#Joe H. Lamb

[awriterofdivinedreams]

Name Meanings/Etymologies of Devil May Cry Characters

Classic Devil May Cry Canon A: Agnus - lamb Alice - noble, of nobility Alex Lowell - to defend, to protect | young wolf Alyssa Martin - rational, noble | warlike, of Mars, warrior Amanda - worthy to be loved Angelina Hagel - messenger of god | farm Arius - warlike, devoted to Ares Arkham - happy

B: Beryl - colour of the sea Bobby - bright fame, shining glory Butler - servant in charge of the wine cellar

C: Carlo - man, free man Cindy - light Chen the Cannibal - dawn, morning, great, tremendous Christopher Lowell - bearer of Christ | young wolf Claude - lame, disabled Credo - I believe

D: Dante - enduring, steadfast, lasting Ducas - leader, to guide, general

E: Elena Huston - bright, shining light | hugh's town, settlement on the hill Elise - oath of God, God is satisfaction Ernest - serious, determined Enzo Ferino - home ruler | iron Eva - life, living one

F: Fredi - peaceful ruler

G: Gloria - glory Grue - shiver, shudder

I: Isaac - he will laugh

J: J.D. Morrison - son of the dark-skinned Jeffrey Turner - pledge of peace, district, traveler | lathe worker Jessica - to see before, god beholds, to behold Joe - he will add Julio - youthful, youth, downy bearded

K: Kalina Ann - viburnum tree, to make red-hot | grace, mercy, favour Kerry Marcus - dark, dark-haired | warlike, dedicated to Mars Kyle - narrow, strait, channel Kyrie - lord

L: Lady - noble, bread kneader Lucia - light Lynn Marcus - lake | warlike, dedicated to Mars

M: "Mad Dog" Denvers - crazy, insane | canine | green valley Margaret - pearl Mary - bitter, beloved, drop of the sea Matier - friend, friendly Michel - who is like God Mike Hagel - who is like God | farm

N: Nell Goldstein - bright, shining light, weaver, merciful, god is my light | gold stone, touchstone Nero - black, strong, powerful Nesty - place to sit down, pure, chaste Nicoletta “Nico” Goldstein - victory of the people | gold stone, touchstone Nina Lowell - little girl | young wolf

P: Patty Lowell - noble, patrician | young wolf Patty Lowell (heiress) - noble, patrician | young wolf Paul - small, little, humble

R: Rock Goldstein - crag | gold stone, touchstone Roy Martin - king, red, redhead | warlike, of Mars, warrior

S: Sally - princess, noblewoman Santa Claus - saint, holy | victory of the people Sanctus - holy Simon - he has heard, flat-nosed Soldier “Crew Cut” - mercenary | short-length haircut Solemnis - annual, ceremonial, religiously fixed Sparda - sword, simple, frugal

T: Tiki - hope, waterfall, image Tim - to honour

V: V “Vitale” - Roman numeral for five | life giving, lively Vergil - flourishing Vincent - to conquer

X: χ (Chi) - christ, Greek numeral for six hundred

BOSSES and/or DEMONS

A: Abigail - father's joy Argosax - bright, shining Agni - fire, flame Artemis - butcher, safe

B: Bael - lord, master Balrog - demon of might Baul - snail, slow like a snail Beastheads - wild animal | top of body, leader, ruler Belphagor - lord of the gap, lord of the opening Beowulf - bee wolf, war wolf, bear Berial - worthless Bolverk - evildoer, worker of evil Bradley - broad meadow Brian Lowell - noble, high, hill, strong | young wolf

C: Cavaliere Angelo - knight, horseman, rider | messenger of god Cerberus - hound of the earth, black wolfhound, death-darkness

D: Dagon - grain, fish Demon of Capulet City - spirit | hat | citizen Demon of Morris Island - spirit | dark-skinned | watery land Director - to guide Doppelganger - double-goer, double-walker

E: Echidna - snake, viper Elder Geryon Knight - old | earth | boy, youth, servant

F: Freki - greedy, ravenous Frost - to freeze Furiataurus - fury of the bull, furious bull

G: Geri - rules with a spear, greedy Geryon - earth Gigapede - giant foot Gilgamesh - the ancestor is a hero Gilver - [ERROR 404: meaning of word not found]

Gilbert - bright pledge

Goliath - to uncover, reveal, running, destroyer Griffon - curved, bent

H: Hell Vanguard - to cover, conceal | before guard

I: Infested Chopper - to attack, hostile | helicopter Infested Tank - to attack, hostile | reservoir of water

J: Jester - reciter of romances, minstrel Jokatgulm - [ERROR 404: meaning of word not found]

K: King Cerberus - ruler | hound of the earth, black wolfhound, death-darkness

L: Leviathan - to twist, coiled

M: Machiavelli - bad little nail Mad Hatter - crazy, insane | maker of hoods, maker of cowls Malphas - mischief Modeus [Asmodeus] - wrathful spirit, demon of wrath Mundus - world

N: Nefascapitis - head of sin, head of violation of divine law Nefasturris - tower of sin, tower of violation of divine law Nefasvermis - worm of sin, worm of violation of divine law Nelo Angelo - black, strong, powerful | messenger of god Nevan - little saint, little holy one Nidhogg - malice striker Nightmare - a female demon suffocates sleepers Nina Lowell (demon) - little girl | young wolf Noctpteran - night wing

O: Orangguerra - war orangutan

P: Phantom - an apparition, specter Plesio - near, close Plutonian - relating to wealth, relating to riches Pride - brave, pomp, valiant Priest - one who leads cattle

Q: Qliphoth - husks, empty shells

R: Red Eye - airplane flight that deprives travelers of sleep, raw and inferior whiskey Rudra - howler, roarer, to cry

S: Sara - princess, noblewoman Secretary - one entrusted with secrets Sid - wide Sloth - indolence, slowness, laziness

T: Tartarussian - relating to a deep pit Tateobesu - vertical, length, height | fat, stout, plump The Savior - the one who saves others Trismagia - three magicians

U: Urizen - your reason, to limit

W: White Rabbit - bright, shine | young rabbit

Ninja Theory's DmC: Devil May Cry Canon

A:  Assiel - created by god

B: Bob Barbas - bright fame, shining glory | beard, uncle, stammering

D: Dante (DmC) - enduring, steadfast, lasting

E: Eva (DmC) - life, living one

H: Hollow Dante - empty place | enduring, steadfast, lasting Hollow Kat - empty place | pure, clear Hollow Vergil - empty place | flourishing Hunter - one who chases wild animals

K: Kat - pure, clear

L: Lilith - spirit of the night

M: Mundus (DmC) - world Mundus's Spawn - world | to spread out, expand

P: Phineas - mouth of brass, dark skinned, serpent's mouth

S: Sparda (DmC) - sword, simple, frugal Succubus - to lie beneath

V: Vergil (DmC) - flourishing

#Devil May Cry #Dante Sparda #Vergil Sparda #Nero Sparda #Eva Sparda #Sparda #Patty Lowell #Lady DMC #Trish Sparda #Too lazy to add more character tags #The written word #Tis mine #Helpful tips #I make lists when I'm bored #Name Meanings #Word Etymologies #Writer’s Random Research #nicoletta goldstein

[stlhandyman]

Supreme Court, U.S FILED In The OCT 2 2022 Supreme Court ofthe United States  RALAND J BRUNSON, Petitioner,

Named persons in their capacities as United States House Representatives: ALMA S. ADAMS; PETE AGUILAR; COLIN Z. ALLRED; MARK E. AMODEI; KELLY ARMSTRONG; JAKE AUCHINCLOSS; CYNTHIA AXNE; DON BACON; TROY BALDERSON; ANDY BARR; NANETTE DIAZ BARRAGAN; KAREN BASS; JOYCE BEATTY; AMI BERA; DONALD S. BEYER JR.; GUS M. ILIRAKIS; SANFORD D. BISHOP JR.; EARL BLUMENAUER; LISA BLUNT ROCHESTER; SUZANNE BONAMICI; CAROLYN BOURDEAUX; JAMAAL BOWMAN; BRENDAN F. BOYLE; KEVIN BRADY; ANTHONY G. BROWN; JULIA BROWNLEY; VERN BUCHANAN; KEN BUCK; LARRY BUCSHON; CORI BUSH; CHERI BUSTOS; G. K. BUTTERFIELD; SALUD 0. CARBAJAL; TONY CARDENAS; ANDRE CARSON; MATT CARTWRIGHT; ED CASE; SEAN CASTEN; KATHY CASTOR; JOAQUIN CASTRO; LIZ CHENEY; JUDY CHU; DAVID N. CICILLINE; KATHERINE M. CLARK; YVETTE D. CLARKE; EMANUEL CLEAVER; JAMES E. CLYBURN; STEVE COHEN; JAMES COMER; GERALD E. CONNOLLY; JIM COOPER; J. LUIS CORREA; JIM COSTA; JOE COURTNEY; ANGIE CRAIG; DAN CRENSHAW; CHARLIE CRIST; JASON CROW; HENRY CUELLAR; JOHN R. CURTIS; SHARICE DAVIDS; DANNY K. DAVIS; RODNEY DAVIS; MADELEINE DEAN; PETER A. DEFAZIO; DIANA DEGETTE; ROSAL DELAURO; SUZAN K. DELBENE; Ill ANTONIO DELGADO; VAL BUTLER DEMINGS; MARK DESAULNIER; THEODORE E. DEUTCH; DEBBIE DINGELL; LLOYD DOGGETT; MICHAEL F. DOYLE; TOM EMMER; VERONICA ESCOBAR; ANNA G. ESHOO; ADRIANO ESPAILLAT; DWIGHT EVANS; RANDY FEENSTRA; A. DREW FERGUSON IV; BRIAN K. FITZPATRICK; LIZZIE LETCHER; JEFF FORTENBERRY; BILL FOSTER; LOIS FRANKEL; MARCIA L. FUDGE; MIKE GALLAGHER; RUBEN GALLEGO; JOHN GARAMENDI; ANDREW R. GARBARINO; SYLVIA R. GARCIA; JESUS G. GARCIA; JARED F. GOLDEN; JIMMY GOMEZ; TONY GONZALES; ANTHONY GONZALEZ; VICENTE GONZALEZ; JOSH GOTTHEIMER; KAY GRANGER; AL GREEN; RAUL M. GRIJALVA; GLENN GROTHMAN; BRETT GUTHRIE; DEBRA A. HAALAND; JOSH HARDER; ALCEE L. HASTINGS; JAHANA HAYES; JAIME HERRERA BEUTLER; BRIAN HIGGINS; J. FRENCH HILL; JAMES A. HIMES; ASHLEY HINSON; TREY HOLLINGSWORTH; STEVEN HORSFORD; CHRISSY HOULAHAN; STENY H. HOYER; JARED HUFFMAN; BILL HUIZENGA; SHEILA JACKSON LEE; SARA JACOBS; PRAMILA JAYAPAL; HAKEEM S. JEFFRIES; DUSTY JOHNSON; EDDIE BERNICE JOHNSON; HENRY C. JOHNSON JR.; MONDAIRE JONES; DAVID P. JOYCE; KAIALPI KAHELE; MARCY KAPTUR; JOHN KATKO; WILLIAM R. KEATING; RO KHANNA; DANIEL T. KILDEE; DEREK KILMER; ANDY KIM; YOUNG KIM; RON KIND; ADAM KINZINGER; ANN KIRKPATRICK; RAJA KRISHNAMOORTHI; ANN M. KUSTER; DARIN LAHOOD; CONOR LAMB; JAMES R. LANGEVIN; RICK LARSEN; JOHN B. LARSON; ROBERT E. LATTA; JAKE LATURNER; BRENDA L. LAWRENCE; AL LAWSON JR.; BARBARA LEE; SUSIE LEE; TERESA LEGER FERNANDEZ; ANDY LEVIN; MIKE LEVIN; TED LIEU; IV ZOE LOFGREN; ALAN S.LOWENTHAL; ELAINE G. LURIA; STEPHEN F. LYNCH; NANCY MACE; TOM MALINOWSKI; CAROLYN B. MALONEY; SEAN PATRICK MALONEY; KATHY E. MANNING; THOMAS MASSIE; DORIS 0. MATSUI; LUCY MCBATH; MICHAEL T. MCCAUL; TOM MCCLINTOCK; BETTY MCCOLLUM; A. ADONALD MCEACHIN; JAMES P. MCGOVERN; PATRICK T. MCHENRY; DAVID B. MCKINLEY; JERRY MCNERNEY; GREGORY W. MEEKS; PETER MEIJER; GRACE MENG; KWEISI MFUME; MARIANNETTE MILLER-MEEKS; JOHN R. MOOLENAAR; BLAKE D. MOORE; GWEN MOORE; JOSEPH D. MORELLE; SETH MOULTON; FRANK J. MRVAN; STEPHANIE N. MURPHY; JERROLD NADLER; GRACE F. NAPOLITANO; RICHARD E. NEAL; JOE NEGUSE; DAN NEWHOUSE; MARIE NEWMAN; DONALD NORCROSS; ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ; TOM O'HALLERAN; ILHAN OMAR; FRANK PALLONE JR.; JIMMY PANETTA; CHRIS PAPPAS; BILL PASCRELL JR.; DONALD M. PAYNE JR.; NANCY PELOSI; ED PERLMUTTER; SCOTT H. PETERS; DEAN PHILLIPS; CHELLIE PINGREE; MARK POCAN; KATIE PORTER; AYANNA PRESSLEY; DAVID E. PRICE; MIKE QUIGLEY; JAMIE RASKIN; TOM REED; KATHLEEN M. RICE; CATHY MCMORRIS RODGERS; DEBORAH K. ROSS; CHIP ROY; LUCILLE ROYBAL-ALLARD; RAUL RUIZ; C. A. DUTCH RUPPERSBERGER; BOBBY L. RUSH; TIM RYAN; LINDA T. SANCHEZ; JOHN P. SARBANES; MARY GAY SCANLON; JANICE D. SCHAKOWSKY; ADAM B. SCHIFF; BRADLEY SCOTT SCHNEIDER; KURT SCHRADER; KIM SCHRIER; AUSTIN SCOTT; DAVID SCOTT; ROBERT C. SCOTT; TERRI A. SEWELL; BRAD SHERMAN; MIKIE SHERRILL; MICHAEL K. SIMPSON; ALBIO SIRES; ELISSA SLOTKIN; ADAM SMITH; CHRISTOPHER H. V SMITH; DARREN SOTO; ABIGAIL DAVIS SPANBERGER; VICTORIA SPARTZ; JACKIE SPEIER; GREG STANTON; PETE STAUBER; MICHELLE STEEL; BRYAN STEIL; HALEY M. STEVENS; STEVE STIVERS; MARILYN STRICKLAND; THOMAS R. SUOZZI; ERIC SWALWELL; MARK TAKANO; VAN TAYLOR; BENNIE G. THOMPSON; MIKE THOMPSON; DINA TITUS; RASHIDA TLAIB; PAUL TONKO; NORMA J. TORRES; RITCHIE TORRES; LORI TRAHAN; DAVID J. TRONE; MICHAEL R. TURNER; LAUREN UNDERWOOD; FRED UPTON; JUAN VARGAS; MARC A. VEASEY; FILEMON VELA; NYDIA M. VELAZQUEZ; ANN WAGNER; MICHAEL WALTZ; DEBBIE WASSERMAN SCHULTZ; MAXINE WATERS; BONNIE WATSON COLEMAN; PETER WELCH; BRAD R. WENSTRUP; BRUCE WESTERMAN; JENNIFER WEXTON; SUSAN WILD; NIKEMA WILLIAMS; FREDERICA S. WILSON; STEVE WOMACK; JOHN A. YARMUTH; DON YOUNG; the following persons named are for their capacities as U.S. Senators; TAMMY BALDWIN; JOHN BARRASSO; MICHAEL F. BENNET; MARSHA BLACKBURN; RICHARD BLUMENTHAL; ROY BLUNT; CORY A. BOOKER; JOHN BOOZMAN; MIKE BRAUN; SHERROD BROWN; RICHARD BURR; MARIA CANTWELL; SHELLEY CAPITO; BENJAMIN L. CARDIN; THOMAS R. CARPER; ROBERT P. CASEY JR.; BILL CASSIDY; SUSAN M. COLLINS; CHRISTOPHER A. COONS; JOHN CORNYN; CATHERINE CORTEZ MASTO; TOM COTTON; KEVIN CRAMER; MIKE CRAPO; STEVE DAINES; TAMMY DUCKWORTH; RICHARD J. DURBIN; JONI ERNST; DIANNE FEINSTEIN; DEB FISCHER; KIRSTEN E. GILLIBRAND; LINDSEY GRAHAM; CHUCK GRASSLEY; BILL HAGERTY; MAGGIE HASSAN; MARTIN HEINRICH; JOHN HICKENLOOPER; MAZIE HIRONO; JOHN HOEVEN; JAMES INHOFE; RON VI JOHNSON; TIM KAINE; MARK KELLY; ANGUS S. KING, JR.; AMY KLOBUCHAR; JAMES LANKFORD; PATRICK LEAHY; MIKE LEE; BEN LUJAN; CYNTHIA M. LUMMIS; JOE MANCHIN III; EDWARD J. MARKEY; MITCH MCCONNELL; ROBERT MENENDEZ; JEFF MERKLEY; JERRY MORAN; LISA MURKOWSKI; CHRISTOPHER MURPHY; PATTY MURRAY; JON OSSOFF; ALEX PADILLA; RAND PAUL; GARY C. PETERS; ROB PORTMAN; JACK REED; JAMES E. RISCH; MITT ROMNEY; JACKY ROSEN; MIKE ROUNDS; MARCO RUBIO; BERNARD SANDERS; BEN SASSE; BRIAN SCHATZ; CHARLES E. SCHUMER; RICK SCOTT; TIM SCOTT; JEANNE SHAHEEN; RICHARD C. SHELBY; KYRSTEN SINEMA; TINA SMITH; DEBBIE STABENOW; DAN SULLIVAN; JON TESTER; JOHN THUNE; THOM TILLIS; PATRICK J. TOOMEY; HOLLEN VAN; MARK R. WARNER; RAPHAEL G. WARNOCK; ELIZABETH WARREN; SHELDON WHITEHOUSE; ROGER F. WICKER; RON WYDEN; TODD YOUNG; JOSEPH ROBINETTE BIDEN JR in his capacity of President of the United States; MICHAEL RICHARD PENCE in his capacity as former Vice President of the United States, and KAMALA HARRIS in her capacity as Vice President of the United States and JOHN and JANE DOES 1-100.  

