#swimmy lads

[theluigiguy]

JRPG party, name the four traveling duckies

#cute ducks #ducks #bird photography #duckie #duckies #ducky #ducksu #mallard #mallards #mallard duck #swimmy lads #jrpg party #the leader should be called quackson

[oldfacesnewdawnoffical]

The traits aren’t a bad idea in theory but can be a bit iffy depending on which ones and like you said the redundancy of it all. Would these traits really describe a cat that well like the other prefixs could?

Yeahhh that’s my worry. It’s cool in theory, as you said, but it’s… redundant at the end of the day.

I’d like something unique for the Riverwardens, as their culture is so heavy about luxury and theatrics and honoring the self… They’re the drama kids of the fealty. So of course they’d want to do something entirely unique. But… it’s difficult to decide what exactly that would be from a narrative standpoint.

T^T One book down (rough draft plot) and still we’re stuck on naming-

#AUGH #y’all have no idea how frustrated these swimmy lads make me #I love them they’re so cool but UGH #old faces new dawn #ask #doritopaw101 #naming

[firstdegreefangirl]

Then It's Still Working

“Bye, lads.”

“Have fun tonight. Don’t do anyone I wouldn’t do.”

“Please, we all know I’m more selective than you are.”

“Remember to use condoms, Colin. You would not want to get a disease from being sexually promiscuous.”

“Yeah, thanks, Jan Mass.”

---

The locker room door slams shut as Colin leaves, Jan Mass trailing behind him, reciting statistics about rashes and treatment times. It leaves Jamie alone, trying not to think about why he would know any of that. He slips his street shoes back on, pulling the laces as tightly as he can. He hopes it’ll prove - even if only to himself - that his hands aren’t shaking.

It doesn’t. He sees it anyway, the way the loops tremble beneath his touch. He’s not sure why it happens sometimes – he knows it’s anxiety; Dr. Sharon had told him that much, but he doesn’t know why. Why his hands shake and his head gets all swimmy, and his chest goes tight like it does after long workouts, even though he hasn’t moved an inch for 20 minutes.

He closes his eyes and tries to take deep breaths, wrapping his fingers around the cuffs of his jeans. His thumbnails drag back and forth across the hemline, trying to count every stitch. It might be his imagination, but he thinks he traces through 86 little ridges of thread before he feels like he’s ready to stand up.

His legs wobble, but he stays upright. A couple of breaths later, he takes a careful step forward. A red and blue Richmond duffel bag stays behind, abandoned in front of Jamie’s locker.

He doesn’t need it. Not until he goes home, and he’s not leaving yet. He knows better than to drive when his head feels like this. The last thing he needs is a headline telling the world that Jamie Tartt can’t even steer a car. So he can’t go home, not while the world is all wobbly like it is right now.

He doesn’t know where he can go, though, is the thing. Everyone else is gone, so at least he’s got the locker room to himself. But he doesn’t want to be alone right now. That's half the problem, he thinks, how even when he’s around the other lads, he still feels so alone sometimes. They’ve all got families, and loved ones, and friends who exist outside of work, and when Jamie goes home from training, he’s … alone. He doesn’t have any of that, except a best friend who’s also his ex-girlfriend, and a gaffer who’s the closest thing he’s ever had to a dad who really cares about him.

He’s got himself, and he’s got a Keeley, and he’s got a Ted. But today, it just feels like he’s on his own. Keeley’s off somewhere on a fancy PR trip, and Roy spent all day pretending that he’s not pouting about her being gone, so Jamie doesn’t want to bother him either.

And Ted is …

Read the rest on ao3 here!

#katie writes #kw23 #ted lasso #coach beard #jamie tartt #ted lasso fanfic

[renee-writer]

Cousins Chapter 50

AO3

He almost passes out at seeing them. His head gets swimmy and his heart starts to pound. She smiles, her eyes full of exhaustion and joy.

“Don’t stand on ceremony Jamie. Come in and meet your children.” Her voice frees him from his paralysis and he moves to her side. The babies lay in her arms.

“Their real.” She laughs.

“I ken they are. Here papa. Hold your son and daughter.” He has held Jenny ‘s bairns, fresh from the womb. It doesn’t compare to holding his own. When his wife slips the wee things into his arms, he feels as fragile as a soap bubble ad as indestructible as Scotland, herself.

The lad is his Sassanch, from his brown hair to his round face. His eyes, though, show the slanted look of his. The lass, on the other hand, is him. From her riotous curls of red to her Viking features. “ Halo mo chlann. Is mise do athair. Tha gaol agam ort.”

He moves his eyes from one to the other, taken them both in. A son and a daughter! How incredibly blessed they are! “Shall we stay with the names we picked out?” Claire asks.

He looks up at her, his eyes a shim of tears. “Aye. Oliver McKay William.” He looks back to his son. “That be your name mo mac. Mo mighean, Elsbeth Brianna Julia. Ollie and Ellie.”

She laughs. “Lets get them properly introduced to family and baptized, before you start shorting their names.”

He chuckles. “Your mama be right. Something ye should learn right away. She usually is.” They spend the next hour bonding before more of the twins family comes to meet them.

The Gaelic

Hello children. I am your papa. I love you.

My son

My daughter

#my writing #outlander fanfic #cousins #chapter 50 #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fandom

[candyredterezii]

look man. sometimes.

you just gotta cry to yourself listening to Californication okay.

#prsnl #apswedrfotgikhjgf/// #thats the mood lads!! #plbt. #my head is v swimmy rn #tbh i kinda wanna just take another nap #i was gonna clean my room today but. im too tired #i might take another na #p #idec

[scribblesscribblings]

Swimmy lads!

Despite being weeks away, I already have spring break brainrot. To have some fun, I thought I’d draw the Rise of Balxiros boiz enjoying some spring break weather! This was also mostly an excuse to give Finn horrendous dad fashion lmao

Below is a bit of a spoiler if you haven’t seen the entire campaign yet:

Let’s get the gang back together!

#rise of balxiros #berkley tate #finn arcus #zephyr #valir #dnd #my art #we stan finn in horrid dad fashion

[pop-goes-the-sneasel]

Since Monster Hunter's on the table, how about Ceadeus?

Oooo, another one of these. Ceadeus!!!!

Like Chameleos, Ceadeus is an Elder Dragon: a fancy category for creatures that defy conventional classifications, typically being exceedingly rare and having immense power. I love that the term “dragon” here is used on a more conceptual level than literal level, and many Elder Dragons – like Ceadeus here – don’t particularly resemble traditional dragons much at all. So what does it resemble, then?

Well, aside from a Dunkleosteus-like head (y’know, like Dracovish), it doesn’t really resemble much of anything. Its body plan vaguely evokes a whale, but its overall silhouette is more similar to a sea angel of all things, and it’s also got a large mane of fur around its neck and two large bull-like horns. That’s quite a combination of traits, and it’s great!!!! Love seein’ creatures that are just a hodgepodge of disparate characteristics. It ends up looking pretty cohesive despite that, too, which is good.

Anyways, in case it wasn’t apparent, Ceadeus is aquatic – it resides deep in underwater caverns, and consequently doesn’t actually interact much with humans unless actively provoked. That said, though, it does cause earthquakes by ramming into cavern walls. It frequently grinds its horns against the walls to manage their growth, as they grow continuously and can actually render it blind by overtaking its eyes. Real horns don’t usually overtake eyes, but they do often grow nonstop, so that’s a little based in reality! It’s also capable of sucking in and expelling water as a beam, an ability that reminds me of the suction feeding of whale sharks, an animal I’ve also reviewed on this blog for some reason?

The last thing of note is Ceadeus’s bioluminescence, which is one of my favourite characteristics for anything to have! Can’t get enough of that glowy shit, y’know? Normally blue, its luminous organs turn red when enraged, which is an interesting thing to do when you think about it. I guess it would function as a warning signal? I think that’s a legit thing that bioluminescence is used for to deter predators, though I imagine something like Ceadeus doesn’t really have predators.

Ceadeus also has a subspecies known as Goldbeard Ceadeus, which like the name implies, is basically Ceadeus except gold. Gold certainly wouldn’t be my first choice for an alternate colour, and it doesn’t feel particularly appropriate for something aquatic, but I suppose it looks alright.

Anyways, Ceadeus is an excellent concept for a dragon, though as a more mammalian-leaning dragon that focuses on sheer size and strength it isn’t something I personally vibe with much. Still, it’s hard not to like a massive underwater bull-dragon that causes earthquakes, and again, I can never object to bioluminescence.

A fine swimmy lad/10.

