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brywrites · 4 years

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Flight Risk VII

Summary: An answer to the age old CM question, “who’s flying the plane?” And the story of a pilot and a profiler. Part V: In which there are some distances that must be maintained and others that are simply begging to be crossed.

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Something is off. She can tell by the way Spencer sits alone, looking so focused on a book that it’s clear he’s not actually paying attention to it. He’s trying to give the impression he’s busy. He doesn’t want to be bothered. There is a tension he carries, and she notices that JJ carries it too. They wait on opposite ends of the hangar. When it’s time to board, she peeks out from the cockpit and notices they’re sitting on opposite ends of the plane. JJ is curled up in a blanket, staring blankly out the window. Spencer stares down at the book he’s clearly not reading.

Y/N wishes she could lighten the burden the same way a plane suddenly seems weightless at the moment of liftoff. This large thing speeding down a runway is propelled into the air and lift and thrust make physics feel like magic. There’s a strong bout of turbulence over the Great Plains, and she and Arthur have to focus on keeping Geff as steady as possible. In a smaller jet like this, an air pocket can feel so much rougher than it would on a commercial liner. One they navigate through it, it’s smooth sailing. The sun is setting behind them as they travel through time zones back to the east coast. The sky around them turns from orange to pink to violet. The stars begin to appear, blinking their salutations.

As they get closer to the airfield, she calls out over the radio. “This is niner-two-two Foxtrot Bravo, checking in, requesting clearance to land at Quantico base.”

“Foxtrot Bravo, enter the holding pattern at Quantico base, while runway is cleared maintain seven thousand feet,” replies a controller.

“Foxtrot Bravo, roger, hold at Quantico. Maintain seven thousand feet,” she echoes back. Together she and Arthur adjust the instruments, setting the proper altitude and speed, and reset the Chronometer. There’s a few planes in the queue ahead of them, and they enter the holding pattern, circling slowly around the sky. So close to home.

She asks, “Do you think something’s wrong?”

“At the base?” Arthur asks. He begins to initiate their first left turn. “Holding patterns are quite standard.”

“No, I mean with the team,” she says. “I don’t know something just seems… off. It’s unusual.”

“Y/L/N. It’s not our job.” They’re not profilers. Their concerns are with the navigation instruments and smooth landings and weather conditions. Not the behavior of people around them. “I need you present when we’re flying. Not worrying about whatever horrors they’ve seen on a case.”

She nods. “Sorry, sir.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I know you care. And I know you’ve found friends with them. But I’ve told you before – they don’t let people in. And it’s best if we try not to get involved.”

The controller cuts in before she can reply. “Foxtrot Bravo, cleared to land, runway Romeo seven.”

“Cleared to land, runway Romeo seven, Foxtrot Bravo,” she says. She can be present. She can be here, in this seat, doing what she loves. And that can be enough, can’t it? She can ignore the text from Penelope Garcia inviting her to join her and the female agents for a drink this weekend. She can stop finding reasons to spend more time with Spencer than she needs to. She can be objective.

Arthur addresses the agents they’re supposed to stay away from. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We’ve just been cleared to land at Quantico base. Please make sure your seat belts are securely fastened and all personal items are stowed away.” His voice reaching to another part of the plane, another world.

On final approach, they guide Geff back down to the ground, a beautifully smooth landing.

“Welcome back to Quantico, Virginia,” Arthur says into the speaker. “Local time is 7:15 PM and the temperature is thirty-nine degrees Fahrenheit. Please wait until we have parked at the gate to move about the cabin. And as always, please use caution when opening the overhead bins, as items may have shifted during the flight.”

She and Arthur sit in the cockpit, the sound of agents shuffling out down the stairs muffled behind them. “You know,” he says, “Malik wants to have a dinner party soon. Maybe next weekend you and Martin could come over. He could bring Theresa and the baby. It might be nice, to spend some time altogether.” Their little misfit crew of pilots.

She’s not sure if it’s his way of apologizing for earlier, or perhaps a way to remind her of her own team and duties, but she says, “I’d like that. Thank you.”

They collect their own go-bags and descend the stairs. When the door has been closed once more and they turn the corner to leave, she’s startled by the familiar figure waiting by the hangar lockers. He’s busying himself with staring at the walls around him, but when he hears them, he lifts his head and looks right at her. As if asking permission.

Y/N glances at Arthur, who just sighs and shakes his head. “Go on then,” he says. “I think it’s too late when it comes to this one.”

With his blessing, she walks over to Spencer. “Hey,” she says. “Is everything okay?” Though if it were, he wouldn’t be standing here.

“Um… not – not really. I’m sorry, I know it’s late. But would you mind giving me a ride home? I’ll order us takeout to make up for it. I uh, – I was hoping that maybe we could talk. If that’s okay?” He adjusts the strap of his messenger bag. “I just need someone to talk to right now, and I really want it to be you.”

How can she say no to that? “I’ll grab my car from the lot. Should I meet you outside of the Bureau building?”

“Yeah. That’d be great. There’s something I have to finish first.”

Soon enough she’s parked under the awning of the Academy entrance, waiting for him. She starts the engine up when she spots him coming out of the double doors, pulling his coat a little tighter against the chill of the winter air. His eyes trail curiously over her car before he opens the door to get in. It occurs to her that he’s never seen her car before.

“What?” she asks. “Is this not what you were expecting?”

“I guess after your conversation with Garcia I was expecting your taste to be… more flashy?”

Y/N laughs. Her blue Prius is far from flashy. “Well, as much as I’d love to drive a Plymouth Fury or a vintage Ferrari, I thought I should get something that’s a bit more kind to the environment if I’m burning jet fuel all day, and a Prius is a decent hybrid. Not to mention, it’s got a great safety rating. Do you know how much more dangerous it is to fly than it is to drive?”

“On average, it’s about nineteen times more dangerous. The odds of dying as a result of a car accident in the United States are roughly 1 in 114, but the odds of dying in an aviation accident is closer to 1 in 9,821. You’re far more likely to die from choking on food than in a plane crash.”

“Of course you know that.” She grins at him, letting him know that she’s not making fun of him. She’s impressed by him. She always is. “I don’t know why I bother asking at this point.” The smile he offers in return is only half-hearted. The drive into the District is quiet. Given the tension she felt earlier, she decides not to push him for conversation. Yeeqin is away visiting her sister for the weekend so she offers to take them back to her apartment. He calls to order takeout to be delivered from the Indian place around the corner. They arrive at her place only moments before the food does, fortuitous timing.

It feels strangely intimate to invite him in. She’s been to his apartment twice for their LOST marathon, but this is the first time he’s seeing her space. She wonders what it looks like through his eyes, what a profiler can discern about her life from the books on the coffee table and the pictures on the walls. They sit at the tiny kitchen table she usually shares only with Yeeqin and split the samosas down the middle.

“So what’s going on?” she asks, taking a sip of mango lassi.

Spencer purses his lips and pushes the tikka masala around on his plate before answering. Whatever has happened is still bothering him. “This case was hard,” he says. “There was a cult. They were separating kids from their families and it just became something awful. Seeing someone taking advantage of all these people who put their trust in him, it just… I try to distance myself from things when I’m in the field, you know? I try to be objective and treat it like a puzzle, but it’s not. And sometimes it’s harder to keep that distance.”

“Yeah. I know.” She doesn’t have to push down her emotions to solve a killer, but she does know the difficulties of keeping one’s distance. Of trying not to feel something.

“The case was hard enough, but then I had a… a fight, I guess with a team member. Not like we were arguing more just, like I made them upset I guess. And I didn’t mean to. But I think in trying to be helpful, in trying to be objective, I hurt them. I think that I know things or that I understand people because of this job and then when I don’t… I feel like I’ve failed.”

“I’m sure you haven’t,” she says.

“They were struggling with something. And I thought breaking it down to a science would make it easier. Maybe because that helps me. But it just made things worse and then I didn’t know how else to comfort them.”

“What happened, exactly?” she asks.

Spencer hesitates. “Uh, I can’t – I can’t really say. It’s not mine to share.”

“Oh. Of course.” But it stings slightly. You can’t get close to them. Arthur’s words of warning echo in her head. They don’t let people in. After all this time, she’d begun to think that maybe it was different. Maybe they would trust her – maybe he would trust her. But perhaps the BAU is still an impenetrable world, one she’ll never truly be welcome in. Even now. Even with him. He still won’t let her in.

He looks down. “I hate knowing that the way I am made someone I care about feel worse. I don’t have a lot of friends outside my team. And sometimes I wonder if maybe that’s because I’m not a very good one.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she says, trying to push her own frustrations aside.

“It is. The only people I’m close to who aren’t colleagues are my mom, a former colleague, and… well, I guess my girlfriend. Before she died.”

The words instantly steal her breath. She had no idea. “Spencer, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

He shrugs. “It’s okay, it was two years ago, and I don’t usually talk about it. But it’s just so easy with you. I feel like I can tell you anything.”

The sting subsides. The way he looks at her so softly like a salve for the bitterness. He’s trying. He is letting her in. He is sharing things with her he doesn’t usually share. And small bit of knowledge lifts her hopes once more.

“Well I’m glad about that. And thank you, for telling me. Although I guess what I was trying to say was that I don’t think it’s true that you’re not a good friend. I mean, I haven’t even known you a whole year and I think you’re one of the best people I know. You’re thoughtful. You’re smart. You have a tendency to be passive aggressive sometimes,” she teases, and he nods in bashful acknowledgement. “But you’re a good friend. And I’m really, really happy that you’re my friend.”

“Me too,” he says. “I really like having you in my life.”

They stand at the sink together, washing the few dishes they’ve used, and she tries not to think about the way his arm rests against hers, his fingers touching hers when she hands him a plate to dry.

“I want to be a good friend to you,” Spencer tells her. “Which means I should probably ask how you’re doing now that I’ve talked about myself so much.”

“I’m good,” she answers. “I guess I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to belong somewhere. My parents haven’t spoken to me since I took this job. I think they had higher expectations for me and I don’t think any of us really knows how to start to repair this rift between us. So it’s been strangely lonely. But I have Yeeqin, and our neighbors. I have Arthur, and Martin. And I think I’m finally starting to feel like I have a place with this job. Like I belong here.”

“Of course you do, Y/N. I mean we all think you’re great. Garcia always asks me about you. Ever since you came along, things have been different. Flying feels different. You’ve become part of the team. Not that Captain Dobson wasn’t,” he adds quickly. “But I get the sense he likes to keep a distance from things, while you…” He pauses, looking for the right words. When they don’t seem to come he just smiles. “You’re you. And you fit right it in.”

“Thank you, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry, though. About your family. You have a gift for flying. And for lifting people’s spirits. I don’t understand how who you are wouldn’t make them proud.”

Flying is her gift. Something she has always intrinsically understood. The world makes so much more sense to her from the sky. But it’s nice to know that someone outside of her world of aviators sees it as something worthwhile. It’s not just jet-setting and traveling and steering. It requires communication, a knowledge of physics and the earth and the weather. An ability to think fast and act faster.

Spencer sees her. He understands her. And he knows exactly what to say to make her feel at home.

“See?” she says, gently elbowing him. “You are a good friend.”

She decides that there has been enough trauma bonding for the night, and scoops them both a bowl of ice cream. They sit on her couch and she flips through the channels before settling on one playing one of her favorite old movies, Sabrina. It’s a nice way to unwind, with a the soft distraction of the television and the sweetness of the ice cream. And the simple pleasure of sitting beside each other.

Humphrey Bogart is sitting in the back of a car as his beloved Sabrina’s father, the chauffer, reprimands him. “I like to think of life as a limousine. Though we are all riding together, we must remember our places. There’s a front seat and a back seat and a window in between.”

Y/N is struck by the parallels. A cockpit and a cabin. A door in the middle. Two completely different worlds, inhabited by heroes who save the day and the pilots who ferry them from place to place. It’s easy to imagine Arthur saying those exact words to her, trying to protect her from her own heart.

Then she feels Spencer’s hand against her own. Glancing down as subtly as she can, she finds his pinky and ring finger stretched out over her own. So close it might be an accident. Maybe it is. But maybe for tonight she can let herself pretend it isn’t. Let herself believe that she is allowed to be close to him. Testing the waters, she slowly leans her head against his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away. But he does, seconds later, respond in kind, resting his head against the top of hers. It’s warm, and his cardigan is soft against her cheek. Is this really the same man who didn’t want to shake her hand when they first met? Now they sit together, not quite embracing, but close. It’s so gentle. It feels so tender.

Neither of them says a word. They just sit there, in silence, sharing the same space.

And then the next thing she knows, she is blinking awake in the morning light. Her arm is around his waist. His hand on her shoulder. Her back incredibly stiff from falling asleep sitting up. The television is still softly playing.

She carefully pulls her arm away and sits up. His hand falls away from hers. She isn’t sure what is okay and what is too soon and what this is even supposed to be. What they are supposed to be. Y/N carefully inches to the opposite end of the couch and lies back down, pretending to still be asleep. But she stretches her leg out and allows her ankle to touch his. Holding on to some little connection. Soon, he awakes himself, and she pretends to startled out of slumber by his movements. Spencer looks at her, at their tangled legs, at her bedhead, and laughs. And she does too, giggling at how tired they must have been to fall asleep like that, how silly. How incredibly comfortable next to each other.

They walk downstairs and grab coffee and pastries at the bakery next to her building. She drives him home. He concedes that she’s far better at the helm of any vehicle than he could ever hope to be. She stops outside his building and he grabs his satchel and coffee.

Door open, he pauses, turns to her and says, “Thanks for this, Y/N.”

“Anytime, Doctor.”

He climbs out of the car. “Bye,” he says. “I l-” He blinks. “Um. I – I’ll see you on Monday.”

He closes the door. She waits until he gets into the building to start the ignition again, but lingers there on the curbside a few minutes more. Wondering what he would have said if he’d woken up to find them with their arms around each other like that. Wondering what exactly they are to each other.

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #brywrites #flight risk

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solarwindswriting · 3 years

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Oh, The Places You’ll Go

Chapter 6

First Chapter / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Loosely inspired by the song Greek Tragedy by the Wombats

Pairing: Scotty x FemalePresenting!Reader

Word Count: 1802

Summary: Y/n and Scotty get to know each other better over a late night cup of tea.

Warnings: none that I can think of

A/N: I mentioned it in a separate post, but something came up recently that has taken my will to write fluff like this right out of me. So sorry, but since this is the last prewritten part I have, I’m going to take a bit of a break. Thank you guys for understanding!

Tags: @mournthewicked @damalseer

Scotty had finished his prep for the away mission after his break with Y/n, Sara, and Keenser. That was the first time in about 10 years since he’s danced, let alone with someone else. It took him twice as long to finish preparing as he got lost in his thoughts. How Y/n’s hands held so tight to his, or how her hips swayed to the music, or how laughter fell from her lips like the song of fairies on the Scottish hillside. Scotty shook his head as he walked into the mess hall. Grabbing a tray, he looked around the room to see who was there. He saw Y/n sitting with a group of the younger crew, he’d hate to be the oldest one sitting there. He finally saw Spock and Bones eating at a table in the corner. On his way, he hears Y/n say something rather enthusiastically.