https://www.supremecourt.gov/DocketPDF/22/22-380/243739/20221027152243533_20221027-152110-95757954-00007015.pdf

[oldgooddaysoldgooddays]

219

Feels like someone sucker punched my outer thighs and yet I'm too afraid to idle at home so I force myself into 2 hours of dispassionate painting ahead of friends coming over for dinner. It doesn't seem right that I have to host my own celebration, and yet I chose this. Secretly better than Ottolenghi, the Israeli restaurant Honey and Co delivers mezze, stews, and baklava to my house at 4.30pm and then I FaceTime with V who is sunning herself in Bahia, tell her I don't want to see anybody. Making space for 8 in my home requires grievous rearrangement of furniture. It is only when I do this that I realise how many beverages and cleaning products I buy in bulk, and how nuts it looks. I cover the beverages with music equipment and put my antidepressants in an elegant bowl as though they're on offer to guests, and I stuff socks into the crevice of my sofa for no good reason. I meditate, bathe, weirdly walk out my front door and walk back in to imagine what a stranger sees, scan the main room for residual dead giveaways that something is wrong with how I live J arrives first, the only other Capricorn, it's his birthday tomorrow. I tell him I don't know why I love so many late people. He gets me a ceramic jug in the shape of a frog and some tulips. Then C, freshly out of the covid danger zone, asking for more parking permits. As for the year's supply of rolling papers he gifts me - remembering that that's all I said I wanted when we watched the World Cup last month - he says they were really hard to get. He was on the phone with various HR departments of various suppliers. In many ways, knowing C but his hard-earned journalistic credentials to such bad use moves me more than any act of love I've ever received / will ever receive. He also hands me a card with Joe Rogan on it, reading "happy birthday man! That's crazy! Have you ever done DMT?". I can't believe someone made this, I say, placing it in the shelving system overlooking where we will eat. "I found a right wing Etsy store", C explains S and J and H, the Goldsmiths contingent, and most sympathetic to my feeling old at 30 since they, too are all hovering around 30. More flowers than there are vases. Good problem to have. I force everybody to eat, like the anorexic mother I may someday become. M arrives and says he used up all his punctuality getting to the spa yesterday. Everybody is smoking, which will later irritate me, despite my own contribution to it. I have a prejudice against pre-rolled cigarettes, convinced that the extra chemicals make the stench worse. I always do this when I host, engage in pedantry. M's loud eating will also later drive me up the wall. F rocks up at 8, never removes their hands from their pockets except to eat lamb which they'll claim helped ease the pain of a recent breakup. I find myself feeling guilty at what an early 2000s British nostalgia showdown the dinner becomes, and how lost F (Canadian) looks when J and C start screaming quotes from former "Steps" band member Lisa Scott-Lee's reality spin off show at each other from across the room. Many of the references are even lost on me. I wasn't allowed much television as a child. C tells us of a tv host who used to weight recently postpartum celebrities on his show to shame them for not losing the baby weight. I manage to relax. At the very least, the food is fantastic. I make a note to write the restaurant owners the following day When everybody leaves at midnight I tell R I have to move all the furniture back to its pre-dinner state. "Or you won't sleep, right?", he asks, "I'm the same". I can't vacuum this late so I sweep furiously and text R "I'm sweeping furiously". Eventually I climb into my delicious bed, delighted to have fulfilled all of the week's social expectations, and knowing all I have to do on Saturday is get three sets of keys cut in Kensington. The wind whistling through the gaps in Georgian architecture is a lullaby for adults

[celtfather]

Top 5 Christmas Traditions, Anne Roos Christmas Story

Winter’s Eve is a wee bit away, but Anne Roos has a tune to get you in the holiday mood on the Celtic Christmas Podcast. What are your Top 5 Christmas traditions? Subscribe at CelticChristmasPodcast.com.

WELCOME TO THE CELTIC CHRISTMAS PODCAST

I am Marc Gunn. I am a musician and podcaster. We are promoting Celtic culture through Christmas cheer.

If you want to get your music on the show, email me celticpodcast.

Punching through the walls of tradition, The McDades' Celtic-rooted music fuses the spontaneity of jazz improvisation and infectious global rhythms. The Juno Award Winners' cutting edge sound is the perfect complement to their fiery performances.

0:48 - Terry McDade & The McDades "The First Noel" from Winter Rose

3:26 - INTRO - Jennifer Licko

The award-winning music of Jennifer Licko is influenced by stories, melodies, and instruments from the Carolinas and the ancient Scots who settled the cape fear region. As a vocalist, her message through song is delivered through both traditional Celtic music and original compositions that help deliver the story of who we are today because of our deep-rooted Celtic heritage.

She has several Celtic Christmas concerts scheduled in December in North Carolina and South Carolina. In addition to her Christmas album, she also has a Christmas bundle you should check out. She’s been a part of the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast since 2008.

4:09 - Jennifer Licko "The Holly and The Ivy" from The Lights Of Christmas

7:48 - THANK YOU CHRISTMAS PATRONS

The Celtic Christmas Podcast is brought to you by the kindness of Celtic Christmas fans on Patreon. Your generosity funds the creation, promotion, and production of the show.

Thanks to our Christmas Song Hengers: Joe H, Hank W, robert k, Trevor T, Jan C

Thanks to our Christmas Producer: Carol Baril

Join others to spread Christmas Cheer! Sign up for as little as $1 per episode on Patreon.

A fan of the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast recommended I reach out to The Chivalrous Crickets. They explore the roots, branches, and crossroads of Celtic, English, and American folk music. With equal attention to engaging performances and academic rigor, they bring to the stage boldly reimagined arrangements of standards and original songs with traditional influence. Their first full-length album was a Christmas album released last year.

8:50 - The Chivalrous Crickets "Rise Up Shepherd - Bright Morning Stars" from A Chivalrous Cricketmas

13:40 - MY TOP 5 CHRISTMAS TRADITIONS?

Nuts

Kids opening Presents

Lamb dinner

Decorating the Christmas tree

Listening to Christmas music

Canadian born musician Susan Toman is a Celtic harpist, harpsichordist, and pianist who has gained widespread recognition as a performer, teacher, and recording artist. She performs as a soloist and in ensembles for concerts, weddings and special events. Susan teaches music in her home studio in Ottawa, Ontario, and is also available for online lessons. She has a Christmas concert scheduled for December 10th in Ottawa, Canada.

15:30 - Susan Toman "Silent Night" from Angels on High

18:14 - INTRO – Spoil The Dance

Spoil The Dance hail from N.E. Derbys. They play traditional and contemporary songs and tunes of a mostly Scots/Irish nature. Their Bandcamp page says all profits from gigs and album sales are donated to local charities. They have a brand new single.

18:38 - Spoil the Dance "Noel Nouvelet (Sing We Now Of Christmas)" from Noel Nouvelet (Sing We Now Of Christmas)

22:37 - CELTIC CHRISTMAS SPOTIFY PLAYLIST: Fun Christmas Songs for Kids and Families

Marc Gunn is a Rhythm & Folk songwriter who fuses Irish and Scottish folk songs with pop culture. His musical weapon of choice is the autoharp. He breathes Rock and Roll into this folk instrument and adds a bellowing taste of rhythm & blues.

23:35 - Marc Gunn "Frosty the Irish Snowman" from Celtic Christmas Greetings

26:40 - INTRO – Steel Clover

Steel Clover, (also known as Sue Borowski), is a Celtic singer, songwriter and recording artist from the historic steel town of Homestead, Pittsburgh, PA. Sue has been in the Celtic scene for almost a decade and has been playing music in some very interesting venues. She is a multi-instrumentalist and continues to study Irish and Scottish fiddling.

27:05 - Steel Clover "Winter Wonder Day" from Season Of Love

30:24 - HOLIDAY FEATURE: ANNE ROOS & DAVID BLONSKI

Harpist Anne Roos is a Grammy Award-winning harper. David Blonski in a new age Flutist of old world and folk melodies. Together you can relish the playful dancing between Anne’s Celtic harp and David’s silver flute in traditional tunes that echo the spirit of the fall, winter, and holidays. Their brand new Christmas album is called A Winter’s Dance. Joyfully enter another place and time, dance with the snowflakes, and immerse yourself in these delightful instrumentals!

Anne Roos has been a part of the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast since 2008. She is a brilliant harper. She will tell you a little more about her tune.

32:55 - Anne Roos & David Blonski “Winter’s Eve Aire” from A Winter’s Dance

You can find out more about the album on Anne Roos’ website at harpistanneroos.com.

37:05 - WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE CELTIC CHRISTMAS SONG?

Patrons of Celtic Christmas Podcast can Cast Your Vote for Your Favorite Track in each episode. In a moment, I’ll tell you which tune won last time.

But before I do, please add all of your favorite songs to your own holiday playlist. Or even better, support the artist by buying their music or joining their mailing list.

It’s time to announce the most-popular Celtic Christmas track in the last episode. The winner was…

Galway-based We Banjo 3 has one foot in Irish music and one foot in Americana music, seamlessly combining the virtuosity and precision in each genre’s traditional disciplines with the artful song-craft and infectious live performance of today’s musical landscape.

38:14 - We Banjo 3 "Joy to the World" from A Winter Wonderful

You have just two weeks to vote for your favorite track. Become a patron and cast your vote. While you’re there, let me know if there’s a Celtic Christmas song or tune that I should add to the next episode of the show.

41:02 - CLOSING

Celtic Christmas Podcast was produced by Marc Gunn. The show was edited by Mitchell Petersen with Graphics by Miranda Nelson Designs.

Subscribe through your favorite podcatcher or on our website where you can become a Christmas Patron for as little as $1 per episode. Promote Celtic culture through Christmas music at CelticChristmasPodcast.com. Nollaig Shona Daoibh!

#celticchristmas #celticchristmasmusic

Check out this episode!

#Celtic christmas #christmas music #celtic christmas music #irish christmas #irish christmas music #scottish christmas #irish celtic music #celtic music #irish music #scottish music

[animusrox]

LETTERBOXD

1.   The Green Knight 2.   The Suicide Squad 3.   Boiling Point 4.   Red Rocket 5.   Pig 6.   CODA 7.   Nightmare Alley 8.   The Card Counter 9.   Psycho Goreman 10. Zola

Grade A

11.   Flee 12.   The Mitchells vs. The Machines 13.   The Novice 14.   The Humans 15.   Mass 16.   Drive My Car 17.   King Richard 18.   Blue Bayou 19.   Summertime 20.   Dune 21.   The Worst Person in the World 22.   Summer of Soul 23.   A Hero 24.   Parallel Mothers 25.   Spencer 26.   Lamb 27.   A Quiet Place Part II 28.   Werewolves Within 29.   The French Dispatch 30.   The Nowhere Inn 31.   V/H/S 94 32.   Candyman 33.   Shiva Baby 34.   New York Ninja 35.   Copshop 36.   The Lost Daughter 37.   Malignant 38.   Last Night in Soho 39.   No Sudden Move 40.   The Harder They Fall 41.   In the Earth 42.   The Tragedy of Macbeth 43.   No Time to Die 44.   Coming Home in the Dark 45.   Belfast 46.   Censor 47.   Pleasure 48.   The Power of the Dog 49.   A Classic Horror Story 50.   Licorice Pizza 51.   Riders of Justice 52.   West Side Story 53.   Spider-Man: No Way Home 54.   Nobody 55.   Finch 56.   Together Together

Click "Keep Reading” For My Full List

Grade B

57.   Bo Burnham: Inside 58.   The Courier 59.   Don’t Look Up 60.   National Champions 61.   The Night House 62.   Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings 63.   Black Widow 64.   Eternals 65.   The Tender Bar 66.   Titane 67.   Benedetta 68.   Fear Street: 1666 69.   Roadrunner: A Film About Anthony Bourdain 70.   Best Sellers 71.   Paranormal Activity: Next of Kin 72.   The Many Saints of Newark 73.   In The Heights 74.   Val 75.   Luca 76.   Annette 77.   F9 78.   House of Gucci 79.   The Last Duel 80.   Swan Song 81.   Cruella 82.   Queenpins 83.   Stowaway 84.   Boss Level 85.   Old Henry 86.   The Eyes of Tammy Faye 87.   Antlers 88.   Oxygen 89.   Fear Street: 1978 90.   Passing 91.   Encanto 92.   tick, tick…BOOM! 93.   C’mon C’mon 94.   Willy’s Wonderland 95.   Halloween Kills 96.   False Positive 97.   Stillwater 98.   The Forever Purge 99.   The Water Man 100.   Bingo Hell 101.   Wrath of Man 102.   Jockey 103.   Ghostbusters: Afterlife 104.   Four Good Days 105.   Mother/Android 106.   Free Guy 107.   Cyrano 108.   Chaos Walking 109.   The Boy Behind the Door

Grade C

110.   Superhost 111.   The King’s Man 112.   Black as Night 113.   Batman: Soul of the Dragon 114.   Sing 2 115.   Kate 116.   The Matrix Resurrections 117.   Wolf 118.   Peter Rabbit 2: The Runaway 119.   Justice Society: World War II 120.   Being the Ricardos 121.   Escape Room: Tournament of Champions 122.   Ron’s Gone Wrong 123.   Godzilla vs. Kong 124.   The Unforgivable 125.   Silent Night 126.   Batman: The Long Halloween, Part One 127.   Batman: The Long Halloween, Part Two 128.   Moxie 129.   Raya and the Last Dragon 130.   Madres 131.   Italian Studies 132.   Nine Days 133.   The Marksman 134.   Vacation Friends 135.   Till Death 136.   The Guilty 137.   Worth 138.   Encounter 139.   Fear Street: 1994 140.   Concrete Cowboy 141.   India Sweets and Spices 142.   Don’t Breathe 2 143.   Resident Evil: Welcome to Raccoon City 144.   Army of the Dead 145.   South of Heaven 146.   Army of Thieves 147.   The Protégé

Grade D

148.   Barb and Star Go to Vista Del Mar 149.   American Underdog 150.   Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard 151.   Mortal Kombat 152.   Bruised 153.   Those Who Wish Me Dead 154.   Separation 155.   Mainstream 156.   Prisoners of the Ghostland 157.   Jungle Cruise 158.   Snake Eyes: G.I. Joe Origins 159.   Demonic 160.   Joe Bell 161.   Respect 162.   Old 163.   Gunpowder Milkshake 164.   Coming 2 America 165.   Jakob’s Wife 166.   The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It 167.   Voyagers 168.   Zone 414 169.   Tom Clancy’s Without Remorse 170.   Clifford the Big Red Dog 171.   Injustice 172.   Awake 173.   The Tomorrow War

Grade F

174.   Reno 911! The Hunt for Q 175.   Home Sweet Home Alone 176.   Straight Outta Nowhere: Scooby-Doo! Meets Courage 177.   The Unholy 178.   Reminiscence 179.   Spiral: From the Book of Saw 180.   Cry Macho 181.   Mortal Kombat Legends: Battle of the Realms 182.   Jolt 183.   Infinite 184.   Rumble 185.   Midnight in the Switchgrass 186.   A Journal for Jordan 187.   Venom: Let There Be Carnage 188.   The Manor 189.   The Ice Road 190.   Boogie

Bottom 10

191.   The Woman in the Window 192.   Thunder Force 193.   Tom & Jerry 194.   Space Jam: A New Legacy 195.   Zack Snyder’s Justice League 196.   Dear Evan Hansen 197.   Red Notice 198.   The Addams Family 2 199.   Habit 200.   The Boss Baby: Family Business

#kane52630 #filmedit #top 10 2021 #filmgifs #doyouevenfilm #fyeahmovies #top 10 year #moviegifs #dailyflicks #userrobin #userksusha #top 10 #cinemapix #cinemaspam #userel #userbrit #userbritney #gifs #the green knight #the suicide squad #boling point #red rocket #pig 2021 #coda #nightmare alley #the card counter #zola #psycho goreman #movie

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

NSFW with Chuck Grant

~ ~ ~

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

 Charles Grant is a walking example of “acts like a badass, is actually a softie” bc BOY, IS HE HARD (lol) TO GET A READ ON. 