#monster hunter #monhun #monster hunter reviews #ceadeus #elder dragons #coming-up-ooo

[trans-mando]

i was tagged by @poefinn to do 21 questions and tag 21 people!

nicknames: not really, no, though i will accept most

zodiac sign: i do not know what the suns and moons are. i was born in the late october, therefore scorpio, that is all i know

height: 5’4″

hogwarts house: hatstall, ravenclaw by choice

last thing i googled: "spotify anthony j crowley has been pining 6000 years”

favorite musicians: florence atm, mountain goats, idk

song that’s stuck in my head: well heath @poefinn answered run boy run and now that’s in my head so.....ya

following: a lot

followers: usually between 500 and 700 idk i haven’t checked in ages

do you get asks: rarely

amount of sleep: less than i deserve

lucky number: 7, 9, maybe 3

what you’re wearing: jeans, t-shirt

dream job: i get to drive a little boat for science and there’s nice fishies and maybe people i get to teach about stuff

dream trip: great barrier reef but also like...the back rivers of southeast asia. i’m in a fish mood lads

instrument: one (1) hand on the piano, and it has to be my right hand

languages: english, little bit of french that i’m trying to relearn, 1-29 in korean, aspiring to asl

favourite songs: sky full of song, free ride in a cop car, there’s more probably but i am very tired,

random fact: i went camping for one night last weekend and now im filled with the camping spirit, despite the fact that i am freezing cold every time i camp and i absolutely despise being freezing cold (and also can’t sleep until warm)

aesthetic: you know that time of evening when the ocean very suddenly turns from a Friendly Swimmy Place to something that you know in your soul would Eat You And Barely Even Notice? yeah, that. also storms. the good sort with the sharp leading edge and the hail and the lightning.

tagging: actually it is very late at night so i think i will not

#thank u heath for the tag!! #and now. good night

[boogiewrites]

Mae Flowers Ch. 2

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Mae LeBlanc (OFC)

Word Count:  6600+

Summary: A modern, magical Alfie Solomons AU. After a soul awakening of her own, Mae LeBlanc, a natural born witch, as well as a sensitive and kind woman from New Orleans soul finally starts to bloom and calls out to Alfie’s, unbeknownst to her. Not believing in supernatural powers, she finds herself thrown into a new existence that is full of things she never thought possible, including magical powers of her own. Alfie takes her under his wing to teach her about her powers. As she grows and learns, so does he. They navigate her lessons together, come to terms with how lonely their lives have been without the other and face these very human emotions together. With a newfound friendship formed out of necessity, will the idea of a soul mate translate from a mere magical meaning to a romantic one?

Warnings/Tags: Language. Spooky Imagery. Mentions of violence, poor self image. Magic/Supernatural. Soul mates. Lots of environmental descriptors but bare with me. 

Positive feedback is MUCH appreciated! Reblogs, likes, asks and comments feed me to write more! Let me know if you’d like tagged in my work.

Click on my screenname then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

Alfie drives over to the Westbank into the residential parts of town. Old and new houses, apartment complexes and shotgun homes. He follows the GPS to Mae's house and it looks how he thought it might.

 A small colorful front, with a tall wooden fence around the sides and backyard. The door was a deep teal set against a faded yellow exterior. An awning over the front door, with a small porch, a stoop that was painted and worn. Flower pots of all sizes and in the color of gemstones and varied conditions sat on the stairs and around it. Wildflower boxes sat underneath windows with shutters of the same teal color as the door and fencing. It was quaint, comfortable and colorful just like she was, he thought it suited her well. He pulls into the small driveway, in the residential area with houses that look much the same as hers. It homed older houses with older owners that had fallen into a less than pristine condition, newer family homes with landscaped front lawns. But Mae's had a small patch of grass, closer to the road as he suspected the backyard would be where most of the bulk of the grass would be for a garden.

He carries Mae into her house, unlocking her door with a nod of his head. Finding the interior to be as warm and comfortable as she felt in his arms. He walks directly into the far corner of the living room. The large bay window seen from the front of the house is bleeding bright light into the room from behind a large and plush couch. The room is decorated in deep jewel tones, a teal sectional sits against navy walls, with a collection of warmer color throw pillows in bohemian and southwestern styles. A shaggy faux fur blanket was thrown haphazardly over the extended lounge end of the couch. Large potted palms sit in the corners, succulents in tiny decorative pots on the window sills. They carried onto the mantle of the brick painted black fireplace that sat like a huge room divider, sitting in a huge square column in the center of the large space of the living room and kitchen. A flat-screen tv rests on the opposite wall of the couch above the fireplace. A driftwood coffee table containing a large fern in a bright yellow pot, books on plants and herbs stacked with various remotes and cat toys.

He places her gently on the extended section of the couch, careful to place her head on a pillow and make sure none of her limbs are twisted.

He hears and feels his darkness rev and purr and push around inside him. "Yeah I know, me too." he sighs.

-"Been waiting so long."- it moans. "So soft. So much life. She glows like the sun. The companion to our moon."- It starts reciting its own strange poetry for its mate it's waited millennia for. It hadn't been with its light since the dawn of time he assumes, as he knows his darkness is so old that time isn't even relevant to it for the most part.

He recalls the dark horrors of primordial ooze and black endless voids and abyss when it had come upon him. He was impressed it was behaving itself. For so long he'd had to fight so hard to control it, making him do evil, terrible things. Deeds so bad he'd exiled himself for years away from civilization. But in her presence it was calmed, it rippled like water, it was happy and he'd never known his darkness to feel happy about anything. Except when he was digging through the insides of innocents. He shakes the old thoughts from his head, still feeling guilty even almost a century later and trying to make amends ever since.

He traces his fingers over her face and whispers calming words to help ease her anxious nature he sensed. He stands and takes in the room. Her house is very quiet. He moves soundlessly around the fireplace and sees a quaint little kitchen. Driftwood light fixtures, colorfully painted window and door frames in the same jewel tones that carry throughout the house. The kitchen is white-walled, sunlight from a window over the sink pouring in against the far wall. But the majority of light came from the two patio doors that led to her garden. A closed-door sits off to the left next to an open archway that goes down into a sunroom. He looks over the open shelves on the kitchen walls and is very excited to find tins of various teas lining them.  Old jars of pantry staples sit across the wooden countertops, some he'd say were from his time possibly, he wonders if she inherited them or if she simply had classic taste. He finds a small, dinky metal kettle and starts on making her some tea. He figured he needed something to calm her, finding her windowsill full of herbs he could easily use to make something to soothe her.

He senses something alive in the house, something besides the plants. He turns, seeing a large white long haired cat staring at him from a short hallway between two doorways to his right.  It swishes its tail and they both narrow their eyes at each other.

"Who are you, lad?" Alfie asks as the cat continues to sit and stare at him. "You must be with Mae." he says with a nod, going back to searching through the cabinets. "Not much for talkin' to strangers, eh?" he chuckles. "Must mean there's a little more to ya than being a common house cat."

Percival lets out a noisy huff of air, taking offense to the term common house cat. He lets out a low growl at Alfie. He could sense his dark energy and he didn't trust him. Although why he had brought Mae home and was now making her tea was a bit confusing if he wished her ill.

"I'm not here to hurt your girl." Alfie says, still not looking back to him. "I'm here to help her. You know she has powers, yeah? I'm here to teach her how to use them. I have similar powers, although I'm not a witch like her." he shakes his head, his fingers digging into a small tea tin.  

Percy knew he wasn't a witch, he didn't feel like a witch, didn't have the aura. He lets out a typical meow.

"You can say somefin' better 'an at mate." Alfie grins.

He lets out another meow of the same tone.

"Fine, fine. You're protective, I understand. She seems like a sweet, soft girl I can understand your concern." he remarks as he looks at him with a sympathetic expression.

Percy moves to jump up on the kitchen island to get a better look at this new person that'd come into their lives.

"'Ello." he says, leaning back against the counter while the kettle fills.

Percy says nothing and continues to sit and stare as he had been.

"I'm Alfie Solomons. You're probably sensing my darkness. But I've had it for a very, very long time, yeah? We're in control, we're not gonna hurt Mae." he states again. "We're here because of her lightness. She's our mate, right? We've been lookin' for her since me 'n this darkness got together. So the last fing I wanna do is cause her harm, 'right?"

Percy tilts his head, content for now with his explanation. But he wasn't so sure what Mae, who had no knowledge of anything of their world was going to think about this.

Mae's eyes blink open and then widen as she finds herself at her home, which is not where she remembered last being. She sits up slowly, her head feeling a bit swimmy but she's quickly aware of that strange feeling in her stomach acting up again. This time it felt different, it was what she imagined a jolt of electricity might feel like. A humming in her ears she hadn't heard before, a warm tingling in her limbs. She wonders if she has a concussion. Her attention is drawn towards the kitchen. She hears the clang of something metal and the sounds of someone clearing their throat. Her eyes are the size of saucers again.

"Oh, shit." she whispers, eyes darting around the room, hearing movement and now humming and in a distinctly male tone coming from the kitchen. She moves slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible, feeling that vibration inside her intensifying and she reads it as anxiety. She sees her shoes have been taken off as they rest by the couch, which makes her brow furrowed in question. She peeks around the corner of the fireplace, see's the same man from her dreams in the kitchen, now recalling the man walking into her shop. Then she recalls fainting and rubs her head where she's guessing she hit the ground as if it might give her some answers. Why was he in her dreams? Was she having prophetic dreams now? Great, that's just what a weirdo like her needed, more weirdness stacked on top of everything else strange about her. Was she being kidnapped? Why was she at home is she was being kidnapped? Is this a hostage situation perhaps? Holding her for ransom in her own home. She recalls reading about Stockholm syndrome and makes a quick pact with herself not to fall into that sort of mess in her manic rush of thoughts.

She eyes the large cast iron skillet on the counter in front of her, and if Saturday morning cartoons had taught her anything, is that when you needed to knock someone out, that's the way to go. So she grasps the grainy handle in both hands, holding it to her chest because of its heavy weight as she tries to sneak up on him. Little does she know he knew she was awake the moment her eyes popped open. But as is in his nature, he wants to learn about how she reacts to the unknown, taking this as a learning experience about her. He can sense she's scared and he understands that much. But her reaction with violence surprises him. Perhaps it was his darkness being near that made her so bold and go for that method first. Maybe it was trying to mingle with her to even her out, make her less passive and more reactive.

So as he hears her deep inhale as she's about the bring the pan across the back of his head, he turns and stops it, putting his hand over hers as she's about to swing on him.

"Fuckin' 'ell girl." he frowns down at her short frame.

Her bottom lip juts up, her brow going low in surprise for his hearing her and being so calm about her attempt at murdering him.

"I ain't here to hurt ya." he says with that thick accent she heard in her dreams. "If I was would I be makin' bloody tea and layin' ya down all nice and comfy while you'd passed out?" he asks, his gingery beard jutting towards her as he spoke to drive his point forward.

Her large hazel eyes blink rapidly, taking in the new information, still wild and large and full of questions he could sense. Her mouth opens and her lips twitch but no words come out. He had a point.