“Fine! Yes, I like Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott in an unprofessional way.” she laughs.

He makes eye contact with Sara who was facing him, Y/n soon turning to see him as well. Y/n jumps up and leaves before he can say anything. Sara follows her soon after stopping in front of him.

Sara’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times, trying to find the right words. “If what I saw earlier is true, you need to tell her.”

His brow still stitched together, he sits with Bones and Spock.

“Oh, good. Someone who can settle this debate...” Bones starts.

Scotty mindlessly eats his food as the two commanders continue to debate about whether a certain civilization is ready for the first contact or not. He finishes his food about 30 minutes later, getting up to leave.

“Woah, Scotty, you’re not even going to add a story about your grandmother?” Bones asks.

“Ah, not tonight, gotta prepare for tomorrow,” he lies, leaving the mess hall without another word.

Scotty goes to deck 5 to go to bed. But before he realized it, he’s knocking on someone's door.

***

Y/n opens the door, shocked to see Scotty standing there, bright red cheeks and all.

“Um, can I help you?” Y/n squeaks out, pulling the robe tightly around her body.

“Ay, lassie, can I come in?” He asks with a slight cough coming up.

“It’s sort of late, shouldn’t you be in bed?” She starts. “We have a pretty big mission tomorrow, after all.”

“ I couldn’t help but overhear what you said in the mess hall and thought I ought to come to talk to you,” Scotty almost whispers, looking at the ground.

“No need. I know you don’t feel that same. I’m fine with leaving it at that. Have a goodnight, Lieutenant Commander.” Y/n steps back to close the door, when Scotty sticks out his foot, preventing it from doing so.

“Lassie, will you just listen for just a minute?” He looks at her in the eyes finally.

She steps to the side, lifting her arm, motioning for him to come in. He looks around her personal quarters. Shelves littered with nick nacks from all over the galaxy, and books with worn spines in languages he couldn’t recognize.

“Can I get you anything? Tea? A beer?” She asks, walking to her replicator.

“Tea sounds nice,” he mutters, looking around still.

On the wall hung four certificates; two bachelors in biology and physics, certification in the handling of hazardous material, and training for command of a ship. He walks up to the mall table with two chairs and takes a seat. On the table sat a bowl of fruit and a framed photo of younger-looking y/n, and Sara, an older woman that looks shockingly like Y/n except with completely black iris’, and a dog at what looks like a fair.

Y/n sets a mug in front of Scotty, and peers at the photo. Scotty notices how her hand shakes as she sets down the mug.

“That was from my first year in the academy, back when I thought I was going to be a captain of my very own starship,” Y/n hums to herself, shaking her head side to side softly, taking a seat across from Scotty. “So, go ahead, you have a minute.”

“You have a dog?” Scotty procrastinates the topic as long as he can.

“Yeah, he belongs to my mom. Full bred German Shepard. Why she insisted he be full-bred, I’ll never know. He’s the dumbest creature in all the galaxy though.” She pauses before continuing, “You’re deflecting.”

Scotty takes a deep breath and sips from his mug before starting. “Now, lassie, I’ve been doing this job a very long time. And I threw myself even deeper into it once I thought I’d never find someone to spend my spare time with. I even tried a few times, getting out there and doing the whole dating thing. With this line of work though, there were times when I simply couldn’t be there like I should have been and I hurt those I care deeply about. But I’ve got to be honest with ye, I canne stop thinking about you. And I truly thought myself selfish. You’re so much younger than me, you see. I assumed you’d never think the same of me, some old man who works in engineering. But then we started to have tea most evenings, and I let myself lean into getting to know you, which just made things worse for me.” Scotty chuckles, sipping from the mug, looking anywhere but Y/n.

Y/n noted how his words became thicker with his accent the longer we went on and how he said that all in seemingly one breath. She didn’t know how to respond, that was the last thing she had expected him to say. So she stayed silent, sipping from her mug, waiting to see if he had anything left to say.

“Wait, you were training to become a captain? Well, that explains the odd Starfleet insignia you wear.” Scotty chuckles looking at the woman he was pretending he didn’t just admit his feelings to.

Y/n looks at him confused, shaken by his sudden shift in demeanor and topic.

“I um, yes. But I don’t see how that pertains to what we’re talking about,” she looks at him, head tilting and eyebrows stitching together.

Y/n, quite frankly, didn’t know what to say. She just looks at him for a good long while.

“Should I go, lassie?” Scotty starts to stand up.

Y/n stands, letting go of her death grip on her robe, and grabs his hand.

“You’re much better with words than I am, Montgomery. And I think you think I’m much younger than I am,” her words come out rushed, almost as quickly as her heart is beating.

“How old are you?” Not until now does he realize he never found out her age.

“I’m 29,” she chuckles.

“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed a day over 24,” Scotty speaks, almost shocked.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Y/n chuckles out before looking up at him with hope filled eyes. “Does that mean you’ll stay and finish your tea?”

Scotty smiles and sits back down, “I’ll stay as long as you’d like, Y/n.”

“I think that unwise, Lieutenant Commander. We do still have a mission to attend to tomorrow.” She chuckles out, sitting back down, herself.

Only now did Scotty notice her robe had fallen open to reveal a strawberry speckled nightie. Shifting slightly in his seat, he averts his gaze, sipping from his cup, and notices something interesting in the photo.

“Oh! I’m sorry, should I go change?” Y/n asks, slightly uncomfortably.

“No, no, it’s fine, lass.” He hums, reaching for the photo to take a closer look.

He squints at the ruby ring on Y/n’s left hand in the photo.

“Were you once married, Y/n?” Scotty asks inquiringly.

Y/n chokes on her tea, coughing to catch her breath. That’s not a question someone had asked her in a long time.

“Um, almost,” she coughs, still clearing out her throat.

“What happened?” He looks to his right, so he can make eye contact with her.

“She, um, wasn’t a very good person and I wasn’t doing great when I was with her. Took me almost getting married and dozens of people telling us we were too young to finally realize it though.” Y/n sighs, finishing her tea and placing the mug in the little sink.

“Ah, I see,” Scotty responds, setting the picture down. “Sorry, for asking.”

“No, it’s fine. I should expect people to ask when I have a photo of me wearing an engagement ring for everyone to see.” She says, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

Scotty stands up with his mug, walking to one of the shelves filled with books, and scans the spines. He likes to think of himself as a reader, but he never reads things in different languages. He barely knew other earth languages, not to mention any alien ones. Sure, he picked up a few phrases, but that was it. He notices how many series of books there were among the singles. He reaches for a thin book that was in English as he sips his tea. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austin. He looks over his shoulder as Y/n, eyebrow raised. Y/n was now leaned up against the wall her bed was propped against, legs crossed, robe discarded, and blanket on her lap.

“Isn’t this book for young girls and hopeless romantics?” Scotty questions, sliding the book back into its place on the shelf.

“Until a few moments ago, you thought I was both,” she chuckles.

Scotty finished his tea, placing the mug into the sink like Y/n had done just a minute before.

“I should probably leave. We have a big day tomorrow lassie.” Scotty turns to Y/n.

Y/n stands and follows Scotty to the door. He turns around before opening the door and sees she didn’t put her robe back on. He willed himself to look at only her face. She leaned in, placing her hands on his shoulder, and kiss’ him on the cheek. Before she can pull away, he gently places his hand on her lower back, pulling her in for a kiss on the lips.

Time seems to stop for only a moment. The only thing in the galaxy that mattered to him was her in this moment. Y/n, with her soft lips, her silky nighty, and her soft grip on his shoulders. The moment ended just as quickly as it had started.

“Goodnight, lassie,” He smiles, still holding her close.

“Goodnight, Monty,” Y/n breaths out before stepping away from him.

I made a Spotify playlist to go along with the story since I use music a good bit. There will be music from unpublished chapters though. So listen at your own risk.

#scotty x reader #montgomery scott x reader #montgomery scott aos #montgomery scott imagine #star trek aos #solarwindswriting

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imaginepirates · 4 years

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Modern! Jack

Another modern au where Jack stumbles upon your house in the woods. This is an outdoorsy one for everyone who loves Jack being Jack. You try to convince Jack that the mountains are just as beautiful as the sea. (Poll: which do you like better?)