When you first start fucking, he doesn’t really have the instinct to stick around after and soak up the afterglow- mostly bc that’s not the dynamic that any of his previous relationships operated under, but also bc he’s like Lieb and doesn’t feel comfortable being vulnerable and potentially having you reject him. He only confidently leaves the first time, and then he judges whether to stay or not on how you look at him as he makes to get dressed after the second time you boink. If you want your space, he’ll go and be back the next day as long as you let him, but if you look even a little bit offended or hurt, he’s getting his ass back in that bed and doing whatever he can to get that sad look out of your eyes.

When he does stay, he’s down to give you whatever he can manage. 

He’s all for slowly kissing you while trailing his fingertips up and down your side, but if you just want to sleep beside him he is more than cool with it (he’ll probably still pet you a lil bit after you fall asleep bc he’s soft for you but shh shh shh don’t tell anyone). The only thing he isn’t very good at doing is pillow talk, especially right after sex. He’s too worried about saying the wrong thing and fucking up what he’s managed to establish with you. 

It isn’t until after he’s shot that he realizes how nice it feels to have someone else take care of him, and when you do so after sex it solidifies the fact that you don’t see him as a burden- you want him and you want to stay. Thank god, too. He doesn’t think he could recover without you (again, not that he’d ever tell you that)

 B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

 Your AhhhhhhHSSSSssssSSSSSs!!!!!!

Oh wow, look at you- owner of the cutest butt he’s ever seen. Can he put his hands on it? Can he squeeze it? Please please puh-lease can you let him watch it jiggle as he fucks you? If you’ve answered yes to any of these questions, then you’ve made each and every single one of his dreams come true. 

He doesn’t discriminate in his love for butts- he’s an equal-opportunity appreciator of the Majesty of the Female Ass™. If it changes size throughout your relationship, he’ll love it even more. Absolutely shameless.

On himself? He likes his legs- especially his thighs. 

He likes how strong they are, despite how much he hates Sobel for getting them to their current strength re: Currahee. But he gets over it quickly bc oh wow is he happy with their endurance while trying to keep up with you, both sexually and otherwise. The day he realized you could ride yourself to orgasm on them was the day he died and went to heaven and was sent back to sin again.

 C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

 He likes cumming on your pubic mound and then watching it slide down your pussy, thank you very much. If you guys are trying for kids or in a position where you don’t have to worry about not having kids, he’ll cum inside of you happily but oh wow he likes watching it slide down your lower lips. BONUS POINTS if he gets to catch it on his thumb and either stick it in your mouth OR circle your clit with it in order to get you off one more time.

Also, you asking him where he wants to cum on you gets him hot under the proverbial collar. 

 D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

 He’d do literally anything for you if you’d let him put his finger in your ass. He will genuinely kill an individual of your choice if you let him put his cock there instead. What a perv (jk it takes a lot of vulnerability for some people to convey their wants and desires to their partners plz remember that this has been a PSA).

The one thing he’ll never actually tell you about... EVER is that for a little while after meeting you for the first time in Georgia, he started hooking up with a girl who he didn’t realize (until much later) bore a striking resemblance to you. He’d had to end the relationship when he straight-up called out your name when he came (he was a lil drunk, just tipsy enough to slip up) and full-on booked it out of there bc not only had he pissed the girl off, but his shout had woken up her family- namely her very angry father- and barely escaped with his life.

 E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

 He’s had two lovers before you, but one of them was really experienced and patient and bless that woman. All he really has to do is learn what you like and he’ll commit it to memory. 

And you better be damn sure that he’ll use that knowledge against you/for his benefit. 

 F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

 Doggy style for all the reasons mentioned before. Or reverse cowgirl. Or normal cowgirl. His hands + your butt= dream combo.

 G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

 He can be goofy, but more than anything else he likes it when you’re goofy. Chuck can get a little too in his own head at times, which can lead to frustration/self-doubt- ESPECIALLY while recovering from his brain injury. You reminding him that sex is meant to be fun does him a huge favor, bc poor lamb will forget that every so often.

So please, nibble at his earlobe in that way that tickles him. Make a quip at the expense of one of your friends. Mock the silly sound of the moan you just let slip out.

 H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

 He’s not going to groom unless you tell him to, but he also doesn’t feel like you need to groom for him, either. Chuck’s not afraid to admit how much his personal hygiene has improved since meeting you. 

I can promise you that if you’re heavily invested in skin/hair care, he’ll probably be just as into building his own routine. 

 I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

 You always have Chuck’s full and undivided attention during sex, but he won’t necessarily show it unless he gets the guy feeling/you tell him that you want him to be. He’s going to whisper sexy things into your ear, call you a good girl (if not his good girl), and do everything in his power (at the time, at least (he can get a little distracted if you’re doing something particularly sexy)) to make sure you feel just how appreciated you are. He gets more and more confident in his PDA as your relationship progresses, but when it’s just you two? You’ll never meet a bigger sweetheart.

 J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

 Ok, so I’m deciding for you that mutual masturbation is a thing that you’re both into, m’kay? 

I'm also making the executive decision that you really enjoy watching him get himself off. You walked in on him one time, before you’d had sex, and were so stunned that you just watched in rapt attention until awkwardly backing out of the room and slamming the door shut. He’d nearly cum right then and there, and it got you extremely aroused. 

The next time you see each other, at some Georgia bar while on a pass, you offhandedly mention that you wish you hadn’t left and FROM THAT DAY ON he always lets you know when he’s feeling the urge and how you’re more than welcome to watch.

And when you do? It’s always a much shorter experience than he intends bc wow how hot are you?

 K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

 Frottage! Dry Humping! Grinding!

Allow me to explain:

In the months following D-Day, it was quickly understood that being on the frontlines meant having traditional forms of sex were no longer on the table (hehe) for you two. You’d experimented with rucking your trousers down your thighs, his thighs, both of your thighs, and each time it was a disaster (with one of the worst times ending up falling onto Tab after he’d inadvertently opened a door that Chuck had been fucking you against. Chuck had nearly thrown fists when Tab refused to look aware from your bare ass.)

So yall started grinding- quickly finding out that the bunches of fabric separating your bodies not only led to new forms of stimulation, but it also meant that you both started to utilize dirty talk. There’s something about your trembling lips at his ear, your warm whispers of ‘so good’ and ‘is this really all you need, Chuck? Me, writhing on you like this? What does that say about you, you desperate boy??’

Boy’s bought a one-way ticket to Boner City, USA.

PLUS! What a way to keep warm during Bastogne? Everyone is so jealous that they don’t have a super foxy megahot babe like you to grind upon.

 L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

 Hmm…..is saying anywhere a cop-out? Because he’s down for anywhere, he’ll follow your lead and rise to the occasion. Such a perv i s2g.

 M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

 ♫ YOOOUUUUUUUU!!!!!! ♫

You have this one eyebrow quirk you do when you’re in the mood, and it just so happens to be similar to the brow raise you give someone trying to outsmart you (which is another turn on for him- you putting some overly-confident sonofabitch back in their place after allowing them to mansplain at you for a little bit. First boner he ever got (since meeting you, obviously) came after witnessing you telling Joe Liebgott to stfu in cutting German after he’d made some off-color comment about your ass.) 

So, more often than not, he'll get a little turned on when you argue with people. Maybe even when you argue with him- who knows? not me. (i totally do, and he totally is)

 N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

 Any sort of pain play, on either of you. 

After being in genuine agony for so long while recovering from all of the surgeries, the idea of seeking any more pain out just doesn’t make sense. Chuck also doesn’t want to see you in pain- even if you’re asking him to make you feel it. You’d both suffered through the pain of hunger, frostbite, insect bites, sunburn, and just war in general (all of which had emotionally taken a toll on him bc he felt completely helpless and hated that he couldn’t do anything to take your hurt away). 

Sex and pain just doesn’t go together for him. Sorry not sorry 

 O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

 He loves having you go down on him, adores the way your eyes look up at him as if you’re challenging him to withstand your beautiful ministrations. 

He also is a big fan of going down on you, but PLEASE PLEASE PUH-LEASE ride his face. Good lord. 

He’s a sucker (teehee) for it- something about you using him like it’s all you keep him around for gets him hot. You also get this certain snarl on your lips when you are getting close that makes him lose his goddamn mind bc WOW YOU ARE SO ATTRACTIVE and HOLY SHIT YOU CHOSE HIM OF ALL PEOPLE? WOWOWOW.

 P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

 He’ll follow your lead/body language in terms of pace. Most sex sessions shift between both slow and deep as well as fast and hard anyway, so he is a fan of both. 

 Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

 A necessary evil, as far as Chuck is concerned. He’ll do them, and he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy the spontaneity of them, but he would prefer not to be rushed when he’s with you.

 R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

 He was riskier until that one time Tab caught you guys, after which he chilled out. Which you are thankful for, bc you’ve spoken with Lieb’s wife and BOY have those two gotten into some embarrassing situations bc of how risky that kid is. 

 S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

 The longest he's gone is 4 rounds (it was celebratory sex on VE day, with both of you in the best shape you'd ever been in and too high on relief to listen to your bodies. Ya'll were sore and dehydrated afterward but LORD was it worth it.

 T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

 He’d be very open to the idea of toys! On you, he’s automatically cool with it, but it does take him a little bit to get his head around the idea of using toys himself. Again, 40s/50s= somewhat repressed discussion about deviations from the traditional male sexuality- but Chuck is more willing and ready to challenge the societal norms than most. Very sexy of him.

 U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

 He always intends to tease you, but more often than not he gets so turned on that he can’t follow that intention through. You are aware of this and ABSOLUTELY weaponize this knowledge. Get it, fam. 

During day-to-day conversation, however, you both tease each other constantly. It’s been like that since you’ve met each other- always making innuendos and one-upping the other and for some reason that never even went away.

When Chuck woke up and the doctors brought you in to see him, the first thing he told you was that you looked terrible. When you’d replied with a sniff, a smile and a “guess the doc’s were full of shit when they said there was no change in your vision, huh?”- Chuck had smiled so hard it hurt.

 V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

 He’s a choked moan kind of guy. His face gets all scrunched up and his body shakes and he curses quietly under his breath (it’s vv cute and hot, FYI). he doesn’t even try and be quiet on purpose, he just seems to lose the ability to be vocal, tbh. If he’s drinking or if it’s been a hot minute since yall have gotten to do the do, he’ll probably be a bit louder. Like, maybe one loud cry of your name (see: the letter D)

It doesn’t bother him if you make sounds at all, just so you know. If anything, he likes that he’s a quiet cummer bc then he can hear any and all of your sounds.

 W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

 biting your ass while eating you out from behind is *bang* *bang* *bang* *click* *cash register noise*.

Especially if you squeal and smack at him after he does it.

 X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

 Average in all respects but OH MAN does he know how to work it to his advantage. Get ready for a wild ride, my dude. 

 Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

 Higher post-war, tbh. Chuck had had to be on bed rest for so long that he thought he may never get the chance to have sex again, so he totally makes a point to indulge in you every chance that he can get (but he’s cool if you say no, too).

But, as I mentioned in ‘risk’, he’s not going to be humping your leg in public or anything (ok but imagine if you were a dom to his sub and you made him do that holy fuck)

 Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

 He does not sleep very well, poor bb. He will be asleep but his mind will be working through all kinds of things ranging from PTSD to what shoes he wanted to wear to dinner with your parents that weekend. Good thing there’s a remedy to this ailment- your pussy sex with you!

While he can’t konk out immediately, he is able to relax. He will allow himself to get lost in the rhythm of your breathing, the weight of your hand on his arm or your arm wrapped around his middle. He will sometimes nuzzle into you as you’re drifting off to sleep, and when you press a kiss to his forehead he finally feels safe.

~ ~ ~

taglist: @sunsetmando​ @televisionboy​ @now-im-a-belieber​ @tvserie-s-world​ @holdingforgeneralhugs​ @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain​ @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ 

#band of brothers imagines #band of brothers x reader #chuck grant x reader #problematicfavesareproblematic

[redorich]

Hello! Can we get a little something for the hermit canyon AU? I was thinking something Karl centered, maybe they accidentally find his library or otherwise find out about his "travels". They're probably invisible for the whole thing, but do they do anything afterwards? Do they leave little notes and reminders? Would they try to help at all? Or would they push it to the back of their minds and try to forget about it?

Unlike most discoveries made by Hermits, Joe does not find a secret location on a normal surface run. When Etho found the Pogtopia ravine, it was a mystery to him, unsettling and vivid. When Grian found Technoblade's snowy cabin, it was on complete accident, just because Grian needed to explore, to get out of the canyon for a few hours.

When Joe exits the canyon, as he rarely does, he makes a beeline for Karl's library. Time is... not something Joe concerns himself with, but he prefers to constrict himself to the linear travel of the fourth dimension nowadays-- if such a thing as "nowadays" can be said to exist when tangling with time.

Where was he? Ah, yes. He moves quickly, because he dislikes spending more time away from Xisuma's side than absolutely necessary, even if the admin has been having a run of good health days and there are twenty-two other Hermits to attend to the admin in an emergency. He doesn't bother with invisibility, or walking, or other mundane things. Joe simply hovers in the air, flying toward his destination and perhaps fiddling with the tick speed just a little, just enough to get him there faster.

There's a residual feeling of familiarity, like a relationship with an ex-girlfriend which has long since turned sour, near the canyon. There's a whisper there of magic, of gleaming white spires, but all Joe can see is red.

"It's a shame, what they did to this library," Joe mutters with a tsk. Posters of hazy LSD-esque drawings of various time periods and locations line the walls, molding away as red vines climb on them, devour them.

He shrugs. Might as well move on; nothing of value remains here.

To the south is a place Etho has visited only briefly and in passing: Kinoko Kingdom. It's a hotspot of activity at times, and a ghost town at others. Etho didn't even know the name of the place until Puffy reported it. Joe doesn't care. For all that Etho likes to present himself as a cryptid, scaring poor innocent wood-dwelling folk who are just looking for a big fuzzy triclopean spouse, Joe is the one with experience as a cryptid. Let them see him. What are they going to say, "I saw Herobrine"?

He touches down, finally, in front of another library made from mushrooms and wood. Allowing his eyes to flash white for a moment so that he can ferret out the building's secret room, he is both disappointed and unsurprised to see it empty of life. Karl Jacobs, resident time traveller, is not there.

Joe closes his eyes. He doesn't want to have to do this. For decades, there was a place he called home, a place he built from the ground up. It was a place in between life and death, and so he called it the Inbetween.

He opens his eyes, and he is there. It's like walking down a street you've been down a hundred thousand times before; even with your eyes closed, you know where you're going. There are no longer dozens of imperfect copies of himself running around, brainless and waiting to be culled like lambs to the slaughter in order to fuel an affront against nature. Now, there are many iterations of Karl, all wandering aimlessly... save one.

The only version of Karl wearing color stands in an open-air corridor near the courtyard. Even from a distance, Joe can see his chest rise and fall far too rapidly for him to actually be getting any air. (Joe sees everything here, where his eyes are white and cannot be anything but white.)

"Why am I here?" Karl babbles to himself. "I haven't time-travelled-- or did I already forget?"

"You didn't forget," Joe reassures him. It does not have the intended effect.

Karl screams, turning around so quickly that he falls on his ass. He scoots away like a crab missing a leg, scrambling for some distance. "Your eyes--!"

"Come closer," Joe says. "I won't hurt you."

"You're Herobrine!"

Joe exhales slowly. "I was Herobrine. What I am is the only person who can help you."

