whiskygalore: (Jensen 2)
[personal profile] whiskygalore
Title: Kilt Socks and Whisky Galore
Fandom: Supernatural RPF
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC:17
Wordcount: 9,200
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, especially not the boys, nothing is true, it's all big fat fibs.
Warnings: Scottish AU, boys in kilts, bottom Jensen, protective Jared, some homophobic behaviour and language, potty-mouthed boys, light angst, fluff, schmoop and porn!

Summary: A modern love story, set in Scotland, with kilts, and whisky, and weddings, and porn.

Funerals and weddings, Jensen thinks. The only times he wears a kilt is to attend funerals or weddings. He tugs at his tie, looks in the mirror, tugs again, stares sadly at the squint knot staring back at him. It does at least match the uneven slant of his kilt and his twisted kilt socks. If only Jared were here.

A/N: Apologies in advance for a rambling author's note that's almost as self-indulgent as the story itself, lol! This story was written for and inspired by the porn goddess that is [livejournal.com profile] somersault_j.  She requested - some might say demanded - kilt porn when I changed my LJ name from kiltsocks to whiskygalore, and then she made me the most incredible picspam that was a complete story in itself, and totally blew me away. The pictures I've used are stolen from that, but please go and see the whole thing!

I've taken the boys out of Texas (and the Texas out of the boys) and turned them into Scots for one wee story (I promise not to do it again), and there is some Scottish language in here too, not a huge amount, and also for a change British spellings. I've tried hard to strike the right balance between setting the Scottish tone and not alienating any readers, but I can only apologize if I've missed the mark. There is a glossary for some of the Scots words and phrases, I think most of them are self-explanatory and probably don't really need translations but if I've missed anything just let me know.

I'm not gonna lie - I loved writing this story; it's the last of my mini_wrimo fics and probably my favourite one. I hope you all enjoy it too. Happy New Year to everyone when it comes (or when it went!), and thank you all for your kind words, kudos and support in 2015, and I wish you all the love and luck in the world for 2016!

AO3 Link



auld man - father
bonnie laddie - handsome guy
dinnae - don't
dreich - dreary, miserable
goin' tae - going to
is'nae - isn't
jumble sale - rummage sale
ken - know
peely wally - sickly, pale
tatties - potatoes
Yer aff yer fuckin heid - you're off your head, insane



whisky 3.jpg



Funerals and weddings, Jensen thinks. The only times he wears a kilt is to attend funerals or weddings. He tugs at his tie, looks in the mirror, tugs again, stares sadly at the squint knot staring back at him. It does at least match the uneven slant of his kilt and his twisted kilt socks. If only Jared were here. Jared with his clever hands, and his eye for style. Without Jared, Jensen is pathetically useless.

"Hello, Jensen? You doing okay, there?" Jared's mum peers around the door.

Jensen shrugs. "Fine. I just look like I dressed in the dark as usual."

"Oh, Jensen, come here and let me see you." Sheilah Padalecki steps into the room, her sensible court heels clicking across the wooden floorboards. She's dressed as immaculately as always in a carefully chosen skirt suit, her greying hair coiffed and sprayed into submission and her make-up perfectly understated, although there’s a sheen of tears in her eyes - hazel just like Jared's - that threatens to ruin her mascara. "I do wish your parents could have been here to support you," Mrs Padalecki, five foot and half an inch of fierce motherly pride, sniffs as she quickly untangles the knot in his black tie, redoing it so it sits perfectly. "It's not right that you have to do this on your own. You should have your family around you at a time like this."

"You're my family, Mrs Padalecki." Jensen says softly. "You and Mr Padalecki and Alexander and Mhairi."

"Oh, Jensen," Mrs Padalecki smiles, fragile and wavering. "Your parents are fools. I'd like to give them a piece of my mind. What they did-"

Jensen shakes his head, "Not today, Mrs Padalecki, I can't think about them today."

"Of course not, dear." Sheilah Padalecki says, producing a handkerchief out of the sleeve of her blouse and dabbing her eyes. "And it's Sheilah, Jensen, really. Och, look at the state of your socks. And your kilt is squint."