"Now let's put this down, eh?" he says, taking the large black pan and setting it on the counter behind her. "I know you got a lot of questions, yeah?" he nods, his lips pouted out as he moves closer to her. "I know you've been dreamin' 'bout me 'cause I've been dreamin' 'bout you." his voice dips lower, but not in a threatening way. "Do you think there might be a reason for that?" he tilts his head and their eyes connect fully for a few seconds, that flame inside her makes her take a sharp inhale. What was this feeling?  He reached out with tentative hands, putting them on her shoulders to ground her, depart a bit of calm energy into her. She feels it immediately, not understanding the source. Her muscles loosen, her heart rate slows and it's like the best anxiety medication she's ever taken. "Let's just breathe... calm down..." he says nodding slowly and she mirrors the gesture without thinking much about it, their eyes still fixated together.

She gives a quick but still unsure nod.

"We don't want ya gettin' all excited and burnin' down the place now do we?" he says with a smile that tugs back the corner of his mouth. Her eyes go wide again and he feels that spark of fear come back. She recalls being angry a few weeks ago. The flames in the fireplace lapping out wildly for a moment, catching one of the plants on the rug on fire, the singed piece of rug still black despite her scrubbing it. "Yeah, I know all about that sweetie, come now." he says, putting a hand on her back, moving her towards the round kitchen table that sat in the space between the bar top and the sunroom. "Try some proper tea made by a real Englishmen and have a sit down with me, hmmm?" he suggests with a kind smile and a nod of his shaggy head.

She still doesn't speak but another series of quick nods as she places her hands flat on the table top and stares with those big enticing eyes as he moves about her kitchen. He pours the tea from the kettle in such a delicate way it takes her by surprise. He'd chosen her favorite mug somehow, an old one of Bessie's, textured like tree bark and cream, a funky green and orange mushroom on the side that she liked to run her fingers over as she drank. He sits next to her, pulling the chair closer to her, taking a sip and motioning with the steaming mug for her to do the same. She was taught not to take drinks from strangers but what is proper etiquette for a stranger, but not really a stranger, who brings you home after passing out then tells you secrets you've not told anyone else? Where was the after-school special on that when she was a kid?

"It ain't poison." he says with a chuckle into his mug. "See? I'm drinkin' it too. No worries, love." he says in a soothing even tone.

Once again she responds in a nod, taking the mug into her hands and taking a sip. It was nice, she had to give him that.

"Best start with the basics, yeah?" he says with a quirked brow, taking a deep breath and setting the mug back own. "My name is Alfie Solomons," he says with an authoritative tone. "I've been tryin' to find ya for weeks but I think you know that." his eyes narrow almost playfully at her. "I know Cordelia and Fiona-"

"I'm not going to that stupid academy." Are the first words out of her mouth to him and he smirks at her stubbornness. She was going to need that.

"Now sit on back, darlin' I ain't here to try to get ya to go." he dismisses the thought with a sweep of his hand. "I just know 'em and they know you eh? I'm tryin' to create some familiarity here understand?" She nods and keeps her face harder than it had been. "I'm not a Salem witch, I'm not a voodoo priest or nuffin' of the sort like Maria who does your hair."

"What are ya then?" she blurts out, her brow lower and her eyes more curious than frightened now.

"Someone that has been lookin' for you for a very long time, love." he says with a softer expression, his hand resting out of the table. "There are some things I'm gonna tell you about yourself, yeah? And I need you to believe I ain't here to lie to you because you're not gonna believe it. I know enough about you just by how you've reacted to me bein' here to know you aren't naive."

Her lips purse at the compliment, her eyes finally leaving him and watching Percy jump up onto the table and join them. He seemed calmed as their eyes met, a slow lazy blink as he laid down. She took this a sign to proceed. "I'll listen." she says softly.

"You are a very powerful woman Mae." he begins, a finger tapping the space on the table between them.

Her face scrunches and he can tell she's already not believing him.

"I'm not on about no modern feminist rant here, love, just hear me out, please," he adds. "You're very powerful and you need to be guided by someone who knows what it's like. You and I are very similar, contrary to what our appearances might indicate. I'm here to help you understand that power." he pauses, watching her face and she's still listening, even if shes' taking everything with a grain of salt. "You are a natural born witch. But beyond that, you were born with a very special soul. A very rare and powerful thing, yeah? I happen to have the same sort of soul. You might understand it best as a...yin and yang situation. Your soul balances out mine you see. Your powers are complementary to mine."

His face is very serious, she can tell at least he doesn't think he's lying. But crazy people believed their own lies so of course, he would.

"I ain't crazy, sweetheart." he gruffs out, furrowing his brow and taking a sip of tea.

Her eyes shoot over to him and she stiffens. Can you read my mind? She thinks with a tilted head.

"Yes." he nods. "But only to prove a point." he shakes his head and looks up at her from under a heavy brow. She gulps noisily. "You can do it too. But you've not had any discipline, no one to explain the strange things that happen to...and that's why I'm here." he says with a sweet soft voice as his hand touches her knee for just a moment, trying to show her he meant her no harm. He wishes she could read his mind so she would understand how entirely the opposite was his intention.

"To help me with my..." her face frowns. "Powers?" she says with a solid nod of her head.

"Precisely," he says with a large nod. "You see, every so often there is a soul created that takes a bit of ancient power with them into creation, into this world, this...plane of existence if you will." he begins speaking with his hands. "You are one of these souls. I think the term white witch might be easiest for you to relate it to. You've been denying these power and they keep manifesting in inconvenient ways, yeah?"

He sees the realization come over her face as she hides her uncertainty with a long sip of tea.

"Things explodin' when you're angry, your wonderful gift with plants. How you speak to them and they flourish. How every full moon you find yourself almost uncontrollably amourous." he says with a cheeky tone and looking away with a quirk of his brow.

She lowers the mug and frowns at him, giving him a warning glance. There's no way he could've known that.

"I'm not tryin' to start trouble, love, I'm simply trying to ease your mind that I'm insane." he explains with another low swing of his voice, back to seriousness. "I'm here to mentor you. It's how this system works. Our souls need each other to balance the other out. And that normal, part of how the universe keeps it's balance, yeah?" he nods and looks to see her processing the information.

Something fluttering inside her tells her to trust him, even though anything she'd ever been taught should be telling her otherwise. She studies him, thinking he looks perfectly human, but so did she, and if she, in fact, did have these powers then he wouldn't look any abnormal than she did. "I...I don't know why but... against my better judgment I'm inclined to believe ya." she says with a sigh that slumps her shoulders. As her nerves ease, her southern accent comes out a bit more, her throat not feeling so tight and it causes a little smirk to come across his face. "But I ain't really sold on it." she adds with a furrowed brow.

"Right." he drags out the word, looking around the room for a moment, trying to think of how to prove it to her. "Ah." he says, grabbing a tiny succulent that sat in a homemade planter that resembled Percy, he waves his hand over and it withers and died immediately.

"NO!" she cries out, taking it in her hands as her breathing picks up and she stares at the plant. "Poor little thing..." she whines, her face entirely distraught, her mouth hanging open.  She glares at him while stroking the plant and without her noticing, it starts to plump back up again. As she looks back down she drops it against the table, but only by a few inches and it thuds as a tiny flower that hadn't existed before starts to bud on it as it goes back to how it had been.  "Oh," she says with a straight face, only her eyes moving over to him. "I...I've never done that before." she states quietly, her face still in shock.

"You need to start believin' in yourself before you believe in me, love, see? Ya powers work. They're charged with your emotions right now because they're not trained. I can help you with that. You might be hesitant to my being here, but clearly, your powers aren't, eh? We can feed off each other in that way." he explains, taking the plant and studying her handiwork before placing it back where it had been.

He sees her eyes going cross before they squeeze shut and she lets out a little moan, reaching up to touch her head.

"Right," he says with a wrinkling of his face in concern. "That'll happen at first." he says in an unintentionally condescending way. It'd been so long since he'd thought about what it was like to only be learning of powers that he'd forgotten how draining it could be.

She moans and he holds her shoulders as she slumps forward. "So tired." she rasps out, her eyes looking a bit sunken, as they look up at him like a little, injured kitten.

"You're learnin' but you're weak, love." he nods, rubbing her shoulder. "We can make ya stronger, but now let's get some food in ya and get ya to bed, eh?" he says with a caring tone again, patting her head before pushing her back in the chair as she rests her weight on the table.

He rises and moves to the fridge, angling himself so she isn't out of his sight. His darkness is already impatient to get back to touching her, letting Alfie know of its greed to connect with her. But Alfie feels the sadness that's coming from her that it's choosing to ignore in its selfishness.

As her head spins, the frown on her face is not only from the uncomfortable feeling she has. She'd never thought she could be special. Only Bessie and Charles had even told her she could be but she'd never believed it. So it turns out she actually was special and that felt like it should feel better than it did. If she was different, then that explained a lot but it also meant she could never fully blend in and disappear like she'd always tried to. So she had to form a new approach to how she lived, which felt incredibly daunting and made her head throb. Percy senses her pain and walks over and purrs, rubbing against her face.

Alfie leans against the counter with his hips as he mindlessly put together a sandwich for her. He sees the deep blues around her, can feel the confusion and sadness and he wishes he could take it away but it's all part of the process. It physically hurts him to feel her pain, he hopes he can show her what a gift these powers can be. How it can make her life easier and all the perks that come along with it. She had so much love to give inside her and no suitable outlets for all that life to escape and flourish. She must be so unhappy with all that confusion and pain from a source of love and life only needing to be properly expelled, used and focused. He takes solace in knowing he can help her. They've found each other now and the wait was over. His darkness does it's equivalent of wiggling in excitement at the thought. She seemed so very sweet and kind, a real ray of sunshine in human form and he supposes she very well could be. He swears to himself no matter how this goes he'll do everything within his own enormous powers to help her figure herself out, learn how to flourish on her own. Only that would lead to a better life for them both.