Karl warily clambers to his feet. None of the other Karls dressed in white pay the two men any mind. "What do you mean?"

"You've got yourself stuck in a dimensional loop of Homestuck proportions, Karl," Joe says. "So did I, when I built this place. It took me decades to figure out how to get out of it, and I knew what I was doing. You don't have that."

"Am I stuck here forever, then?" Karl says mournfully. He waves a hand at the carefree automatons wearing his face. "Will I become one of them?"

Joe takes a few slow steps closer, keeping his hands where the stressed-out time traveller can see them. "I'll take care of things on this end. You won't ever have to come back here again."

Karl sags in relief like a marionette with its strings cut.

"Does the name Eret mean anything to you?" Joe asks. It's a name he's heard from Puffy's lips once or twice, and if her information holds true, things could get much easier.

Karl blinks. "Uh... Yeah? What about them?"

Joe continues. "Dark hair, tall, white eyes like mine?"

"I've never seen Eret without their sunglasses, but I guess, yeah," Karl replies. Of all the things he would have expected Herobrine to ask about, Eret isn't one of them.

"Imagine what Eret looks like," Joe suggests. "Think real hard about them. Imagine them here, in the Inbetween, right in front of us."

Karl has no idea why Herobrine wants him to daydream about Eret (even if their voice is very nice), but if the man is pulling his leg, well-- it's fucking Herobrine, he can do what he wants.

Speaking of that nice voice, Karl hears the voice in question scream out of nowhere. Karl flinches away from the sudden loud noise, before his eyes catch up to his brain and he realizes that he just magicked Eret into existence in the Inbetween.

"What the fuck," Eret says. "H-Herobrine, uh, long time no s-see..?"

"Sorry about that time I kinda tortured you," Herobrine says brightly. "I'm nicer now."

"I doubt--" Eret begins caustically, then remembers exactly who they're talking to and shuts their mouth. "...Why is everything so dark?"

"Take off your sunglasses," Herobrine suggests.

Eret grimaces, but obeys. This place is practically humming with magic, so they just know they're going to get blinded by it the moment they remove their glasses, but they remember what happened last time they pissed Herobrine off.

Wincing, they remove the sunglasses, expecting pain and receiving... nothing. The glint of light on quartz is a bit uncomfortable, but that's a normal human uncomfortable that Eret hasn't experienced since they were a teenager.

Herobrine smacks them on the forehead with his palm. "I take back what I said about 'living with this power for the rest of your life', and all that," he says. "You can turn 'em off now. I'd recommend not turning those eyes back on, though-- at least, not here. It's a little bright, magic-wise."

Eret gapes. All these years, they feared the day they'd meet this powerful man again, imagined what they'd say as they cursed his name or begged his forgiveness... and here he is, giving them exactly what they desperately hoped for but knew they'd never receive simply because he's 'nicer now'.

"Herobrine," Eret says, "why have you done this?"

"Call me Joe," Herobrine says.

Karl interjects, "Joe mama," under his breath. It is with the utmost shock on Eret's behalf that Karl does not in fact get immediately smited into oblivion, merely smacked on the forehead.

"Now you won't forget," Herobrine-- Joe says. "Anyway, I have shenanigans to be up to back in the canyon, so I'll send y'all back now. Those red vines are bad news, and so is their egg, so y'all better take care of that, please. It's really messing your server up."

Karl blanches. "The canyon?"

"Oh, look at the time. Have fun, be safe, bye," Joe says with affected mild disinterest.

Both Karl and Eret have so much to say, so many questions to ask, but they fade away before they get the chance.

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #hermit canyon au #karl jacobs #eret #joe hills #herobrine #me.cpp

[flower-slut004]

Maybe a Theo imagine? (From YOU) that would be lovely I don’t think I’ve seen anything for him

THEO ENGLER SOFT ABCS

A - Affection (how do they show affection)

Theo shows affection by bringing you flowers or jewelry he made. His love language is 100% gift-giving.

B - Balance (how do they balance you, work/school/life?)

Theo likes to study with you via cafes and bookstores.

C - Cuddles (do they enjoy cuddling? what positions?)

He's the tiny spoon. Can't change my mind. Sorry Not Sorry.

D - Date (what was your first date?)

I feel like he's super adventurous and your first date would be like that. Breaking into his old high school and going up to the roof to watch the stars.

E - Excited (how excited do they get when they see you/are with you?)

He gives me golden retriever vibes. As soon as he wakes up, he texts you. He wants to be with you (not in a joe way)

F - Fighting (what happens when you fight)

Theo would laugh during fights which would lead to a bigger fight.

G - Gorgeous (pet names. what do they like to call you? what do they like to be called?)

Him- My fair lady, Lamb, and sunshine

You- Sir, Sly Fox, and baby.

H - Hi (first time meeting)

You're Henry's babysitter (yay....) Theo saw you walking out with Henry in the stroller and was hooked.

I - Intimacy (how romantic they are)

Candlelights and roses. *Chef's kiss*

J - Jealousy (do they get jealous? how do they react to you being jealous)

He doesn't get jealous because he knows at the end of the day he gets to take you home.

He finds it cute when you get jealous over Love.

K - Kisses (where do they like to kiss you/how often?)

He loves to kiss your nose/neck. He does it every chance he can get.

L - Love (when was the first time they said I love you or realized it?)

He realized he loved you when the two of you were playing 'I Spy". He couldn't help but think how gorgeous the moonlight makes you look.

"Hmmm I spy a-"

"I love you" he'll interrupt.

M - Moving in (when do you decide to move in together)

Six months after dating the two of you would move in together.

N - Newborn (their reaction to starting a family)

He's bouncing off the walls. "I'm going to be a dad" he screams. He'll ask Joe for some pointers (yikes)

O - Open (how open you are with one another)

Open book on both sides.

P - Photos (what kind of photos you take of them/they take of you)

Theo loves taking photos of you just point blank. You love photos where Theo is reading.

Q - Quirks (what random habits do you have that they love or hate/vice versa)

Theo hates when you tap your nails. It makes him antsy.

You hate when Theo makes "Hmmmm" sounds too basic questions like "How was your day"

"Hmmm It was good"

R - Recovery (how you help them after an injury/vice versa)

The two of you are each other's, personal nurses

S - Solution (how they resolve fights)

Theo gets all serious and the two of you talk for hours.

T- Touch (when they need/want your touch, what will they do? how often?)

Theo would come up from behind and start kissing your neck.

U- Waking Up With Them

Is eventful. Sometimes he wakes up earlier or sometimes it's a struggle to get him out of bed.

V - Vacation (where they travel with you)

Anywhere. His dad has the money.

W - Wedding (how they propose/where you get married/honeymoon)

He proposes to you under the stars and you two have a private wedding. You'll have a beautiful honeymoon in France (Did you catch that?)

X - X-factor (what about you captivated them?)

He won't lie, your ass did.

Y - Yawning (how they act when they’re tired)

He'll snuggle up to you and murmur random shit.

Z - Zzzz (how you fall asleep together)

Tangled up and cuddles.

#multifandom imagines #netflix you #you x reader #theo engler imagine #theo engler x reader #theo engler

[wickedpact]

NICKY TOTALLY KEEPS THE LAMB!!! (booker is maybe a Little smug about it) part of me is imagining the lamb somehow accidentally getting pregnant and nicky is in distress bc he’s going to be a grandfather. he raises them all to their old age, not wanting to separate them. ()3: a big softie.) he maybe even names one of the new babies after booker (“so he’ll finally shut up about how i owe him for annabelle in the first place”) - 2ta

(maybe this is how nicky and joe end up owning a farm for a “brief” period of time)

no but as a victorian au its prolly take place sometime in the 1800s or early 1900s so it would be a period close to the time booker Joined the team. like its been long enough that its not Awkward anymore and they can all bant and be comfy with eachother but even so nicky falls in love with booker’s lamb and book’s privately like ‘fuck yea +1 friendship with nicky’

and sdfghjk @ the lamb getting accidentally pregnant. annabelle t h e s l u t

TO THIS DAY andy is CONVINCED nicky had something to do with it and they constantly argue about it. nicky’s like ‘DO YOU THINK i LED a random male SHEEP into OUR SAFEHOUSE and SUPERVISED them fucking and then GOT RID OF IT before you guys saw??????’ and andy’s like ‘YES THATS EXACTLY WHAT I THINK YOU DID YOU SHEEPY BASTARD’

(spoiler warning that was exactly what happened but it was joe who did it bc he knew nicky would be sad when annabelle died)

and then the lambs are born and its Maria, ‎Giuseppe, Giuda, and booker

#joe and nicky moving to A Farm after the con bc nickys exhausted of all the pomp and elegance and also its a good place to raise annabelle #2thoughts anon #Anonymous #the regency con au

[isitgintimeyet]

Just a Friend

Hope you enjoy the next chapter of this story. Thanks to you all for reading this. You comments are lovely to read.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

Previous

AO3

Chapter 5: From Facebook to Friends

When I was a little girl, Uncle Lamb would sometimes take me into university with him. I would creep into the lecture theatre and sit at the back watching him as he enthused about Phoenician trade routes, or long gone military strategies. I didn’t really understand what he was talking about, but I loved it anyway. The passion he had for his subject matter thrilled me.

And once the lecture was over, I would join him in his office and we would squeeze together in an old armchair, drinking hot, sweet tea while he tried to explain the principles of a three thousand year old civilisation in words a seven year old would understand.

The armchair is now in my office at the hospital. It looks more than a bit incongruous amongst the standard NHS furniture. The rich green velvet fabric has faded to a shabby eau de nil colour and years of shuffling bottoms have left a large depression in the seat cushion. But I won’t have it reupholstered. I love it as it is. It’s a great reminder of my wonderful uncle. I sit in it and somehow it comforts me, like a soothing hug.

**********************

I glance at the clock as I walk into my office, paper cup of hot, sweet tea in hand, and head straight for Lamb’s chair. Gratefully, I sink into its depths and take a tentative sip of the steaming liquid before closing my eyes for a moment. The surgery was long; much longer than anticipated—having taken all morning and most of the afternoon, in fact. It had also been far more complicated—my original plans for keyhole surgery had to be changed, but, eventually, we completed the operation successfully. I’m always proud of my theatre team, but never more so than in situations like this.

And now, after hours of concentration, I feel in need of some light relief. I can go home, have a wonderfully reviving shower and then what? I know that Dougal is taking Geillis out for a meal tonight, so she’s not available. Mary and Anna are both working nights this week, so no joy there. Other friends live too far away for an impromptu midweek activity.  I could go to the gym. I should go to the gym. Or… more likely, I’ll go home, have cheese on toast, a glass of wine and watch ‘The Devil Wears Prada’ for the fifteenth time instead.

I reach for my phone to check for messages.  A notification for a Facebook friend request appears on my screen. I very rarely get new friend requests—other than the odd random gentleman hoping, I presume, to make some sort of connection. I always delete immediately.

And, yes, the request is from a gentleman—one Jamie Fraser. The profile picture is definitely Samsonite Jamie, even wearing the Scotland rugby shirt I fingered whilst foraging through his suitcase. I click accept. Why not? I don’t think I have anything too embarrassing on my posts. In fact, I don’t use it very often at all.

Neither, it seems, does Mr. Fraser. His cover photo shows a very youthful bunch of Scottish rugby supporters and his recent timeline seems to comprise mostly of being tagged in photos by Laoghaire Mackenzie. Is it my imagination, or does he have a resigned look on his face on each of their ‘selfies’?

My tea is cool enough to drink now without scalding my tongue. I put my phone down and take a large gulp whilst considering tomorrow’s workload. My job is a series of highs and lows. Today, for example, started as routine, slumped to a worrying low, before peaking at a very relieved high. Tomorrow appears to be an easier day, certainly—a review of patients’ case notes in the morning followed by an outpatient clinic in the afternoon. All follow up patients, and all doing well as far as I know, so tomorrow is shaping up to be a very good day.

I open up my phone again. Facebook messenger is encouraging me to ‘say hi to your new Facebook friend.’  Without thinking, I send a little waving hand emoji to Samsonite Jamie.

I have no sooner put the phone down than it pings. Waving hand returned. I smile. What are we… thirteen years old? Next I’ll be asking him out for an Irn Bru and a bag of chips.

Ping again.  

You owe me…

Shit! The stain on his t-shirt, no doubt. I watch the dots on the screen. Perhaps he’s calculating the cost of a dry cleaner, or a new t-shirt.

You promised me an ice cream.

You up for buying one for me tonight?

I hesitate for a moment. I hope Jamie doesn’t think I’m after him or anything like that. I mean, he’s not really my type. As I’ve said before, I’ve always been attracted to academic, cerebral kind of men like Uncle Lamb, rather than Viking marauders.

And I’ve never subscribed to the idea that men and women can’t be friends. One of my closest friends at university was a man—Joe Abernathy.  If it wasn't for the fact that he is currently three thousand miles away, working in Boston, I would be arranging platonic ice cream outings with him.

So, deciding I have nothing to lose, I type my response.

If you can get to the kiosk by 6:30, it should still be open

A brief pause, then the response.

Great. See you there?

****************

Even at a distance, I recognise him sitting at a table next to the kiosk. No white t-shirt today, it looks like some sort of check lumberjack shirt. I breathe a sigh of relief. Not what I would call ‘first date’ clothing. Which is handy, seeing as I’m wearing ripped jeans and an oversized Aran jumper. I’m clean, presentable and fresh-smelling but definitely not dressed to impress.

He stands up when he sees me and greets me formally with a handshake. His hands are warm and dry—no nervous, sweaty palms here, which is another good sign. His shirt is blue, red and cream flannel and actually quite hideous.

“I hope this ice cream lives up tae ma expectations,” he says with the merest hint of challenge.

I crane my neck and look him straight in the eye. “No doubt at all. Cherry bakewell, is it? Double cone?”

“Aye. With a flake too. Compensation, ye ken.”

He stands aside to allow me to make the purchases. Before accepting the cone, he picks up half a dozen or so paper napkins and stuffs them in the pocket of his jeans.

“I’m prepared fer ye now. Do yer worst, Ms Beauchamp.”

I ignore his clear inference and follow him to a nearby bench.

“I can manage to eat and walk at the same time, you know,” I say in mock indignation.

“Hm,” he replies. “All the evidence sae far suggests the contrary. I need proof afore I believe it.”

There’s a moment of silence as we both focus on our ice creams. I lick neatly all the way around, trying to prevent any rogue drips trickling down the cone. Jamie pulls the flake from his cone and consumes it in two mouthfuls. He looks at me and laughs.

“Caught me. I’m a bit of a bugger fer chocolate,” he mumbles before swallowing.

“Right,” he continues, much more clearly now. “I suggest we get all the boring stuff out of the way. Ye ken, name, age, family, job, blah, blah blah. I’ll go first, if ye like.”

I nod my agreement.

“Sae, I’m James or Jamie Fraser. I’m thirty years old. Since our last conversation I am most definitely single. I live in Glasgow, obviously, but grew up on a farm near Inverness. My parents still run the farm. I have one sister, Jenny, who’s married tae Ian, my childhood friend. I have one nephew—a grand little lad known as Wee Jamie and a wee baby niece, Maggie . And I dinna think it’ll be long afore they’re joined by others. They all live here in Glasgow. My job, weel, I have a business—FraserFood—recipe boxes delivered tae yer door.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard of that. ‘From farm to fork.” That’s you, is it?”

He smiles proudly. “Aye, it’s me and ma family. Looks like ma marketing manager is doing a fine job, then.”

“Oh, forgot tae say, after the blah blah, ye have tae tell one confession. Only a wee one, mind.” He takes a large mouthful of his ice cream.

I purse my lips. “Really, and what if I’ve nothing to confess?”

Jamie snorts with laughter and does a funny sort of blink, screwing up his face and closing both eyes. Is he trying to wink? If so, he’s failing miserably. I try to look angelic and sin free. Judging by the look of scepticism on his face, It doesn’t seem to be working.

“Sae, my confession is, dah-dah-daaaah,” he does a fake fanfare, trying to build suspense. “I wanted tae be yer friend on Facebook because I wanted tae see if there were any photos of ye in Barcelona, with all yer...er… accessories.”

I feel myself redden. I’ve just remembered catching Geillis on Facebook the other day at work and I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming next.

“Verra interesting… in particular, the one with ye and six penis shot glasses. How d’ye manage tae get two of them in yer mouth at the same time?”

I inwardly curse Geillis and her desire to live her life through social media.

“Excuse me,” I reply somewhat primly. “I don’t think we’re at the Q and A stage yet.”

“So,” I continue in a lighter tone. “Me. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. I’m thirty two and I’m a paediatric  orthopaedic surgeon, here at the children’s hospital. I love my job so much, I can’t begin to tell you. As of two weeks ago, I am thankfully single. I was born in Oxford and moved up here when I was twelve, when my Uncle Lamb became a professor at the university. He brought me up, you know. Raised me when my parents died in a car accident... I… er...I was four at the time.”