Before Jensen has a chance to object, Mrs Padalecki is tugging at his kilt. Her small fingers slipping down the waistband and hauling at the heavy wool until the apron is properly positioned, the deep pleats falling where they should. Ignoring his protests and batting his hand away, she tightens the buckle on the leather straps ensuring that the waistband is fitted snugly around his waist so that the kilt hangs at the perfect height, just skirting his knees. Then, she drops down and straightens his socks, folding them so they sit just right. Jensen can't look down, absolutely mortified. Wondering what Jared would say if he could see him now.

Jared. There's a lump in Jensen's throat when he think about him. An ache in his heart. Jared was, is and always will be Jensen's first and greatest love. And this, this reminds Jensen so much of the first time that they met, the first time he set eyes on the man that would change his life forever.

***

The kilt outfit had been hired, last minute and cheaply, from a strange little shop in a dubious area of Perth that was more charity shop that designer brand. Unfortunately it's the best that Jensen could afford; student loans and MacDonald's wages not stretching very far. Looking at his ragged reflection in the bathroom mirror, it's obvious that Jensen's best, as usual, is nowhere near good enough. The kilt looks as though it was made for a seven foot tall, caber tossing heavy weight. Jensen's almost six foot frame is swamped, the kilt sitting so low on his narrow hips that the hem is half way down his calves. The shirt is a baggy crumpled mess, and the jacket is a lost cause.

Jensen looks down at himself in despair. He can't possibly go anywhere looking like this. He looks stupid. Almost as stupid as he feels. If Steve wasn't his one of his best friends, he'd make a run for it before anyone saw him. Even now, he's tempted. Unlike Jensen, Steve has lots of friends and a massive family. On a big day like this, his wedding day, he probably won't even notice that Jensen isn't there. But then, what kind of friend would that make Jensen - the shitty kind, that's what.

Jensen frowns in the mirror. He really does look ridiculous. The freckles scattered across his nose seem to darken against his too pale skin in sulky agreement. Jensen huffs a despairing sigh and scrubs his hands across his face praying for some kind of miracle; a sudden bout of food poisoning perhaps, or maybe a minor heart attack, the floor swallowing him whole would be too much to ask for he supposes - earthquakes and sinkholes not being particularly common in Perthshire.

His eyes flick up when the bathroom door swings open with a grudging creak, a barrage of curses tumbling silently from his lips when he sees who's walked in. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse.

"Well, if it is'nae big Steve's light-footed fairy friend. Shite, I thought you lot were supposed to be stylish. Look at the fucking state of you!"

Angus, bloody brilliant. Steve's future brother in law, and an absolute knobhead. A homophobic knobhead at that. His barely concealed contempt and twitchy fists were the main reason Jensen bailed early from Steve's stag-do. As if Jensen's day wasn't bad enough already. Jensen ignores him, tries to do something constructive with the horrible tartan tie flapping limply round his neck.

Behind him, Angus smirks. "What did you do, borrow your auld man's kilt? Oh-no, wait a minute you could'nae have done. He threw your pansy-ass out the door didn't he. He would'nae even loan you the dog shite off his shoes these days."

"Fuck off, Angus." Jensen says, more exhaustion in his voice than ire. "You don't have to be a dick every day of your life."

Angus's smirk turns even nastier, and a cold finger of fear taps at the back of Jensen's neck. Angus might be a couple of inches shorter than Jensen but he's almost as broad as he is tall. And most of his bulk is muscle. Muscle that he isn't shy about using. "You lookin' tae start something here, Jenny?"

Jensen slowly turns around, pre-emptively holding his hands out in front of him. "Look, Angus, I don't want any trouble, okay? Let's not spoil Steve and Catriona's big day."

"You dinnae think turning up looking like a jumble-sale reject is goin' tae spoil it anyway?"

Jensen's face heats at the accusation, because arsehole Angus has a valid point.

"I dinnae even ken why you're here, you tosser. Naebody wants you around." Angus struts into Jensen's space, backing him up against the bathroom sinks, not stopping until his foul lager breath is curdling against Jensen's face and the lip of the sink is carving a groove into his spine. "Stevie only lets you hang around because he feels sorry for you."

"That's...that's not true," Jensen stutters, stomach twisting at the thought that it might be.

Angus grins knowing his verbal punch hit its target. "Gonnae just do us all a favour you big jessie, and fly your fairy ass ba-"

"Hey!"

Angus stops mid-word, looking over Jensen's shoulder into the mirror to see who just walked into the bathrooms. "Alright pal? If you dinnae mind, Jenny and I are just having a wee chat here."

