that I wanted to go to barber school and she just shot my dreams down. She said that I would never make it cutting hair since there’s no money in it. Because she came from a family that went on to school, she figured that’s what I needed to do.

Hearing this, I decided to go and talk to my grandmother seeing that I knew she’d give me a different opinion. She told me to be whatever I want to be and if that’s being a barber then I should do it. She said she knew I would make it and be okay if I followed my heart. So then I had a talk with my uncle. He just kept it all out real, saying that college is not for everybody.
He advised that if I felt that it’s not for me, then I should just do something productive. That was like the best advice I’d ever heard. After talking with them, I applied to barber school and got accepted. After this, my uncle’s wife didn’t like it at all. We wound up getting into it and she didn’t want me living there anymore. She even went on to say that I was the reason that my uncle and her weren’t working out. After facing this news, I decided to bounce and go live with my brother Chris. He made sure I was straight, but I knew this new lifestyle came with other facets. Chris was then selling drugs really heavy, and most nights we had to answer the door with guns. There were drug addicts running in and out of the home, due to my brother selling everything you can name. With me responding to the cards I was given, everything came with a grain a salt. I was now pursuing my dream of becoming a barber, but things in my life were still becoming worse.

I ended up moving out of the apartment from my brother because of safety. By this time it’s 2001, and I had a girl by the name of Shae. She was fresh out of high school, and both of us got a place together in the same complex that my brother Chris was staying in. I was still in school, but after school I would drive her car around and cut hair for $5 while she was at work. She held me down, paid the bills until I was out of school, and worked long hours to make it happen. My brother was keeping the drugs and guns at our apartment so the cops wouldn’t know where to find it if they busted him. Chris was getting big time, making all kinds of money, and things just started to change in 2002. He started messing with more of the wrong people, and I watched as friends and family got jealous. People were getting over on him, yet Chris and some of our cousins had the city on lock. Things went sour, and Chris ended up catching an attempted murder charge. He shot a chick seven times, and got into it with more people. It got so bad that he told me and Shae to move somewhere else because he didn’t feel that we were safe staying there anymore. He told me to give the drugs and guns to our cousins so they can come up on some money to get him out.

Chris was later able to get out on a $250,000 bond. He was out of jail only three months when he and I talked, and he told me I’m the reason he sold drugs and did what he did. It was because of how he coped with how we were struggling and how he wanted to see the family bounce back. Then a couple weeks after this, Chris got killed. He was found shot dead in a ditch on July 4th, 2002. I had lost my only brother, and our cousin was killed the day before. Grandma Henrie Lee died a couple months later, then I lost my best friend Braylon that same summer, all in one year. Then, to compound this, I broke up with my girlfriend Shae after three years due to the pressure.

Despite this, I ended up getting out of school in 2003, becoming one of the city of Little Rock’s highly talked about barbers. I have traveled around the nation cutting all kinds of celebrities’ hair. I won the “Best Barber” award in 2006. As well, I also became a rapper and had one of the best songs that came out in the city, called “Do the Jump Rope.” The hit made mainstream, allowing me to perform on MTV Sweet 16, and opening up for various big-time artists. Then, however, I knew there was a bigger picture I had drawn out.

In 2008, my mom went back to prison again. I used to be so upset at her, but I learned to let it go, and allow God to handle it. She will always be my mom, and you only get one. For her to get better, she will need me and my sister to hold her down and be there for her when needed. I decided to move to Atlanta in 2008. I jumped out on faith, leaving everything behind. All of my worries, stress, my losses, and just started over. I haven’t looked back since. I’ve met and fostered great connections with people since arriving. In January 2014, I opened my own shop in Atlanta called Levelz Beauty and Barber Lounge. It was one of the most talked about shops in the city. But closed it down in July 2015 due to conflict of interest with my Business partner. Also, I’m glad to say that my mother is out of prison now and has been clean since her release in 2011.

This story is a testament of my life and its struggles. I understand I’ve gone through a lot to get where I wanted to be. It was nothing but the grace of God that got me through this. For the people who are always looking from the outside, you never know what the person you are viewing is going through on the inside. What I did showed people that no matter what happens in your life, it can get better. And I’m a witness to that. Now that I’ve told you, you can see why I’m blessed and why I draw people to me. That’s because I put my mind on being successful and to be the best I want to be. All the stuff I’ve been through in my life, I use it as motivation. I feel that y'all should do the same and stop making excuses. So to all of you that’s going through it, it’s up to y'all to get up and get it! Stop blaming the next man for your struggles. This is my story and I hope y'all enjoyed it.