I can feel Jamie looking at me, but I can’t raise my eyes. Telling people about my parents never gets any easier, no matter how many times I say those words. I concentrate on picking bits of wafer off my cone and throwing them to the ducks loitering nearby, waiting for some sort of treat.

“So it always was just my uncle and me.” I carry on talking. “Then he died… seven...seven years ago…” I can hear my voice start to crack as I fight back tears. A hand creeps into my vision and I gratefully accept the proffered paper napkin and wipe my face.

“Och, lass.” He says softly.

I clear my throat. “I'm sorry. We were having a nice conversation and then there I go, getting all teary. It’s just, well, we were a team, Uncle Lamb and I… the two musketeers. He was my hero.”

Blowing my nose in a most unladylike way, I toss the napkin into the neighbouring bin.

“And that’s pretty much me. As for a confession, well… I suppose it’s kind of one.”

He raises one eyebrow quizzically, making a better job of that than the whole winking lark, I think.

"Ok, well,  when I had your case, I tried to ring before I emailed you. I called the number in your case… twice. A woman answered and told me I had the wrong number—"

"Laoghaire."

"I know that now. But she obviously knew how to get onto your phone."

"Why did ye no' tell me?" He smiles as he says this. It's not a reprimand.

"I would have but you seemed to be coming to a conclusion anyway. No need to add more fuel to the fire."

"Happen ye're right."

He notices me shivering and gets to his feet. “Aye, there’s a bit of a chill. Fancy a wee walk tae warm up and we can carry on wi’ round two. It’s a quick fire round.”

I stand up and we move away from the pond. The ducks have already lost interest in us since they realise that we’ve nothing more to offer them. It’s pretty quiet in the park now, the cooler evening air seems to have kept people at home. The gravel crunching loudly under the soles of our shoes, I glance down and notice Jamie’s doing a sort of awkward stuttering movement with his feet. He’s clearly trying to match his stride pattern to mine. Which isn’t easy when his must be a good few inches longer than mine. Nice, considerate gesture, though.

“Sae, quick fire questions and answers. Ye can go first,” he says generously.

It only takes me a moment to think of a question that I have been wondering about ever since I explored the contents of his suitcase.

“What were you doing in Barcelona? I mean the contents of your case weren’t really fun-weekend-away stuff.”

“Nah, ye’re right. It wasna a holiday—flying visit only. I was there on business—talking tae a food wholesale company. Serrano ham, chorizo, saffron, that kind of thing,” he explains, a look of excitement on his face. “We’re expanding our range, starting with Spanish influenced recipes. A full three courses ready tae prepare, plus wine delivered straight tae yer door. Dinner party FraserFood style.”

He can’t stop smiling as he talks about these plans. And his hands move animatedly as he continues to elaborate on his new venture. His business is obviously his passion. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t got the desire for a relationship with a girlfriend—FraserFood seems to be his one love. No girl could compete.

He stops talking for a moment. “And here I am, boring ye.”

I shake my head. “Not at all, it’s really interesting.” I don’t have to lie. It’s the truth. My mouth is watering at his description of albondigas and flavoursome chicken and chorizo with cannellini beans. I’m ready to sign up for this delivery service any time.

“Sae, ma turn tae ask a question. Tell me, d’ye like this shirt?”

I try to stifle a laugh. The question is so unexpected and the shirt so awful. Trying to be diplomatic, I search for the right words, evading the actual question. “I’ve only seen you in white tops before, no colours.”

He sighs. “Ye’ve only seen me twice afore... anyway I dinna think ye need tae say any more. I ken ye’re being polite, but ye’re a terrible liar. I can tell by yer face ye dinna like this shirt. Laoghaire hated it, always made me change it. I did wonder if that was jes’ her being difficult. But apparently no’.”

“Sorry, I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Ye dinna need tae apologise, Claire. Being honest is a good thing, is it no’? And friends should always tell each other the truth. And that’s what I think we’re going tae be, Claire— friends. D’ye no’ agree?”

I crane my neck  and look Jamie straight in the eye. “Yes, I do… friends.”

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #Just a Friend #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Chapter 5

[highkingpetermagnificent]

Sorta tagged by @shimyereh!!

Rules: Spell out your url with song titles, then tag as many people as there are letters in your url. I’m not gonna do that, especially because my url is long! If you see this post and wanna do it, tag me in your responses <3

I’m just going to pick songs I’ve been really enjoying lately!

Heroes - Måns Zelmerlöw

In Three (For Joe) - Prairie Empire

Garden of Eden - Celtic Woman

Holly, Ivy & Yew - Heather Dale

Kakariko Village - Zelda Reorchestrated

Imperayritz de la Ciutat Joyosa - Libre Vermell of Montserrat-Pilgrim Songs and Dances (1399) - performed by New London Consort

NFWMB (Acoustic / Live) - Hozier

Gray Stables - Iron & Wine

(The) Prydwen Sails Again - Heather Dale

Echo - Talisk

Tiny Devotions - Lisa Lambe

Evermore (feat. Bon Iver) - Taylor Swift

Répondez-moi - Gjon’s Tears

Mohe Rang Do Laal - Shreya Goshal, Birju Maharaj

Algo más (feat. Beatriz Luengo) [Versión acústica] - Blas Cantó

Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight) - ABBA

Nothing But the Light - Sarah Slean

I Don’t Feel Hate - Jendrik

For Now - Kina Grannis

I Follow My King - Heather Dale

Сонце - Go_A

Edelweiss - Bill Lee

N17 - Tolü Makay, RTÉ Concert Orchestra

Ten Kur Nežinia - Girmantė Vaitkutė

#my url is so long #lynna rambles #yes i've been on a eurovision kick lately

[mymelodyheart]

Highland Destiny Chapter 5 ~Dinner for Two~

They were standing in the middle of the lounge, suspended in time and space, between heaven and earth, looking into one another's eyes. Claire's hand was still in Jamie's, his fingers generating tiny sparks that surged erratically through her body, fanned into a flame with just a little pressure of touch. His eyes, dark with wanting, bore into her soul, sending delicious heat to her core. She felt the sudden rush of blood to her head as her heart raced, scattering all logic and reasoning into some unknown dark abyss. She tried to summon a memory from the past; Frank, Oxford, the hospital corridors, her parents, uncle Lamb... anything to keep her from drowning into Jamie's deep blue. But it was futile. She was falling, dropping, slipping, but she had no idea into where.

The electrically charged interlude was interrupted by the sound of ringing from Claire's iPhone, jarring them from their trance and making them both blink. "  Dhia  !" Jamie murmured under his breath as his hand released Claire's, to rub the nape of his neck.

Ding! Ding! Saved by the bell. 

O' sweet Lord Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Ding ding indeed!

Regaining a tiny bit of composure, Claire reached behind the back pocket of her jeans, extracting her phone. "I need to take this," she whispered hoarsely, barely audible.

He nodded and motioned with his hands towards the doorway as he made his way to the kitchen. She nodded back with an apologetic smile.

Seeing the image of the caller on her phone, Claire momentarily forgot Jaime and what just transpired. "Geillis, darling!"

"Hiya chick! How are you daein'? O' my God, o' my God ah heard from Joe yoo're in town. Sae, ye moved here for good?" answered an animated woman's voice in broad Glaswegian.

" Absobloodylootely – YES! Oh God, it's so good to hear your voice, Geillis. We ought to meet up as soon as possible. Listen, are you free Friday night? If so, let's catch up then. It has been bloody ages!"

"Och this is so excitin'! Aye definitely, let's meet up. Maybe Joe will come too. Ah cannae wait tae see you and show you our shop. By th' way, what's wrang wi' ye? Ye sound like ye hae bin runnin'. 'Tis a bad time?"

Claire twisted backwards to peek through the doorway. She saw Jamie leaning over the sink, splashing water to his face and neck and felt the heat crept up her own. "Well, kind of. Look, sorry to make this short but got to go. I promise to call you first thing tomorrow. Is Scotch & Rye Pub on Friday at 7 ok? I've been told that its the place to be. We can grab some fish and chips if you fancy."

"Brilliant, sorted! Scotch & Rye pub it is then Friday at 7! Ah cannae wait. An', och, Claire...you hae a laddie there wi' ye?" She can almost see her friend's cheeks dimpling and giving a wicked wink.

"Sod off, Geillis!"   She always knows, the bloody cow!   With that, Claire turned off her phone.

Although she was so thrilled to hear from her friend, the call was a welcomed distraction. Geillis was one of her closest mates in Oxford in medical school. And along with Joe, they were the three Musketeers in the campus until Geillis dropped out. In the earlier days, she developed an interest in Alternative Healing after joining a movement against big pharmaceutical companies; hence, she left her medical studies and followed her boyfriend to Inverness to set up a health and herb shop.

Claire was staring at the phone in her hand when Jamie walked back in. He leaned on the doorway, smiling, his breadth blocking the light from the corridor. "Hey, Sassenach. Shall we start dinner?"

She smiled back. "Sure!" And she followed him to the kitchen taking his outreached hand.

..........

In the next half hour, Claire busied herself with dinner's preparation while Jamie chopped the shallots and washed the chanterelles. Still rattled from earlier, she carefully stirred their conversation onto something neutral and avoided eye contact, but working in such a small area, touching was unavoidable. A couple of times, he had to place his hands on her hips as he navigated narrow spaces, and his mere touch sent bolts of heat coursing through her body. But with his laid-back and relaxed manner, it wasn't long before they were back to bantering and joking. Once the chanterelles had been sauteed, and the rice and shallot simmering in broth and wine, she left him to continue cooking while she washed and changed.

Drying herself after a quick shower and shave, Claire was very conscious of Jaime in the other room. Just knowing that he was there under the same roof was enough to make her heart do somersaults. She could hear him moving about as the wooden floors creaked and the pots and pans banged. For a very big man, he looked right at home and comfortable working in the kitchen.

In her bedroom, she looked for something to wear but looking into her wardrobe, there wasn't really a lot of choices.   Well, it's only Jamie anyway, it's not like it's a date!

Well Beauchamp, ready for round 2? Ding! Ding!

Wot round 2? There will be no round 2.

So why did you shave your legs?

Rubbish! I always shave my legs.

Liar, liar, pants on fire!

Annoyed with herself, she decided to put on a pair of black leggings, an over-sized sweatshirt emblazoned, OXFORD and white woollen socks. She twisted her hair to the top of her head and fastened it with a hair clasp after giving up on taming her wayward curls. Looking into the mirror, she scrunched her nose and poked her tongue out. 

Ok, Beauchamp, let's do this! 

Do what? 

Get laid? 

Not gonna happen. 

But you want to. 

I do not! 

Liar, Liar, Pants on fire!

Sod off!

Satisfied with her reflection, she went to the kitchen.

When Claire walked in, Jaime was in the process of opening a bottle of Chablis. He gave her one of those heart-dropping smiles as he took in the sight of her. His eyes travelled up and down, lingering for a moment at her breast.   Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Can he tell I don't have a bra?   She quickly reached down to touch the hem of her sweatshirt to check its thickness. Taking it as an awkward moment, Jamie reached out and guided her to the table, placing a hand on the small of her back. The scent of her favourite food made her stomach growl ferociously. He must have heard her belly rumble. "Hungry Sassenach? he said with a grin.

She was pleasantly surprised to see that Jamie did make himself at home. There was nothing else for her to do: the table was set, the green salad dressed, her flowers haphazardly arranged in the vase and placed on a side table, and he even had a few of her scented candles burning. In the background, she could hear L-O-V-E song by Nat King Cole playing softly in the lounge. In spite of her nervousness, she couldn't help but smile. Maybe the hunger was getting the better of her.

"Very hungry, indeed!" she replied. Then cocking her head, she exclaimed, "Oh my God, Jaime, you have Uncle Lambs record player working! Sorry, I don't have any sound system set up yet. It's been a hectic during the last few days. There's still a lot of things I need to do with this house."

"Och, dinna fash Sassenach. I love old music and light jazz. We still have my grand parent's record player in our family home, and occasionally, we play some of my ma's collections for 'ol time sake. I hope you dinna mind me going through your uncle's records."

"No of course not, that's what it's there for. Maybe after dinner, we can go through some and listen to some old jig."

"That's grand, Sassenach!" He took her hand and kissed the inside of her palm.

Over the next couple of hours, Jamie and Claire got better acquainted over Rissotto and wine. As the evening progressed, Claire began to relax and enjoy herself as they exchanged stories about their families and life. She found Jamie charming, and like most Scots, he was born a storyteller. He spoke of his late parents and his sister in Lallybroch where he grew up, and in return, she reciprocated in kind and spoke of her travels to archaeological sites with Uncle Lamb and what she can remember of her parents.

After dinner, they moved to the lounge to listen to records. While Jamie lit up the log burner and prepared the whisky and tumblers, Claire fixed a tray of strawberries and cream and coffee. Claire couldn't help notice how at ease Jamie was - he looked like he's lived in Uncle Lamb's cottage forever. For the first time she arrived in Inverness, Claire felt at home, and she wondered if it had to do with Jamie.

..........

Three-quarters of the whisky bottle later, Jamie and Claire collapsed on the floor, spent from laughing so much, after attempting to dance the can-can to Sinatra's "New York, New York." Jamie was a terrible dancer, and Claire couldn't help but giggle her way through the routine. After a few more twirls and twists, they decided to call it a night. She didn't want the evening to end, but it was getting rather late. 

Claire got up from the floor and holding up an almost empty bottle in the air, she announced, before slumping on the sofa, "Ok, Jamie, last drink. I'm totally knackered."

Jamie followed suit, but instead of sitting beside her, he sat down on the coffee table facing her. He reached out and took her hands between his own. This time, there was no hint of seduction or suggestion of flirt. "Sassenach, thank ye so much for a lovely evening. I've never laughed so much in my life, but I will need a taxi, I canna drive back home in my state," he said with a slight slur.

"Rubbish, you can stay here, there's plenty of room. I won't have you driving after drinking so much, and you can have my bed, it's the biggest in the house. I'll take the guest room," Claire insisted. She tried to stand up but swayed a bit. As she regained her balance, she looked up at him and smiled. "And Jaime, I had a wonderful time too. Thank you." Claire got on her tip-toes and gave Jamie a kiss on the cheek before swaggering backwards. She giggled. "Ooops."

"Weel, if ye don't mind, then I don't mind either." Jamie slightly unsteady on his feet, caught Claire by the elbows and laughed.

Claire peered into the almost empty bottle of whisky and poured the rest in each of the tumblers. "Good! That's settled then. And no, I don't mind at all. Last drink?" she said, handing a glass to Jaime.

"Aye." And raising his glass, he made a toast. "Slange var Sassenach!"

Claire wobbling on her feet managed to raise her glass, laughing. "Cheers mate!"

After downing their whisky, Claire handed the glasses and empty bottles to Jamie. "Right, I'll go and get some fresh sheets, and you can bring these in the kitchen. Then off to bed."

"To bed or to sleep?" he asked mischievously with a glint in his eyes.

"Ha-ha,"

Claire hurried to the bedroom, slightly zig-zagging as she made her way. That last remark from Jamie made her conscious of him all over again.   Damn you, Jaime!   As she was getting some fresh linens from the cupboard, she heard a thump and glasses falli

"Jamie, are you alright?" She went quickly to the kitchen and found Jamie taking off his shirt stained with wine. On the floor were shards of glass and spilt leftover wine.

"Och sorry Sassenach, I'm not familiar with your house, and I forgot you had boxes laid there. I tripped over them."

Claire thinking he might be still shaky on his feet due to intoxication, pulled him away from the broken glasses. "It's alright, Jamie. Just stand back a little please." After cleaning up, she went over to him to see if he had a cut. "Let me see you hands Jamie."

"Dinna fash Sassenach, it's just a wee cut." He held up his thumb, and she saw there was a shard sticking out. She quickly went to her first aid kit drawer, to get a tweezer, iodine and some cotton. It was a small cut, but the shard had to be taken out. 

Holding Jaime's thumb to the light, she pulled the glass out from the cut, and fresh blood started to flow. Without thinking, as if it was the most natural thing to do, Claire put his thumb to her mouth to suck the blood.   Oh, sweet Mother Mary, what did I just do?    She only came to her senses when she felt Jaime drew a sharp intake of breath. She felt embarrassed. Feeling idiotic and foolish, Claire didn't dare look up to Jaime and slowly released his hand. Head bowed, she realised he had taken off his shirt after forgetting about it for a moment. As her eyes wandered to his naked torso, she noticed his hard washboard abs and the movement of his breathing. On the hollow of his navel, ran a trail of dark reddish-gold hair that disappeared into his jeans. The thought of running her finger on that trail made the insides of her legs quiver. The skin on her face and neck turned hot.   Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, what have I done, and what am I thinking?