@emdrabbles @tesserphantom @paljonkaikenlaista @viper-official

~3000 words

~~~~~~~

The wind whispered through the trees, the light dappling through the leaves to fall across the ground in mesmerizing patterns. You stood under them, watching the movement in the undergrowth. Mice scuttled through the bushes, insects skittered across the ground, and a thrush took flight from its place in the grasses. You walked along a path that led away from your small home and out into the woods. You lived in a secluded area, away from the hustle and bustle of city life. It was nice, out in nature. It was relaxing, and your walks always took you somewhere new.

You stepped off the path, letting your feet lead you. You knew the area well enough that you wouldn’t get lost. You made your way to a small brook, using the stones jutting out from the water as a pathway across. The stream burbled up at you as you crossed. You were glad to have this space to yourself. Sometimes, hikers came along, and you held pleasant conversation with them. They came down from the hills behind your home, a beautiful range of white-topped mountains that stretched for miles, carved out by glaciers. You could swear that they were the most beautiful land formations on earth. A bird cawed somewhere nearby, taking off from its perch. You watched it fly overhead, admiring its deep blue coloring.

You noticed the man not long after. He came stumbling through the trees, looking disoriented. He carried no pack, and you worried that something might have happened to him while he had been out hiking. Your fear was amplified by the fresh bloodstain on his shirt. You both stared at each other a shocked moment before either of you moved.

You moved toward him, taking his arm. He must have been one of those modern hippies; his dreadlocks reached his lower back. There was some sort of dark makeup around his eyes, and his clothes were strange, too hot for hiking in. You brushed the thoughts of his strangeness out of your mind, intent on getting him some help. “I live not far from here. I can help you.”

“Thank you, love. But may I ask: where exactly is ‘here’?”

You glanced over at his face, realizing that he was sincere. Surely he had to have some idea of where he was. He’d likely gotten lost while out on the path, but there was no way that he could be utterly confused as to his location. “You’re by the Cascade Mountain Range.” Seeing his still-confused expression, you decided that the injury on his chest might be taking more out of him than you originally thought.

You rushed him back to the house, a little surprised to find how steadily the man walked across the rocks in the stream. Once inside, you sat him on your couch and went to the bathroom for your first aid kit. You kept one around just in case, especially considering the fact that accidents like this did, in fact, happen.

When you stepped back into your living room, you saw that the man was standing in your kitchen, casting a curious glance at your toaster-oven. Seeing the kit in your hands, he nodded, stepping back over toward the sofa.

You pulled his shirt to the side to find a long gash. It was shallow, but it had bled a concerning amount. You bandaged it as best as you could, making sure to apply generous amounts of disinfectant. With the bleeding stopped, you took another look at your patient.

He wore a bandana around his head with trinkets dangling from it, including a rather large piece of what you assumed to be plastic, though it looked convincingly like bone. His outfit was…interesting, to say the least. He wore what appeared to be a worn waistcoat over a billowing shirt, and he had thick belts around his chest and middle. The very personification of a swashbuckling pirate, you thought. He was the strangest person you’d met in the woods to date.

“I know you might feel a little confused,” you said, carefully folding a bloodstained washcloth. “You seem to have lost some blood. Would you mind telling me what happened?”

“Confused is a bit of an understatement, love. I’m baffled. Bewildered. Befuddled, if you will.”

“And why is that, Mr…”

“Sparrow.”

“Mr. Sparrow.” Sparrow? you thought. Certainly not Sparrow as in Jack Sparrow, fictional pirate and dashing rogue?

“Because I have no idea where I am. In perfect honesty, I have no idea when I am.”

You almost laughed. The notion seemed so ridiculous. Then you realized he might have passed out somewhere, and was probably asking for the day of week. “It’s Thursday,” you said. “March thirteenth.”

He nodded.

“Do you mind telling me how you got hurt?”

“Oh! That.” He looked down at the injury, as if analyzing it for the first time. “Swordfight.”

“Swordfight?” At this point, you were fairly sure that you were hallucinating. You’d heard of strange things happening to people, encounters that left people shocked, but you’d never thought that you would have one. You couldn’t tell if the man was a very good actor, or if he was simply insane. You realized that it would be best to call the police. “You should get some rest,” you told him. “You look tired. When you wake up, I’ll have some food ready.”

He thanked you, sprawling out across your couch to take a nap. You moved over to the kitchen, picking up the phone on the way there. Any man who claimed that he had been injured in the middle of the woods in a swordfight wasn’t the type you wanted to be around. You looked back at Sparrow, who had his thick leather boots slung over the edge of your sofa.

A glint of metal caught your eye. There, resting by his hip, was a belt. A large sheath hung off one side, and a sword seemed to be inside it. “Excuse me,” you said without thinking. “Is that a real sword?” The pommel looked lovely, and you wanted to know where he might have gotten something so convincing.

Sparrow cracked an eye. “Of course it is.” He flashed a glint of steel, then returned to his nap.

You put down the phone. Maybe he's not crazy. You busied yourself making a snack, trying to calm your panicking mind. The man laying on your couch was too much like the actual Jack Sparrow, and you were afraid that you’d hit your head in the shower, or that you were still dreaming.

By the time he woke up, he seemed very thankful for the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that you handed him. He ate it with gusto, eyes widening with what you knew was the unusual taste of peanut butter.

“Thank you, love.” He licked the jelly off his fingers. “It seems that I’m in need of a place to stay. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to provide?”

“Of course,” you squeaked.

“Unfortunately, I don’t know my way home, and I don’t know how long I’m supposed to be here. I hope it’s not too inconvenient.”

“Not at all.” It really wasn’t, but it was certainly odd to keep a strange man in your house for an undetermined amount of time.

The next few days passed blissfully uneventfully, leaving you to tend to Jack’s injury and introduce him to modern technology. Hilariously, the bed was probably the thing he enjoyed most. You had a guest bed, and he flopped into it unceremoniously all the time. You supposed that if this truly was Jack, then he hadn’t slept in a proper bed in ages.

He was wary of the shower, but you convinced him that scrubbing some of the grime off his face and body would make him feel better. He admitted, later, that it did.

His wound healed up nicely. It hadn’t needed stitches, which you were thankful for. It had been a shallow cut, but it had bled a lot in the beginning, which had concerned you for obvious reasons.

He kept flicking open a compass that looked suspiciously like the real one, staring at it before snapping it closed again, annoyed.

“What do you keep looking at your compass for?”

“Nothing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I doubt that.”

“Look, lassie. I appreciate the hospitality, but the compass is my business.”

You frowned. You hadn’t realized that Jack probably kept the compass a secret. From most people, at least. You supposed the people who knew about it were exceptions, given that they had known him for a while.

You could tell he was growing fidgety, and that he needed something to do. He paced around the room sometimes, and he kept toying with some of the beads in his hair.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” You asked. “You seem like you could use something to do.”

He agreed. You left the house with a backpack full of food and water, just in case you needed it. Always better to be safe than sorry. You walked back along the little path you’d found him on. Again, he was surefooted crossing the rocks in the stream, and you wondered what would make his balance so good. The mountains rose up ahead of you, a hundred trails splitting off into the wilderness.

“How can you tell where you are with all these trees?” Jack asked.

“I suppose you have to know the paths. Or get a map. Or look for landmarks. It’s pretty easy to tell where you are in comparison to what mountains are around.”

He looked up. “All your mountains look the same.”

“That’s not true.” You pointed out the jagged rocks at the top of a mountain to your left, and the smoother top of the one to your right.

“It’s easier to see things on the open ocean. The sea is the most beautiful thing in the world.” He spoke with such reverence, you could tell that he really believed it. He must love the ocean.

“There’s nothing out there!” you said. “There aren’t any landmarks to tell you where you are.”

“Stars, lassy.”

“That’s only good at night,” you pointed out. “And I think the mountains are more beautiful than the ocean.”

Jack made a face.

“Have you ever hiked up to the top of one and looked off at everything down below?”

“Why would I?”

“Because it’s amazing. I’ll prove it to you.”

Jack looked up at some of the towering peaks. “I’m not sure I can make it up there, love.”

“It’s not so bad, I promise. We won’t go all the way up to the top, anyway. That requires rock-climbing gear.” Jack still looked dubious, but you kept on. “You can’t say that something isn’t beautiful if you haven’t experienced it. I’ve been to the ocean. I know it’s pretty, but not as lovely as the sight off the top of the hills.”

“If you say so.”

You led him up a dusty path that connected to the base of one of the mountains. There was a ledge of rock that you could climb up to and look out at all the things down below. You started leading him up through the trees and bushes.

Jack looked around at all the foliage. His eyes followed flying birds, gliding butterflies, and flowers lining the path. He stared, wide eyed, at all of it. As you climbed higher, he looked out between the trees to see the view. You enjoyed the look of surprise on his face when he gazed out over your home.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this high up before,” he said.

“We still have a ways to go, too. You’re going to love it when we reach the top.”

He looked back at you with a silly grin. “You’re right: this is beautiful. Not sure it beats freedom on the ocean yet, but it’s something.”

You couldn’t wait for him to see it all sprawling out underneath him. The true views were something else. You loved looking down over the little valley you were in, trying to find your house in the trees, looking across at more towering mountains, the sun framed by the peaks.

When you finally reached the top, the afternoon sun hung overhead in the sky. Jack stopped a moment to catch his breath before walking out onto the shelf of rock that extended from the cliff face. He sucked in a breath as he looked out at the view.

The trees had fallen away behind you, and the shelf of rock gave you an unobscured view of the valley below. You could just pic out your small house among the trees far beneath you. The sky seemed to stretch on forever, over the mountains opposite you, bright blue in the midday sun. Everything looked so small; the stream you’d crossed earlier was a winding ribbon, and the road leading up to your house was no wider than a finger from where you stood.

“This is…there aren’t words, love.” Jack gazed out over the expanse. “I’ve never seen anything like it. And the air is crisp, crisper than on the sea, even. And there’s no sound. It just...disappears.”

“I know. Now you can see why I love it so much.”

“I do.”

You sat on the rock, enjoying the view and eating snacks. There was the occasional bird whistle, but other than that, you were in complete silence. No sounds from the road traveled up to greet you, and you were there all alone. Jack couldn’t stop staring. Obviously, he’d never hiked up anything in his life.

He flipped open his compass with a practiced flick. Chewing on a granola bar, he looked down, almost lazily, and the expression on his face changed at once. He was on his feet in an instant. He stepped out off the outcropping, back onto the trail, and took a few short strides to the left. Then, he turned in a few circles, finally stooping down to pick something up.

He brought it back to you, inspecting it carefully. It seemed to be some kind of broach. Why his compass pointed him to a broach, you couldn’t understand, but you were beginning to understand that this was, in fact, the real Jack Sparrow in front of you. He sat back down, and pulled at a piece of string attached to the object. It had some paper on the end of it. A note, probably. His eyes widened, and he cursed under his breath.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” He shoved it in a pocket.

You looked at him suspiciously, but decided to leave it. He’d tell you if he wanted to. Besides, you had to head back down the mountain if you wanted anything to eat for dinner.

You headed back with Jack in a dark mood. He glared testily at the trees and shrubs. Obviously, whatever he’d found in the woods was bothering him. You didn’t want to pry, but you were curious to know what made his mood change so quickly.

You arrived back at your house just as the sun was beginning to sink over the opposite mountains. The air conditioning felt blissful against your warm skin. A shower was in order, you knew, but you decided to clear the air first. Jack had dropped onto the couch, and you walked up, sitting down beside him.

“What was it?” You asked gently.

“What was what?”

“You know what.” You sighed. “The thing you found while we were out hiking.”

“My ticket home, is what.”

“Your ticket home?” You didn’t understand.

He moved closer, showing you the broach. It was a silver ship, and the light bounced off the reflective surface. Then, he grabbed the note, holding it up for you to read.

Jack, it seems you’re doing well where I put you. You were never very good at facing your problems, so I decided to give you one you couldn’t run away from. You seem to have acclimated to the future, and you deserve a way back. Just rub on the ship and think of home.

You stared, flabbergasted. What did it mean? The initials at the end caught your notice. T.D. Surely that had to be Tia Dalma. Was Jack going already, then? Was he leaving you to go back to your everyday life? You’d enjoyed his company, and the more you thought on it, the less you wanted him to go.

“Damned woman put me in the future herself! I can’t believe her, sometimes. But that’s women for you.” He turned to you. “Well, not all women, I guess.”

“Are you leaving, then?” You asked, a little afraid of the answer.

“I do want to get back to my Pearl,” he said, “but I like it here. It’s a nice rest from the ship. Besides, Tia said I needed to do some learning. I don’t suppose it would hurt to do a little more.” He grinned cheekily. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“I don’t think that’s what she meant.” You smiled in spite of yourself.

“You’re right. She wanted me to face my problems. And you’re certainly not a problem, love.”

Oh dear. You rolled your eyes. It was going to be different, if he decided to stick around. Different, but decidedly worthwhile.

“Tell me one thing,” he said. “Does my not-problem kiss? They’ve certainly deserved it. I mean, they’ve patched me up, and given me a place to stay, and shown me some beautiful views.” With that statement, he raked your body over with his eyes. “I think we can do more beautiful things, too.”

You blushed furiously. “I suppose that depends. Are you a good kisser?”

“You’re going to have to come over here to find out.” He winked.

He was. And he insisted on proving it to you quite a few times. Not that you minded.

#potc #pirates #pirates of the caribbean #Jack Sparrow #sparrow #Captain Jack Sparrow #request #requests #jack x reader #jack sparrow x reader #potc fanfic #x reader #self insert

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bee-kathony · 4 years

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Blue Christmas | Jamie & Claire one shot

a/n: Merry Christmas! I wrote this a few weeks ago, so I thought I’d finally post it. Comes in at a whopping 13,154 words so you’ll need to brew a cup of hot chocolate and settle in for this one! Now... this will probably be my last fic for awhile, possibly ever, we’ll see how I feel after everything has settled. I hope you enjoy and Merry Christmas! xx and thank you @julesbeauchamp for the moodboard!

December 23rd, 2019

Oxford, England

The wine glass in her hand was becoming dangerously low. Dangerous, because without the warm liquid filling Claire’s belly, she’d remember just exactly why she was drinking alone.

Christmas was a time of celebration and joy. A time for families to come together, laugh and exchange presents. Everyone would gather around the fireplace and tell stories or watch a classic Christmas film.

Claire was celebrating in her own way two days before Christmas. Her divorce had been finalized this morning, which was a good thing, but not exactly something that would lift the spirits.

Her ex-husband, Frank Randall had been a kind man, emphasis on had. They’d been married a short five years, and during that time, Frank hadn’t been faithful — at all. When Claire found out about one woman, it led to another and another… and another. Frank seemed to have a string of women lined up all around the city. It made Claire feel like a fool for trusting him and believing that he truly loved her.

So, with her divorce final, Claire was celebrating Christmas alone for the first time in her life. The first several years of her life she barely remembered, and until she had married Frank, she had spent every Christmas with her aunt and uncle in London.

Uncle Lamb insisted she come and join them this year, but the thought of having to pretend she was okay was mind-numbing. Being around her family would be nice, but seeing all the cheer and jovial faces wasn’t something she could handle.

A quiet meow came from her left, and Claire looked over to see her cat Adso licking his feet. Well, she wasn’t quite alone, at least she had her cat.

“I’m becoming a crazy cat lady at the ripe age of twenty-seven,” Claire said wistfully, petting Adso on the head, making him purr gently. “Just you and me now.”

There wasn’t even a Christmas movie that Claire could watch because they usually all ended with two people falling in love, and love was not something Claire wanted to think about. It killed her to know that Frank was probably screwing some blonde university bimbo right now, while she sat alone in the dark, not a decoration in sight.