Naughty Pictures

This is something that just popped into my head yesterday and I couldn’t help but write it. It was partially inspired by this and the ending of this with the little ones downstairs. My thanks to the wonderful ladies over at @imagineclaireandjamie for accidentally helping prompt this! It takes place in the modern AU I have going in random bits. Happy Smuterday everyone! 

I’m terrible with continuity sometimes, so for this bit, Faith is 8, Bree is 7, and little Willie is 5. Fergus is probably at college somewhere, but my brain is refusing to work with me on it.

Claire was outside with Jenny, helping her set up for the rummage sale. Faith, Bree, and Willie were inside the big manor house, helping their uncle Ian to sort things out as much as they could.

Jenny had gotten a bee in her bonnet about this, convinced that they needed to do this once a year, if not more often.

“It cleans out everything ye dinna need,” she’d explained when telling him to bring things from his own attic.

Claire had agreed to bring some of the toys that the children didn’t play with anymore and clothes they’d grown out of. She’d brought a box of things that he hadn’t had a chance to look at before they’d all piled into the car and driven to the estate.

Jamie helped Ian run things, checking in on some of the tenants that leased land from them. Jenny ran the main estate, even allowing tours for small groups of school children to show off the Fraser history.

“I’m telling da!”

The shrill voice echoed through the halls and Jamie rolled his eyes. That would be Faith, no doubt. She was so much like her mother sometimes Jamie had to shake himself. The same dark curls, the same mouth set in a disapproving line.

“No! Faith!”

And that would be wee Willie. The only Fraser boy, besides Fergus of course. Jamie had lost track how many times he’d asked his father’s shade for help when dealing with the boy. He understood now why his father blamed him for turning his hair silver ‘round the edges.


Heaving the box he’d been sorting back onto the ground, he got up and lumbered to where the children were. Ian sat with Bree, looking through a pile of old books.

“Breeanah, where’s Faith and Willie?”

She looked up and beamed at him. 

“Oh! Uncle Ian asked them to bring down the box that ye and mam brought wi’ us.”

Ian looked up.

“Is everything alright, Jamie?”

“Aye. The bairn’s are just finding trouble, nae doubt.”

Ian smiled.

“They are Frasers, after all.”

Jamie glared at him before taking the stairs two at a time. The boxes he and Claire had brought were piled in one of the extra rooms, so anything sold would be put in a different money box.

“What’s the matter then, mo chridhe?”

“Willie found something naughty and he willna give it to me! I telt him to give it to ye, but he willna,” Faith announced, folding her arms over her chest.

The expression on her little face reminded him so much of Claire he had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

“Oh has he now? Willie, give them over.”

Willie’s little ears were a deep crimson by now and Jamie watched the color creep up his neck. The wee Fraser was about to go off.

“Now, William.”

With a huff, he handed the stack of pictures over. It was odd. Jamie had expected a magazine or some such. Fergus had been known to sneak them into his room on occasion. Faith had discovered one once and had been utterly scandalized.

“Where did ye find these, Willie?”

“In that box,” he said, pointing to a white cardboard box.

Frowning, Jamie rifled through it quickly. There was no sleeve for the photographs and no memory book that they’d fallen out of. Having no idea what it was that he had in his hands, he glanced down at the pictures.

His heart stopped.

He’d completely forgotten these even existed. Oh…

When they’d wed, Claire had told him that she’d slept with other men before. Honesty was what they’d promised and she held up her end of the deal. On the second night of their four night honeymoon, she’d had an idea. He thought it was a bad idea, convinced that someone would find out about it some how and he’d die of humiliation and scandal.

She’d taken her camera and set it up on a tripod. With a few beeps and buttons pushed, she informed him that the camera would take a photo every ten seconds for as long as there was space on the memory card.

“Claire!” he’d said, staring at her as she untied the silk sash of her night robe. “Ye canna be serious!”

“Think of how much fun it’ll be! We can’t ver see ourselves that way.”

“I’m no’ sure I want to!”

“Please? Only this once. And I promise no one will ever see them. This is just for us.”

So, he’d given in. How could he argue with her standing there, breasts silver in the moonlight and begging for his attention? He’d made love to her as passionately as he knew how and had forgotten about the camera entirely.