"Sassenach, are you alright?" Jaime said softly as he lifted her chin to look him in the eye. What she saw in Jaime's eye was a concern, instead of his usual mischief. She can only nod, too aware of Jamie's naked torso "You dinna need to be scairt of me - I wouldna force me on you." He paused, taking her hand. "But I would verra much like to kiss you. Would you mind?"

Point of no return, she swallowed. "No Jaime, I wouldn't mind." She paused and then continued, her voice sounding raspy to her ears. "Please kiss me," Then she placed her cool hands on his hard abdomen. 

The moment, Claire touched him, he felt his body was on fire. He thought of the other women in his life in the past,   Louise, Geneva, Annalise, Laoghair e, and looking back, he realised how shallow they have been. The sex was always a welcome release, but beyond that, there was nothing. With Claire, everything came naturally; he was himself, he can laugh, and most of all, she was herself. He looked down at the woman before him but still found himself confused with what he was feeling. 

Jaime, staring into Claire's golden caramel eyes, slowly lowered his head, one hand behind her neck and the other on her waist, pulling her against him. Their lips met, just the lightest touch, but it was enough to send electricity sparks across every nerve ending. It was just a grazing of lips, but he was shaken to the core. He pulled away, his heart hammering, taking shallow breaths. He looked at Claire's beautiful face, her eyes were closed and her lips lightly parted.   Dhia!   Unable to contain himself, he pulled her back once more, this time into a more passionate and intense kiss. He gently thrust his tongue to the opening of her mouth, parting them to delve inside, teasing and probing until she made whimpering sounds. Her own kisses became hot and urgent, her arms snaking around his neck while her fingers ran through his hair, and this made him kiss her harder more. Standing on tiptoes, she pressed her body closer, crushing her breast against his hard chest, sending pleasures down his groin and making Jamie groan.

They pulled away for air, and Jamie searched Claire's face. "Sassenach, I want ye so much, I can scarcely breathe. Will ye have me?" His voice cracked.

He thought his heart would burst when she nodded. 

Feeling emboldened, Jamie then hoisted Claire on to the kitchen counter and clumsily pulled up her sweatshirt, releasing her hair from its clasp and revealing her white breasts. Her curly mass came tumbling down, and Jamie ran his hands through them, raining her neck with urgent kisses and nibbling her earlobes. "  Mo Nighean Donn,"   he whispered. Her legs automatically wrapped themselves around his waist, and she arched her back as an invitation, Jamie's Gaelic endearments making her wild. "Christ Claire, ye are so beautiful!" Jamie whispered in a ragged voice.

Claire moaned loudly as he lowered his head to suckle at each breast, paying homage to each erect nipple. Then his tongue started its frenzied exploration on her skin as his hands tugged at the waistband of her leggings. Once released from the constriction of clothing, Claire said in a husky voice, "Take off your pants, I want you now." 

Seeing Claire exposed on the kitchen counter with her legs apart, was enough to drive Jamie wild with lust. He quickly unbuckled his belt and lowered his jeans without taking his eyes off Claire. Relieved of his jeans, he gathered her into a crushing embrace, his hands fondling her round arse, pressing his hardness against her. Her hips started to rotate, wrapping her legs tighter. He reached down between her thighs, and the feel of her slippery wetness made him groan and grab her thighs even tighter. "Jamie, I want you inside me, please."

Hearing the plea, Jamie lifted her with ease, spreading her legs as he pinned her against the wall. Without a word, he plunged his cock into her wetness. Jamie silenced her cries with a hard kiss thrusting his tongue in the same rhythm as his cock. After a moment, breathing hard, he released her lips, biting and kissing her neck, his hands tightening their hold on her arse as he rammed into her, slamming Claire's back against the kitchen wall. She whispered "harder," and "deeper" as she bit him hard on the neck, which drove Jamie to the edge. He did as she asked and more. As Claire let out a loud cry, her body began to convulse, making his balls tighten. Finding his own abrupt rush of release, Jamie arched his back as he thrust one last time and let out a grunt. 

They held each other for a long while, not speaking, not moving. Eventually, Jamie carried Claire to her bed. She was limp in his arms. As he laid her down, he slipped in under the duvet with her and gathered her close to him. They fitted perfectly. And then he whispered softly,   tha gaol agam ort mo chridhe.

#melodyheart #highlanddestiny #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

[lucyreviewcy]

Fargo (1996) Dir. Coen Brothers

A kidnapping gone wrong in a small town leads to a series of violent, chaotic murders. 

I didn’t know anything about this film when I set out to watch it. I didn’t even read the blurb on the back of the DVD case (yeah that’s right, I use DVDs still.) I am starting to believe this is the best way to watch a film, to go in completely cold. There can be no hype nor dread. ENTER THE FILM WITH NO EXPECTATIONS. 

I was pleasantly surprised to find Fargo fell into the centre of the venn diagram of two of the greatest niche movie genres of all time: “Cute-small-town-with-violence” and “Cosy 90s winter movie.” Examples of the first genre include but are not limited to A History of Violence, Twilight and The Gift, and examples of the latter include Devil’s Advocate, Meet Joe Black, and Silence of the Lambs. The crossing over of these genres makes Fargo a perfect November movie, the kind of movie that makes you almost glad you’re stuck inside. 

I enjoyed the “oh no” of every event that took place in the first half hour of the film, as William H Macy’s Jerry Lundegaard makes a series of extremely ill-judged choices, and the perfectly cast Steve Buscemi and Peter Stormare cause violent chaos. Sometimes it’s fun to watch a movie that just makes you shout, “well, don’t do that” every few minutes. 

Excellent performances are provided all-round, William H Macy’s rising tension is captured in slow, claustrophobic zooms, while Peter Stormare’s silent-violent type dominates shots with barely any movement. Stormare is the stand-out performance for me because of the constant contrasts between violence and stillness. Silent, still characters who have the potential for total violence are fascinating to watch, and bringing one into this small town setting makes Fargo really exciting. 

What I found most satisfying about Fargo was that most of the components were things we’d seen before, the pair of villains, one silent, one talkative, the small-town-husband involved in dodgy deals, the small town itself, where everybody knows everybody else’s name. It is in the combination of these elements that the film is totally unique. It is a patchwork of familiar images and ideas combined in a chaotic but carefully curated way that you’ll find yourself thinking about for days after watching. 

PS. Why hasn’t there been an SNL sketch based on Fargo with Ryan Gosling and Kate McKinnon in it? Why? 

#Fargo #Movie Blog #Coen Brothers #peter stormare #Didntmentionjohnwickonce #movie review #november movie #10/10 would recommend #movie recommendation #movies #film #film blog #review #film review #fargo 1996

[mo-nighean-rouge]

You Can Call Me- IV

About a million years ago, @ianmuyrray asked for “FAKE MARRIED AND PREGNANT DO IT” based on the trope prompt below. This is what you get, friend. Some characters show up that you might like, idk.

I didn’t really know when I would have this ready, but then I caved to some writing peer pressure from @lady-o-ren recently, and asked @whiskynottea and @isitgintimeyet for some beta TLC and here we are.

Modern AU: Inspired by a Fanfiction Trope Mash-up prompt - Bodyguard and secret relationship. A look at the life of Prime Minister Claire Beauchamp behind closed doors.

Previously: Part I | Part II | Part III | AO3 | Masterlist

Claire reached for him, hands trembling as she swept her thumb across the cut under his eye.

He hissed at the contact against the open wound, but couldn’t find the energy to truly mind. He basked in her touch, preserved for him after all.

“Oh, Baby,” her voice wavered.

Before Jamie could answer, Claire went limp in his arms, dead weight held up only by her oxters draped over his elbows.

Part IV

Jamie felt like he was swimming through the thick and sterile air as he strode purposefully down the endless hallway. It wasn’t Claire’s weight in his arms that slowed him, but the hollow agony in his chest each time he glanced down at her still form sprawled in his arms. Her limbs swung uselessly with his hurried gait. He couldn’t even protect her head properly as it thumped against his shoulder.

Murtagh had guided the yacht to shore in only minutes, but time had stretched mercilessly ahead as Jamie waited, exhausting the possibilities to coax a response from Claire.

The back-up officers they had radioed had been waiting on the dock in full force, more than equipped to drag the barely stirring forms of Randall, Wolverton, and their bloody goons into police cars.

“Let’s go,” Jamie had commanded the first unoccupied officer he passed.

“But Agent…” the man had squabbled, eyes darting around for someone of higher authority to disagree.

“Drive, damn ye,” Jamie had insisted. He wouldn’t wait for an ambulance to push through the growing crowd when they had been only streets away from the hospital.

Jamie had ducked into the back of a patrol car with Claire stretched over him, Murtagh having promised to report back once he resolved matters at the scene.

He had patted the perspiration from her face and felt for her weakened pulse as the car’s sirens drowned out the mad thoughts rushing through his head. As his fingers had run through her gnarled curls, they had come into contact with a harsh knot on her head, the swelling worsening as time passed.

Jamie’s rapid thoughts matched the pace of his steps as he finally burst through the last set of doors.

Several faces looked up as they entered the confined space. “Please,” Jamie rasped without taking a new breath.

Registering the pallor of Claire’s countenance, an orderly turned to pull a hospital trolley forward.

Much as he didn’t want to let go of her, Jamie laid Claire delicately on the trolley as the staff around him rolled off questions and phrases he couldn’t process.

“By Christ!” The young man’s eyes widened as he examined Claire’s face while fastening a blood pressure cuff around her bicep.

The nurse taking her vitals followed his gaze, her own face going a shade paler. She stepped to face Jamie as the rest of the party rolled the bed down the hall. She stepped in front of him, her badge reading “Phaedre Cameron, Staff Nurse” prominent.

Jamie allowed an infinitesimal nod as his feet set into motion underneath him. “Alexander Malcolm,” he responded over his shoulder as he made his way past her.

The nurse held him back before his steps could quicken to the pace of the trolley as it carried Claire beyond double doors. “Are you family?” she asked briskly.

“Please,” Jamie said again, barely sparing a glance at her as the attendants pushed his heart away from him. “She carries my child,” he said softly, rising to his toes to keep track of her curls through the miniscule windows as they disappeared further down the hall.

“So you’re her husband?” Her voice returned, warily following his gaze through the glass. She surely had recognized the leader of her country by now, but would know of no such relationship.

Jamie grunted, but did not argue. She wasn’t altogether wrong.

The nurse hesitated, nodding before finally leading him beyond the doors. They caught up with Claire and the other nurses just as they rounded the corner into a secluded area.

She left his side to confer with the doctor leading operations, each stealing glances at Jamie as their conversation grew more serious.

Chaos. Monitors flashing, machines beeping, more wires attached to Claire than he could count. He wished he could touch her, hold her. Was she in pain? Or worse, beyond registering the sensations tethering her to life? He folded sloppily into a nearby chair as his legs gave way.

He yearned for her eyes to fly open and for her to give them all a tongue lashing for focusing on her and not checking on her child.

Christ. The bairn. Jamie pitched forward and put his head between his knees, balancing precariously on the edge of the chair. That she be safe, she and the child.

He fell to his knees and raised his chin to the heavens, the motion around him falling away.

The room held its breath in anticipation, creating a silence broken only by the steady pulsing of the heart monitor.

The beat sounded steady, for all Jamie knew. But after a few minutes it was rivaled by the echo of a faster, fluttering rhythm, nearly stopping Jamie’s own heart.

It was the first time their child had made its presence known. There’d scarcely been time to schedule a scan as of yet, though they had estimated how far along Claire might be.

Taing dhia.

The roomful of people trickled out of the door, leaving only three occupants. Four, Jamie scolded himself absently.

The lead doctor snapped his gloves off and turned to face Jamie as he waited in the corner in agony.

A sheen of perspiration glowed over the man’s dark skin as he drew closer. An easy smile rested on his face. “Alex, is it?”

Jamie’s hand rose instinctively to grasp the other man’s. He nodded, focus not trailing away from the chest rising and falling across the room.

“Joe Abernathy.” The doctor stepped into Jamie’s line of sight to hold his attention.

He tried to take in the news the kind American doctor relayed to him, making sure to nod when appropriate. Everything sounded fine, but he couldn’t allow himself reprieve until she set her eyes upon him once more.

Severe dehydration, he said.

“I can guess how troublesome her morning sickness has been. We’ll get her caught up on fluids and monitor things from there.”

Minor concussion, he said.

“I’m sure you know she’s been knocked around pretty thoroughly, Mr. Malcolm.”

It’s up to her now, he said.

“We’ll have to wait for her to wake up. Their heartbeats are both strong, which is our main concern for now.”

Jamie had done his best to follow along and swallow his emotions, but couldn’t control the sob that escaped him at that simple statement.

Abernathy gripped his shoulder. “You did well, man. We might be telling a different story if not for you.”

As Jamie stood and pulled his chair behind him, the doctor clapped him on the back, then pulled the sleeve of his white coat up to glance at his smartwatch. 

“I’m told the Doctors Beauchamp are stuck in parade traffic.” Dr. Abernathy’s finger swiped smoothly across the small screen. “There’s also a small crowd in the waiting room that’s anxious to see the two of you.”

Goistidh. Jamie unlocked his mobile. Eight missed calls from Murtagh. Five from Claire’s assistant, Mary McNab.

“I’ll tell you now, but will also be sure to let the persistent young lady in the waiting room know, that no one on our staff will speak a word.”

Abernathy looked up to meet Jamie’s eye once more, seeming to finally take a closer look at him. “That’s a nasty cut you’ve got there, man.” The doctor gestured toward Jamie’s eye. “I’ll send someone up to see that it gets taken care of.”

Jamie shrugged the doctor off. “‘Tis nothing to fash over.”

“The stitches might help take your mind off things,” Abernathy suggested.

“Dinna want to ‘take my mind off things,’” Jamie mimicked. Another bout of guilt flooded him. “I’m sorry, Doc.” He swallowed deeply. “This is almost more than I can bear, myself.”

Abernathy fixed him with a look. “She was in good hands, Mr. Malcolm. She still is.” 

The doctor exited the room and closed the door quietly behind him, leaving only Jamie’s thoughts to fill the silence.

Jamie didn’t spare space between his chair and Claire’s bed. He reached for one of her cold hands and rubbed it between his own.

“Wake up, lass,” he whispered. A surge of feeling rose in his chest. “If ye’ll ever obey anyone in your life, let it be me, now, Claire.” He scrubbed his dirty, scuffed palms across his eyes. “Please, mo chridhe.”

Motion at the door stirred him from his greeting. A blonde blur sped in and hit him squarely in the chest. “Nunkie!”

“Germain Henry!” drilled a stern feminine voice. “Give yer uncle some space.”

Jamie squeezed the toddler against him and ghosted his own lips over his forehead before Marsali swung him up and settled him against the swell of her belly, patting Jamie’s hand soothingly. Her expression became disapproving as she took in the damage to his face.

He looked up as his future brother-in-law squeezed his shoulder as he circled the bed, pulling forward the chair on the other side.

Fergus leaned forward to brush his lips over Claire’s clammy forehead. “Milady,” he whispered, the light French lilt from his university and medical school days in Paris echoing in the sentiment. He gripped her hand with both of his, eyes not leaving her still form.

Jamie’s heart twisted. The moniker had been bestowed on a prim and proper young Claire by Uncle Lamb when she struggled with culture shock during her first trip to the edge of the earth. Soon after she’d gained her bearings, her passion for the world she lived in had established itself, along with her heart for helping its people.

Marsali allowed Germain to roam once more with a warning to ‘nae get underfoot.’ She washed her hands at the corner basin and slipped on a pair of rubber gloves, helping herself to the cotton swabs and peroxide stored in a high cabinet.

Jamie winced at the sting as she swabbed the wound under his eye.

Satisfied, she ruffled his hair and helped herself to the medical chart fastened near the bed. She surveyed the information with her experienced obstetrician’s eye, her observations undetectable until a gasp emitted from her and her gaze landed on Jamie.

He immediately knew what the file had revealed to her, and nodded his permission for her to speak it aloud.

“Did ye know, a bràthair?” Marsali whispered.

Fergus snapped to attention, both his hands still grasping Claire’s.

“Aye.” Jamie breathed, the barest of grins tickling his lips. “She was – is – sae excited to tell ye both at Thursday night supper.” He clapped his hand over his mouth, unable to stifle the sharp intake of air that followed. He met Fergus’s eye. “Ye should know, man, it’s driven her mad to keep it from ye…”

Fergus nodded slowly, stroking Claire’s wrists. Jamie suspected he was seeking her pulse points himself. “She will,” he said firmly. “She’ll tell me.”