Her favorite comfort sandwich, bologna and cheese with lots of mustard and pickles appears before her. He refills her tea and sits next to her wordlessly.

"So..." she begins, forcing her eyes open and taking a bite. "Ya gonna be teachin' he, huh?" her face winces as she turns it towards his.

"That is the plan, yes." he nods.

"You said you were lookin' for me. That means you're not from here, right?"

"Right. I'm not from anywhere really, just got into town last week."

"Where are you stayin'"? she asks

"I've been at the Academy while I've been lookin' for you."

"Ah." she nods, taking a bigger bite, her strength starting to come back. She weighs the next thought that pops into her head before she expresses it out loud. "I can..." she tilts her head back and forth in uncertainty, "I can trust you right?" she asks with a weaker voice than she intends to.

"Of course, love. I said I'd never hurt you and I mean that. Hurting you is hurting myself and that'd be rather daft of me seein' as I've waited so long for ya and my soul has waited even longer than either of us could fathom." he says with an expressive face.

She nods and looks at the table as she chews another bite. "So you would like.. protect me basically? Teach me how to use this and keep me from hurting myself?"

"Yes, of course," he says earnestly again. "I know you can be a little clumsy." he chuckles and she smirks because he's right. "Not gonna let ya hurt yourself." he gives her a smile that feels genuine, the hesitation and instructional tone in his voice now gone and only that charm of his handsome face and accent remain as she feels an unfamiliar warmness spread through her body. She wondered if it was the light she was told about. Should I ask him to stay here? She asks herself, her eyes studying his. And as if she was hearing a voice that was carried downwind by a breeze, the faintest lightest 'yes' she hears.

"I have a spare room," she says, her head motioning to the closed door by the sunroom. "If ya... wanted to stay." she says blinking and looking away from him. "I mean... would that help? Make things easier for..." she motions her hand back and forth between them. "Whatever this is." she lets out a huff of a laugh with raised brows, her face no longer looking sad and he's thankful.

"It would make it immeasurably easier." he says with a grateful nod and another dashing smile that she's not used to receiving from men that look like him.

"I don't want you to have to stay with those witches anyway." she shakes her head and looks away again, taking another bite. "And it's not like I live that close to them," she adds. "Would hate for you to have to do that every day." she shrugs. "Plus this way when I blow up a cauldron or whatever you'll be here to help." she smiles and takes another bite.

He knows she's making excuses now but he doesn't mind. Her capacity for kindness is showing already, inviting to share her home with him. He wasn't going to ask to stay with her but this was the ideal situation. "I can help with that, yeah." he nods and lets out a little chuckle, much like the one she'd heard in her dream, she feels that warm feeling again, like walking into the sunlight after being inside in the air conditioning. It felt good and something was telling her this was right and it certainly wasn't her common sense.

She finishes her sandwich, still feeling extremely drained but no longer dizzy or in pain. She shows him to the room, switching the light on and revealing yet another cozy space. The walls were white, it was filled with plants. A shelf full of ivy rests the length of the wall over a soft looking bed with dark colored and mismatched pillowcases, blankets and sheets. A southwestern style rug in pinks, yellows and burnt orange rests across the floor at an angle, a blanket of the same color scheme but different pattern rest across the lower half of the bed. A worn wooden dresser rests under the window, plants in pots, an old metal fan, and an incense holder sit atop it.  A nightstand with a lamp sits against the wall next to the bed. He sees a fireplace on the wall opposite the bed, giving a thankful nod as it would make his spellwork much easier to have it so close and with such privacy. Boxes with the names of her foster parents sit stacked in the corner.  

"I can move some of the plants if you need me to." she offers. "This room gets really good light during the day so I put a bunch in here." she moves towards the window. "I'm sure I've got some darker curtains if you need them. This doesn't shield you at all from the sun." she shakes her head as her fingers tug on the sheer fabric. "I'll get the boxes out of your way tomorrow." she says with a kind but tired smile as she turns back around to look at him surveying the room.

"You can leave them, love, no problem at all. I get some curtains if it turns out I need them," he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "No rush on the boxes either." he adds with a smile that reads as thankful. "It's a very cozy room." he nods with pouted lips.

"The bathroom is on the other side of house." she says walking out of the room and he follows. He sees the rectangular space. His eyes are first drawn to the old and large claw foot tub that had been painted yellow and hooked up to also function as a shower. The same navy paint on the walls as the living room, with white tile on the floor. A sink with a cabinet underneath, various toiletries rest on top of the small counter space. A large worn mirror hung above it with a golden frame that showed it's age. As was with the rest of the house, the plants had made their way in here as well. Leaves of eucalyptus hung from the silver hardware shower head, plants rest atop the makeshift wooden stands the fit snug around the tub, some of the leaves and branches falling down into it slightly. The shower curtain was shoved back and out of the tub, he took this to mean she took baths more often. A window with a bright paisley fabric cover keeps the view of the outside blocked. And old work of embroidery of a bouquet of flowers is framed and rests above the toilet. "I'll bring in a basket from my room for you to put your stuff in, there's not much room left under here." she says with her foot tapping the door to the cabinet under the sink.

"Much appreciated, love." he says, eyes still scanning the busy space. There was so much to look at in her home. She turns to open the other door, different from the rest as it was painted lavender.

"And this is my room." she says almost timidly. He feels the magic wafting out of the room as soon as she opens the door. The walls were a deep teal, a paisley purple rug covered the worn hardwood floor. A thick and plush mustard yellow comforter cover the bed, another faux fur, shaggy throw in strewn over the bed like the one on the couch. Her pillows are all mismatched, some with floral prints, some shades of purple. A fireplace rests in this room as well and he can feel the age in the house as he enters the room. The mantle is painted the same shiny black as the other fireplaces and pillar candles of all colors, widths, and sizes rest atop the mantle. Some in tiny silver platters, some melting down onto the wooden surface.

The room smelled deeply of lavender and seeing an incense burner next to a flat screen tv on her purple dresser he knew the source. A closet door of the same lavender color rests in the corner. A large chair next to a bookshelf sat next to it in front of a window with flowing jewel-toned fabrics and sheer panels create a blanket around the chair. A wicker clothes hamper and a stained glass lamp on the nightstand all fall within the same color scheme, the room full of all sorts of energy. A small table pushed into the corner with a runner across it, a worn little pink stool pushed under it with a laptop on top. Framed pictures of all sorts, from all time periods and mediums, cover the far wall, some she'd inherited, some from her weekend trips to the flea market. Of course, the room was not complete without a large palm overgrowing in the corner next to a standing mirror.

He felt his insides quiver. This was her nest, he thought. This was her safe space and her sanctuary and his darkness knew it too. The space wasn't as well lit as he imagined but it was night and he hoped he'd get to see it in the morning light, anxious to know what else it would reveal about her. She felt a bit exposed and vulnerable suddenly, there'd never been a man in this room before with her.  But he took in everything with a look of awe on his face, she watched his thoughts pass over his face, eyes tensing, lips twitching.

She tried to read his thoughts, but of course, she had no real clue as to how to do it, but she still felt no maliciousness in him towards her. There was something under the surface, she could tell. Something about him was timeless in a way. He had said their souls were ancient, perhaps that's where the term old soul came from? Without the new explanation of there actually being souls at all, and now knowing they could, in fact, be old, she thought the descriptor on a more lamen's terms still made sense about him. He had an ease about him, the bohemian sort of casual and comfortable style to him. The messy hair, the beard, and jewelry. It would seem their aesthetics matched well, which she hoped was a good sign.  for

"If you need anything, feel free to knock." she says turning to leave the room before looking back at him. "But knock first." she says with a stern nod of her head and he flashes another smile, happy to see her giving him boundaries. The lightness in her could make her too giving, too compassionate to the point of harm to herself and he was hopeful that this wasn't the case with her as she gave him a look that told him not to push it with her. "I guess we'll get ya a key tomorrow..." she says rubbing the back of her neck. "You have stuff with you or...?" her face contorts in question.

"I got stuff in me car, yeah." he nods looking towards the door. "I'll try to be quiet bringin' it in. You need to get some rest now though," he says with a wag of his finger at her. "Very important you take very good care of yourself while you're learnin', love. You can drain yourself and your health will suffer and we can't have that." he says with a clap of his hands. "So I will get my things, settle in, and we can convene in the mornin', eh?"

"That sounds good. I get up between seven and eight usually." she says, moving back towards her room. "So uh...goodnight?" she asks with a soft laugh for the unique nature of the very unusual situation.

"Goodnight Mae." he says with a nod and smile. "If you need anyfing, you come knock as well, yeah?"

"Yeah, no problem... uh...." he looks at the floor realizing she doesn't even remember his name. She lets out a laugh and rubs her head. "I'm sorry but I don't remember your name." she admits with a bitten lip and an apologetic glance.

"It's Alfie, love." he grins. "Alfie Solomons." he nods again. "You've 'ad a lot coming at you today Mae, I take no offense." he says with a hand to his chest.

"Thanks for that." she nods. "Movin' in and I don't even know your name. What a weird ass day." she shakes her head but she's smiling as her eyes shift around, trying to process everything.

"Things'll start to feel more normal again once we establish a routine, you'll see. It'll be fuckin' weird at first, I won't lie." he laughs and she's hit that warm feeling again, recalling her dream and the same sound she'd heard then as he moves towards her. "But we'll get through it together, yeah?" he responds supportively with a hand on her shoulder.

"I appreciate the honesty." she says sheepishly with a smile that reflects the tone.

"Ain't got no reason to lie to ya, sweetheart. Now you get on in bed. I can tell you're fadin' on me." his eyes almost twinkle at her as he motions to her door.