Flipping through the pictures, he suppressed a moan. There she was, pale legs wrapped around him, back arched in ecstasy. Another showed him suckling her breasts, her hand grabbing his arse hard. One where all he could see was the point of their union. Holy bleeding Jesus. How had THESE gotten into the box for the rummage sale?

“Da? Is that… Is that MAM?!” Faith asked, squinting.

Fumbling with shaking hands, he realized one of the photographs had been put in the pile backwards. It showed him flat on his back, mouth open in a silent scream while Claire rode him like a beast brought to the taming.

“Erm… That’s, uh… Wheel ye see…”

Normally good with his words, the shock of seeing his honeymoon there and knowing his children had been looking at them knocked all sense from him.


Claire. Christ she’d throttle him for this. Or maybe he’d throttle her for making him think that had been a good plan.

“In here,” he barked. 

She could come up with an explanation, he decided.

“Oh there you are. Faith, Willie. Why aren’t you helping your sister and uncle?”

“Because Willie found naughty photos of you, mam. Da’s been starin’ at them.”


Eyes round, she looked up at Jamie. Then she saw the bundle in his hands and her face flushed scarlet.

“Ah…” she said, obviously understanding what he held. “Well…”

“Mam, why was yer face angry? And what was that man doing to ye?” Faith demanded. 

So much like her mother, Jamie thought. She had a voracious appetite for knowledge and hated when there was something she didn’t know.

“Well, my face isn’t angry. It’s happy. And that man in the pictures is your da.”

Willie’s mouth fell open.

“What were ye doing to her, da?!” Faith said in shock.

“Nothing bad, sweetheart,” Claire said. “You remember what I told you about how babies were made?”

Faith nodded.

“Well, that’s what it looks like.”

The face of shock turned into one of absolute disgust.

“Ew! I willna ever have children if THAT’S what I ha’ to do.”

Claire laughed.

“You might change your mind about that, love, once you meet the right man. But that’s alright for now.”

Jamie was watching Willie, who clearly was still hiding something.

“William Murtagh Ian Fraser,” he said sternly. “Where is the last photograph?”

Willie looked at him in shock. He might take after his father in most aspects, but he had his mother’s glass face. 

Ever so slowly, he removed it from his pocket and handed it over.

When had Claire taken this one? It wasn’t from the tripod, it was too close. He could clearly see his cock at full attention in focus in the foreground of the photo, his face twisted in agonized bliss a little out of focus in the background.


“It seemed like a good picture at the time,” she hissed back.

“And now?”

“I still think it looks quite lovely in black and white. You really are beautiful.”

Hastily stuffing it into his own pocket, he looked down at his son.

“Willie, why did ye keep this one?”

“I didna ken what it was in the photo,” he muttered.

Jamie glared back at Claire.

“It’s, er… Well,” she stammered.

“It’s a cock, Willie. A man’s cock.”

Willie looked down between his own legs.

“It’s big!”

If Jamie turned any redder, he might catch fire.

“Yours is still small because you’re still a wee lad.”

“I have a cock?!”

“Aye. All boys do.”

Without warning, Willie began skipping through the house chanting “I have a cock! I have a cock!” Faith ran after him, telling him that was crude language to be using at auntie and uncle’s house.

“I can say it cause I have one! You dinna have a cock!” Willie responded promptly.

Jamie dropped his head into his hands and groaned. They’d been wondering how to tell Willie about his body. Now they had a place to start, he supposed.

“How the hell did these get in that box, Sassenach?”

“I don’t know,” she said, giggling. “Oh lord. I forgot we did that one.”

He glanced over and felt his own cock twitch. There she was in the silver light of the moon, hair dark and disheveled. She was on the foot of the bed, legs spread wide while he knelt on the floor at the end of the bed and…

“Aren’t you glad we did this?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts and flipping to another one.

“No. I am not. Oh Christ… I hope Jenny didna see those.”

Claire giggled.

“Perhaps you and I could recreate a few of these.”

“So long as you keep your bloody camera in the bag,” he grumbled, taking the rest of the photos from her.

He couldn’t destroy them, however much he wanted to in the moment. The pictures showed him the curves of her body, the faces she made while he took her. They were too beautiful to be rid of. But he sure as hell wouldn’t let his children, or his sister’s children, see any more of these. He would stop at a store on the way home and get a lock box. He would have the only key to it. This wouldn’t happen again.