"Well, your friend doesn't look very comfortable, so why don't you take a step back." The words aren't aggressive but the tone is firm. Still, Jensen is surprised when Angus does indeed back away. Breathing out in relief, Jensen glances towards the door to see who his mysterious rescuer is, and all of a sudden, Angus's seething bulk fades into insignificance. This guy is stunning. He doesn't look ridiculous in his kilt; he looks like some kind of Celtic warrior. An incredibly sexy Celtic warrior. He's tall, a good four inches taller than Jensen and broad, but with beautiful toned muscle not bull-necked bulk; chestnut hair that falls down to his collar, a button nose that tilts up adorably, and stunning almond eyes that shine hazel, or maybe green, Jensen very much wants to get close enough to find out.

"Are you okay?"

It takes a moment too long for Jensen to grasp that the guy is talking to him. And a moment longer to work enough moisture back into his mouth to reply. "Uh..yes?"

Before he can kick himself for his lame response, Angus butts in, drawing tall, dark and handsome’s attention. "Look I told you; he's fine, so why don't you piss off and come back in five minutes."

"I don't think so." The guy spreads his feet, folds his arms across his chest, his stance projecting immovable object.

"Look mate," Angus says dropping his voice and trying for friendly. "I'm not wantin’ any bother here; I'm just trying to teach this faggot that-"

Jensen flinches at the slur at the same time as the other guy tenses; the vein in his neck pulsing angrily. Jensen’s stomach drops like a lead weight; if the guy is a homophobic dick like Angus then he is totally screwed, he might as well call for an ambulance right now.

"Faggot, huh?"

Jensen swallows hard, his palms clammy with nervous sweat as he tries to read the guy's mood.

"Well then, in that case you're going to have to teach me a lesson too. Seeing as how I'm another one of those faggots."

"You?" Angus sounds as astounded as Jensen feels. No way is he that lucky.

"Yes me. Now you want to take us both on and have to explain to everyone including your sister and Steve that you got your arse handed to you by two fags? Or do you want to walk out of here in one piece?"

Angus splutters comically for a second, his face contorting through a range of expressions from disbelief to flabbergasted to pure animosity and ending in a resigned kind of scowl. Obviously he wants nothing more than to take this guy on, but two against one - especially when one of the two looks like he bench presses highland cows for fun - and at his sister's wedding, is giving even a complete dolt like him pause for consideration.

"Well I…I guess I dinnae want to spoil my sister's big day." Angus finally says.

"No, you really don't," the guy agrees, not taking his eyes off Angus as the disgruntled moron tries to walk casually past him to get to the door. Angus must think he's free and clear, but the other guy chooses that minute to pounce. In one ninja-quick move, he grabs Angus's wrist, twists it up behind his back and pins him, face first against the door. Jensen can't quite make out what the guy says, his voice too low as he drops his head and whispers in Angus's ear, but when he shoves him one last time against the solid door before letting go, Angus's face is as white as a sheet. "Yer aff yer fuckin heid, man" he says, voice trembling almost as much as his hand on the door handle. "Bloody nutcase," he adds, with one final wide-eyed glance back over his shoulder when he finally manages to open the door and bolt from the room.

Jensen's breath catches in his throat as the guy turns back around, his relief tinged with uncertainty. The guy might be gay, but he's also apparently a bit of a hard man, and Jensen really really isn't. That uncertainty fades when the guy relaxes those big broad shoulders and smiles. Fireworks explode. Jensen's heart swells so much it almost bursts out of his chest. Dimples, the cutest dimples and the whitest teeth and the sunniest, warmest smile. And Jensen stares back like an idiot, too stunned to move.

"Hey, are you okay?" The guy asks.

Jensen can only nod mutely in reply.

"God that guy's a dick. He didn't hurt you did he?"

Jensen gets as far as licking his lips, but words are still out of his reach. He settles for shaking his head.

"You're not exactly chatty are you?" The guy says, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, that's okay. I've got a big enough mouth for the pair of us."

Jensen's eyes are drawn to his lips, spread wide in a smile. He'd like to see them close up. Like to trace them with his tongue, taste them, nip at them until they shine red.

"So, I'm Jared." The guys says, and Jensen's eyes jump away from his mouth, guilty and embarrassed, positive that the guy, Jared, somehow knows exactly what he was thinking.

"And you are?"