"Lock the door before you go to bed, please."

"I will. But if anyfing came in here, believe me, it'd regret it as soon as it met me." he chuckles again.

"Also good to know." she nods."Night Alfie." she says with a wave from her doorway.

"Night, Mae. Don't worry 'bout a fing!" he says loudly as he walks towards the door.

She lies in bed wondering what the fuck she was doing. There was a man in her house. Not just that but an attractive magical one that was apparently lethal and her... soul mate? She groans and rolls over to her stomach. Yeah, the term fit didn't it? She had too many questions but she knew she'd get answers as he'd already been very helpful so far. Well, helpful in the sense of turning her life upside down. But at least he was sticking around to help clean up the mess and make sense of it. She couldn't say she'd ever known any man to do that before for her. She decides to go to sleep on that hopeful note, wondering what she would dream about now that he had found her.

@jaegeeeeer @negansdirtygirl22 @brianaisasongbird @hardygal69 @emerald-bijou @captstefanbrandt @coolgh0st @tinastarkandco @stylishmileage 

#alfie solomons #tom hardy #peaky blinders #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x ofc #alfie solomons au #witchcraft au #supernatural au #alfie solomons modern au #modern au #alfie solomons magical au #writing #fan fiction #alfie solomons fan fiction #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fan fic #alfie solomons imagine

[sorcererinthestars]

supernatural au fluff if u want it: boys take jack to the sea for her to just enjoy some time in her skin, swimming through the waves, in her second home. cute boys playing with her in seal form, rubbing her belly and floating with her. just cute times at the beach for all (except vampire rye poo guy just sitting under an umbrella most of the time)

thank you for this blessed image.

Ryan would like you to know that sunlight doesn’t kill vampires, not really - if it did he wouldn’t be living in fucking California of all godforsaken places - but it doesn’t really feel good either. He’s pale, being undead will do that to you, and the sun can burn him incredibly easy. Too much time out in the sun will make him red and irritable. Too long will burn him to a rather painful severity and you’ll have an irate, red-blotchy vampire looking to fight whomever comes close. (Or bathe in aloe and go to bed in a dark room. Alone.)But for the others, a bright sunny day with nothing to do means a day out on the yacht. Obviously. Ryan comes along because he doesn’t want to be left alone all day - he’s a loner, yeah, but not that much of a pain. And he likes a swim as much as anyone, even though the sun can make him annoyed. The others slather him up in sunscreen and sit him underneath the awning on the lower decks of their lavish yacht. Honestly, Rye doesn’t mind that much - he can kick back in the warmth and read a book, getting some good old-fashioned me time.For the Lads, this is pure, unadulterated chaos. Yacht day means time for swimmies - bevs in the water, obviously. You’d think a werewolf, a witch, and a Fae wouldn’t be great swimmers, but they’re as good as any human. Which means, under the watchful eye of their Selkie, they’re safe as they can be with floaties. Geoff brings the yacht out to see, just out of sight of shore, and they spend the day carousing. But this is really Jack’s day. This is one of the only times that Jack pulls out her skin from its storage - they get far enough out that she transforms and spends the day in blissful happiness, darting through the waves in the form she feels the most comfortable in. Gavin, upon seeing her change for the first time, declared her seal form to be “a sea dog” and spent every waking moment he could trying to pet her. Humoring him, she lets him, and they often bask together in the warmth of the lower decks, letting the sun dry them off. Her blubber makes a good pillow and Ryan has a lot of sneaky pictures of a golden Fae boy cuddled with a fucking seal on the wood floor of the lower deck.It’s beautiful until it isn’t - when Michael and Jeremy launch an alcholol fuelled attacked on the sleeping beauties, soaking them with water from a well-timed spell. They sputter and Gavin swears vengence, leaping into the water and taking both himself and Michael under. Jeremy, laughing, doesn’t notice the might of the seal, dragging him below as well. They both surface, sputtering and laughing. Even Jack looks mirthful in her seal eyes.Geoff will sit with Ryan, mostly, enjoying the warmth and the sunshine while looking out on his beautiful Selkie and his other little terrors. They take this time to cuddle - he’ll stroke Ryan’s hair as he reads for a while. Eventually he’ll be bullied into the water and he and Ryan will join the fun, jumping in and adding to the chaos of the screams and splashes and joy.It’s always a fun day that ends with five humanoids surrounding a contented seal. Eventually they have to go home, ordering pizza and pigging out while Jack’s skin dries before falling into bed. Happy and warm. (Even if Ryan is sunburned to shit.)

#fahc #supernatural au #good boys enjoy the beach #my writing

[thunderoad]

3.3k of a time traveller au; 2017 harry wakes up in december 2012, and 2017 niall finds himself responsible for helping 2012 harry get home

Jeff slings his arm around Harry’s neck and pulls him in close, tucking him up under his chin. Harry tries not to smile but he’s just hammered enough to know he’s grinning like a Cheshire cat. He snakes his hand under Jeff’s blazer and curls his palm around Jeff’s hip. It makes Jeff huff - he must’ve touched a ticklish spot - and then laugh and shake his head.

“You did it, Hersh,” he says. Harry can’t crane his head up to look at Jeff’s face with his cheek pressed to his collarbone, so he regretfully pulls away to stand up on his own. Well, mostly on his own. He still needs Jeff’s arm around him to stay upright.

“It’s a great party, isn’t it?” Harry asks, raising his voice to be heard over the din. His assistant, Marilou, always does such a fabulous job with the lighting and with making sure that there’s lots of little trays circulating with lots of interesting things to eat; since they’re in Japan, the platters are stacked high with sushi, and Harry thinks she might have even called to hire street artists to demonstrate how to swallow a flaming sword. A troupe of buskers sing a mournful song in a language Harry doesn’t know, and a flash of annoyance shoots through him. He can’t tell if he’s annoyed with himself for not understanding or with them for playing such sad music, but he does his best to shrug it off.

Jeff squeezes Harry’s shoulder, his smile wide. “Not the party, man! I meant the tour!”

“The tour!” Harry shouts agreeably, and snags a sparkling pink drink off a tray passing by to raise his glass in a toast.

“First tour done!” Jeff goes on. Glenne squeezes between two vigorous dancers and takes Jeff’s hand. She puts her other hand on Harry’s shoulder and gives him a friendly squeeze. Harry’s careful not to slosh his drink all over her when he leans in for a proper hug.

Harry repeats, “First tour done!,” clinks his glass against Jeff’s, and knocks back the drink in one go.

“Many more to come,” Glenne adds. She takes the empty glass from Harry’s hand, sets it high on the heaping table near where they’re stood, and pulls them both into the throng of dancing bodies. Harry goes easily, feeling the bass thunder up from the quaking floor right into his very bones.

***

A beam of sunlight shoots through a chink in the blinds and lands squarely on Harry’s eye. He groans and rolls over, but rolling entails moving, and now his swimmy stomach feels like it’s trying to swim right up through his mouth. “No,” Harry whines weakly, and waits, and hopes, and the need to puke recedes minutely.

Complaining would feel good, Harry thinks (he feels like he’s dying and his bladder is about to burst and his mouth tastes like Jaeger), but the amount of effort required to form his thoughts into sentences puts him off it.

Room service. If he can find the phone, he can dial room service, and room service can bring him some paracetamol. But first he needs to get up and pee. Harry concentrates, but he can’t remember the floor plan of his hotel room, and he doesn’t fancy smashing his face into any walls, so he unwillingly cracks an eye open.

And it’s...not his hotel room, that’s for sure. Did he go home with someone last night? Maybe. (Probably.) But this doesn’t even look like someone’s room, really, unless that person has the personality of a member of the Queen’s Guard. The sheets and duvet are twisted up round Harry’s legs, but they’re mystifyingly white and tan. There’s a TV and a writing desk across the room on the opposite wall next to a lamp bolted to the floor.

Alright, Harry thinks, so definitely a hotel room. Whose hotel room? Are they still here? “Hello?” Harry tries. He twists his fingers in the sheets to ride out the wave of nausea like he’s back in Jamaica gripping water through his fingers to stay afloat. “Is - Is anybody there?”

No answer. Maybe he changed hotels last night? Normally, if fans figure out where he is or whatever, he just changes rooms.

The need to pee pushes all other considerations out of Harry’s head, and he slides his weight carefully onto his feet. He’s a little surprised his legs hold, and more than a little proud of himself. He hustles to the en suite bathroom and drops trou, surprised to find that he’s still wearing his pants.

Ordinarily he sleeps naked, and if he took someone home with him - but maybe he didn’t? Maybe they took the party on the road and Jeff checked him in here to sleep it off. Jeff. Harry’s phone. Yes, brill plan. As soon as Harry’s done emptying his bladder he’ll get right on it. And he might call room service, too.

Someone bangs on the door, making Harry jump so hard he nearly sprays the toilet lid like he hasn’t done since he was just an itty bitty lad. “We’re leaving for the airport in five, and if you’re not in the car we’re leaving without you!”

Bus? Harry’s on tour, yeah, but they mainly travel by plane; they hadn’t had the tour bus shipped all the way to Japan for a couple of dates. Had they?

“Sorry,” Harry clears his voice, “I think you’ve got the wrong room.”

“Ha ha,” someone says. They don’t really sound like they’re laughing. “Very funny. Not really, that was awful. See you downstairs!” The doorknob jiggles like someone’s trying to let themselves in, and Harry freezes with his pants gathered round his ankles and his hand still wrapped around his willy, defenseless. He holds his breath.

The door stays shut. “Five minutes!” The person repeats, and Harry lets out a breath. He tugs his pants up around his hips, washes his hands quickly in the sink - he’s not an animal, this might be a strange situation but he has standards, thank you very much - and hurries to find his clothes so he can get dressed and out of here before whoever thinks he’s coming with them finds out he’s very much not. He can call Jeff just as easily from the lobby, huddled behind a potted plant. He’s done it before.