WTT - apologizing in advance for this very long chapter!  I edited within an inch of its life, but….well.  It had to be done! I hope you enjoy!


Claire walked into the hospital at precisely 4:00 p.m.  Christmas decorations adorned the E.R. and carols were piped over the sound system. It would have been fairly festive had Claire not felt exactly like the Grinch.  People said hello, but she ignored them on her way through to the Lounge, ready to do battle. She was almost there when a conference door to her left flew open and Dr. Randall stepped out.

“Nurse Beauchamp.  We’re in here.  Have you seen your friends?”  

She glared at his smug face. “Is my Union representative in there?” Her voice was cool and steady.

He laughed.  “We don’t have time for that, Nurse Beauchamp.”

“We have a right to our Union rep being in meetings with us. Nurses Duncan, Hawkins and I will be in when Mrs. Fitzgibbons has arrived.”  

Dr. Randall grabbed her arm. “The Chief of Staff is waiting, Nurse Beauchamp.”  Claire turned her head slowly and met his gaze.  

“Fuck the Chief,” she said. With that Claire pushed past Dr. Randall and strode on.

“What do you mean you have copies of the patient’s records?  That’s a breach of confidentiality.”  Dr. Randall was outraged.

“Actually, it’s not.” Claire scoffed.  “The records never leave the hospital.  After every shift, Nurses Hawkins, Duncan and I scan the documents we use to record the patient’s care and print them off. They go in a file at the Nurses’ station.  In this way, when one of us leaves and the other takes over, we can get up to speed quickly without having to travel to the patient’s room.  It’s easier to look things over for all your patients in one place than go from room to room.”  

Claire focused on Dr. Gowan. “You’ll find every lab run, every note taken, all the medications and patient’s vitals logged, clearly dated and in chronological order.  No day is skipped.  Nothing is missing.”

Claire went to pass the folder to Dr. Gowan, and Dr. Randall tried to intercept it.  She pulled it back.  

“This is excellent practice, Ladies.” Dr. Gowan looked at them over his glasses. Claire moved to pass the folder a second time and Dr. Randall made a grab again.  Claire alluded him.  There was no way he was getting his hands on this folder.  It was going from her to Gowan and that was final.

“Thank ye, sir.  We try to be as professional as possible.” Geillis was beside herself with smugness. She gave Dr. Randall an exaggerated wink.

“T-t-thank y-you.”  Poor Mary.  She was a wreck.

Dr. Gowan stretched out his hand, and when he almost had the file Dr. Randall grabbed a corner.  Claire pulled it free a third time.  Through gritted teeth she growled at this man who’d made her life hell, “I swear if you try to take this file from me again, I will nail your hand to this table.”

Randall’s eyes widened.  His smile was feral.  He was enjoying this, the bastard. He looked from Claire to his superior, and to Claire again.  “Such insolence!  Ned. Surely, you will reprimand her for that, won’t you?”  

“Sit down, Dr. Randall.  And shut up.”

Mrs. Fitz cleared her throat. “Speaking of reprimands, this may be a good time to bring up the unauthorized schedule changes that Dr. Randall has been performing.”

Dr. Gowan looked up from sifting through the pages before him.  “Scheduling? Doctors don’t handle scheduling.”

“No.  They dinna.  But over the last year Dr. Randall has systematically changed nurses’ duties online.”

“Preposterous.”  Dr. Randall leaned back in his chair.  “You can’t prove that.”

“Aye.” said Mrs. Fitz, “I can.” And she produced a file of her own.  

Jamie looked at his watch for the fourth time.  Forty minutes past six o’clock. He finished his whisky, and asked for another.  

“Slow down, man.  That’s two already, and we’ve barely started the party.” Ian nudged his friend.

“She’s no’ comin’, Ian.” Jamie reached for the glass from the bartender.  “I can feel it.”

Ian laughed.  “I suggest ye never take up reading tea leaves, or palms then. Ye’ve no sixth sense at all.”  

Jamie followed his brother-in-law’s gaze and almost dropped his glass.  He took one step forward only to be stopped by Ian’s hand on his elbow.  “Easy, lad. Dinna go up to her like a blustery Scottish wind.  This calls for a nice, calm breeze, aye?”  He straightened Jamie’s collar and chucked him on the shoulder.  