Thankfully, she had the next two weeks off to wallow in self-pity. Claire worked at the local library, where she was able to read to her heart’s content. Her best friend Geillis also worked with her, although she didn’t read all that much, which always made Claire laugh. Why take a position at a library if one didn’t like to read?

Gathering enough energy to get off the sofa, Claire set her now empty glass down in search of a new bottle. If she had to spend this Christmas alone, she certainly wouldn’t be spending it sober.

As Claire grabbed a new bottle, she passed by the fridge, which was still littered with the odd bits and pictures of her and Frank’s life. A yellow post-it note caught her attention. It read, “I’ll be out late, eat without me!”

She yanked it off, crumpling it into a small paper ball before tossing it in the trash can. “You bastard,” she said to the post-it and to Frank.

Sooner or later, she would need to get rid of all his things. The process had begun two months ago when she’d found out about his affairs. Claire had gathered up as many clothes of his that she could carry in her two arms and tossed them out the second-story window, much to Frank’s complaints.

Laughing at this memory, Claire grabbed a packet of biscuits before plopping back down on the sofa.

“Another glass for the woman who’s destined to be alone,” Claire said to herself, watching the dark liquid fill her cup.

Just as she picked it up, a loud knock came from the door, making her spill it all over her pajama pants. “Shit!” Claire stood up quickly, checking to see if any had got on her couch, and thankfully (or not so thankfully) it had all landed on her.

Another knock came from the door, “Open up!”

“Geillis?” Claire raced to the door, patting at her pants. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Her friend held up a bottle of wine and a box of pizza. “Solidarity? I wasn’t going to let you spend tonight alone. I canna be wi’ ye on Christmas, so I thought tonight would suffice.”

“Get in here,” Claire grinned, hugging her friend as she passed. “I should make you buy me a new pair of pajama bottoms! Spilled half my glass of wine all over them when you knocked.”

Geillis looked her over, wincing as she saw the dark red stain. “Och, Christ, Claire. I’m verra sorry about that.”

“You should be,” Claire crossed her arms as she leaned on the counter, the smell of the pizza making her mouth water. “But you brought sustenance so all is forgiven!”

“Go make yourself at home, I’ll just go change out of these,” Claire rolled her eyes, laughing as she went to her room. It should’ve been hard to be in the bedroom that Frank and she had shared, but he was barely home towards the end. The reason for that was clear now. They had moved into this house only two years ago after Frank accepted the teaching position at Oxford. Most of the memories Claire had made here, had been on her own.

Returning with a freshly washed pair of fuzzy bottoms, Claire sat down next to Geillis who was already on her second slice.

“So ye really didna decorate for Christmas, huh?”

It was true. The room was dark with the lack of twinkling lights and not a bauble in sight. “I didn’t feel like decorating just for myself. Not this year at least.”

“I get it,” Geillis nodded. “But I wish ye wouldn’t spend the whole holidays wallowing in self-pity. Ye should put on a fancy dress and go get yerself laid,” she winked. “Now, that will lift yer spirits, ye ken?”

“I ken,” Claire smirked. “But I don’t think anyone would want to get with this sorry lump of coal.”

“Excuse me?” Geillis nearly spit out her wine. “If yer a lump of coal, then what am I?!”

“Oh, you’re gold darling, absolute gold,” Claire laughed. “I appreciate the encouragement, but I’d rather not wake up in a strange bed with a strange man.”

“But that’s often the best kind,” Geillis nudged her in the side. “Well, if ye willna go get laid, please dinna stay here in this miserable depressing house. Go see yer uncle or go take a trip somewhere. Ye’ve earned it, Beauchamp.”

That hit her like a gut punch. Beauchamp. Her maiden name. “Guess I’ll have to get used to saying that again. A trip you say?” She sipped her wine. “But it’s two days before Christmas, where on earth could I go that would have availability?”

“Try Scotland, my homeland,” Geillis grinned and ran her finger gently down Adso’s back. “Tis just a quick hop on a plane, gets ye out of England at least.”

“I’ve never been to Scotland,” Claire said. “Do I just find a bed and breakfast in some quaint village?”

“Aye,” Geillis nodded and then whipped out her phone. “Or ye can search for a cute holiday spot in Scotland. Let’s say the highlands somewhere.”

As Claire let Geillis search for a place for her to go, she looked around at her house. While she could wallow, the idea of sitting in the dark wasn’t exactly appealing. She had the next two weeks off, and she might as well try and enjoy herself a bit. After all, she should be celebrating the fact that she’s no longer married to Frank who took every opportunity to cheat on her.

“How long do ye want to stay?” Geillis asked.

“Umm, I don’t know. Maybe four days? Five? I’ll have to find somewhere for Adso to stay,” Claire smiled as her cat purred beneath her hand.

“Oh, I’ll watch the wee cheetie,” Geillis mumbled. “So, in the highlands… with availability.”

“Oh and make sure it’s not some romantic getaway destination,” Claire added.

“Lassie,” Geillis laughed. “It’s Scotland. The whole damn country is a romantic destination! But dinna fash, I’ll find ye a good spot.”

“While you do that, I’m going to turn on the fireplace,” Claire said as she stood up. She flicked a switch that turned on the gas and immediate heat came to life. Claire stood in front of the fireplace, trying to get warm.

There was something rather exciting about traveling to a country she’d never been before. Claire fancied herself as a bit of a gypsy — her home was wherever she was. And Scotland was a place she’d always wanted to visit, it seemed like now was as good a time as any.

“Oh, I think I found it,” Geillis stood up from the sofa to show her the phone. “Tis called Fraser’s Ridge. A collection of cabins of all sizes up in the Highlands.”

“Fraser’s Ridge,” Claire repeated and began to flick through the pictures. The cabins looked very cozy and inviting. “They have availability?”

“That’s what their website says,” Geillis said. “Want me to book it? It’ll be my Christmas present to ye… since I may have forgotten to buy ye a gift,” she winced.

“You don’t have to do that, Geillis!”

“I do! Ye need to take time for yerself,” Geillis slid her arm around Claire’s waist, squeezing tight. “Ye’ve had a rough year, and now ye can go up to a cute wee cabin and relax.”

Claire looked through the pictures again, noting how charming they looked. “It says here that each cabin was hand-built by the owner and his father.”

“Oooh, the crafty type,” Geillis winked. “Ye should make sure ye get a good look at the owner then. If he’s good wi’ his hands…” she made a lewd hand motion.

“Geillis Duncan!” Claire laughed, nudging her friend in the ribs. “There will be nothing of the sort. I bet he’s in his 60’s, overweight and balding.”

“Are ye picky then?”

Claire shot her friend a look, then laughed and moved back to the sofa. “Fine, if you want to book it, then go for it. It’ll be better than me and Adso rotting away like Miss Havisham while I sit in my wedding dress.”

“Ye should give that away or somethin’,” Geillis said as she typed Claire’s details into her phone to book the holiday. “I mean, I ken it’s full of memories and such, but surely those have all been tainted.”

“I guess you’re right,” Claire sighed, leaning her head back on the sofa. “I could give it to charity. Or you. Would you like a used wedding dress, Geillis?”

“Not a chance,” Geillis smirked. “Okay, I’ve put yer name as Claire Beauchamp. It’s five days, and you leave tomorrow.”

“Christmas Eve,” Claire ran her hand through her curls. “Guess I’d better pack!”

“Will ye promise me ye’ll bring somethin’ sexy to wear? Just in case the owner turns out to be a mysterious highland hunk?”

“God, you’re insufferable,” Claire chuckled and tossed a pillow at her friend who narrowly dodged it. “For you, I’ll pack it, but it will get no use.”

“We’ll see,” Geillis smirked, forwarding Claire the confirmation email.

++++++

After Geillis went home that night, Claire went into her closet and packed a travel bag full of everything she thought she’d need. The owner said he would have a car come and pick her up at the airport, and then to get some groceries if she needed them. Besides that, she wouldn’t even need to leave the cabin. Cozy sweaters and loungewear were all that she intended to wear, but she did pack a sexy silky pajama set she had yet to wear just so when Geillis asked her about it later, she could say she brought it.

She felt nuts to be boarding a plane on Christmas Eve, but she wasn’t alone. The airport was packed with other holiday travelers flying all over the world. Claire loved to people watch — coming up with stories for people.

There was a little girl Claire had been watching for the last several minutes while she waited for the plane to take off. She sat two rows in front of Claire and kept popping her head over the seat to look back at her.

“Hi,” Claire waved. The little girl ducked back down with a shy smile before popping her head up again. This pattern went on several times before the girl’s mother told her to sit still.

The flight was a short one, but Claire always got motion sickness on flights or in cars and so she took a Dramamine to help ease the nausea she was already feeling. She was also slightly nervous to be going to a place she’d never been on her own. Every vacation in the past had been with Frank, so now she was venturing out, and so far things were going well.

Nearly two hours later, Claire woke up to the sound of the pilot telling them that they would be landing shortly. Her head felt foggy, and she stretched in her seat the best she could.

“Couldn’t have sprung for first-class, Geillis?” Claire chuckled to herself.

She only had a carry-on duffel and a large purse that held her laptop and a few books for the trip.

The email said that one of their employees would be picking her up and would have her name on a sign. So it wasn’t a surprise whenever she walked out of the gate to find a tall bearded man, holding a sign that read, “C. Beauchamp.”

“Hi,” Claire smiled at the man. “Are you from Fraser’s Ridge?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “I’m Murtagh FitzGibbons. I take it ye are C. Beauchamp?”

“That’s me. I don’t have to wait for a bag so I’m ready when you are,” Claire said.

The man made a Scottish sound in the back of his throat and then took her duffel. A slight panic crept in as she followed this stranger out to the car. She was a woman traveling alone on one of the busiest holidays. This would be the time that she could be taken advantage of, perhaps taken to some remote place and murdered.

“Christ, Beauchamp,” she shook that murderous thought out of her head and told herself everything would be fine.

“Do ye need to stop at the grocer’s for any food for yer stay?” Murtagh asked as he started the car.

“Um, yes please, if there’s one on the way,” she replied.

“Aye, there is. The Ridge is about an hour away from here, so best get comfortable,” Murtagh smiled at her as he turned on her seat heater. Fraser’s Ridge did have five-star reviews, and so far, she knew why.

Murtagh drove her to the grocery store where she picked up snacks and food she could easily prepare. Wine of course, and a bottle of whisky… two bottles of whisky. The rest of the drive was silent, as Claire took in the beautiful Scottish landscape. The rolling green hills, covered in snow as they drove further north.

By the time they reached Fraser’s Ridge, the sun was beginning to go down, even though it was just the afternoon. The air was crisp and cold, making Claire shiver as she stepped out of the warm embrace of the heated car.

“The owner, Jamie, my godson, is out tonight and tomorrow to be wi’ his sister and her family. But, I’ll help ye check-in and then see ye safe to yer cabin. Jamie will probably stop by to welcome ye properly when he gets back,” Murtagh said as he picked up her bag again.

“You’re his godfather?” Claire asked. “Why aren’t you spending Christmas with them, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He grunted, “Och, well, I’m no’ much of a holiday man. And someone had to see to the place over the holidays. Jamie did it last year and I kent he wanted to spend time wi’ his sister, Jenny.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Claire smiled warmly. “I look forward to meeting this Jamie whenever he comes back. This place is absolutely beautiful.”

“Aye, lass,” Murtagh smiled as he walked up a trail towards a small building that must be their offices.

“There’s a wee book that tells ye a bit about the place,” Murtagh said as he wrote her name down. “It also has information about wifi, if that’s somethin’ yer interested in.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a gold key. “Cabin 2,” he handed it to her. “If ye’ll just follow me.”

They walked back outside, and it was beginning to snow lightly. On the way up here, Claire noticed that they really were in a remote part of the highlands. Although, it seemed most of the highlands was remote compared to the busy streets of Oxford or London.

“Are there other people here? Or is it just me being a complete and utter loser on Christmas?” Claire chuckled sadly.

“There are a few other folks,” Murtagh looked back at her. “A few families that like to spend the holidays up here. We have ten cabins in total, and this season only three are vacant.”

“Wow,” Claire was impressed. It was an ideal location, but most people stay at home with their family’s at Christmas time. “Well, it’s really lovely.”

Her cabin was just a short walk from the office, with its own trail that led to the door. Claire could tell that it was built with skill and precision. Everything looked so intentional and yet still had that rustic element that all cabins had. Murtagh walked up to the door, waiting for her to unlock it.

She turned the key, opening the door to a dark room. Murtagh flicked on the switch and Claire gasped.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” Murtagh smirked and then set her bag down. “Jamie insisted on decorating every cabin for Christmas. I told him ‘twas a bit much, but,” the man shrugged.

There were lights strung around the room, making it sparkle. A large tree stood in the corner, fully decorated, with cranberry and popcorn and every bauble to go with it. The fireplace had greenery on top, fit with knitted stockings. It wasn’t cheesy or tacky. Claire wasn’t trying to escape Christmas, just her depressing home she had shared with her ex-husband. This… this was perfect.

“Well, I’ll leave ye to it,” Murtagh said. “Our office number is listed in the book as well if ye need anythin’. Enjoy your stay, Miss Beauchamp.”

“Thank you,” Claire smiled as Murtagh shut the door, leaving her on her own. The first order of business was to get the fireplace going, and upon first inspection, it wasn’t a gas one like Claire’s.

There was wood already set up, as well as kindling and a box of matches on top of the mantle. “Here goes nothing,” Claire muttered as she struck the match. At first, nothing happened, but soon the kindling caught the flame and began to fan out to the logs.

“First try,” she clapped her hands together.

There was a small kitchen connected to the living room, stocked with all the appliances one could need. The master bedroom was spacious, with a cozy king-sized bed that Claire was very much looking forward to getting into later. A bathroom connected to the bedroom, with a shower and clawfoot tub.

“The pictures don’t do this place justice,” Claire sighed as she walked back into the living room which was warming up nicely. There was a ladder that led up to a small loft area with plush seating. A cute little reading nook for later.

Claire continued her curious look around as she opened up the back door. There was a fire pit outside, with logs set up around it for seating. She managed to get the inside fire lit but wasn’t counting on her skills with an outdoor pit.

Before she settled onto the comfy looking sofa, Claire took her bag into the room and unpacked it. Then she put her groceries away, grabbing a packet of crisps and a plaid before snuggling in for the night.

The remote was on the coffee table and when she turned it on, The Holiday was playing.

“I can’t turn this off, now can I?” She rolled her eyes but smiled as Jude Law’s character put on his glasses.

After the movie ended, and Claire had eaten her weight in crisps, she groggily made her way to the bedroom. Not bothering with pajamas, she flopped down onto the bed face first and within moments fell fast asleep.

++++++

On Christmas morning, Claire treated herself to a cup of coffee and store bought croissants. There were no presents under the tree to open, and no one would call. Maybe her uncle Lamb, but later once his own children had opened their gifts.

“Another day of movies and crisps,” Claire sighed as she took up the corner spot on the sofa.

Hours passed in that order. One movie would end, and another would begin. She had given up on trying to avoid cheesy Christmas movies, as that seemed to be the only thing playing on virtually every station.

Claire felt herself drifting off to sleep during Elf, but was startled when a loud knock came from the front door. “What the bloody hell,” she yawned and jumped off the sofa. Grabbing the plaid, she wrapped it around her body as she shuffled to the door.

A very tall, very large, red headed man stood on the front porch. He had an axe in one hand, and a bag in the other.

“Um, are you going to murder me?” Claire glanced at the axe.

The man followed her gaze and burst into a laugh. “Oh, Christ! It does look like that. No, God no. I came to see if ye needed any wood cut for the place.”

“Perhaps,” Claire said, eyeing the man. She had to admit that he was very attractive, and his accent had that deep burr of someone who had lived in the highlands all his life, the r’s rolling off his tongue.

“Yer probably wonderin’ who this strange man is on yer front steps,” the man said as he took off his gloves and stuck out his hand. “I’m Jamie Fraser. Of Fraser’s Ridge.”

“Ah,” Claire smiled and shook his hand. “That makes a lot of sense,” she laughed. “I’m Claire Beauchamp. I just got in last night. Your godfather, Murtagh, was it? He said that you wouldn’t be around today.”

Jamie put his gloves back on his large hands. “Well, I wasna supposed to be, but then my sister Jenny’s daughter Maggie got sick after the festivities and so I was freed. Thought I’d just come back to check on everyone and to wish them a Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Claire grinned. “I must say, this place is wonderful. Did you really build every one?”

“Aye,” Jamie’s cheeks blushed. “With my Da before he passed a few years back. We ran this place together. It was a way to show the beauty of Scotland, and remind everyone to take time for themselves. What brought ye here?”