"Sorry," Jensen blurts out, face immediately flaming. "Jensen," he adds meekly. "I'm Jensen, and I'm sorry about that. You didn't have to...I'm fine..." His teeth clamp shut when he realises he's making an idiot of himself.

The guy, Jared, walks towards him, hand outstretched, his smile not dimming exactly, but turning more intimate, real, an invitation. "Jensen...you're Steve's friend, right? I'm his cousin. I think we missed each other the other night at Stevie's stag-do. I was late, got stuck at work, and you bailed early Steve said?"

Jensen takes the offered hand, looks down as Jared's long fingers engulf his.

"Jensen?" Jared asks softly "Are you okay?"

"Angus," Jensen says. "I left early because of him."

"I don't blame you," Jared says, holding on to Jensen's hand, his thumb sliding across Jensen's knuckles. The hairs on Jensen's arms stand up, an electric charge running through his blood, his mouth seared dry.

"I'm not normally-" Jensen says, tries to explain. "I'm not normally so-"

"Cute?" Jared suggests.

Jensen blushes, chews at his lip, doesn't let go of Jared's hand.

"So adorable? So irresistible?" Jared says. "So downright talkative?"

"So pathetic," Jensen says, his voice reduced to little more than a whisper.

"Hey," Jared says, dropping Jensen's hand, instead tucking his fingers under Jensen's chin and nudging his head up. "You're not pathetic; don't say shit like that about yourself, man." Jensen barely hears him, he's entranced by his first close look at Jared's eyes; they're hazel, with amber and green flecks and big black pupils swallowing them up - the prettiest eyes that Jensen has ever fallen into.

Jensen shakes his head in an attempt to dislodge some words from where they're trapped in his dazed brain. "I'm...a mess; Angus was right....I look like a charity shop cast off."

"You couldn't be more wrong." Jared says, a faraway look in his eyes that makes Jensen's stomach flip flop. "Can I?" He asks.

Jensen nods, hell yeah, this guy can do whatever he wants. Jensen stands rigid, as Jared runs his hands over his shirt, tucks it in to his kilt, deftly tightens and straightens, smooths wool and white cotton. It's not like being dressed by his mum, it's more like being undressed by a lover; every touch leaves behind a spark of heat and steals a gasp of air. Jared slides the tie free from Jensen's collar and Jensen's whole body shudders. Dropping the tie, forgotten, to the floor, Jared pops open the top button of Jensen's collar and then the next one, his fingers, strong and calloused, trace feather-light down Jensen's throat, across the ridge of his collar bone. "That's better," Jared says, his voice a low drawl, like an aged malt whisky, dark and smoky, and going straight to Jensen's head.

If Jensen cared he would turn around and look in the mirror, see if Jared had somehow worked a miracle and made him look presentable, but all Jensen cares about now is Jared. The touch of his hand, the woodsy scent of his aftershave, the question in his eyes. It feels as though he's caught in a dream. One magical moment far removed from Jensen's real life. A real life that's harsh and awkward, sharp-edged and complicated. A real life that means never being good enough, never quite fitting in, always watching from the outside. This is - different. Jared is different. Jared is suddenly everything Jensen wants.

Jared's fingers brush a path back up Jensen's throat, tickle over his jaw. His thumb maps the outline of Jensen's lips. "Fuck," he exhales unsteadily, sounding as shaken as Jensen feels. "Steve said you were good looking, but he never said you were this pretty."

Jensen's blinks, his mouth falling open in surprise, his lips forming a shocked little 'o'.

"God, you're gorgeous. Can I?" He asks again. Jensen's response hasn't changed, he nods.

Then Jared's lips are on Jensen's. Barely there, a hint of a tease of a touch, a promise of more.


***


"Jensen?" Mrs Padalecki says, snapping him back to the present. "Are you alright, pet? You’re looking awful peely-wally."

Jensen swallows and nods, the ghost of Jared's touch lingering on his lips. "Yes, Mrs Padalecki, Sheilah. Yes, thanks. I just...just want to get this over with."

Jared's mum nods, understanding in her eyes. She knows how hard this is for Jensen. All those people. All those eyes on him. Knows all he wants is Jared by his side again. Knows just how hard the past few days have been for him.

"I know, sweetheart." She says, straightening the spray of heather in his buttonhole. "It's almost time. Just stay strong a little while longer. For Jared. It'll all be over before you know it."