His own clothes are nowhere to be found, but he discovers an open suitcase with a heap of jeans and ratty t-shirts inside, contemplates theft for a moment, realizes he has no other options, and quickly pulls it on. The clothes look familiar for some reason, like maybe he shops at the same store, but he doesn’t stop to think about it. He’s sliding his feet into a battered pair of trainers and pats his pocket for his phone before he realizes he never found it.

Harry freezes, torn between two equally awful possibilities. Look for his phone and wait to get caught, or leave it and be effectively alone in a city whose language he doesn’t speak?

Fuck.

Harry’s still frozen when he hears the distinct sound of a key card sliding into the lock. He closes his eyes again. The door swings open, and Harry braces for the worst.

“Harry?” says a familiar voice. “What are you doing stood there for? We’ve got to be in the car five minutes ago, or we might miss our flight! What have you done to your hair?”

Harry opens one eye, then the other. Liam fucking Payne is stood across from him with his arms folded across his chest like a disapproving father and his brow wrinkled like Harry’s nan’s. “If you’re hungover, that’s not our fault,” Liam says crisply. He steps sideways, shuts the door behind himself, and sets about tidying Harry’s room for him. He heaps the shirts and jeans and pants he finds lying around into the suitcase and sits on it to zip it closed.

“Liam?” Harry squeaks. He clears his throat. “What...are you...in Japan?”

Liam looks up at him. He’s buzzed his hair again, Harry thinks absently. His face is soft and round, though; Harry’s heart gives an unwilling surge of affection. “Japan? What are you on about? We’re not in Japan.”

“Not...in...” Harry blinks. What was Harry drinking last night? Maybe he wasn’t drinking, maybe he took something? What could he have taken that’d let him wake up in another country? “Where...are we?”

“New York,” Liam says briskly. He puts his hands on his hips. “Seriously, how much did you and Taylor have to drink last night?”

“Taylor?” Harry repeats.

Just then, a series of rapid knocks lands on the door.

“Don’t answer it!” Harry squawks.

Liam shoots him a bewildered look and ignores him entirely, the traitor. He pulls the door open quickly, and someone dutifully recites, “Paul says to come and make sure you didn’t get killed so he can kill you himself. What the fuck’s taking so long?”

“Harry’s on a bender,” Liam answers primly. Harry’s scowling before he can think twice.

The other person whistles lowly. “Is he really? What’re you having, then, Styles, did you save any for me?”

Irish lilt, skinny legs, pink cheeks. Harry knows this other person, too. “I think I need to sit down,” he says, and can’t think how to move, so he doesn’t. “What are you two doing here?”

There’s the fractured silence of two people sharing a meaningful look, followed by Niall’s thoughtful, “You reckon he hit his head?”

Harry stiffens in surprise. He does have a headache. Maybe this is all just some weird hallucination, and his subconscious is speaking to him through his old bandmates. He bends his head obligingly for Niall to check, only Niall clucks in disguise. “I’m going to need a feckin chair to stand on. When did you get so tall? And what happened to your hair?”

Even as he talks his hand finds its way carefully to Harry’s head. It comes as a shock when he combs his fingers gently through Harry’s fringe before setting about feeling for any lumps. Harry looks up at Niall through the screen of his hair while Niall investigates him for brain damage, and realization trickles in first slowly, then in a rush.

The tips of Niall’s blonde fringe poke out from under his gray beanie, and his face is entirely smooth, no stubble to be found. He doesn’t even really look like himself, he’s so young. Liam, with his buzzed head, too...and no tattoos on his bare arms.

“I’m having a panic attack,” Harry announces, and waits to faint, or something.

There follows a mystified silence, ended abruptly by someone throwing the door open with all the force of a wild karate kick. “What’s wrong with him?” another familiar voice asks.

He must be dying, Harry thinks. He must have a brain tumor or some other serious illness. Something must be very, very wrong.

“He says he’s having a panic attack,” Liam answers Louis quietly, like Harry’s a proper mental patient.

Niall offers, “That don’t look like no panic attack to me,” thoughtfully.

“He’s going to make us late to the airport, and if we’re late there, we’ll miss the Jingle Ball,” Louis says in his brisk important way. To the others, he says, “He and Taylor probably had a row.” Then, to Harry, “Get your things and let’s go. You can finish your meltdown on the plane over coffee and brekkie.”

It’s the promise of coffee and breakfast that, more than anything, convinces Harry to go along. It isn’t till they’re stood in the hallway waiting for Paul to come and collect them that Harry musters up the strength to ask, “Jingle Ball?”

“Yeah,” says Niall. He starts chewing on his thumb nail. “Back in London.”

Harry frowns. “You going to be alright on the plane for that long?”

“Are you?” Niall fires back.

Harry falls silent, chastened. To himself, he murmurs, “Jingle Ball, London...”

“December 8, 2012,” Niall nods along. “Now you’re getting it.”

&&&

Niall’s cycling through the apps on his phone backstage and considering whether to launch another Instagram livestream when Conor whomps him in the face with a pillow from the sofa. “What the hell?” Niall splutters.

Jake and Gerry both laugh. “We can hear you thinkin’,” calls John from his spot over by the huge gift basket they arrived to find set out for them with Guinness, peanuts, and candy in. “The boys and I agree: no more livestreams till you think of something to do during them.”

Niall splutters again, this time to keep from laughing. “I’ll have you know I’ve been doing absolutely nothing on streams since before there even were an Instagram,” which may not technically be true, but whatever.

“What was that?” Jake stage whispers to Conor, who grins. “A year ago?”

“Bet it was just as boring then,” Conor agrees.

“You’re all fired,” Niall says, going back to his phone. “I’ll go out there on me own and play the show acoustic. And no puppy, either,” he adds, though so soft probably only he can hear it. He’s just got the strangest email he’s ever had, and he’s had some whoppers. Niall reads it again, then once more just to make sure he’s really seeing what he thinks he’s seeing.

The boys go back to teasing him amongst themselves; Niall overhears Conor’s, “Check out the look on his face, bet that’s him watching the viewers drop ‘cos I’m not onscreen,” before both Jake and John punch him in the leg. Niall taps back a response, careful not to put too much thought into it:

Are you fucking w me? How do I know this is really you?

And sends it off. Niall still gets fanmail to this email address, and sometimes it’s mad entertaining, but this message looked different from the get-go. The subject line read: NIALL IT’S HARRY I NEED YOUR HELP, which was enough to raise several flags.

All the flags, really.

Niall hasn’t seen Harry since...which came first, was it his show or was it the one they were both on the bill for, the one Niall was surprise guest at? He’s done so many shows over the past year that he can’t quite keep them straight anymore, and the itch to start a new spreadsheet gets stronger.

It’s probably just someone fucking with him, he reasons. He gets enough nutters on all platforms to know better, really.

But who could resist a cry for help?

Niall pops his thumbnail into his mouth and starts absolutely wrecking his cuticles. He’s not sure which is more strange: Harry needing help, or Harry needing his help.

While Niall’s busy pondering that, Gerry drops down beside him. “Everything ok?” he checks, cuffing Niall on the back of the head in a friendly way.

“Just got the weirdest email of me life,” Niall admits, forcing his hand down to his lap. Gerry’s eyebrows go up, and Niall’s just wondering whether he ought to explain when Lucy, the showrunner for tonight’s Jingle Ball, knocks twice on the open dressing room door.

“Five minutes to stage, guys!”

The lads all jump up to get ready, equipping themselves with their instruments like a troupe of powerfully unintimidating warriors. Niall reaches for his guitar with no small amount of relief, happy to force everything out of his head except the next five songs. It’s his last live show like this for the next few months, and he’s been looking forward to it and dreading it in equal measure.

‘Course, his problems are still there when he gets offstage. He pauses in the cinderblock hallway backstage while the boys pile into the dressing room for snacks and bottles of water before going to catch the rest of the show or to share a few drinks with the mates they’ve made over the Jingle Ball tour. His email correspondent (allegedly Harry, but Niall’s not yet convinced) has sent back,

It’s me. Followed by, You’ve got a huge crush on Katy Perry, your favorite song is “Desperado,” you’re terrible at cuddling, and I need your help!! I’m really not fucking with you!!

The message is followed by an avalanche of distraught emojis. “Fuck,” Niall says to the empty hallway, just for the sake of hearing himself say it. Then he emails back his phone number. Not but five minutes later does his phone start ringing. Niall swipes to answer and damn near crushes his ear, he claps his phone to his ear so fast. “Hello?”

“Oh, thank God it’s you,” Harry sighs over the line. “I’ve had,” his voice wobbles, “the most awful day, the bath had three showerheads in and there was sushi everywhere -”

Niall very nearly slumps in relief. He’d know that posh drawl anywhere, and he doesn’t sound like he’s dying, so that’s Niall’s worst fears sorted out. He opens the first door he sees for a bit of privacy and finds a cramped utility closet he wouldn’t cram himself into if his life depended on it. He keeps looking, and asks Harry, “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Well, no,” Harry sighs, sounding put out. “It was top. But then I found my phone, and there were all these messages on it from people I didn’t know, and I started getting these angry phone calls from people asking why I’d missed these meetings, and I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know who to call, nobody’s number is in service, and...” he sniffs.

Quietly, Niall argues, “Your mum’s number hasn’t changed.”

“I couldn’t tell my mum this! She’d probably have a heart attack, Niall!”

Niall ducks into the loo, darts into a stall, and plops down on the closed toilet lid. He rubs his forehead with his fingertips, too tired and befuddled to know what to think. The faint, euphoric he called me, Niall quashes ruthlessly. “And what exactly is ‘this,’ then?”

“I’m a time-traveller,” Harry says, “obviously.”