Jamie nodded.  “Ye always did have my right side, Ian.”  

Claire stood at the doorway looking into the lowlighted room for Jamie.  There were quite a few people around and she just didn’t –

She caught sight of him striding towards her, hands in his pockets.  He had on a jacket and shirt, neatly pressed pants, but no tie.  She could see the hollow of his throat, where she had kissed him a hundred times, and she felt a pang in her chest. It had been so long since she’d seen him. Physically seen him. He’d been in her thoughts, and in her sometimes rather erotic dreams.  But he was so much more in the flesh.  His wide mouth was stretched in the biggest smile and Claire couldn’t help but smile back.

Jamie drank her in as he approached.  God, he had missed her.  His memory didn’t do her justice.  He’d never seen her hair pinned up before, but he liked it. Her black dress was trimmed with lace and gave him a nice view of her legs. But it was the neckline he was staring at.  The dress sat off her shoulders, and made her neck look long.  It drew his eyes to that soft spot at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. The spot he’d kissed a hundred times before.    

Jamie stopped in front of her, hands still in his pockets.  She fidgeted with her clutch and smiled shyly.  He bent down to her eye level and cocked his head to the side.  “Claire.  Ye look beautiful.”  

He slowly leaned in and kissed her cheek, softly, lingeringly.  He felt her turn her face into his, and heard her sigh.  He closed his eyes and savoured the moment.  

Claire had to resist the urge to place her hand on her cheek to hold his kiss.  

Jamie smiled and held out his hand to her.  “Come. Let me introduce ye.”

They really didn’t have much time to do more than grab a drink before being directed to sit for dinner. The food was delicious and the company was amazing.  Claire found herself seated between Ian and Jamie.  His brother-in-law was good company, and the two men teased each other like the good friends they were. The rest of the table included Rupert, a very funny man who worked in Marketing; Murtagh, Jamie’s quiet godfather; the boisterous Dougal Mackenzie, Jamie and Jenny’s uncle; Willie, Jamie’s assistant who was also a graphic designer, and Jenny.  Everyone was very kind to her.  Jamie’s sister, however, was another story.  Jenny didn’t say much, and answered Claire’s questions very succinctly. It was only when Claire asked after her children that Jenny became animated.  

Dougal had just finished telling a particularly suggestive story when Jamie said, “More wine, Sassenach?” and held the bottle over her glass.  

The table stilled.  

Claire looked around, surprised at the sudden silence.  Rupert and Willie looked down.  Murtagh glared at his godson. Dougal’s face was smug as his eyes shifted between her and Jamie.  And Jenny was gripping her knife and fork until her knuckles were white.  

Jamie cursed himself for using the nickname he gave her.  Christ. They’ll be all over it now.  He set the bottle down, and that’s when he heard Claire’s small intake of breath.  He glanced over.  She was staring intently at the label.  

Blushing furiously, she wiped her mouth and whispered, “Excuse me,” and was gone from the table before anyone could react.  

As Jamie stood to go after her, his chair knocked back, hard.  He looked at his sister.  In that moment Jenny saw - really saw her brother.  In his eyes she saw the fear and panic of a man who was certain he’d lost something precious.  His eyes were pleading with her as they used to when he was in trouble or hurt as a bairn. Help me fix this, Jenny.  What do I do? Jenny, it hurts.  

“I’ll go, ye muckle-sized fool. Sit down.”  And with a warning finger at the rest of the table to behave, she went after Claire.

She found her in the bathroom fumbling with her phone.

“Callin’ a friend to get ye out of this mess?”  Jenny asked.

Claire spun around. “No!”  She changed her mind when Jenny crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes. I was thinking of it.”

Jenny relaxed.  “I told him.  I said it wasna good idea.  He’d no’ hear of it.  In fact, he told me, and I quote, “ye’ll no’ change one fucking thing on that label.” You know, Claire, my brother is a lot of things.  But what he is, to his core, is a good man.  Honest.  Loyal.” She approached Claire slowly, and placed both hands around her clenched fists.  “And what he’s been for many years, is lonely.  He’s also no’ a man to give his heart lightly.  And I can tell, Claire.  He’s handed it over to you, right enough.”  

“Jenny –“ Claire hesitated. Jenny squeezed her hands in encouragement. “Jenny, he doesn’t understand me. Not really.”

“Och. Time, Claire.  All men need time.  And sometimes ye just need to tell them what to think.  Ask Ian. I tell him all the time!”  They both laughed.  