“Oh,” Claire paused, not sure how much of her personal life to disclose to a near stranger. “Just needed a break from my life back in England.”

“I kent ye were a Sassenach,” Jamie smiled warmly.

“Sassenach?”

“English person,” he replied. “More or less.”

There was still snow falling, and Claire began to shiver in the doorway. “Would you like to come in Mr. Fraser? It’s bloody freezing out there!”

“Och,” he shook his head. “I’ll just go and chop the wood for ye and bring it back. I wouldna want to impose on ye.”

“It wouldn’t be an imposition,” Claire said, and realized that she really wouldn’t mind spending more time with this man. He had a kindness to him, one that instantly drew her to him.

“I willna be long,” Jamie turned to leave. “And call me Jamie please, Sassenach.”

She waited until he had fully gone to shut the door. He would be back.

Racing to her bedroom, she tossed the plaid on the bed and began to root around in the drawers for something more suitable to wear. Of bloody course she had only brought oversized sweaters and lounge wear. “Didn’t think you’d be meeting a handsome Scot, now would you? Didn’t listen to Geillis,” she mumbled.

Pulling out a green sweater, Claire thought it was the most presentable option and replaced it with the old t-shirt she had been wearing. She only felt a little foolish to be primping herself for his return. Licking her fingers, she tried to assemble the bird’s nest called her curly hair into order.

She was not certain how long it would take him to chop down fresh wood. An image of the man Jamie holding the axe in his hands, droplets of sweat on his brow as he struck down with force on the wood filled her mind. Claire let her eyes closed as she pictured how he would grunt with every strike, again and again. He was clearly well built, so his muscles would flex.

“Christ, Beauchamp,” she shook her head, looking back at herself in the mirror. “Would you get a bloody grip?!”

She knew she shouldn’t have changed her appearance for a man. There was nothing that would come of this, so why did she want to look good for him? After Frank, Claire thought it would take her a long time to be open to any kind of relationship, let alone whatever she was imagining with Fraser.

He said he was going to chop down wood for everyone that needed some, so it could take awhile. The sofa called to her, and Claire sat down, grabbing a book off the coffee table. Her ear was tuned to any slight sound outside, waiting for Jamie’s return.

It took several tries for Claire to focus on the pages before her. She must have read the same paragraph nearly ten times, as her mind was picturing running her fingers through Jamie’s red curls.

“My God woman,” Claire muttered, feeling herself growing flushed. “This is not a cheesy Christmas movie. You’re not going to get laid by the owner of the place who kindly brings you wood.”

If Geillis were here, she would tell Claire to be open and take risks. But Claire had exchanged a few words with the man, and while she assumed he didn’t have a wife or family of his own, there was no way of knowing he wasn’t promised to some other woman.

Soon, Claire’s attention was hooked by her book, and as the minutes turned into hours, she had nearly forgotten about Jamie coming back. One look out the window showed her that it was still snowing, nearly a blizzard too. It was also growing dark outside, and she knew enough to know that chopping wood in the dark was a recipe for disaster.

Her curiosity sparked, Claire rose from the sofa and went to find her boots. Her gut told her that she should at least check that he was okay, if she could even find him out there. Once her shoes were tied, Claire grabbed her coat off the hook near the door. The fresh cold air hit her face, making her gasp as it took her breath away.

The steps were icy as she descended slowly. Obviously, she should look in the woods behind the cabin first. What would she do if she couldn’t find him? Go to the offices, demanding to know where he was? She would look insane and probably desperate. However, he did say he would come back and it’d been nearly four hours.

As she turned the corner round the back of the house, a flash of red caught her eye and she made her way carefully over.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”

She wouldn’t have to venture out into the icy woods after all. Jamie was lying in the snow, clearly stuck and unconscious. His axe lay nearby as did a pile of wood. He didn’t have any signs of bleeding, so he must have slipped on the ice and passed out.

Claire bent next to his body, her fingers instantly checking for his pulse at his neck. His skin was chilled, but she felt a steady thrum under her fingers, echoing her own. Jamie’s lips were a light shade of blue — he must have been out for hours. And all this time, she sat warm and inside, none the wiser.

“Jamie,” she rubbed her hand over his cheek. He didn’t stir. There was snow covering his body and she began to wipe it off. If he didn’t wake, she wasn’t sure she could lift him into the cabin to warm him up. “Jamie, please wake up!”

Rubbing her hands together for warmth, she then placed them on his cheeks to warm them up. She had no idea what else to do save strip naked and put her body next to his. Things hadn’t gotten to that point she thought sadly.

“Jamie,” she said again loudly. “Mr. Fraser, you’ve got to wake up.”

Finally, she saw a twitch near his lip, and soon his eyes slowly opened, snowflakes falling down his cheeks. “Sassenach?” He said with a dry voice.

“Oh thank God,” Claire sighed, leaning her head briefly on his chest. “You must have slipped on ice and passed out. I think you’ve been out here for hours, and the snow has really picked up.”

“Have I?” He blinked rapidly. “Aye, I can barely feel my fingers so I must have.”

“Do you think you can stand?” Claire asked, “I might be able to help get you inside.”

“Let me try,” his mouth quirked up into a smile. It seems even freezing temperatures couldn’t dampen his spirit. Jamie sat up stiffly, flexing his gloved fingers out in front of him. Rising to her feet, Claire offered him both her hands to pull him up. It took all the strength she had to lift him up. And when she did, he nearly toppled them both over again.

“Okay, let’s try walking,” Claire wrapped one arm around his waist to steady him. They took slow steps and thankfully they were very close to the cabin. The steps took a little bit longer, but with the promise of warmth inside, Jamie managed to make it.

“Och, Christ, I’m freezin’,” Jamie shivered as Claire shut the door behind them.

“Come and sit by the fire,” Claire led him over. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

She walked quickly to her bedroom to grab the plaid she’d tossed there earlier. When she came back to the living room, Jamie was standing in nothing but his trousers. His chest was gleaming, with a tuft of auburn curls, and Claire froze in her tracks as she stared at him.

“Um,” she said, her eyes greedily taking him in.

“I need to get out of these cold wet clothes,” Jamie blushed, bringing color back to his cheeks. “I’m sorry to appear so indecent before ye, but…”

She waved him away and moved closer, holding out the blanket. “No, it’s fine. You’re right, anyways. You can’t be sitting in those clothes.”

Jamie held the blanket in his hands gingerly, staring back at her. “Would ye perhaps look away for a bit just so I can get my trousers off? I swear I willna flash ye or anythin’,” he chuckled.”

“Oh, that’s fine!” Claire blurted, wondering if she meant it would be fine if he flashed her. Feeling heat creep up her chest, she turned and walked to the kitchen to heat up a cup of tea for him.

Jamie’s clothes made up a wet pile near the door, and he now sat by the fire, presumably naked.

“I’ll hang these up in the bathroom so they can dry out a bit,” Claire set his cup of steaming tea before him.

She now had a nearly naked Scotsman in her living room, clothed in a plaid with no dry clothes. What had she gotten herself into?

As Claire returned to him, she was pleased to see that his color was already returning, his skin no longer showing a startling sign of blue. “You really scared me out there,” she said as she sat down across from him on the carpeted floor.

“Who knows what would have become of me had ye not found me,” Jamie sipped the tea. “Were ye comin’ to find me or was there another reason ye were out in the blizzard?”

“I was worried,” Claire admitted freely. “It’d been nearly four hours and you hadn’t returned.”

“Tracking the time, eh?” He teased her, clearly loving to watch her squirm. “I’m glad ye did.”

“I suppose I’ll have to go back later and fetch the wood,” Claire pointed back outside. “I don’t want you to go outside until you’re fully warm and your lips are no longer blue!”

“Are they?” He touched them with his fingertips. “Christ, my balls are blue too,” he laughed.

Claire couldn’t help but laugh, and tried her hardest not to let her eyes wander down to that part of his anatomy. She had heard that old joke about how Scotsmen don’t wear anything under their kilts and she wondered…

“What’s yer story, Claire Beauchamp,” Jamie said a moment later, startling her out of her thoughts.

“My story?” Claire grabbed another plaid from the chair nearby, wrapping it around her shoulders. “I’m quite plain really, there isn’t much to say.”

“Och,” Jamie scoffed. “I dinna believe that. A beautiful English woman such as yerself is far from plain, and besides, everyone has got a story.”

“Then what’s your story, Jamie Fraser,” Claire asked, feeling completely at ease.

“Agh, that’s not fair! I asked ye first,” he laughed.

“I’ll tell you once you tell me yours,” she nudged his bare foot with her fuzzy sock clad one.

Jamie eyed her suspiciously, and Claire noticed for the first time how strikingly blue his eyes were. A stark contrast to her own dark amber ones. Everything about his was a stark contrast to her — his flaming red hair to her dull brown, his tanned skin to her pale, and his largeness to her smaller frame.

He set the cup of tea on the coffee table, careful not to let the plaid slip. “Well, ye ken about how I built this place wi’ my Da. I mentioned he passed a few years ago, and my Mam passed a few years before him.”

“I’m so sorry, Jamie,” Claire said.

“Tis hard sometimes,” he shrugged, giving her a warm smile. “Not always, as most days ye think of them randomly and wi’ a happy memory. Holidays are hard, especially this time of year for me.”

He began to tell her about his life. How he had lived in Scotland all his life, but gone to university in Paris, and earned his degree in business. He had one older sister, Jenny, who was married to his childhood best friend Ian and they had three children. As Jamie talked about his family and his childhood home, Lallybroch, Claire could picture it in her mind. His knack for telling stories was unmatched, and she figured that would be the Scottish-ness of him. Geillis was quite good at telling stories of her own.

“I’m a simple man, who only needs a few things,” Jamie continued. “I remember when we first found this land. I’ve always thought that I needed a mountain to live on, a space to call my own and this is it.”

“You live here on the property then?”

“Aye, just a five-minute drive down the road though,” he nodded, pulling the plaid tight around him. “My Da and I built that first to see if we could even build anythin’,” he laughed.

“But it was somethin’ special once we finally finished it. The first night there was everything I thought and more,” he said dreamily. “There’s somethin’ about building yer own house wi’ yer own two hands. It makes ye appreciate the walls around ye that keep ye warm and safe.”

“It’s amazing what you’ve created here, Jamie,” Claire reached out and placed her hand on his. “I’m sure if your father were here, he’d be proud of all the success.”

“I’d like to think so,” Jamie moved his fingers over hers, squeezing lightly. “Ye said that ye were plain,” he sniffed. “I feel my story is quite plain and boring.”

“It’s not,” Claire shook her head slowly. “It’s yours and that’s what matters.”

He cocked a brow at her, and she rolled her eyes playfully. “Alright, I get it. My story is important too. Although once I tell it to you, you’ll find it’s rather depressing.”

“Well, spit it out, Sassenach,” he rubbed his thumb over her fingers, still clinging on. “Dinna leave me in suspense.”

Claire took a deep breath, deciding that she would be truthful with him — after all, he had told her all about his life, it was the least she could do.

“For starters, I should tell you the real reason I’m here… alone, on Christmas,” Claire began. “I just recently got divorced, and quite frankly, I didn’t want to spend another second in my house that wasn’t decorated and that reminded me of my ex.”

“Who was daft enough to let a lass like ye go?” Jamie smirked, not making her feel pitiful like she usually did when she told people.

“Frank Randall,” Claire groaned. “That’s who. He cheated on me with nearly half the population of Oxford. I was the fool who found out five years into our marriage. I really thought he loved me, and that he was different, but I guess all men are the same deep down.”

Jamie cleared his throat at this, causing her to look up.

“Perhaps not all men,” she corrected. “But the Frank’s of the world are all cut of the same cloth. It’s a relief to not be married to him anymore, but I never thought I would be a divorced woman at the age of twenty-seven.”

“Frank Randall is an idiot,” Jamie said sternly. “He had a wonderful wife, and he clearly didna pay any attention to her. A wife is someone that should be cherished, kissed every day and respected.”

“Are you married?” Claire gulped as she asked. She had seen no ring on his finger, even now as he gripped her hand.

“No, no I havena been so lucky,” he smiled sadly. “But I watched how my parents were. I saw the love between them, the partnership they shared, and I ken that one day I want to have a love like theirs.”

Claire could see that he loved his parents very much, and was sad for him that he had lost them both. “I lost my parents when I was about five,” she said. “I don’t remember what their marriage was like, but my uncle whom I lived with told me they loved each other deeply.”

“There’s hope for ye yet, Sassenach,” Jamie grinned. “Ye’ll find a man who will treat ye as ye deserve, I ken it.”

With stories exchanged, a hush fell upon the room. Claire’s hand was still held between Jamie’s fingers, and she had no intention of letting go. She looked out the window to see that the snow was still falling, adding to the already high pile of fluff.

“It looks like you may be here for the night,” Claire said and he followed her gaze to the window. “The roads are probably covered with the stuff, and you’re still shivering.”

Jamie’s teeth chattered, proving her right. “You should take the bedroom, you’ll be much warmer in a cozy bed than on the sofa. I don’t want to be held responsible for the owner of Fraser’s Ridge losing all his toes!”

“Nah, Claire,” he shook his head. “I canna take yer room. Ye paid for it, and I wouldna feel right puttin’ ye out. I’ll sleep by the fire if I must.”

“No,” Claire stood up and held out her hand to him. “You were passed out in the snow for hours, Jamie! You’re obviously still cold, and there’s a small fireplace in their too. You would know after all.”

He seemed to be weighing his options. While the sofa was comfortable, it was nothing compared to a pocket of warmth one found in a big bed. Jamie was a large man, and Claire bet that his feet would hang off the sofa.

“If you feel so guilty, then you can comp me the night for putting me out of the room,” Claire smirked, her hand still stretched out for him to take.

With a deep grunt, Jamie took her hand and stood up, keeping the plaid wrapped tightly over his body. Claire wanted to slip her hands inside to touch him but pulled her hand away as soon as he was stable.

“There’s also a hot water bottle under the bathroom sink,” Jamie sniffed. “Would ye mind fixin’ it up for me? It seems I still canna feel the tips of my wee fingers,” he wiggled them in front of her.

“Of course,” Claire grinned. “And I’ll bring you another cup of tea once you’re settled. Who knew I would be tucking a very large scot into bed on Christmas night?!”

“Certainly no’ me,” Jamie chuckled. He turned then to go to the bedroom, leaving Claire alone to fix up a fresh cuppa.

There was no way she could fall asleep tonight knowing that he was sleeping in her bed. As she waited for the water to boil, her thoughts turned to his long limbs under the sheets — his freckled arms reaching out to pull her close while she curled into his chest. Claire had never particularly been one for physical touch, but even now, her fingers missed his touch, and it was as if her body was longing to be next to his.

Claire went into the bedroom quietly, seeing that Jamie was already in bed, his eyes closed, but she knew he wasn’t asleep. She found the hot water bottle exactly where he said it’d be, and returned to the kitchen to fill it with the hot water. With that in hand, as well as the cup of tea, she went to him.

“Delivery from Santa’s elf,” Claire whispered, and his eyes popped open, a grin on his lips. “This ought to warm you up.”

Jamie took the tea from her, his hands curling around the cup. The covers were tucked under the bed and Claire pulled them up to tuck the hot water bottle at his feet, making sure it didn’t burn him. She had to admit that it looked awfully cozy in there, and she wanted to hop in next to him.

“Ye ken tis no’ that late,” Jamie said as he sipped. “There’s a TV in here as well, we could put on a Christmas movie?”

“You mean… get into the bed with you?”

He blinked, owl-like up at her. “Aye, yer no’ goin’ to sit on the floor while I have the whole bed to myself, Sassenach,” he gave a loud pat to the spot next to him. “We’re hardly strangers, since ye saved my life, ye ken.”

She probably should have hesitated far longer than she did, but with a shrug, Claire walked around to the other side and climbed in, still quite far away from him as it was a rather large bed. The remote was on her side, and she pressed the power button, bringing It’s a Wonderful Life to the screen.

“Och, this is one of my favorites,” Jamie grinned and wiggled deeper under the covers. Claire laughed at that, and he glanced over at her with a matching smirk. “I love the old black and white ones, don’t ye?”

“Oh yes,” Claire sighed happily, and pulled up the covers. “There’s something so nostalgic about them.”

Geillis would be happy to know that Claire did, in fact, have a man in her bed. It wasn’t exactly what she had in mind, but Geillis didn’t need to know all the details.

The two of them laughed at the funny parts, and were silent as George Bailey went along with Clarence the angel. The heat from the fireplace was comforting, and the bed was soft beneath her tired body. Claire’s eyes were fluttering shut, and while her brain knew she shouldn’t fall asleep next to him, the rest of her body didn’t seem to respond. Sleep washed over her, and she heard the distant ringing of bells as she fell into a deep sleep.