***

Together, Niall and Harry arrange for Harry to fly out to LA, where he’ll take a car out to Niall’s place in Laurel Canyon. Meanwhile, Niall will leave from New York tomorrow morning, which puts them both in California with just a few hours’ difference.

“And then we’ll...” Niall draws up short. He’s back in his hotel room with his laptop open on the bed in front of him and his shirt unbuttoned over his chest. He hung up on Harry so he could say goodbye to all his Jingle Ball mates, and then he and the lads had to stop by a local bar for a few celebratory pints before splitting up for the holidays, and now they’re gearing up to do a proper night.

Harry’s silence on the other end is hardly vacant. “We’ll figure something out,” Harry says sleepily. “Hey, Niall?”

Niall gazes at his reflection in the mirror atop the bureau. He’s gone tense all over like he’s expecting a blow, and he has to remind himself that this Harry - if he really is telling the truth, somehow, if he’s not just away in the head - is from 2012, and as far as he knows, Niall’s just one of his good mates. Someone to call in a panic, someone to help him.

“Yeah, Haz.”

“You promise you won’t tell my mum or Robin?” Harry asks. His voice has gone treacle slow with drowsiness, and Niall pops his cuticle into his mouth. “I just don’t want them to worry, or tell me I can’t tour again. Not that she could stop me,” he tacks on, though he doesn’t sound convinced.

“I promise,” Niall says. “I don’t think anybody would believe me anyway.”

His phone buzzes with a message; it’s Tara, forever every evening’s organizer, letting Niall know everybody’s waiting for him in the lobby.

“I gotta go.”

“Okay,” Harry says, and from the sound of his voice Niall knows he’s worrying at his bottom lip. “See you soon.”

“Yeah,” Niall says. “Will do.”

#arwa: we should write together! #me: yeah! #also me: does not work on my big bang #.... #time travel au #lmao #fic

[saintmccann]

#11

Request: “meeting Van on an airplane!” + “reader has a girlfriend whose favorite band is catfish and gets her tickets and they end up meeting the band after the show”

Note: I’ve been sick for like a week, so I’m sorry if this isn’t up to par. The next ones will be better!

________________

Trudging through the airport, legs dragging along with suitcase following, you sleepily walk toward the first baggage check counter. This airport was incredibly tedious to get through, and you weren’t looking forward to being patted down at five in the morning. Of course, it had to be done.

You received the A-okay on your ticket, and made it to the second round of baggage check. After being essentially groped by TSA agents and removing your shoes, you finally made it to the wide expanse of a hallway that led to the terminals. Scents of hot, warm, delicious croissants filled your nose with happiness, and led you astray to buy several while you waited for your flight to be called. Earbuds in, listening to soft background music and reading a book, you were content in the hard chairs as the intercom dinged and voiceovers dictated which flights were boarding. You had gotten to the terminal early, and after reading your book for a few minutes, you dreamily watched as planes took off and landed while the sunset framed them taxiing in the background.

The intercom relayed to you that your flight was boarding, and you stood up, stretching from the hard chair. If you were already sore, this was going to be a hard flight, though it was just three hours from Atlanta to New York. The sweet flight attendants with their crisp red uniforms and bright red lipstick scanned your ticket, and you made your way through the soft gray tunnel out to board the plane itself.

As you get settled into your seat, you realize you missed the window seat by one chair, and hoped no one was going to sit there so you could stretch out - after all, you were going to be there for a while.

Just as the plane was about to stop accepting passengers, a rowdy group of men dressed in black boarded the plane, and settled into their respective seats at the back of the plane. However, one of them was particularly ruffled, and you could tell because his voice kept getting higher pitched as he spoke. You caught bits of it when he turned more toward the front of the plane, angled toward the section you were sitting in.

“Whaddya mean I’m not with yous? This ain’t fair!” he almost squealed into the aisle - he was drawing attention to himself. “Did we not all buy these together? What kind of shit is this?”

“Mate, just deal with it, it’s like two hours of your life without us. You can make it,” a smaller, darker-haired guy tried to rationalize with him.

“Excuse me, sir, but you’re going to have to take your seat now. The plane is scheduled to take off at 7:00.”

The man trudged up the aisle, and you pretended not to have been watching the animated conversation he’d been having with the people he’d thought he was flying alongside. However, he stopped right at your aisle, and dejectedly put his carry-on into the overhead compartment. You looked back up from your book.

“S’cuse me, love,” he said, and you noticed immediately how his eyelashes framed his blue eyes, and it struck you with a sort of giddy feeling in your stomach. That is, until you realized he was also going to be occupying the window seat right next to you.

You sighed as he took a seat in the only solace you had warranted from this trip. And he was restless. One minute, his leg jiggled up and down. The next, his fingers drummed on his thighs. Licked his lips. Bobbed his head. You looked up from your book again, and gave him side-eye. He didn’t notice because he was too busy looking out the airplane window, frown on his face. Probably nervous to be separated from his group. You remembered the first time you flew alone, not to mention stuck between two snoring old men, and decided to cut him some slack.

Just as you were about to introduce yourself, the flight attendant’s voice filled the cabin with the obligatory “fasten your seatbelts” and “enjoy your flight”s. You pushed your headphones in your ears, closed your eyes, and turned up the music loud to drown out anything else.

You vaguely felt as if someone were watching you. Removing the earbud from your left ear and opening your eyes, you turned to the only other person sat in your row of seats, who was still unable to settle down. Unabashedly, he smiled at you, confirming that you were indeed being watched.

You went to put your earbud back in, but a slender finger on your forearm stopped you. You looked up at its beaming owner, expectant.

“Van McCann, nice to meet ya. Couldn’t help but overhear the music you’ve got playin’. I love everything you’ve played so far.”

“Ah… thanks. Hi. I’m Y/N.” From your position directly next to him, it was hard to shake his hand, and you had to reach across yourself. In the process, your in-flight magazines fell to the ground and slid underneath the chairs a few rows back.

“Shit, sorry ‘bout that. Looks like they’re gone now,” he chuckled. Tugging his own out of the compartment in the seat in front of him, he handed them to you. “Consider this a stand-in handshake.”

Laughing, you re-settled into your chair to continue listening to your music, but Van had other plans. “So, where are you from? And where ya goin’?” So nosy.

“Atlanta, born and raised. I’m going to a casting call in New York. My girlfriend and I placed a bet on a soccer game and I lost, so I had to do this. At least she paid for everything.” You waited for him to look at you like you shouldn’t be modeling. You really didn’t want to include the bit about how humiliated you were going to feel once you got there and they turned you down, so you settled for sighing to convey how disillusioned you felt.

“I think you’ll do great. Dead cute, you are.”

“Ha,” you said a little too self-deprecatingly for a conversation with a stranger you just met, “thanks.”

You knew he could tell you were a little bitter about the situation, so he changed the subject. “Ever heard of a band called Catfish and the Bottlemen?”

“Yeah actually, I’ve got their latest album on vinyl at home; been searching for The Balcony for ages though. They’re good. My girlfriend’s favorite band. Never been to one of their shows before though. You ever gone to one?”

He snickered at that, and leaning even closer into your personal space, whispered, “Google ‘em.”

You were a little pressed about him invading your space again for the third time in an hour, but tried to ignore it as you unlocked your phone and googled Catfish and the Bottlemen. You had a feeling Van wouldn’t get his nose out of your personal bubble until you did.

“Yep, I definitely have their album,” you said, looking at the little images above their name on the sidebar. Peering at the other photos, you clicked on a photo of the band members.

“No fucking way. You’ve got to be shitting me,” you said, voice lowered in disbelief. He chuckled, almost self-consciously. Sweet. “So which one are you? The bassist? You don’t look cool enough to be the lead guitarist, and you don’t have the arms to be a drummer.”

He turned to look at you, jaw falling open to laugh, shocked that you’d chosen to banter with him like that. “I’m the fuckin lead singer, mate!” His voice rose so high and loud that it almost cracked. People in surrounding seats were craning their necks to see what was happening. The group that had come in with Van erupted in raucous laughter from the back of the plane.

You were laughing too, so hard that your head was starting to hurt from the lower levels of oxygen in the plane. “Fine, fine. Let me order you something to get even,” you said through laughs, raising your hand and waving a bit so the flight attendant knew to come over with the cart.

“I’ll have a green tea, please. And sir, what’s the most rock and roll thing you’ve got on this cart? This lad over here’s a lead singer in a band, so he can’t have anything less than your best” You asked the attendant loudly, smirking, and Van coughed hard, trying not to make any more pitched remarks.

“Here’s your tea, miss, and, sir, looks like all we’ve got that fits the bill is some Jack Daniels.”

“At nine in the morning? That’s a hell of a lot more rock and roll than I expected. We’ll take it. I’ll have one too, with some Coke,” you told the attendant, who went to retrieve the Jack.

“What’re you doing? I’ve gotta perform tonight!” he whispered in your ear.

“Chill, we’re just gonna do the one. We’ll drink some water afterward and you’ll be all good. Art of performing, am I right?”

He looked at you with narrowed eyes. “Fine.” Just then, the attendant arrived with two Jacks and a can of Coke.

“Bottoms up!”

****

“This plane is fuckin’ great, Y/N. So large, we both can just stretch out riiiiight here,” Van said, soles of his boots touching the soles of yours. You both were layed out, facing each other in the empty seats of the plane.

You didn’t mean to get Van tipsy, but the higher altitude and the high proof of the whiskey was enough to make your heads swimmy. The water was also taking a bit longer to hydrate you than you thought it would. It was hour two on the flight, and you were conscious that you had to sober up soon, but flying here while drunk was its own little bubble in the world and you wanted to enjoy it for a bit longer.

