The name of a person you love is more than language
Tennessee Williams. The Vine
Yesterday, I saw quite a few posts go around the Outlander fandom. As a Lord John Grey fan, and an LGBTQIA+ individual, I find it disgusting that people feel the need to personally attack others who support LGBTQIA+ pairings in canon and fanon. There is no need for it. And there is even less of a need for death threats against such writers and supporters.
Yes. Death threats.
It is 2022, people. Non-straight, non-white people exist and have the right to do as they wish so long as they are not harming anyone. If you really don't like it, block them. There's an easy way to do it, really. If you can't figure it out on your own, Google is your best friend.
I stand with the people who were attacked yesterday, though I know full well they may not see this.
Y'all know what the best part of today was?
The asshole anon who spent all their time and attention trying to break us down and isolate us brought us all together instead. A huge shout out to everyone who had to deal with the fuckery and also came out in support of those who were attacked.
@mistresspandorawritesthings @faeriesfanficblog @iihappydaysii @narastories @geekinthefuschiahair @derpandabar @saltybenchday @jesuisprest-747 @pancake-0028 @scorpio-62, @idjdjmlove @lucrezia87 @lovemylife2618 @randomfandomtrash28 @arakanui1 @tamslassie @andhopethatsoon @ottawaoutlander @joaniez @lethalaquarius @the-queen-underground @statell @sofflysteel @fickeepingtheshipafloat @thesacredveil and everyone else who is dealing with it and getting hate. We love you all!
"I can't describe what this second and third absence of yours has been like - this kind of half-life, this aridness of the soul, this constant malaise, this infinite poverty, this bad dream I fall into when I lose you."
(Gabriela Mistral, from a letter to Doris Dana c. July 1949)
No reason. Just because. Dreamy. 🔥 Hot. 🔥 Sexy. 🔥 🔥
It is in the shelter of each other that people live.
39 DAYS | Outlander Fanfiction
Sunset was still far off, but the light was almost gone. Gale winds barreled through camp, the pitiful green team sign losing its battle to stay upright. As were Joe, Claire, and Thomas, leaning into the gusts as they readied some semblance of a shelter for the storm that was upon them. Gillian already sat tucked under the meager roof, soaked through, knees hugged to her chest as she shivered.
The small fire they’d coaxed into being had already devolved to gasping embers. Given the scant hours they’d had to prepare, Claire’s vision of a shelter and protected fire pit that could withstand the coming storm likely had been overly ambitious. The fact that Thomas’s big talk — Mr. I’m-a-master-at-shelters-and-don’t-you-forget-it Christie — was apparently all crust and no pie didn’t help, though.
And Jamie was nowhere to be found.
“Anyone know where Jamie is?” Claire asked, raising her voice to be heard over a not-so-distant roll of thunder. Everyone shook their heads, not even glancing over as they continued their frantic work. Worried, she looked to the spot in the wilderness where Jamie had disappeared half an hour before. More supports for the roof, he’d said. He’d worried it would collapse without them.
Already, raindrops the size of acorns hammered them. Looking out to the ocean, Claire saw only the silver sheet of falling water in every direction. Across the sky, the darkening purple-black of furious storm clouds prowled towards them like living creatures, monsters breathing in their scent, closing in with every blink. Waiting and eager to devour them whole.
The deluge intensified.
She ignored her tribe mates’ protests as she stomped toward the treeline, a production member hot on her trail. In the moment, getting lost in a storm-ravaged jungle hardly occurred to her. Only a vague sense of unease that twisted in her stomach to think of him out there, alone.
Maybe he was fine. Maybe she’d bump into him steps away from camp and feel silly for having fretted. If nothing else, perhaps it would earn her some trust.
Only rainfall answered. Droplets pelted the ground in a roar of water against leaves. She stepped carefully, picking her way through and calling out every few steps. The further she trekked from the beach, the more her heart pounded, blood whooshing behind her ears like the gusts that threatened to blow her off her feet.
Keep reading on AO3
Gotham Reads Bees
Jenny and Jamie bring Culloden - and Murtagh's final moments - back to searing life.
As the years progress, Jamie clearly remembers more and more about what happened on the moor.
This passage is the clearest memory we see him have of what exactly transpired. How he finally avenged his honor by killing Jack Randall. Every raindrop clinging to his dirk. And the precious final moments of Murtagh's life.
And now for some much needed levity.
Jamie, John, and Claire in Jamaica