When she woke a little while later, she was surprised to find it was still dark outside. She must have drifted off for only a few hours. Claire was also surprised to feel a heavy weight — Jamie’s arm — wrapped around her stomach. As Claire’s senses came back to her, she realized that her body was curved with his, and his face was nuzzled into her neck.

There was no way she could get out of his embrace without waking him, and she knew he needed to sleep. No wonder she’d woken up, his body was radiating heat now and she was now covered in a thin layer of sweat. His breathing was deep and heavy, his arm tight around her, so she went limp and tried to relax herself into going back to sleep.

But her senses were on high alert now. Her imagination running wild as she felt with her mind his body against hers. With her knees bent, he had his legs pressed against hers. They were spooning. She was the little spoon of course. It was such an intimate position to be in with someone she’d only just met that day. Although, Claire had never slept like this with Frank. He was always on the other side of the bed, with only a kiss on the cheek before he fell fast asleep.

Perhaps, Claire had been craving someone’s touch all her life, and had never found it. Jamie lightly snored and the vibration ran throughout her body. Shifting to get more comfortable, Claire froze and gasped.

Her bottom was pressed snugly against his crotch, and there was no mistaking the hardness she now felt. Claire couldn’t suppress the laughter nor the arousal she felt. Any warm-blooded male would surely get turned on with a woman’s arse wedged between his thighs.

If it was anyone but Jamie, she would have been disgusted and jumped out of the bed. But she felt safe here in his arms, and the idea that she could turn him on even while he slept was erotic.

With that part of his anatomy reminding her just what she wanted to do to him, she gave up on sleep, and simply enjoyed being in his arms, as this would most likely not be a repeat occurrence.

“Sassenach,” he mumbled sleepily, startling her. Her body was now tight as a bowstring, waiting for him to realize what position they were in.

“Oh,” his arm around her stomach slipped away, allowing her to turn and face him.

“You know what they say about body heat,” she grinned, her face barely visible in the dim glow of the dying fire. “It’s the best way to get warm. Don’t worry about it, Jamie.”

“I dinna want ye to think I was takin’ advantage of ye,” he rubbed his hand over his eyes to better see her. “I must have drifted over to ye in my sleep w’out knowin’ it.”

“Jamie,” Claire laughed softly. “We’re still on your side of the bed. If anyone drifted, it was me.”

“I do feel much warmer now,” Jamie observed as he stretched his legs. “I can go out to the sofa now so ye can sleep.”

He made to move, flipping the covers back, and without thinking, Claire grabbed his arm to pull him back.

“I want you to stay,” she whispered, as her heart hammered in her chest.

Answering her plea, Jamie fell back into the bed and turned on his side to face her. He moved his hand to settle on her waist, waiting to see if it was okay. With a slight nod from her, Jamie pulled her closer until she fit against his chest. She looked up at him, meeting his blue eyes only inches from hers. There was no going back now.

“I dinna have any mistletoe,” Jamie said softly, his arms cradling her body.

“What?” Claire laughed, not expecting him to say that.

“Mistletoe,” he said again. “The wee green stuff ye hang over yer head at Christmas so ye can kiss someone.”

Claire buried her head against his chest, laughing. “I think we can manage without the mistletoe, don’t you think?”

“Aye,” one hand came to brush back the curls from her face. Their bodies were pressed so close that kissing didn’t even seem like an intimate idea.

They found each other in the dark. Jamie cupped her cheek reverently as he pressed his lips to hers. His jaw and neck were covered with scruff that itched pleasantly against her skin, and Claire wanted to purr like a kitten as he kissed her deeper.

Guiding her hands into his curly locks, she held on tight as she parted his lips with her tongue. The heat seeped from his body to hers, but a shiver went over her body as his hand snaked down to grip her arse, squeezing lightly.

“Mmmm,” she moaned, pressing her hips against his.

Claire was not entirely certain this wasn’t just a dream, and that she would wake up alone in bed. But for the moment, Jamie felt very real and his flesh under her hands seemed to yield to her touch.

They broke apart, only so that they could push the covers out of the way before coming back together. Jamie pulled Claire on top of him, his hands finding her hips and anchoring her against him. Sadly, she found out that he had not been naked the entire evening as her fingers skimmed the edge of his boxer briefs.

Her hips moved seductively, rolling against his groin. He was hard again, and with every snap of her hips a small sound left Jamie’s throat. His hands moved from her hips to her arse to push her closer. The kiss was so deep that she could hardly breathe.

“God, Sassenach,” Jamie sighed. “I’ve never wanted anyone so badly in all my life!”

Claire peppered kisses over his neck and chest, not wanting to part with the low lusty sounds he was making.

“Jesus, lass,” he muttered between breaths as he realized what she was doing. Claire shimmied down his body, leaving a trail of kisses in her wake. “Ye dinna have to…”

Looking up at him through long thick lashes, she smirked. “I appreciate the choice, but I’m willing, that is if you are?”

He cocked a brow at her, almost as a challenge. “As long as I can return the favor,” he said smugly.

Heat flashed over her body as he stared at her. She had to tear her gaze away from him to settle to the task before her. His body was sculpted to perfection. She ran her fingers over the grooves of his abs, swirling around the wiry hairs at his belly button. His breath hitched as her hands rested on the tops of his boxers.

Claire held his gaze as she pulled them slowly down his legs. His cock sprang free as the material was removed. Her belly quivered at the sight of his impressive thick length jutting upwards towards his stomach. Reflexively, Jamie’s legs widened and she slid down further to fit herself between them.

“Sassenach,” Jamie said with a hoarse voice. “I dinna feel that ‘tis fair that I’m the one naked and yer still covered up.”

“Oh,” Claire glanced down at herself. “I didn’t even realize.” She reached for the hem of her sweater, but two hands stopped her. Jamie pulled her to straddle him again. Now his hands crept up her sweater, his skin warm on her flesh. His fingers tickled her stomach before finally pulling up the material and tossing it over the side. She saw his tongue snake out and wet his lips as he looked at her breasts, covered only now by her black bra. With his skilled fingers, he unhooked it in seconds, tossing it to join the pile of growing clothes.

“May I?” His hands drummed a tattoo against her hips as he held her body over his.

“Yes, please,” Claire blushed and threaded one hand through his hair, following his movements as he leaned down and took one of her pink nipples into his mouth. His pull was insistent, and he began to suck, his cheeks hollowing. Claire’s head fell back as he pressed her against his mouth, sucking harder. A deep cry left her throat as he flicked his tongue back and forth over the sensitive nub.

“Aye, that’s it, Sassenach,” Jamie kissed the underside of her breast. “Make those wee noises for me!”

His mouth moved to the other breast, repeating the same process. His tongue was warm and he swirled the tip around her nipple, and they puffed up, now engorged and swollen from his lips. Before she could move back down his body, Jamie’s hands found her tights and began to pull them off as well as her panties.

“I wish I could see ye in the light,” Jamie said quietly as she pulled the material off her foot, letting it fall to the floor.

“No you don’t,” Claire snorted unflatteringly. “This is enough light so you don’t see all my bumps and squiggles.”

“Bumps and squiggles,” Jamie laughed adorably and pressed his lips against her stomach. “Claire, yer so beautiful. I feel I dinna deserve to be here wi’ ye, holdin’ ye in my arms.”

“You’re one to talk,” Claire ran her finger lightly down the slope of his straight nose. “It’s like making love to a god.”

“Tcha!” Jamie rubbed his hands slowly up and down her sides. She began to rock her hips against him, feeling his length grow between her thighs.

“I’ve never felt like this, Jamie,” Claire admitted. “With anyone.”

He picked up her hand and entwined their fingers, bringing their joint hands to rest over his heart. “Neither have I, Sassenach. I think ye are my Christmas wish come true.”

At that, she shyly buried her head against his neck, her body still gently rocking against his, the friction building. Her arms wrapped around his neck, as his arms settled on her hips. Claire gasped as the tip of his cock brushed against her clit.

She felt his hand move between their bodies as he took hold of himself. Jamie pumped his cock once before sliding it along her wet center. Claire shivered, biting down gently on the padded flesh of his shoulder. He was teasing her entrance with his cock, and just the tip entered her and she clutched his hair tightly.

Her body was shaking with the need to sink down on him, and she pulled back to look into his eyes. One hand came to rest on her lower back, his other still between their bodies. From just the tip, she knew that he was huge, and would fill her completely. Her stomach tightened in anticipation, and she couldn’t help but roll her hips, hearing the sound of the wetness their bodies made.

“I must take ye, Claire,” Jamie said as his grip tightened on her. “I must or I’ll die!”

Claire felt the same, as her heart pounded fast and hard in her chest. She wanted to explode, and as she sank down on his cock, she thought she just might. Their moans mingled together in the air as he filled her.

“Christ,” he whispered. The hand that had been holding his cock found her hand and he gripped it tightly as she began to rock her hips. Claire had never felt so close to someone, not just physically but emotionally. No one had ever looked her in the eyes as they bared their soul with her. There was nothing left unsaid as they gave over to one another.

Claire kept up the slow and steady rhythm of her hips, and overcome with emotions, she pressed her face into his neck, feeling tears spring to her eyes. Jamie held her close, his other hand rubbing slowly up and down her back. He thrust upwards, hitting a spot so deep inside of her, that Claire didn’t know such pleasure existed.

“Oh God,” she panted.

“Oh Claire,” Jamie breathed heavily.

She was close, and she began to grind down faster and harder, feeling his body begin to tremble. Quickly, she pulled back so that she could watch him fall apart. His length throbbed inside of her, and his mouth opened and closed, as the words failed to come out.

With a sharp snap of her hips, Claire felt her own orgasm coming, as she clenched around his cock. Jamie’s hands squeezed her hips, helping her ride him. His eyes flicked back and forth from her bouncing breasts to her face as she came.

Jamie cried out, “Claire!” before spilling inside of her, his body spasming. Tingles shot down her spine, and she held onto him for dear life. Carefully, Claire adjusted her position so she could wrap her legs around his waist and she clung to him, almost like a monkey.

His hands were soothing on her back, lightly stroking. He stayed rooted inside of her, reluctant to leave her body.

“I didn’t know it could be like that,” Claire said softly against his chest.

“I didna either,” Jamie echoed. “Perhaps it depends on who yer wi’.”

Claire chuckled, but sighed happily at this. Whatever it was between them… it wasn’t usual.

After time passed and they both were sated, Jamie shifted and then moved Claire to lay in his arms, her head comfortably against his chest as she looked up at him.

“When I first met ye, all those hours ago,” he snorted. “I felt a… a sort of draw to ye, Sassenach. Like I just had to be close to ye. To hear yer voice, touch yer skin. I thought I’d do anythin’ to be near to ye.”

“Really?” Claire ran her fingers lightly over his stubbled chin.

“Aye,” he smiled. “Twas the strangest thing. While I was out chopping the wood, I found myself thinking about ye, and I’d known ye all of five minutes!”

“I felt the same,” Claire smiled, pleased that she hadn’t been crazy. “I was waiting for you to come back with the wood. I even changed my clothes,” she laughed quietly. “When you didn’t come back, I grew impatient and that’s when I decided to look for you. I just knew I had to see you again.”

“I dinna wish my niece any ill tidings,” Jamie stroked her cheek. “But I’m verra glad that she got sick after lunch and I came back here. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here wi’ ye in my arms. Ye see, Claire, and this may sound hasty, but I talk to you as I talk to my own soul," he said, turning her face to him. He reached down and cupped her cheek, fingers light on her temple.

"And, Sassenach," he whispered, "your face is my heart.”

Claire closed her eyes as he kissed her, feeling like something opened up inside of her at his words.

“I certainly didn’t expect this,” she said. “I thought I would never be able to recover after my divorce. That my heart was used and not able to be loved again. But, with you, Jamie… I feel things I’ve never felt. A closeness to you, as if I could tell you anything and nothing would surprise or scare you.”

He pressed their lips together once again. “I feel as if our souls have belonged to each other far longer than our bodies have.”

“I don’t think I can part from you, Jamie,” Claire said sleepily, yawning.

“Shhh,” Jamie kissed her forehead and slid further into bed, pulling the covers around her. “Sleep, a nighean donn. When ye wake, I’ll be here.”

“Mmmm,” Claire nuzzled against him, and fell asleep to him muttering something in a language she recognized as Gaelic.

++++++

When Claire opened her eyes, she did wake in his arms. The sun filled the room, and she wasn’t shocked to see that the snow still fell outside. The fire had gone out long ago, but Jamie’s body heat kept her warm. In her sleep, she had shifted to lie curled against his body, and she placed a soft kiss to his neck, rousing him.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” she kissed his jaw.

“Yer insatiable,” Jamie groaned, all while keeping his eyes shut. His hands were locked around her back, and they slid down to rest over her arse.

“The same could be said about you,” she poked him playfully in the chest.

Before the morning could unfold like the previous night, however, a loud gurgle came from Claire’s stomach, making Jamie’s eyes pop open.

“I guess all that activity made me hungry,” she nipped at his bottom lip.

Jamie laughed and then rolled her body on top of his. “First we shall eat, and then I plan to devour ye,” he nibbled on her ear lobe, making her squirm.

Another loud gurgle sounded in the room and this time from Jamie.

A cold breeze drifted across her naked body as Jamie pushed off the covers. She rolled off his body and stood up, grabbing the plaid to wrap around her. Jamie opted for his boxers, tugging them on as he yawned.

They ventured out into the kitchen, sitting on two stools. Claire placed a bowl in front of Jamie and poured cereal into it.

“Tell me when to stop,” Claire said as she poured the milk.

“That’s good,” he smiled. “Breakfast of champions.”

“If I knew I would have company, I’d have bought proper breakfast,” Claire said as she sat down at the counter next to him.

“I dinna think this will be our last breakfast together,” Jamie’s foot nudged hers, making her grin sheepishly.

“No, I dare say it won’t.”

They ate quickly, impatient to return to each other’s arms. Food was necessary to continue making love, but Claire was shoveling the cereal down her throat as fast as she could, with only one strange look from Jamie.

“Dinna choke, Sassenach,” Jamie laughed as Claire wiped the milk from her lips. “I canna make love to ye if yer dead.”

“Sorry,” she blushed.

Jamie pushed his bowl aside, and grabbed her hand. “Dinna apologize, ’tis charming for some reason. But now that yer belly is full, I can have my way wi’ ye!”

He stood up, spinning her on the stool until she faced him. Jamie’s arms wrapped around her stomach and he lifted her into the air, plaid and all. She landed over his shoulder, and her bum was given a nice firm pat, making her giggle.

“You better not drop me, Fraser!”

“Not a chance,” he chuckled, bouncing his knees as if he was dropping her. Claire shrieked, but laughed, letting her arms dangle over his back. She slid her hands over his arse, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Enough of that,” he smirked, walking into the bathroom where he set her on her feet. His hands reached for the plaid around her shoulders and pushed it off of her. Claire returned the favor by removing his boxers, enjoying the sight of his erect cock on her way back up to kiss him.

“Just what are we doing in here?” She hooked both arms around his neck.

“I’ve fed ye,” Jamie kissed her nose, “and now I need to wash ye.”

“Do I stink?” Claire blushed, self conscious as she put her arms down.

“No,” he shook his head. “But ever since I set eyes on that curly wig of yers, I’ve wanted to get my hands into it. If that doesna sound too weird,” he bit his bottom lip.

“Oh,” she said. The shower was certainly big enough for the two of them, and she moved out of his grasp to turn on the hot water, watching as the room began to steam up.

Claire grabbed his fingers, pulling him into the shower after her. They stood under the water, letting it drench them. Once her hair was wet, Jamie grabbed the shampoo and drizzled a fair amount into the palms of his hands, lathering until suds formed.

Spinning until she faced the shower wall, Claire sighed as his hands massaged her scalp. He had large strong fingers — fingers that had explored her body the night before. Fingers that made Claire moan as she imagined them inside of her.

“Feel good?”

“Hmmm?”

Jamie laughed, still rubbing the shampoo into her hair. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Feeling like she was floating, Claire allowed Jamie to move her under the water to rinse out the shampoo. He then pushed her back against the wall, his mouth landing on her neck. The water poured down his back, cascading down his skin.

Claire’s eyes sprang open from her dreamy state as she felt his lips nibble on her breast briefly before moving south.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” Claire muttered as she looked down to find Jamie on his knees looking up at her. His hands settled on her waist, making sure that she didn’t fall down on top of him.

“I told ye I would devour ye, Sassenach,” he growled before licking slowly up her center. Claire’s legs buckled, but his hands squeezed her hips. The tip of his tongue flicked out against her clit before two of his fingers spread her lips. His tongue darted inside of her, and Claire’s head fell back against the wall.