Van was drumming on the plane seats, and rapping out some song you couldn’t place as you swayed your shoulders back and forth to the music. He grinned a crooked smile as he started to hiccup, and then laughed between every one of them. He sat up and you patted his back; glancing at his eyes, you realized he was getting sleepy with the repetitive motion. Sitting up as well, you let his head rest on your shoulder as you stared out the window. Soon he was breathing softly and his body weight was heavy in your side, but it was nice. You put your earbuds in and drifted off too.

Before you knew it, the plane was landing, and you had to wake Van up. He startled, and with wide eyes, whispered “sorry” as he righted himself and adjusted his coat. Giving you a soft smile, he started gathering up his personal things and fastening his seat belt. You shivered from the lack of warmth.

Finally, Van was reunited with his group, a.k.a. The Band, as you’d established earlier, after walking out of the tunnel and into the airport. You were happy to see him back with the people he was supposed to be with. You were about to walk away, when his voice called after you.

“Y/N! Where do ya think you’re goin’?” he said, lopsided smile on his face as you turned around. “Got these tickets off my best mate. You’re fuckin’ class. Figured you might want to see just how rock n’ roll I can be.” He offered to exchange numbers as well.

Laughing, you realized how absurd your day was. “Thanks, Van. I was looking for something to do after my casting call. You’re amazing. It was so nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Good luck, and see ya tonight!”

****

“Daria, babe, you will not believe what happened to me today. Sat next to Van from Catfish and the Bottlemen on the plane, got drunk with him, and he gave me two tickets to tonight’s show! I literally just wired you some money for a plane ticket. You better meet me there tonight.”

****

You got the job. You must have been high off the energy from this morning, because you were more confident than you’d ever seen yourself, and you strutted through the agency’s ballroom like you owned it. You were comfortable in your skin, and though you still didn’t feel any prettier than before, you felt more like you than you’d ever felt, and that in itself was an accomplishment.

****

Daria arrived an hour before the show started, in the nick of time. You rushed her out of the terminal and into a taxi you set on course for the gig. Just as they were coming onstage, you both entered the building and the roar of the crowd made your heart pound in excitement.

As Daria had told you most Catfish concerts are, it was incredible. Van thrashed about on stage, and his band mates were uber-cool playing their instruments. The music sounded better than the recordings, and it filled your lungs with energy. During the last song, Daria kissed you with teary eyes and shouted loud over the music, “This is the best night of my life!”

After the show, you texted Van and he had security let you and Daria in the back. She met her favorite band, and you felt like the best girlfriend in the world. After watching her take pictures with everyone and see her face light up when they offered for everyone to go out for drinks, you made a mental note to not be so unfriendly the next time someone sits down next to you anywhere; it might just turn out to be the wildest day you’ve ever had.

“So, am I rock and roll enough?” Van asked, coming in for a hug. Everyone else in the room tried to decipher the inside joke, unsuccessfully.

“Definitely,” you replied, laughing into his chest.

#vanfic #van fic #vanfiction #catb fic #van mccann

[renee-writer]

Roommate Wanted Chapter 1 Roommate Wanted

A/N As promised, my new story for pride month. Jamie and Jenny are seeking a roommate for one of the restored rooms in Lallybroch. Claire is seeking a way out of the city and her ex. A perfect match. But then she falls for both of them and they for her. Now what?

AO3

She sees the advent in the bulletin board at the front of the shop. “Roommate wanted.” She reads through the other details.  A brother and sister have a room to let in their family home of Lallybroch.  She giggles to herself.  “The house has a name.” She thinks. But the offer is tempting. It is affordable and far away from the city and her troublesome ex. As her job doesn’t have a fixed local, it is perfect. She takes down the details and moves into the store to shop.

 

“Uggg! There has to be someone decent out there.” Jenny Fraser’ throws up her hands in frustration. The advent had been up merely a week but Janet Arabella Fraser is not known for her patience.

 

“There is. He just wasn’t it.” The lad seemed decent enough until he had asked if he could have a spot of Lallybroch”s farm land to grow some pot.  Jamie chuckles to himself as he recalls his sister’s reaction.

 

“And have my own mam come back and haunt me for allowing such on her land! Are ye a full nutter? You can go now.”  The lad had left in a hurry. Jenny in a temper is a sight to behold.

 

They are renting the other finished room to help with the bills as they continue the renovation on the rest of the old estate. So far, the great room, the kitchen, a loo and, the three bedrooms are done.. when finished, Lallybroch will be part home and part museum with a working farm.

 

“Let’s just hope we get someone other then crazies.”

 

“Chill Jenny. It is only been a week.”

 

When Claire gets home, she rings the number she wrote down for the room for rent. A strong Scottish male voice answers. “Hello Fraser residence.”

 

“Hi, I am calling about the room. My name is Claire Beauchamp.”

 

“Hello Claire.. it is still available. When would you like to come look at it? There is an application also. Sorry, I am James Fraser, Jamie.” Something in her voice made him feel swimmy headed.

 

“I can head out there now if that is convenient. Your sister is home?”

 

“Aye, Jenny is here. Would you like to talk to her?”

 

“I would. No offense it is just I was brought up to be safety conscious.”

 

“Non offense taken. It is smart.” She hears him walking. Then a muzzled conversation.

 

“This is Jenny Fraser. You are Claire Beauchamp?”

 

“Yes. Thank you Miss Fraser. I just needed to make sure you were there.”

 

“It is Jenny lass and you are already showing yourself smarter then the others that have asked after the room. Do you know how to get here?”

 

“Right outside Broch Taran, right?”

 

“Just so. Please ring if you get lost.”

 

“I will. Thank you Jenny.”

 

They ring off and she prepares to head out to what she hopes will be her new home.

 

It is far out in the Highlands. As she drives, the tension leaves her body and head. It is beautiful. Having moved here just a few years ago from London, following her ex, she hadn’t been this far out into Scotland yet. Her and Frank had settled in Glasgow and that was that. Some of her clients lived a bit farther out but when she is on a call for a birth, the scenery is the last thing on her mind.

 

With the break-up, she had moved to her own little flat but she still ran into him and her way to often. She had thought about moving back to England but hated leaving her mommies. Now she might not have to.

 

Following her GPS she pulls under an old stone arch and stares at the towering structure in front of her. “Holy shit! No wonder it has a name.” she says before parking and climbing out. She approaches the front stoop and climbs up to the door. Before she can knock, it is opened.

 

The man that stands in front of her is huge.  He is over six feet with a head full of red hair with curls she immediately envies. “Claire Beauchamp?”

 

“Yes, Jamie Fraser?”

 

“Aye, come in and meet my sister.” She is shocked by herself when she does. When she doesn’t insist that she come out first. The instant trust isn’t abused when they are only a few steps in and Jenny comes up.

 

She is her brother’s polar opposite. Where he is tall and light, she is small and dark, with a head full of dark hair and barely standing a bit over five feet. Their eyes are the same though. Bright blue and deep set with the look of a cat’s.

 

“Jenny Fraser, nice to meet you Claire. Please come in.” She takes her hand and she can do nothing but follow her. Jamie follows them.  “We have the great room done, the kitchen, a loo and, the three rooms above us.” She explains as she leads her into it.

 

“Oh!” Claire, partly raised by her archeologist uncle, is  immediately fascinating by the old wood and stone the fireplace with the original mantel, the old furniture truly, just the whole feel of the room. She walks over to the fireplace and squeals in delight at the old copper pot hanging from a hook in it. Jenny and Jamie just watch her.  She drops down to examine it.  “It is at least 300 years old.” She is awed.

 

“Just so lass. Original to the house. The house was built in 1712 by Brian Fraser for his bride. We are slowly restoring her to a home and museum.” Jamie explains.

 

“Amazing.” She runs her hand over the engraved name and date in the mantle. “Brian Fraser 1712” “My Uncle Lamb is an archaeologist. I spent summers and school holidays on digs with him.”

 

“Brilliant! You seem the perfect person to live here then.” Jamie is more enthralled by her by the second. His sister has to keep her eye on business.

 

“We have a bit of paperwork to do first.”

 

“Right.” She turns away from the mantle. “The application.”

 

“Aye.” She sits in the chair across from them and fills it out. It is a standard rental application, with questions about past landlords and job history. She hands it to them when done.

 

“You are a midwife.” Jenny states as they read over it.

 

“Yes. I deliver mostly at my clients homes but occasionally at the birth center. Pre-natal exams are also mainly done at home. Pregnancy isn’t a disease and I don’t treat it as such. Sorry, more then you asked. I was just explaining why I can leave so far outside of Glasgow.”

 

“That is an amazing profession. To bring life into the world.” Jamie comments. Jenny, who had never heard her brother ever speak of anything to do with pregnancy or birth before, gives him a strange look.

 

“It is. Traveling around like I did, I saw the necessity for women to have a good birth provider. To have someone to really be with them during that time. Sorry, it is my passion.”

 

“Why did you leave your last flat? You had been there three years.”

 

“It was Frank and I’s. He is my ex. When I caught him in our bed with his assistant, he is a professor, well, I just couldn’t stay there anymore. I moved into my own but, I keep running into him everywhere. Him and her. Makes it hard to move on. A bit easier if I don’t live on the city. Thought of moving back to London but don’t want to leave my mommies.”

 

“I am so sorry Claire. Men can be real clodheids. “

 

“That they can Jenny.” They grin at each other.

 

“Would you like to see the room?”

 

“One more question Jamie.” She looks back to her. “You wouldn’t ever wish to grow pot here would you?”

 

Claire looks at her shocked. “Ah no!”

 

They explain the reason she asked that. She laughs. “I can imagine the look on his face when you got on him!” she says through her giggles.

 

“It was epic..”

 

They then take her to see the room. It is perfect. She signs the lease and shakes both their hands. Then she heads to her old flat and prepares to move.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #roommate wanted #jamie and claire #claire and jenny #polyamory #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #modern au