Jensen nods, his smile watery.

"I'd better get going. Ian'll be thinking I've gotten lost again." She reaches up and gives his cheek a fond pat. "We'll see you out there, pet."

Jensen bends down and lays a quick peck on her cheek before she leaves. As the door shuts quietly behind her, he finds himself yearning for his own mother, even though he hasn't seen her since he was seventeen; blue-haired, freshly tattooed and also freshly out. Jensen tries not to dwell on the ugly memory. On the tears, and bruises. On the hatred and disgust. On the disappointed hand-wringing and the way his belongings were thrown like rubbish on to the pavement. On the foul-mouthed rant by a father grounded in a strict Presbyterian upbringing, unwilling to bend his views, his principles, even for his son.

Jensen scrunches his eyes closed and chases away the memories. This is not a day to dwell on the scars of the past. Opening his eyes, he turns and checks himself over one last time in the mirror. Somehow Mrs Padalecki has done the impossible; he almost looks half-decent. That's a significant improvement. Jensen will never accept that he looks good dressed like this. No matter how many times Jared has reassured him over the years; Jensen will never believe that his bowed legs look anything but ridiculous in a kilt. They also make him paranoid as hell that he's going to give everyone a cheap show when he sits down, his thighs spreading wide naturally. Not that Jared ever minded that. Usually encouraged it actually.

Jensen runs his fingers through his hair, teases his short spikes up, then skims the pad of his thumb across his freshly-shaved jaw, briefly mourns the loss of his beard. Jared always did prefer him baby-smooth though. All over.

A knock on the door distracts him before he can delve deeper into those thoughts. It's probably just as well. It's not exactly appropriate.

It's time.

"You ready?" Steve asks, poking his head around the door. "Everyone's waiting."

Jensen takes a deep breath, wills the panic in his chest to ease. Wiping his damp palms on the arse of his kilt he nods grimly.

Steve laughs, the bastard. "Shit, Jensen, it's a wedding you're going to, not a fucking funeral. Lighten up mate."


***

"One of these days," Jared says buttoning up his shirt. "It'll be us."

"Fucking shitting hell," Jensen spits, trying and failing again to fasten the stupid fiddly cufflink through the hole in the cuff of the old-fashioned shirt that Jared picked out for him; why he couldn't just hire a damn kilt outfit like normal Jensen has no idea, but Jared had insisted it was time he bought a kilt that fit properly, and a shirt with bloody cuffs that didn't just button up like a normal fucking shirt.

"Here, let me." Jared's brushes his hand away, curling his fingers around Jensen's wrist and fastening the cufflink in place effortlessly.

"Thanks," Jensen mumbles, handing the other cufflink to him wordlessly. "What did you say?"

"I said," Jared rolls his eyes. "That one of these days it'll be us getting married."

Jensen loves Jared more than anything or anyone in the world. But sometimes he thinks his boyfriend is a little simple. "Maybe if we elope to Canada. Don't you have a cousin out there?"

"Probably," Jared nods, folding Jensen's cuff neatly before snapping the cufflink into place. "But no, here in Scotland."

"I love you Jared, but you're seriously deluded if you believe that'll ever happen. Not here."

"You don't think they'll do it? Pass the same sex marriage bill?"

"You do?"

"Yeah," Jared says, lifting Jensen's hand up and pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist. "I think love is stronger than prejudice. I think Scots are brave and forward thinking. I think-"

"Not all of us," Jensen cuts him off quickly. "Not all Scots are forward thinking. Some of them are narrow-minded bigots stuck in the dark ages. Some of them-"

"-are progressive and passionate and believe in freedom and fairness and equality." Jared winds his fingers through Jensen's. "Not everyone is like your parents, Jensen."

"A lot are though," Jensen replies, his voice as heavy as his heart. "The churches will never condone it."

"They don't have to." Jared says. "Have a little faith."

Jensen screws his nose up at that. Jared laughs, bends down and kisses it. "Not in the church idiot. In me. Have a little faith in me, in your fellow Scot."