Her hands found his head, holding on tight to his hair as he began to bop his head. Like a kitten lapping at milk, Jamie began to lick and suck her folds.

“Oh God,” Claire sighed. Jamie lifted her right leg to rest over her shoulder and he adjusted the angle, now able to insert a finger inside of her. Her thighs involuntarily clenched around his head. Jamie chuckled against her skin, sending shivers over her body.

Glancing down, she could see that his cock was hard and throbbing. His other hand left her waist to take hold of himself, the thumb moving slowly up and down his cock. Watching his head move between her thighs as well as his hand pump himself made Claire’s orgasm come quickly, her body trembling under the water.

Jamie lapped up her juices, his mouth greedy for her taste. Peppering her thighs with kisses, he stood up, watching as she swayed slowly, her body still given over to pleasure.

“I could do that all day,” Jamie kissed her gently and she tasted herself on his lips.

“And I want you to,” Claire kissed him harder. “But not before I return the favor.”

Before he could say anything, she was already sliding down onto her knees. His cock was still hard, resting against his stomach. Finally able to see all of him in the light, Claire gasped. He was bloody huge and she was impressed that he managed to fit inside her so snugly the night before.

“Like what ye see, then?” He was watching her, grinning at her fascination with his member.

“I’m just trying to work out if you really are a god,” Claire said and kissed the tip of his cock, watching his thighs clench.

“Jesus,” Jamie grunted, placing one hand against the wall to steady himself. “Ye sure ken how to flatter a man.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Claire smirked, running one finger down his cock. Her thumb rubbed slowly over the head, pulling back the foreskin. Moisture dripped down and she moved her lips around the tip, tasting him.

Jamie’s buttocks clenched, and moans left his lips as Claire took more of him in. Her fingers were skating lightly down the backs of his thighs. She enjoyed the shivers that ran down his body at her touch. With one hand she cupped his heavy balls, squeezing them firmly as her other hand pumped his cock.

Her tongue snaked out, flicking quickly over the head. Jamie’s eyes were shut, but they opened, dark blue and he watched her take him in her mouth. Her cheeks hollowed, and as he hit the back of her throat, she gagged, but was too eager to please him to stop. Claire bopped her head, moaning as his hand found her hair, not pushing or forcing her, but just moving with her motions.

She felt his balls draw up close to his body, and looked up, seeing how he was breathing quickly. Claire pulled him out of her mouth, now only sucking on the tip of his cock. His head bent down to watch her again, and as she flattened her tongue against his shaft, he came in long hard spasms. She milked him, her eyes focused on his face as he spilled into her hand and she licked the head clean.

Claire stood up, her body gliding along his. She placed her hands under the water, washing his seed off.

“I could do that all day,” she smirked, returning his sentiment from moments before.

“I guess if ye bed a vixen,” Jamie leaned his forehead against hers. “Ye have to expect to get bit.”

Claire laughed as he kissed her. They finished showering with wandering hands. They simply couldn’t get enough of each other.

Not bothering with clothes, Jamie and Claire dried off and stumbled towards the living room. Claire laid down near the fireplace as Jamie lit it. The twinkling lights shined above them. Jamie rolled against her as he laid next to her.

“How much longer is yer stay?” He asked, sighing contentedly against her neck, his breath warm.

“Three days,” Claire said, her fingers brushing through his curls at the nape of his neck.

“Hmm, three days. Would ye really leave before New Year’s Eve?” Jamie smirked.

“Only if I had a good reason not to leave,” Claire looked at him.

“Do ye?”

Did she? Jamie was certainly not someone she expected to fall for, but she had. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since they met, but already her heart belonged to him. This Christmas would be one she would remember forever, always thinking back to the day she met the love of her life.

“Yes,” she kissed him. “I do. Is that a date?”

“Aye,” Jamie grinned. “I can show ye what a proper Hogmanay is like, Sassenach!”

“I thought this would be a blue Christmas, but the only thing that was blue was your frostbitten skin,” Claire laughed.

“And my balls,” he added, laughing.

“And those,” Claire snickered. “I’m glad you fell down in the snow.”

“So am I,” Jamie rolled his body on top of hers. “What were those lyrics again… I’ll have a blue Christmas without you. I’ll be so blue just thinkin’ about you…”

There on Fraser’s Ridge, two strangers met, and fell in love on Christmas Day. They laughed as they never had before, loved with a passion they didn’t know existed, and had a very very merry Christmas.

Five days later, after spending day and night in each other’s arms and getting to know everything there was to know about the other, Claire packed up her things and said goodbye to Fraser’s Ridge.

She wasn’t headed home just yet, however, as Jamie was eager to take her to his childhood home, Lallybroch, for a Hogmanay celebration.

“Is your sister going to be very shocked at my being there?” Claire asked as they drove. She’d called Geillis a couple of days ago to ask if she could keep watching Ados. Of course, Geillis had given her hundred questions to answer, but Claire told her she’d give her all the juicy details when she got back to Oxford in a few days.

“Probably,” Jamie chuckled, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on Claire’s thigh. “I havena brought a lass home, so she’ll want to interrogate me. The good thing,” he smiled over at her, “is that we’ll be arriving shortly before the rest of the guests do, so she willna have time to do that!”

“Ahhh,” Claire laughed. “All part of your master plan, I see. So that’s why we didn’t arrive there yesterday or the day before.”

Jamie squeezed her leg. “Tis no’ that I dinna want her to meet ye, but I still want to keep ye all to myself. Plus, I dinna want to subject ye to a million questions that she’ll ask ye. There’s no need to rush this.”

“My lad,” Claire sighed happily. “I think it’s a bit late for that.”

Jamie smiled in agreement, and they drove on. Lallybroch wasn’t too far away, and within the hour, they were pulling up to the large stone estate. Jamie was right, as there were other cars pulling up at the same time as them.

“This place is not at all what I imagined,” Claire said in awe as Jamie turned off the car.

“Tis quite charming,” Jamie smiled. “Lallybroch means lazy tower, ye ken? I suppose it does lean a bit.”

Claire tilted her head to the side, admiring the house. She left her bag in his car, they would come out later to get that to stay the night in Jamie’s old room. Sliding his fingers through hers, Jamie pulled her close and together they walked up to the house.

People were milling about inside, and the atmosphere was electric with the air of celebration. The room smelled of meats and pies and Claire’s stomach growled with the need to be filled.

“Jamie!” Came a loud voice from their left. A short, raven haired woman came running towards them and Jamie let go of Claire’s hand to embrace her. “Ye finally made it ye numptie.”

“Aye, sorry we’re late,” Jamie said, giving his sister a kiss on the cheek.

“We?” Jenny craned her neck to look behind Jamie at Claire. Her eyes went wide, and her brows shot up to her forehead. “Hello, there.”

“Janet,” Jamie eyed his sister as he wrapped an arm protectively around Claire’s waist. “This is Claire Beauchamp.”

Claire noted how he didn’t explain where or when they’d met, and she though it best to keep it that way for now. She offered Jenny her hand, and waited awkwardly before his sister wrapped her arms lovingly around Claire.

“I’ll yell at ye later for no’ tellin’ me ye were bringin’ a lass,” Jenny said to Jamie as she hugged Claire. “But I’m happy that ye did. ’Tis nice to meet ye Claire. Sadly I dinna have much time to talk wi’ ye, but we’ll have plenty of time for that tomorrow. Ye are stayin’ the night?” She directed this question at Jamie who nodded.

“Good,” Jenny squeezed Claire’s hand. “Ian is around here somewhere with the bairns. He’ll love to see ye.”

“Oh aye,” Jamie took Claire’s hand again, pulling her out of Jenny’s grasp. Jenny smirked at her brother before leaving them alone, off to fulfill her hostess duties.

“Well, that went better than expected,” Jamie sighed. “Ye must give a good first impression, Sassenach.”

“I’ve never been told I give a bad one,” Claire tapped his nose. “Now that that is out of the way, can we please get something to eat?”

“Aye,” Jamie grinned. “And to drink!”

They found the table of food easily, and filled their plates high with mountains of savories and sweets. While Claire carried their bounty, Jamie grabbed two full glasses of cider and they made their way outside into the chilly air to get away from the noise.

The sound of laughter and music could still be heard outside as they sat down on a wooden bench.

“This is lovely, Jamie,” Claire took a bite of a mince pie. “Thank you for bringing me.”

“I’m glad ye are enjoyin’ it,” Jamie grinned over his cup. “It’ll get rowdy as the night wages on. Swords dances and the like.”

“Sword dances?” Claire questioned.

“Aye,” gulped. “Ye place two swords crossed over the other, and ye dance atop them. Highlanders used to do these types of dances for celebration or before a battle to predict the outcome. It’s a tradition now.”

“Will you be partaking in these sword dances?”

Jamie’s cheeks turned bright red. “I do every year,” he took a bite of haggis. “But this year I’ll have ye to cheer me on.”

They kept eating until their stomachs were full, and while Claire wanted more of the delicious food, she felt ready to pop.

The music was drawing them back inside, but Claire took Jamie’s hand, rubbing her fingers lightly over his, not wanting to leave their peaceful cocoon.

“I didn’t expect to feel this way about someone I met only a week ago,” Claire said softly. “I came to Scotland to get away from my old life, and to make myself forget the pain.”

Jamie was silent, but his eyes were focused on her as she spoke.

“I came to escape my old life, but I found something new,” Claire grinned. “Something worth holding onto.”

One of his large hands came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing off a bit of snow on her skin. “Something worth holdin’ onto,” he repeated. “Yer worth getting frostbite for, Sassenach. Yer worth shiverin’ until I canna feel anythin’.”

Claire smiled, “I know that you live here, and I live back in England, but I hope this won’t be the end.”

“Nah,” he leaned in close, resting his forehead against hers. “’Tis no’ the end, Claire. I reckon… it’s just the beginning.”

Snow began to fall harder, forcing them to move inside. They danced hand in hand, sang loudly and rang in the new year with a kiss, sealing their fate forever.

#blue christmas #without youuuuuu #jamie x claire #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #jamie fraser #claire fraser #fraser's ridge #one shot #christmas

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ladylouoflothlorien · 4 years

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The Twelve Days of Dwarfmas - Part Seven, In Which Oin’s Ear Trumpet Stops Working.

Pairing: Dwalin x Reader Words: 3949 You can find all previous parts on my masterlist.

AN: Whaddya know, it’s been over a year since the last update of this series. Still, I told y’all I was still writing it, and here’s the next part. For a long time I’ve been experiencing a sort of all-encompassing creative block that has only recently decided to fuck off, thankfully. So, here it is, part 7 of the Twelve Days of Dwarfmas. Hopefully part 8 won’t take another year. I’m sorry to those of you who were patiently waiting for this to be updated. Does the fact that it’s nearly 4k words make up for it…? :’ >

Since fairly early on in your journey with Thorin’s company, you’d been enjoying your private talks with Dwalin. It wasn’t that you didn’t also enjoy talking with the other dwarves (and the one hobbit) but there was something special about the times when you got to talk to the gruff warrior alone. It felt more special that he was willing to open up about his life more and more when it was only the two of you talking. Part of you wondered if he didn’t talk about that stuff in front of the other dwarves because they already knew him, and therefore might already know about his life story, but the other dwarves had no qualms sharing such stories, even when their respective family members groaned about hearing a story they had clearly been forced to listen to countless times. You wanted to return this honour – well you felt like it was an honour, even though you knew Dwalin wasn’t telling you anything to ‘honour you’ but simply because he wanted to – and so you’d told Dwalin some more personal stories and memories of yours that you hadn’t felt comfortable sharing to the entirety of the company. The two of you had talked privately so many times that you’d almost run out of interesting memories to speak of, but by no means had you run out of conversation topics. There was always something to talk about. Heck, you’d even learnt about proper weapon care from him at one point, though you were certain none of the other dwarves would have made such a dry topic seem so interesting.

At first, you had been surprised by how few Dwarves had paid attention to – or had even noticed – your special, private conversations with the burly dwarf, but after a while you’d decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and just accept the privacy that came with their lack of attention. Recently, however, some of the Dwarrow in the company had started to notice. What was worse, some of them were starting to become nosy. Some of the dwarves were so blatantly un-subtle that it wasn’t too much of a nuisance, as you would just level them with a stare and they would saunter off, whistling nervously to escape your wrath by pretending they were wholly innocent though it was clear they were not. To begin with, you weren’t sure if their nosiness was affecting Dwalin the same way as it was you, but you’d soon had your answer when he’d accidentally cut himself whilst sharpening his axes because his attention had been taken up by glaring at his brother as he’d attempted to sneakily shuffle closer and closer to where you and Dwalin had been sitting.

Surprisingly, among the most nosy was Oin. He was also the most difficult to deal with, as you were so used to him not being able to hear things very well. He would come and position himself close to you and Dwalin – but not too close so as to arouse your suspicion – and he wouldn’t have his ear trumpet. Without his ear trumpet, he wasn’t a ‘threat’ to your privacy, and so you wouldn’t pay too much attention to his being there, only for you to look over a few minutes later and see that his ear trumpet had magically appeared and you had no clue as to exactly how long he’d been listening. This had happened a few times, to the point where you’d actually be suspicious of him sitting down even without his ear trumpet. Once, he’d sat down near to you and you’d told him point blank to get back up and stop intruding, but he’d merely gestured over to where the two young princes appeared to be throwing his ear trumpet back and forth to each other, so you’d just narrowed your eyes and him and returned to your conversation with Dwalin. You’d looked over at him every few minutes, and he’d happily been sitting without his trumpet, so you’d stopped paying attention to him. Then you’d looked back about half an hour later only to see the grey dwarf sitting there with his ear trumpet and a very smug look on his face. You’d almost thrown grasper at him, but in the time it had taken for you to heft the bloody thing off the ground, Oin had already made good his escape. What you didn’t realise was that Oin had been asked by Balin specifically if he could try to find out what you and Dwalin had been saying to each other.

A few days after the final conversation that Oin had managed to successfully spy on – in which you’d remembered a particularly embarrassing wedding you’d attended and were regaling Dwalin with all the particulars, including all the mistakes that had caused the event to go so disastrously – Balin had come to talk to you whilst the company was on the move. Dwalin had been up front walking with Thorin, who had needed to talk to him about something or other, and you’d been walking happily by yourself when you’d been accosted by the white-bearded dwarf.

“Eh.. so lassie..” He’d began, not entirely sure how to bring up what he wanted to talk about, but you were unsuspecting and happy enough to talk with him.

“Hiya Balin, enjoying this lovely hike we’re having today?” You were being sarcastic. The path the company had been following that day had been far from easy, and though it wasn’t currently raining, it had in the night and the ground was slick and muddy.

He smiled at you in that kindly way that made you feel as though he was truly meant to be a grandfather, and humoured your sarcasm with a little of his own, but then he opened his mouth again and asked something you really hadn’t been expecting.

“So lassie..” He began again, but this time he knew how to follow through.

“White is the traditional colour for your people to wear on their wedding day?”

His question held a tone of underlying concern. White was a funeral colour for dwarves, to wear white on your wedding day was unheard of and would be considered in very poor taste. There was, after all, a certain hypothetical wedding day that Balin had in mind and he wanted to make sure every detail would be perfect.

At first, the oddness of his question caught you off guard and you didn’t stop to wonder how on earth he had known that white was traditional for your people. Still, you began to answer his question enthusiastically as you often did when he had questions about your people, as he seemed to be truly interested in your culture.

“Oh yeah, white is the traditional colour for my people at least. It’s got something to do with purity of the bride, but honestly more and more people are ignoring that because, first of all, gross, but also because white clothing is all kinds of impractical. I quite like red, if I’m honest-“

Balin’s face seemed to perk up when he heard the colour red, and that was when you realised he shouldn’t have known about your traditional colour in the first place. “Hang on, how’d you know about white dresses?” At first you were just confused, but then you saw Balin’s eyes – in spite of his best efforts – flick over to Oin. “Oh… OH….” Your eyes widened in understanding and then narrowed. “An informant. I see. Well, he will learn better than to cross me.” You said, dramatically rubbing your hands together. Balin looked over at Oin again, who was blissfully unaware, and he silently hoped that the dwarf would forgive him for whatever punishment you brought.