Jenny got serious again. “He never did it to embarrass you, Claire.  In fact, none of us noticed until Dougal pointed it out.”  

Claire sighed, “God, Jenny, what you all must think of me!”

“This isna the 18th Century, Claire.”  Jenny smiled softly.  “Ye know, I was furious at what he’d done. But I see it now for what it is.  It’s a love letter to ye, Claire. My brother poured his heart into those designs.  Into naming those wines. Each and every one.  In Gaelic, no less.”  Jenny smiled softly, “My Da used to speak to my Mam in Gaelic.”

Jenny’s dark eyes looked straight into Claire.  “It’s the language of love for a Fraser.”  

Jenny watched Claire absorb her words, and knew she’d hit home.  She squeezed Claire’s hands one last time for encouragement, then turned and left.

Claire stared at herself in the mirror.  She needed to decide what to do. 

Do I go? Stay? Try? Forget?  

In the end she composed herself and rejoined the table.  Good thing, too, because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun. There was dancing, and Jamie didn’t dance.  Apparently he was tone deaf.  Ian said he didn’t dance either because he had one left foot, which earned him a smack from his wife.  

Rupert let out a resounding, “Well, I do!” and dragged Claire out on the floor.  

But when the first slow song played, Jamie forcibly removed Rupert from Claire by grabbing his neck.  Jamie didn’t have much rhythm, but he could sway. He could place his hand on the bare stretch of her back and gently flex his fingers to stroke her skin.  He could entwine their fingers and keep her hand close to his heart.  He could slide his hand low on her back and press her to him.    

In other words, he could drive her mad.

They drove home in relative silence.  Jamie walked her up the stairs to her flat keeping his hands jammed in his pockets while she unlocked the door.  The urge to speak was strong, but she didn’t know where to start.  In the end, she didn’t have to because Jamie went first.

“It was never about the medicine, Claire. Or yer job.  I kent from the moment I met ye that ye were a healer.“

“What was it then?” Take the sharpness out of your tone, Beauchamp. He’s trying.

He shrugged.  “It was about shuttin’ me out.  I felt like an afterthought when all that time, ye’d been my every thought.” Jamie took a deep breath and tried to explain.  “It was about communicating. At least that’s how it was with my parents.  They were always tellin’ each other where they were going and when they’d be back.  No’ because they had to, but because they wanted to, ye ken?”

“No.  I don’t.  I don’t know.”  She was being stroppy, so she tried again.  

“Jamie, I – “ the words wouldn’t come easily.  “It was just me and Uncle Lamb, and I was left alone a lot.   But that’s not really the point.  The point is, I can’t promise it won’t happen again.  I can’t promise that when I’m back in school you won’t feel shut out from time to time.”  

Jamie searched her face.  He took a deep breath, and said, “Claire, when ye accepted my invitation for tonight ye said ye thought ye understood my meanin’.  Ye said ye’d never been happier. Together.”  He cleared his throat, hard, and forced the words past the fear.  “Ye said ye had hope.  Tell me, Sassenach,” Jamie whispered, “what hope do ye have?”  

Claire opened her door wide. “That this is real.  That it’s literally what’s sung about it,” and stepped aside.  

Jamie couldn’t believe what he saw.  All of his work strewn across her flat.  The plump French hens were on the mantle.  The black calling birds contrasted with the golden rings that served as her Christmas tree garland. Partridges nestled among the branches.  His eyes scanned her flat, taking it all in but…    

“The turtle doves.  Where are they?”  He searched her face.  

“In my bedroom.” she blushed. “Above my bed.”

Jamie couldn’t help himself. He was through the door and down the hall in a heartbeat.  What he saw took his breath away.  Twenty turtle doves hanging above her bed.  Swaying gently.  He poked one with his finger.  

But it was wrong.  It was all wrong.  

When Claire caught up to him he had shed his jacket and was taking off his shoes.  He stepped up on her bed grabbing the taped strings and muttering, “Ye dinna put them in order, Claire.”  He knew exactly which set of birds he wanted, and where.  He moved them into place, taping them back up, adjusting their positions.  

When he was done, he stepped off the bed and stood behind her.

“Now do you see?”

She did see.  She couldn’t help the tears that came to her eyes.  Oh yes, she did see.  

“It’s us.” she breathed.  “It’s our story.”