Jensen doesn't say anything, just tilts his head up in offering, melting against Jared as their mouths meet. He has plenty of faith in Jared, but the jury's out on the rest of Scotland. Jared sees the best in people. Believes that good will always prevail. Jared has a huge loving and generous family that have supported him every step of the way. Jared is tall, charismatic, and outgoing, and ripped enough that even the most homophobic dickhead usually keeps his mouth shut. Jensen and Jared's experiences, their upbringings, are completely different. And that is something Jensen is grateful for. He wouldn't change Jared for anything, wouldn't warp Jared's enthusiasm and love for life with the deeply ingrained cynicism that taints his own view of the world. Jensen envies Jared's optimism, that doesn't mean he'll ever share it.

"Is that a yes," Jared says against his mouth, tongue swiping across Jensen's.

"Mm, what?" Jensen asks, distracted as he chases after Jared's retreating lips.

"Did you agree to marry me one day?" Jared huffs a gentle laugh. Jensen looks up into those hazel eyes he fell in love with at first sight, and teases playfully, "Did you ask me?"

"No," Jared says, after a second's consideration. "I guess I didn't. Oh, well, we'll just have to live in sin for a wee while longer."

"Sin's good," Agrees Jensen, walking Jared backwards until his calves collide with the bed. "Let me show you just how sinful I can be."

***


Daylight is just beginning to fade as Jensen follows Steve through the thick-carpeted halls of the castle, now a hotel, outside into the wood-edged gardens. The notes of Highland Cathedral, played by a lone piper, roll through the air, the sound almost eerie in the falling gloom of dusk. Jensen must have been mad to agree to an outdoor wedding in January in Scotland. Or head-over-heels in stupid love. The ballroom was on standby in-case of a seasonal gale or snowstorm, but since a blanket of snow fell thick and heavy last night, the weather has held fair. If absolutely finger-bitingly baltic cold. It's just as well the service is a quick twenty minute affair, because Jensen doubts their guests would stand around freezing their floppy bits off for any longer than that no matter how much they want to see Jared and Jensen wed. At least there are roaring log fires and bottles of whisky waiting to warm them up indoors once the ceremony is finished.

Jensen shivers when the cold air whips up his kilt, thinks maybe he should have worn thermals rather than the flimsy underwear he chose, though he knows they’ll have Jared panting over him later on. He is glad they decided on rugged boots rather than shining leather kilt shoes when he trudges across the snow-covered lawn. He can't help but wonder how many people swore at their choice of venue when they made they treacherous walk through the gardens. The snow might paint a beautiful picture, but it's not exactly high-heel or dress shoe friendly.

Every frivolous thought disappears, every doubt and worry Jensen has vanishes when he spots Jared standing in the clearing. Behind him is a stunning backdrop, the still-waters of the loch, dark and mysterious bordered by snow-covered firs. The mountains rise up behind them, sparkling white in the rising moonlight. A circle of glowing lanterns surrounds Jared, the registrar stands on one side of him, Jared's brother and best-man, Alexander, on the other, a hundred or so guests huddled close by, leaving a lantern-lined path for Jensen to walk down.

The beauty of the scene spread out before him is lost on Jensen. All he sees is Jared; gorgeous, tall, proud and magnificent. His smile is blinding, even from a distance. Jared is everything Jensen wants, everything he needs. Jared is his love, his family, his home.



whisky 7.jpg

Date: 2015-12-31 05:55 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] trendykitty.livejournal.com
I haven't read yet - it's going at the top of my 'to read' list. But really, that pic of the shirtless guy in the kilt. UNFFFFFF! Are you a Diana Gabbaldon fan? Have you been watching Outlander?

Date: 2015-12-31 02:31 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] whiskygalore.livejournal.com
No I haven't watched Outlander or read the books, but I've heard good things about it. Need to put it on my to-do list!! And I'm always a fan of gorgeous men in kilts!

Date: 2016-01-02 07:54 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] honscot.livejournal.com
I haven't read it yet either, but I had to immediately say: Eeeeeeeeeee, you've turned the guys Scottish! The very idea of them in kilts makes me all *-*

And I love that picture you posted.

I'll add a second big thumbs up on Outlander too, series and books! Very good stuff in that series. All those lovely Scottish accents and kilts... right up my street. :D

Putting your fic at the top of my list!

Date: 2016-01-03 07:45 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] whiskygalore.livejournal.com
Thank you I hope you enjoy the fic :) and that picture is lovely, you have to go to somer's page and see the picspam she did, the whole thing together is gorgeous, and lots of Scottish feels too!

I'll have to look for the Outlander books, it sounds like a fab series. <3 xx

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