Jamie sniffled hard in an attempt to regain his composure. “I’m sorry I didna protect her,” he whispered.

“You have, ye dolt,” Marsali cut in. Her steady hand smoothed the wrinkled bed covering over Claire’s belly where Germain had tugged it, attempting to check on his aunt for himself. 

“I met Claire when she was but 15, a gangly wee thing gettin’ in her uncle’s way. She’s always been headstrong and determined. But I’ve never seen her so passionate, so content. Not until ye came along.”

“You couldn’t have expected this,” Fergus added, boosting Germain to his lap.

Marsali’s mobile vibrated.

Jamie could hazard a guess at how many times it had sounded that day based on the weary expression that crossed her face as she answered it.

She began speaking in rapid Gaelic, making it clear who was on the other end of the line. She could give Jenny a clear update without worrying Fergus unnecessarily.

Jamie flinched as he overheard rough translations for ‘still out’ and ‘hard knock to the head.’ She kept their big news to herself for now, and Jamie couldn’t help but imagine the sheer joy that would cross his sister’s face when she heard. Not to mention the bizarre hints he’d heard about their father today. How could he drop something like that on her, especially if it wasn’t true…

But he could puzzle all of that out later. As long as his stubborn lass woke up, all would be well.

The moment Marsali switched back to English, stepping toward the door and whispering into the receiver, Jamie knew she was talking about him and his own haggard appearance. There was no language the women shared that could conceal their worries from him.

As Germain’s impatient questions and complaints of an empty belly increased, Fergus and Marsali finally escorted him out of the room and to the cafeteria, promising to bring something back for Jamie. He doubted he’d have the will to eat it.

And so he was alone with his desperate thoughts once again.

________________________________________

Claire struggled against her heavy eyelids as awareness came back to her. Her immediate line of sight was blurred, and she ached all over. Gone was her torn pantsuit, a starchy white gown in its place. Her sorry state was apparent, almost as if she were taking account of her injuries from outside her own body.

She tried to recount what had happened in the last few hours… days? She had a vague recollection of a gun being drawn and shots firing, and someone going down painfully. Jamie?

Claire jolted at this thought, her vision adjusting to recognize the profile standing at the window across the room from her, with dazzling afternoon light refracting off his cinnamon waves as his head hung low and shoulders drooped. Though she could barely make him out in the shadows, she knew she loved him. He appeared healthy and strong, uninhibited by ballistic injury. So how much of what she remembered was actually real?

Could she trust her own tender feelings, anything besides the pull she felt toward him in spite of the weight of her limbs gluing her to the bed?

Had they truly shared all the things she thought she remembered, or was it all just lovely images her mind her created to comfort her as her body healed?

________________________________________

 Jamie lifted the corner of the curtain with just the tips of his fingers. The car park was littered with news vans, camera bulbs flashing as hospital officials created a barrier between the crowd and their front doors. In the hours that had passed since he carried Claire in, it was clearly no longer a secret where the prime minister was recovering, nor how she had fallen victim to betrayal and neglect. He dropped the flimsy material in disgust. Just once, if they would leave her alone…

He barely registered the rustling on the other side of the room, but spun to attention. Claire was moving.

Her head flopped across the pillow as she sniffled, then moaned.

Jamie released a startled cry, just watching in relief as she flexed unused muscles.

Claire stilled, eyes focused on him. She looked awkward and unsure.

He cursed himself for putting distance between them. She should have woken with her hand in his as he watched her closely for any simple comfort he could provide.

Jamie raced back to her side. “Thank Christ,” he whispered, kneeling to adjust the pillow under her as she sat up.

Claire tensed and leaned back into the pillow as their eyes met. Jamie wished he didn’t see it, but there was fear in her expression.

“C—Claire…” he soothed. “It’s over. You’re whole.” His mouth curved into what might have been a smile, but it apparently had no calming effect.

She gulped and took shallow breaths, wild eyes looking anywhere but at him. A panic attack.

Understanding dawned on Jamie. She didn’t remember. Dr. Abernathy’s term returned to him: Concussion. He wondered briefly how bad it would be, whether she would remember him at all. He wouldn’t be able to bear hearing her call him “Alex” or “Agent Malcolm” without a hint of the flirtatious banter or sultry tone of jest that usually accompanied the nicknames.

He couldn’t bear not to know, either.

“Seas, a leannan,” he cooed. He curled his fingers under her jaw. “Breathe with me, mo ghraidh.”

Her eyes locked on his as he spoke the language of his heart. “… Jamie?” Her face lit with hope.

Jamie’s nerves unknotted themselves. “Just me.” His other hand smoothed her tangled curls from her glistening face.

Claire’s breathing slowed as she leaned her cheek into his palm, grimace giving way to peace.

He boosted himself into the bed beside her, relief flowing through him as she curled into him, careful of the IV running between them.

“I’ve been having terrible dreams, I think…” She shook her head. “I was worried I’d dreamt it all.”

“Nay, mo nighean donn.” He kissed the side of her head, her sweaty neck, anywhere he could reach as his palm stroked down her side.

Claire’s hand flew to her middle, features crinkling once more. “Our baby, is everything...?”

“A braw one like ye,” he managed to choke out. “Has a good wee heart, I’ve heard it myself.”

________________________________________

 The door squealed open again just as Dr. Abernathy finished setting up the ultrasound machine.

Claire exhaled as her extended family piled through the door.

Amid the bustle of activity in the crowded room, she and Jamie had barely managed to speak discreetly about all that had occurred that day.

Claire had insisted on letting Jamie squeeze her hand as Nurse Cameron had placed five stitches under his right eye. His grip had been mild, but he had let her see him wince as the nurse had tied off the final suture. They had no secrets, and if she could bear a bit of his pain, she would.

She had stroked his curls as he recounted all the possibilities that had raced through his mind at the mere suggestion that Brian Fraser was alive. Much as he wanted to find out for himself, Jamie couldn’t risk investigating if it meant leaving Claire and the baby behind.

His tears had soaked into her gown as he apologized for not suspecting Frank sooner and taking care of the problem himself.

“Shh, shh,” she had whispered. “You had nothing to go on. I can just imagine it, ‘Metropolitan Police Protection Officer breaks into the House of Commons to tackle Home Secretary to the ground.’” She had scratched his stubbled chin. “You’d still be in gaol now.”

Jamie had snorted against her shoulder, shaking with the force of her own laughter. “It’s no’ funny, Claire.”

“Are you quite sure?” she had asked, lips curled. “I’m looking forward to the joy of seeing both those characters put away for awhile.”

“Aye,” he had rasped. “I’ll see to it, a nighean.”

Claire had tilted his chin to lock eyes with him. “We will.”

Jamie had sniffled and nodded firmly, grasping her palm to place a kiss there.

Fergus set Germain at the foot of her hospital bed, but her nephew jumped onto her sore legs instead. “Auntie Bear!” he cried.

She tried to withhold her groan as she gathered him to her. “Gracious, but you’re getting big, my lad.”

Claire got a lovely whiff of his lingering baby scent as her sister-in-law stooped beside her bed and took her face in both hands. “How are ye, a chridhe?”

Claire grasped her hands over Marsali’s. She had never been able to hide anything from the other woman’s intuitive gaze, so she shouldn’t have been surprised when Marsali glanced down then met her eye knowingly. She darted a glance to Jamie, who shrugged helplessly in the midst of feasting on his newly delivered hamburger and chips.

“My wife read your chart,” Fergus’s voice sounded as he closed in on their huddle to ruffle her curls. “Congratulations, ma cherie.”

Claire laughed and took a wonderfully full breath. “I don’t suppose I could have kept it from you for long. You might have been suspicious otherwise when I booked an appointment with you.” She squeezed Marsali’s hand before leaning into Fergus’s arm around her shoulders.

“Alright, Ms. Beauchamp,” Joe interrupted the lovingly chaotic scene.

Claire smiled up at him. In the half hour since he’d walked in to find her conscious, she had already grown to like the young doctor for his wit and gentle manner.

Nurse Cameron gestured that she was ready with the cool gel.

Fergus swept Germain out of her lap as Jamie nestled closer on the edge of her bed, shielding her as she wrestled the thin hospital gown up over her hips.

A few minor adjustments later and Claire’s eyes filled with tears as she watched a tiny form swim on the screen in front of her. She held onto Jamie – perhaps not as tightly as he clutched her – to make sure it still wasn’t a dream.

She had no idea how she’d do it all, but knew she could with the support of those around her.

#You Can Call Me #Claire Beauchamp #Jamie Fraser #Joe Abernathy #Marsali Fraser #Fergus Fraser #Germain Fraser #alternate universe #outlander fanfic #My fic

[desperationandgin]

Deep as the Road is Long (Part II, Chapter 16)

Rating: General Audiences

Also Read on: AO3

Previous Chapter

A/N: Surprise! A bonus chapter. I realize I haven't gone through and replied to anyone's comments for the last chapter that was posted. I need to and I will, but in the meantime, I wanted to offer a chapter early as my sincere and heartfelt gratitude. The feedback has been passionate all the way around regarding this story whether readers have been frustrated with Jamie, sad for him (sad for both of them) or firmly on Claire's side. I know I've said this before, but I really didn't think anyone would ever read a story with this specific subject matter; I was just writing it for me. So, I'm really touched and floored at the reception of it all. Here's hoping I stick the landing, and here's to goodbye to Part 2! 

Thank you all so, so much from the bottom of my heart. Part 3 begins on Thursday.

December 2016

When the monitors began to pick up the rhythm in which they beeped, when Faith’s breathing changed, Claire knew. She’d yelled, that much she remembers, the screaming for Jamie, for someone to find him. Without thinking, she’d climbed right onto the bed with the little girl, reached out to touch her cheek, to beg her not to go, not yet. There were no life-saving measures performed; that hurdle and those signatures from Jamie to not resuscitate had been taken care of two weeks ago. And so, all Claire could do was hold Faith as she took her final breath, unable to process that it happened, that she was gone. The only sound was the single tone until Jamie thundered in, looking like a complete mad man, eyes wild as he took in the scene in front of him. Never in her life had she felt so much like nothing, trying to apologize while cradling his dead daughter.

Eventually, she’d moved so that he could take over, pulling Faith to his body and crying in a way that was so loud and so guttural Claire thought he might die, too. In the immediate days afterward, she tried telling herself she’d lost patients before, that she’d been the witness to more parents’ tears of agony than she could remember, but even with that thought, she knew this was different. Different because she’d started to fall in love with Jamie and she already loved Faith. The pain, at that time, was unmatched by anything she’d ever felt in her life. Even her husband’s death. When the police notified her of Frank’s accident she’d felt numb, felt nothing for such a long time. When it happened, she couldn’t imagine anything that would ever feel worse.

She learned after Faith’s funeral, there’s always a worse.

She’d been able to feel it, the shift between her and Jamie. Claire knew it was only a matter of time before he told her to go. To his credit, he never said that, exactly.

Your best wasna good enough.

When he said it she’d known he was right; the rest of the fight (could she even call it that?) was a blur to her, registering his words and letting them settle on her heart. After getting on the plane back home, she’d cried (her poor seatmate) until the flight attendant brought whisky minis and an extra pillow. Sleep for the duration of the flight was fitful, but once she was home she’d collapsed in bed and hadn’t moved for twelve hours. The harsh light of day only served to bring into focus what she couldn’t do anymore: treat terminally ill children. Not until Faith died in her arms did Claire realize how many devastating moments she had already been witness to, and couldn’t bear the idea of going through more. She hadn’t stopped second-guessing herself, wondering if she’d done the right thing, if the treatment had been the right course. For an entire day, she’d pored over Faith’s chart and all of her medical records; it did nothing to help, nothing to ease Claire’s mind. She should have recommended surgery or donor stem-cells; anything but what she’d done.

The doubt hadn’t left by the time she returned to work and she knew the second she stepped foot in her office that this branch of medicine wasn’t something she could physically do anymore. That was the day she spoke to her direct superior and decided to take a leave of absence at the hospital, knowing upon her return (if she returned) it wouldn’t be to that wing. All of her current patients and courses of treatment were explained and passed on to the only doctor she knew would give the same level of care - Joe Abernathy. He was a good man, and as they’d hugged, he’d kissed the side of her head, knowing (even if he didn’t know) this last death had done a number on her. With one more sweep of her office, Claire’d left, gone home, and hadn’t returned. She’d always been good with money; it was the one thing her Uncle Lamb had never worried over in regards to her well-being. She had the rest of Lamb’s money to live on for a while, everything she’d inherited when he died, along with Frank’s life insurance money. All she’d done with the latter was pay for the funeral, everything else has been in a savings account, waiting for the day it could be put to good use.

June was spent doing as little as possible, not letting herself drink anymore but not doing much else in the self-care department. Tears seemed to turn on like a switch being flipped; dinner one night was pizza ordered in, and all it’d done was make her sob for two hours before going to bed without eating a single slice.

In July, she decided she wasn’t ready, that going to work wasn’t something she could stomach yet, and so she’d turned in her phone, the phone that technically belonged to the hospital. When she’d finally made the decision to replace it she was asked if all of her contacts should be imported to her new device, if her photos should be. With hesitation, she’d finally said yes to keeping everything; photos of Faith and Jamie. Jamie’s number. She’d kept it all even though looking at the pictures did nothing but hurt.

Finally, in August, Claire knew she couldn’t avoid making an income again, and so she’d applied for and accepted a job as a general practitioner in a pediatrician’s office. Sore throats and objects stuffed in noses, healthy babies at normal checkups, that’s what she could handle. It worked out, it eased her mind, and slowly she fell into a routine again that was hardly living. She existed in the world, and it would have to be enough. She wasn’t making decisions anyone put all of their hope into, she didn’t have to watch anyone suffer because she did something wrong. Weeks passed; she went to work, saw her patients, and went home. Forgiving herself was slow going, but eventually, the pressure in her chest eased just a little.

And then Jamie called.

It was early on an October morning; Fridays the doctor’s office was closed, so she was home when his name flashed on her caller ID. Jesus H. Christ. Mostly, she’d listened after she picked up. His words registered, that he didn’t truly blame her, but the way he’d looked at her when he said it--he’d meant it then. Maybe he didn’t believe it anymore, but he had then. She heard him say she hadn’t let him down around the same time she’d started to cry. He promised to call again, and he had. He’d called the next day, then the next. Sometimes they didn’t say much, just sat on the line with static between them. Other times they spoke in circles around Faith, not saying her name, but remembering.

By the time December rolls around, they’ve spoken every single night since late October, never missing, even if the conversations are short. They FaceTime every now and again, and when her phone rings today, she can see it’s for video. Looking at herself in her phone camera she groans at hair that’s a mess piled on top of her head, the reading glasses she’s wearing and the ratty t-shirt with holes she has on. He’s caught her cleaning, but still, she accepts the call.

“Good morning,” she greets him, holding the phone out. She has to puzzle out what’s filling the screen on his end, tilting her head from side to side before giving up. “What am I looking at?”

Jamie’s face finally comes into view and he sits back. She recognizes the room he’s in, the library at Lallybroch with all of its old books and secrets. “Afternoon, technically,” he corrects for his own time zone. Then, he shows her the book she’d had an extreme close-up of. “I’ve been going through the books, trying to make some sort of catalog so we know what we have,” he explains. “And this one, well. I thought perhaps ye might like it as a gift.”

She can see the author is e.e. cummings and raises an eyebrow. “A gift for me, really?”

“Aye. Because it’s an original edition.”

That gets her full attention, and Claire frowns in disbelief. “Jamie, why would you give that to me? You should keep it. That has to be valuable, or at least mean something to your family.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I thought that, until I started to read and--” he pauses, looking down at the book in his hand now, swallowing.

“What, Jamie?”

There’s quiet for a few beats before his gaze meets the camera again. “I started to read it and everything reminded me of ye. So, I thought the book should belong to you instead.”

A lump feels lodged in her throat and when she finds her words again, they’re quietly spoken. “Which poems?”

“Och, Christ, dinna ask me that,” he says in a rare show of, well. Not quite embarrassment, even though his cheeks do turn a little pink.

“I can’t take something from your home without knowing.”

There’s a long pause before finally, he opens the book and simply begins to read. She doesn’t recognize the words, but his voice and soothing lilt make her heart, for the first time in months, unclench a bit.

“My blood approves and kisses are a better fate than wisdom. Lady, I swear by all the flowers. Don’t cry--the best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids’ flutter which says we are for each other. Then laugh, leaning back in my arms. For life’s not a paragraph. And death, I think, is no parenthesis.”

By the time he finishes there are tears threatening to fall from her eyes, and she takes a deep breath, sniffling and brushing any moisture away. “Reminded you of me?” she reiterates.