She didn’t realize.  How could she?  But it was all there.  The first set of doves with the larger one sitting perched, and the smaller one landing was her, coming into his life.  The second set, the smaller dove with her head tucked up to the larger dove’s throat, was when he took care of her.  Then, doves kissing. Then doves with their backs to each other.  And today’s doves that she received earlier, with the larger one’s head bent low, as if asking for forgiveness.  

The tears spilled over.  

“Turtle doves mate for life.” His voice whispered just behind her. “God, Claire, I have nothing to offer ye.  Only my true love, and what I can do with my two hands.  I make things.  I’m an artist.  My hands won’t save lives, like yers will. But I promise ye my hands will be in service to ye, and worship ye until our lives will be done.”

He stepped in front of her, slowly.  “Claire, I’ll ask yer pardon for what I said.  I dinna mean to call ye selfish, or tell ye that ye couldn’t handle yer job.   Christ, yer the least selfish woman on the planet.”

Claire stared into those sky blue eyes, clouded with worry.  She reached up and rubbed his strong chin.  “Forgiven, Jamie.”  She placed a hand on his heart.  “If you can forgive me, too. For doubting.  For running.  For not trusting you to be the man I knew you to be.”

He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.  “Forgiven, Lass.”

He shouldn’t have touched her. He should have kept his damn hands in his pocket, because just stroking the curve of her ear roused his desire.  Slowly, carefully he leaned in, giving her time to change her mind.  When Claire’s hands cupped his cheeks, he closed his eyes and softly settled his lips over hers.  

It was like setting fire to dry tinder.

He stepped closer, and let his mouth travel to the spot on her neck that had driven him mad all night. Desire raged, but he had to be sure.

“I want ye, Claire.” His mouth hot against her ear.  “I want ye so much I can scarcely breathe.”  He kissed her again, trying to keep his passion in check. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he forced her to look at him, “Will ye have me?” 

Claire could hear his desperation, and felt the same.  “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I’ll have you.”

The damn dress that drove him to distraction had to go.  His big hands tugged the neckline down as Claire pulled her arms free and let the fabric slither down her body and settle around her ankles.  

He was robbed of breath.  

Black strapless bra.  Black panties.  Black stockings.  Black heels.

Claire peeled off her underthings, but Jamie refused to let her take off the stockings.  He fell back on the bed with Claire on top of him.  

Claire could not, would not wait. Taking Jamie inside her she was overwhelmed by how good he felt, and how much she’d missed him.  He sat up to kiss her while she rode him, holding her hips and swallowing her moans.  It was hard and fast and explosive.  

Later, as she lay curled up next to him, Claire listened to his breathing while he slept and tried to remember what she’d heard him say when he’d entered her. 

She was almost positive he had said, “Home”.  

anonymous asked:

Have you considered any AUs around World War One?

Have I considered WWI AUs?!

*pulls on the tinfoil crown*

1. Germany won
It’s much  like SS-GB only it’s Bertie’s father in the Tower and the Dukes of York and Lancaster are running about trying to get the country moving again, David supporting Germany and Bertie… supporting David?

2. Jutland
The Collingwood is sunk and Bertie is pulled aboard a German ship and taken to Uncle Willy while the German Navy continues unchallenged. Partly as ransom and partly as an attempt to get Britain to behave, though he’s treated well as Willy’s relative.

3. Sudden Ascension
Bertie’s father and elder brother are both killed and it forces Bertie to the throne mid-war.

4. Revolution
Britain shelters their Russian cousins, only to face a revolution of their own as support for the Russian revolution grown in the UK and turns then against its own monarchy.


Tall, with the bearing of a guards officer, he had thick mutton chopside-whiskers with a touch of gray and a threateningly bristling mustache - his uncle Willy, the kinf og Prussia, and many other monarchs had such side-whiskers and mustaches. Naturally, all his ministers followed suit.

Despite the threatening mustache, his gaze betrayed his kindness and gentleness. His eyes bulged a bit, which cause his late uncle, Grand Duke Mikhail Pavlovich, to call him “Lambkin”. His eyes rolled helplessly from their orbit when he tried to imitate his father´s intimidating gaze. But they were divinely radiant when he was being charming. He was a typical charmer of the gallant era of French kings. Like many others at court who had studied French too assiduously as children, Alexander rolled his Rs in Russian.

Edvard Radzinsky: Alexander II