“I want ye to have it. And perhaps ye could come get it.”

She isn’t sure of what he said, still too wrapped up in the poem. When it registers, she furrows her forehead. “Come and get it?”

Jamie clears his throat, quiet as he waits for it to sink it.

When it does, Claire’s eyes go wide. The last time she’d been to Scotland it changed everything she thought she knew about her life. “You want me to come there?”

“Aye, I do. But if ye canna do it, if I ruined it, if I...what I’m trying to say, Sassenach, is that I dinna want ye to be alone for Christmas. Everyone here would be glad to see ye.”

“You...you would be glad to see me?”

Jamie nods, his gaze intent. “I shouldn’t have let ye leave the first time.”

He’s apologized so many times, tried to make it right, what he’d said, what he’d done. She believes him now when he says she did her best, when he tells her that he knows there was nothing else she could have done. It doesn’t inspire her to pick up where she left off, though. She’s happier now, content to answer the questions of first-time parents and assure them they’re doing just fine. Still, even with forgiveness, she never thought Jamie would ask her back to Scotland, that they would ever share the same space again. She hears herself saying she’ll come, though as she lays in bed that night after purchasing a plane ticket, she can’t quite believe it.

She’d tried, a little more than a year ago now, to wrap her mind around her feelings for Jamie; the attraction was there, no doubt. Now as she lays in bed, she wonders if they fell into one another because he was sad and she took advantage of him as he sought some sort of anchor. If she hadn’t done exactly that, then was Faith the only link between them? Without her, and with her death leaving such a large hole in both of them, would there be anything left with Jamie to salvage? This trip, she knows, will give them both the answer either way.

When she arrives and makes it down to baggage claim she sees him right away; he’s hard to miss, giant that he is. Making her way to him, there’s a moment of not being sure whether or not to hug him before his arms wrap fully around her.

It’s the best she’s felt since February.

“It’s good to see ye, Claire. In person, I mean.”

When he pulls back she immediately feels bereft, but there’s a small smile playing on her lips. “It’s good to see you, Jamie. You look well.”

He walks with her to get her bag, turning his gaze to her. “Speaking of looking well. Were those glasses in the video last we spoke?”

Grabbing her suitcase, she raises an eyebrow. “They were. For reading. I had to bite that particular bullet in September.”

“I havena seen ye wearing them before,” he says, wracking his brain and going through every FaceTime conversation they’ve had since October.

“I never happened to be wearing them. The other day I was cleaning, going through bills and organizing paperwork.”

“Ye should do more paperwork when I call,” he teases lightly, taking her bag from her to carry.

He liked her glasses, and Claire ducks her head a little as she walks behind him a bit, letting him lead the way to his car. It’s still there, she thinks. Whatever it was, the embers are still warm. She remembers how he made her feel, what the guilt was like when he’d told her it was her fault and hers alone that Faith was gone. It doesn’t go away with smiles and conversation, but he is trying to fix it. Day by day, he tries to add another suture to the wound he made. She knows he’s trying, knows he sees a therapist twice a week. He’s trying, and rather than shut him out, her heart tells her not to give up on Jamie.

At Lallybroch, that same sense of family she felt the first time she ever stepped inside envelops her now. It makes her feel connected to something, close to people who’d treated her like family. Instead of Jenny needing to warm up to her, Jamie’s sister greets her like an old friend with a hug, Ian replicating the gesture. The children dogpile her as well; even young Michael who was so small back in May offers her grins and lets her hold him on her hip as they walk to the living room. Claire hadn’t been sure what to expect; everyone still in mourning, maybe because she felt that way for a long while. But there are so many smiles and so much lightness that a peace she’s never been able to find on her own settles against her like a blanket.

This is what healing with family does, and she suddenly, desperately, never wants to let it go.

Instead of staying in Jamie’s room, this time she has her own, and she crashes almost immediately, sleeping through until breakfast the next day. She lets the chatter of family around a table wash over her, and on a walk with Jamie afterward, confesses to him she’s never had that.

Somewhere between the house and the stables, Jamie stops walking, turning to look at her fully before lowering his head. Tentatively, his hand reaches out, index finger hooking around hers. “I ken ye’ve been alone for a verra long time, Claire. I’ve been waiting to say this, was hoping to do it face to face, but…” When he looks at her again, meets her eyes, his own look like a raging sea. “I left ye to go toe-to-toe wi’ the grief alone. I pushed ye away and sent ye home to nothing. That ye found your way out of the dark anyway is a miracle. It took Jenny and Ian both to get me there. So it leaves me to believe one thing about ye.” Raising her hand, he kisses her knuckles before finally letting her go. “You’re stronger than I am, Sassenach.”

There’s a lump in her throat that she can’t quite swallow, and she shakes her head, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m still in the dark, Jamie. Or at least the shadows. I don’t know anymore.”

“And that’s my fault,” he tells her; not a question. An acceptance. “I’m no’ sure why you're even bothering to give me the time of day, truth be told. I never expected ye to answer the phone when I called, or to keep doing so after the first time we spoke. I can never do or say enough to make what I said right.”

“I changed my entire life because of what you said to me, Jamie.”

“Claire, I--”

“No. No, I need to say this. I need to talk now.” She has no idea where that comes from, but he respects it, and once he nods for her to continue, Claire clears her throat. “I changed my life. I couldn’t stop second-guessing myself, I couldn’t...stop questioning every decision I was making about treatment plans, which meant I couldn’t do my job. And that was your fault.”

His head bows but he doesn’t interrupt.

“It was also your fault that I started thinking about all of the times I might have to go through this again. In my job, the ideal, obviously, is to beat cancer, and I have before. I know I would have again. But one more loss like that...I don’t think I could do it. I don’t think I could go through it and make it to the other side a second time. So, it’s your fault I realized I need to do something different. I need to see the joys of life through a child, not fear and pain and sadness.”

Jamie steps forward when Claire stops speaking, tentatively reaching up to stroke her cheek with his thumb. It’s a light touch, hovering almost. “I hurt ye. And no matter what revelations came of it, that will no’ change. I would spend the rest of my life making it up to ye if I could. If ye’d let me.”

Claire looks at up him, bringing a hand to rest over his that’s still tucked close to her face. “Faith brought us together, Jamie.”

“Aye,” he whispers, slowly moving until his forehead can press against Claire’s. “I will no’ let her be the reason we’re apart. Stay in Scotland. Stay for a while until the darkness is gone and there are no more shadows.”

For a moment her eyes close and all she can do is breathe him in. But she feels herself nodding, nose grazing his.

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

Through the darkness to the dawn And when I looked back, you were gone. Heard your voice leading me on Through the darkness to the dawn. Love is deep as the road is long And it moves my feet to carry on. It beats my heart when you are gone. Love is deep as the road is long.

Next Chapter

#outlander fic #outlander #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #datril #deep as the road is long #my fic

[mrepstein]

Brian Epstein’s Address & Telephone Book

A small leather bound pocket address and telephone book that was owned and used by Brian Epstein. The book dates to 1967 and it consists of 57 pages of addresses and telephone number some of which are typed, some of which are in Epstein’s hand and some which have been added by hand on his behalf. // (click HERE to view more pages from the book)

The book contains a total of 404 entries - a selection of them are listed below:

A

ATV Ltd 

ABC Television Ltd 

AIR London Ltd. 

Tom Arnold Ltd 

Neil Aspinall 

Artistes Car Hire 

Annabels [nightclub] 

Alexander’s Restaurant 

Ashley Steiner Famous [talent agency] 

Al Aronowitz 

Atlantic Records 

Eric Andersen 

Bob Anthony 

B

Bryce Hanmer & Co [accounting firm] 

Bedford, Okrent & Co 

BBC Television Centre 

BBC Broadcasting House 

Al Brodax 

Cilla Black 

Mr. & Mrs. Tony Barrow 

Mr. & Mrs Don Black 

Bryan Barrett 

Jack Barclay Ltd  [Bentley dealership] 

Peter Brown 

Mr. & Mrs. B. Bullough 

Mr. & Mrs J. Bullough 

Miss J. Balmer 

Mr. &. Mrs. Ivan Bennett 

Eric Burdon 

Francisco Bermudez 

Lionel Bart 

David Bailey 

Bag O’Nails 

Tony Barlow 

Ray Bartell 

Rodney Barnes 

Bruno One Restaurant 

Sid Bernstein 

Kenn Brodziak 

Leonard Bernstein 

Al Bennett 

Beverly Hills Hotel 

Brian Bedford 

Scotty Bower 

David Ballman 

Bob Bonis 

Bill Buist 

Arthur Buist 

C

Dr. Norman Cowan 

Curzon House Club 

Crockfords Club 

Clermont Club 

Cromwellian Club 

Paddy Chambers 

Radio Caroline 

Michael Codron 

Cap-Estel Le 

Mr. & Mrs. J. Cassen 

Columbia Pictures Ltd 

Eric Clapton 

Capitol Records Mexico 

Michael Cooper 

Roger Curtis 

Neil Christian 

Maureen Cleave 

Thomas Clyde 

Cash Box 

CBS Records Ltd 

Denny Cordell 

William Cavendish 

Caprice Restuarant 

David Charkham 

Capitol Records 

Columbia Broadcasting System 

Bob Crewe 

May Cunnell 

Car Hire Co. for Lincoln 

Dr. Kenneth Chesky 

Capitol Records (Voyle Gilmore) 

Irving E. Chezar 

Danny Cleary 

Bobby Colomby 

Bob Casper 

Andre Cadet 

D

Daily Express 

Disc & Music Echo 

Decca Records 

Bernard Delfont Ltd 

Bernard Delfont 

Noel Dixon 

Jimmy Douglas 

Chris Denning 

Simon Dee 

Rik Dane 

Dolly’s [nightclub] 

Hunter Davies 

Terry Doran 

Pat Doncaster 

Norrie Drummond 

Alan David 

John Dunbar 

Peter Dalton 

Kappy Ditson 

Robert Dunlap 

Robert L. David 

Diana Dors 

Ivor Davis 

Tom Dawes 

Brandon de Wilde 

Don Danneman 

E

Malcolm Evans 

Clive J. Epstein 

Mr. & Mrs. H. Epstein 

EMI Records Ltd 

EMI Studios 

Geoffrey Ellis 

Etoile Restaurant 

Tim Ellis 

Terry Eaton 

Kenny Everett 

John East 

Bob Eubanks 

Esther Edwards 

Ahmet Ertegun 

F

Alan Freeman 

David Frost 

Georgie Fame 

Robert Fraser 

Andre Fattacini 

Dan Farson 

Billy Fury 

Barry Finch 

Marianne Faithfull 

Robert Fitzpatrick 

Warren Frederikson 

John Fisher 

Danny Fields 

Francis Fiorino 

G

Dr. Geoffrey Gray 

Hamish Grimes 

Derek Grainger 

Rik Gunnell 

Rik Gunnell Agency Ltd 

Derrick Goodman & Co. 

Peter Goldman 

Christopher Gibbs 

David Garrick 

Geoffrey Grant 

Mick Green 

John P. Greenside 

Michael Gillet 

General Artists Corp. 

John Gillespie 

Voyle Gilmore 

George Greif 

Ren Grevatt 

Milton Goldman 

M. Goldstein 

Gary Grove 

Henry Grossman 

H

Mr. & Mrs. Berrell Hyman 

Doreen Hyman 

Mr. & Mrs. Basil J. Hyman 

Mrs. A. Hyman 

Steve Hardy 

H. Huntsman & Son Ltd 

Simon Hayes 

Frankie Howerd 

Henry Higgins 

Chris Hutchins 

Tony Howard 

Wendy Hanson 

Marty Himmel 

Casper Halpern

John Heska

Ricky Heiman

Joe Hunter

Ty Hargrove

Hullabaloo.

Walter Hofer

J

M.A. Jacobs & Son 

David Jacobs [lawyer] 

Dick James Music Ltd 

Mr. & Mrs. D. James 

Mick Jagger 

Brian Jones 

Michael Jeffries 

Drummond Jackson 

David Jacobs [d.j.] 

Brian Joyce 

Gerry Justice 

K

Gibson Kemp 

Johnathan King 

Mr. & Mrs Maurice Kinn 

Kingsway Recording Studios 

Ashley Kozac 

Kafetz Camera Ltd. 

Reg King 

Andrew Koritsas 

Ed Kenmore 

Walker Kundzicz 

John Kurland 

Murray Kauffman

L

Larry Lamb 

Martin Landau 

Kit Lambert 

Dick Lester 

Mr. & Mrs. Vic Lewis 

Tony Lynch 

Radio London 

Mike Leander 

John Lyndon 

Bernard Lee 

Kenny Lynch 

Denny Laine 

Lomax Alliance 

Ed Leffler 

David G. Lowe 

Richard W. Lean 

Goddard Lieberson 

Laurie Records 

Liberty Records 

London Records 

Alan Livingston

M

Melody Maker 

Peter Murray 

Keith Moon 

Mr. & Mrs. G. Martin 

Mr. & Mrs. Brian Matthew 

Midland Bank Limited 

Vyvienne Moynihan 

Gerry Marsden 

Ian Moody 

Michael McGrath 

Cathy McGowan 

Mr. & Mrs. J. McCartney 

Albert Marrion 

Robin Maughan 

Peter Maddok 

Gordon Mills 

Brian McEwan 

John Mendell Jnr. 

Marshall Migatz 

Fred Morrow 

Chruch McLaine 

Vincent Morrone 

Jeffrey Martin Co. 

Gavin Murrell 

Dean Martin 

Gordon B. McLendon 

Sal Mineo 

Scott Manley 

Bernard Mavnitte 

Verne Miller 

N

John Neville 

Joanne Newfield 

Tommy Nutter 

Francisco Neuner 

Tatsuji Nagasima 

New Musical Express 

NEMS Enterprises Ltd 

Graham Nash 

Nemperor Artists Ltd 

Louis Nizer 

Bob Nauss 

Gene Narmore 

O

George H. Ornstein 

Olympic Sound Studios 

A. L. Oldham 

Myles Osternak 

Roy Onsborg 

P

Col. Tom Parker 

Jerry Pam 

Plaza Hotel 

PAN AM. rep 

Bob Perlman 

Allen Pohju 

Robert H. Prech 

John Pritchard 

Prince Of Wales Theatre 

Don Paul 

Sean Phillips 

Jon Pertwee 

Ricki Pipe 

Dr. D. A. Pond 

David Puttnam 

David Puttnam Associates 

Tom Parr 

Harry Pinsker 

Kenneth Partridge 

Larry Parnes 

Priory Nursing Home 

Viv Prince 

Steve Paul 

R

Radnor Arms [pub] 

Leo Rost 

Keith Richard 

Record Mirror 

Dolly Robertson-Ward 

Charles Ross 

Rules Restuarant 

Marian Rainford 

Bobby Roberts 

Bill Rosado 

S

Vic Singh 

Speakeasy [club] 

Simon and Marijke 

Simon Shops 

Judith Symons 

Keith Skeel 

Tony Sharman 

Simon Scott 

Barrie Summers 

John Singleton 

Squarciafichi 

Don Short 

Dr. Walter Strach 

Walter Shenson 

John Sandoe Ltd 

Bobby Shafto 

Harry South 

Brian Sommerville 

Robert Stigwood

David Shaw 

Chris Stamp 

Aaron Schroeder 

Stephen, Jacques & Stephen [law firm] 

Leo Sullivan 

Gene Schwann 

Herb Schlosser 

Gary Smith 

Jim Stewart [co-founder, Stax Records] 

John Simon 

Jerry N. Schatzberg 

Lex Taylor 

Robert Shoot 

Lauren Stanton 

St. Regis Hotel 

Eric Spiros 

Howard Soloman 

T

Taft Limousine Corp 

[Sidney] Traxler (lawyer) 

T.W.A. Ken S. Fletcher [director, public relations, TWA] 

Derek & Joan Taylor 

T.W.A. (Victor Page) 

Martin Tempest 

Evelyn Taylor 

Twickenham Studios 

Kenneth Tynan 

Alistair Taylor 

F. T. Turner & Son Ltd. 

R. S. Taylor 

Michael Taylor 

George Tempest 

Norm Talbott 

U

United Artists Corp Ltd 

U.P.I. 

V

Klaus & Christine Voormann 

V.I.P. Travel Ltd 

W

Mark Warman 

Gary Walker 

Robert Whitaker 

Peter Watkins 

Peter Weldon 

Mrs. Freda Weldon 

Alan Warren 

Orson Welles 

Sir David Webster 

Alan Williams 

Dennis Wiley 

Terry Wilson 

Nathan Weiss 

Norman Weiss 

Gerry Wexler 

Y

Murial Young 

Bernice Young 

Z

Peter Zorcon 

#Brian Epstein #handwriting #60s