That night you went and plopped yourself down against Dwalin’s side, giving stink-eye to anyone who tried to get close. “So guess what?” “Wha’ lass?” He grumbled out, feeling sore and tired, but still pleased that you would choose to sit next to him first out of anyone. “Balin has an informant.” You huffed, tilting your head to the side until it knocked against Dwalin’s metal-clad shoulder. He didn’t reply, but you’d gotten so used to him that you could tell what was a silence that said ‘I don’t care’ and a silence that was more inquisitive. “Oin’s been snitching everything he’s heard us talking about to Balin. Today he started asking me about traditional wedding colours and there’s no other way he could’ve found out.” Beside you, Dwalin suddenly shifted, grunting under his breath and you had to act quickly to tug him down before he managed to stand up. He looked sharply at you, and you saw in his face just how angry this news had made him. “S’no right lass. Not honourable.” He was fairly growling around the last words, and you understood. Still you smiled at him, but in your eyes he saw a fierce glint that made him pause. “You’re right Dwalin, it’s not… but let me take care of this. I have an idea.” Dwalin was more than happy to concede to your superior experience in ‘punishing’ members of the company.

The next day you wanted time to think as you walked, and you told Dwalin as much. Dwalin, in turn, made it his self-appointed duty to stop anyone from attempting to talk to you as you walked along brainstorming ideas and humming to yourself. It was Oin you were going to punish. To be sure, Balin was a meddlesome little fiend, but Oin needed to be taught that there were consequences to crossing the great prank master of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. It was not a prank you had great trouble coming up with. Oin had managed to gain his information by using his ear trumpet, and so you would teach the old dwarf a lesson by ensuring that the instrument did not work. You weren’t going to be totally cruel – you had no intention of permanently destroying it or throwing it away so that he could never find it again. What you were going to do, however, was render it temporarily useless. You’d already witnessed Oin himself do something similar when the company had stopped for a time in Rivendell. Clearly the elvish music hadn’t agreed with him, and you’d been witness to him stuffing the open end of his ear trumpet with a cloth. Well, stuffing the open end of his ear trumpet with a cloth had clearly proven effective on that occasion, but your plan could hardly be so simplistic. It would take the dwarf far too short a time to notice the problem and rectify it if that was all you did. No, you would have to find some way of blocking the trumpet from the narrow end, so that the blockage was not so obvious. The only issue was, what on earth could you use? Travelling with the dwarves in the wilderness meant that materials were not exactly easy to come by, and you didn’t think you could just use leaves or dirt as they would most likely fall out. You’d seen a few things in Oin’s medical kit that might’ve done the trick, but you didn’t think it fair to use materials that belonged to Oin in a prank against himself. On top of that, you didn’t want to use anything medical in case someone got injured and then there wasn’t enough to treat them because you’d already used it for something foolish. Your answer came that evening. It hadn’t rained that day when the Company was moving, and everyone was in unusually high spirits. It was then that Bofur reached into his coat and produced a bottle that, quite frankly, you had no idea where he’d been hiding. A great cheer had gone up around the company, and after a brief glance at Thorin, who had nodded to allow the ‘festivities’ to continue, Bofur popped open the bottle. Time seemed to slow down as your eyes focused in on the cork as it was tossed aside, and when no one was watching, you scurried over and pocketed it. It was perfect. You only needed a chance to carve it into the right shape and a chance to push it tightly into the small end of the ear trumpet.

It wasn’t difficult for you to bide your time and wait until you were on watch one night to carve down the cork. Oin, thankfully, didn’t cling on to his ear trumpet as some of the dwarves were wont to do with their more important items - he wasn’t all that paranoid about someone trying to steal it, although with you on the quest, maybe he should’ve been. You’d snatched the ear trumpet from where he’d placed it in his pack for the night, and settled against a tree to get comfortable as you got to work. It was slow going, as you couldn’t devote all your attention to it. You were on watch, after all, and Azog was out there somewhere. You couldn’t afford to lose too much awareness of the surrounding area and allow an orc pack to sneak up on the company. Still, you finished the painstaking process of shaving tiny bits off the cork until you could fit it inside the skinny end of the trumpet. You’d gotten a thin stick to help push it inside, and made sure it was far enough inside that it couldn’t be easily seen. Finally, you’d grasped the trumpet firmly and given it a wild shaking to make sure it wouldn’t come flying out. It didn’t, thankfully, for you realised after you’d finished that course of action that if it had decided to go flying, you probably wouldn’t have found it again. Your task completed, you returned the ear trumpet where you’d found it. Gloin was on watch next, and he was surprisingly good at waking up for his shifts without prompting, and you weren’t entirely sure what he’d do if he caught you fiddling with his brother’s trumpet. Ahem. You’d taken so long getting the prank set up, that you hadn’t noticed just how close it was to the end of your watch, and not 10 minutes after you’d replaced Oin’s ear trumpet, the sound of Gloin’s snoring had abruptly cut off. It was surprising that, despite the fact that all of them snored, they all seemed to have very distinct snores that you’d learned to tell apart over the many nights you’d spent in their fine company. Gloin rolled over gracelessly, grunting, and sat up. When he caught your eyes, you’d smiled at him, and he’d nodded at you in greeting. You’d learned that many of the dwarves were far from what you’d call talkative right after waking up. Satisfied that everything had gone off without a hitch, you slunk back to your bedroll and went to sleep.

You woke to a beautiful morning chorus… of dwarves yelling at each other. Groaning, you attempted to block out the sound with your blanket, but it was a fruitless endeavour. After a moment, you sat and turned to your nearest companion, who happened to be Gandalf. “So, what’s got their braids in a twist, hm?” The old wizard chuckled around his pipe – wasn’t it a little early for that? Well, you supposed he was certainly old enough to make those kinds of decisions for himself. “It appears there was some confusion earlier over who’s breakfast was who’s. Though, the current shouting match came from some difficulty surrounding Oin’s ear trumpet. It seems he feels as though the others were talking quietly to mock him, which he is not very happy about. The others were merely tired of repeating themselves multiple times and still being accused of trying to cause offence.” There was a pause as Gandalf took a slow drag of his pipe, and seemingly for your benefit alone he breathed out the smoke into the shape of a ship that flew away on the wind before disappearing. “Very impressive.” You said, dryly, though you were smiling. Gandalf looked at you out of the corner of his eye, observing you closely when he spoke again. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with this morning’s troubles, would you my dear?” You sat up straight suddenly, gasping as dramatically as you could and placing a hand on your heart in what you hoped was an overly-earnest looking pose. “Gandalf, Gandalf, Gandalf, how on earth could you suspect me of such a thing?” He said nothing, but looked at you with an amused twinkle. “Well, I’m sure you know what you’re doing.” You lowered your voice conspiratorially and leaned in close to him. “Of course I do. It is his punishment, after all.” “Ah.” Gandalf nodded and tapped the side of his nose with the thin end of his pipe, pleased to be let in on the situation. He did so like to be informed the old dear. In moments like this, you could almost imagine he truly was nothing more than the kindly grandfather figure he presented himself as, but you knew better.

The day did not go smoothly. Not half an hour after the company had set out that morning, it began to rain, and rain heavily. This did nothing to help the moods of those travelling. There were many little squabbles and disagreements as it was from their collectively surly mood, and these arguments were only heightened in number by the tampered-with ear trumpet. With Oin hearing some sentences and half-hearing others – and then repeating what he thought he had heard aloud – there were many instances where a quarrel had almost burned itself out, only to be reignited. You almost felt guilty, but you forced that feeling away with fierce resolve. A punishment was not something to feel guilty about giving, because to deserve a punishment you had to do something to earn it, and Oin had certainly done that. Privacy was an important thing, after all, and you thought Dwarrow of all people would understand that. The rain didn’t let up, and a few hours later the company came across a place where they should have been able to cross a small river. They could not. The heavy rain that had fallen had swelled the river and it was running far too fast to be safe to cross. The Company would have to wait beside the river till it was. To make matters worse, within sight of where the company were standing – completely without cover from the rain – there was what appeared to be a large, dry cave. Bliss, and utterly out of reach. The company gathered themselves in a vaguely circle-like shape a little distance away from the rushing river and began to settle down for the night. One of the dwarves wondered aloud if the rain would stop any time soon, and another said that they thought it might. There was a general, grumbled consensus to wait a few hours to see if the rain would let up before trying to eat anything, in the hopes of getting a fire lit and something warm into their stomachs. You plopped yourself down beside Dwalin, trying to ignore the way the ground practically squelched underneath you, and prayed fervently to any deity you could think of for the rain to bugger off.

It took the better part of an hour but the rain did, eventually, bugger off. When the Company realised they were no longer being pelted by tiny, freezing droplets from hell a cheer rose and their collective mood immediately brightened. Dori and Gloin set about lighting a fire from a pile of woefully damp wood, but luckily enough one of the company had saved some kindling from a previous evening for just such an occasion as this, and the kindling was bone dry. It caught instantly and held a flame just long enough for the rest of the wood to catch, and suddenly the company had heat. Half an hour later, everyone was considerably dryer, fuller, and happier. You weren’t going to be on watch that night, and so you’d taken the liberty of setting up your bedroll early to get as much rest as possible. You weren’t necessarily trying to fall asleep, but you were cosy and snuggled – as much as it was possible to be outside – and if you did happen to fall asleep then and there you weren’t going to be mad about it, no sir. Across the fire from you, you sleepily observed what looked like a playful argument between Oin, Bofur and Nori, but as your eyelids grew heavier you found it harder and harder to pay attention to anything that was going on. Before you knew it, sleep had taken you, and made you completely oblivious to your surroundings. Across the fire, the somewhat friendly argument between the three dwarves had taken a turn to discuss Oin’s part in the previous quarrels of the day. “What is this trumpet even for if you’re not going to use it?” Nori quipped, and on the other side of Oin, Bofur managed to get his cup of water up to said trumpet before the grey dwarf could react. He tipped the contents down the wide end of the trumpet, and it was all Oin could do to move it away from his ear before the liquid came shooting through. Except, it didn’t. The three dwarves paused and peered at the water sloshing around in the top of the trumpet, and then looked at each other in confusion. Oin tipped the trumpet up to pour the water out onto the ground, and then held the thin end to his eye. Normally, even though there was a bend in it, he could still see some light through. This time however, the inside of the trumpet appeared pitch black. Grumbling under his breath, he shuffled and twisted around where he was sat till he found a twig, and once he did he poked it into his ear trumpet. It caught on something and he pushed at it until it gave, and the old dwarf let out a cry of triumph when the offending object popped out of the other end of the trumpet and fell to the ground. Oin stooped to pick it up and held it towards the campfire to see what it was. A carved piece of cork? He’d been pranked!? There was only one person who could be behind this. You. Oin stomped over to where you were lying, not caring one jot that you were asleep. He almost reached you when all of a sudden his way was barred by a broad chest, and he looked up into the scowling face of Dwalin. “I would suggest ye’ dinnae wake the lass up.” Oin, red faced, shook the piece of cork in the tall dwarf’s face. “Ach, out of my way Dwalin, what do you call this?” Dwalin merely crossed his arms over his chest, and though his eyes were still fierce a smirk made its way onto his lips. “I call tha’ a fitting punishment for a spy.” The rest of the company, who had been watching the situation unfold, burst into laughter as Oin floundered, clearly having not realised the pair had figured out the true purpose of his eavesdropping. Balin led Oin away from his brother, muttering apologies to the grey dwarf, and Dwalin settled back down onto his bed roll, which he had set up beside yours. Dwalin fell asleep to the sight of your peacefully sleeping face, and this was something that did not go unnoticed by many members of the Company. Dwarfmas tags: @sdavid09 @decadentenemyturtle @hullaabalo @shxrrybomb

Forever Tags: @sweeticedtea @cd1242 @strongandfreedc @pixierox101 @jotink78 @luna-xial @underthemoon-imagines

#dwalin #dwalin x reader #balin #oin #the company #the hobbit #pranked

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erosofthepen · 4 years

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Clara Took (the beginnings)

This is my OC series that I have had fun building in my mind for the past year and a half, and have finally had time to put it down on paper. I really like it, and maybe some other people will too, so why not share it

Clara Took was indeed a very odd young girl, as one might expect of a half-breed. Her mother, Mirabella Took, had gone and fallen in love with a dwarf, and had a bastard child with him. He left before Clara was born, and Mirabella died giving birth (One could hardly expect a hobbit to give birth to a half-breed without practically bursting with the effort). Hobbits, even the adventurous Tooks, were not fond of anything deemed ‘unnatural’ or ‘questionable’, so young Clara was not treated with much kindness in her youth, and it was decreed that when she became of age, she would no longer be welcomed in Tuckburough.

Now Clara, being a half-breed, aged quite differently than the typical hobbit. For when she was 32, she would seem to be only a child of eight or nine years (in human terms). She still slept with her toy animals.

Perhaps the only Took who had the sensible mind to figure out that a young girl like Clara could not take care of herself was Belladonna Took. If not for having a family of her own, Belladonna would have taken Clara to Bag-end to live with her (though her husband would surely object). But, seeing that was impossible, the year leading up to Clara’s thirty-third birthday was tiring for the post-hobbits and messengers, with Belladonna sending out letters to every village or land west of the Misty Mountains in search of Clara’s father.

Finally, in early autumn, Belladonna received a message saying her father would come to collect her. And this is where the story truly begins.

Clara hid behind her Aunt’s skirts, for once being shy of words.

“What’s your name Lassie?” The towering dwarf asked in a gruff voice. He looked rather frightening, with a tall mohawk and two axes strapped to his back.

“Clara.”

“Thats a good name lassie. Clara. You may call me Adad. Or Dwalin if ye’d prefer.”

The way he spoke was strange to her. The accent, she supposed. It reminded her a bit of the Brandybuck cousins. When she didn’t reply, Dwalin sighed.

“I’ll be taking you to the Blue Mountains. It’s a two week journey, give or take. I trust you’re packed?”

“I think I fit everything in this bag.” Belladonna replied, handing Dwalin a large backpack that was much too big for Clara to drag around. He took it with a grunt and hitched it up to a pony a few feet away from him.

“Did you pack lambie?” Clara asked, tugging on Belladonna’s skirt. She frowned.

“I couldn’t find lambie, dearie.”

“Bilbo took her.” Clara said with certainty, dashing back into the hobbit-hole. Sure enough, Bilbo had the toy tucked safely in the front pocket of his overalls.

“Bilbo, give lambie back!”

“No! Mine.”

“I need her! I’m leaving!”

“Go?”

“Yeah, I’m going.”

“Go where?’’

“To the mountains!’’

“What?

“With my da. A dwarf.”

“Dwarf?” Bilbo put extra emphasis on the ‘f’.

“Yeah.”

“When you come back?”

“Never. I need lambie.”

Bilbo stumbled back on chubby little legs.

“N-Never come back?”

“Never.”

Bilbo dashed towards the door, his cheeks bouncing with each step. Clara followed.

“Mama!” Bilbo called, racing towards Belladonna.

“Oh good, you have lambie. Clara is going to need lambie back now.”

“Clara goes?”

“Yes, Clara has to go.”

“Never come back?”

“I don’t think so, Bilbo.”

His little lip began trembling.

“Don’t want Clara go.”

“She has too,” Belladonna said, scooping Bilbo up and taking lambie away before giving the toy to Clara.

Bilbo started bawling. As Belladonna tried to sooth him, Dwalin asked Clara a question.

“Are you all set?”

“I guess so.”

“How ‘bout you say your goodbyes then.”

Aunt Bella made Clara promise to write. Clara told Bilbo he could have all her other toys, so he wouldn’t be sad. Bilbo cried anyway. Dwalin lifted Clara up to the ponies saddle before getting on behind her. The little dwobbit waved one last goodbye before Dwalin kicked the pony and set off down the winding paths of Hobbiton and beyond.

Chapter 2

#the hobbit #the hobbit oc #oc character #belladonna took #bilbo baggins #dwalin #dwobbit #claira took #im really happy with how i started this #hope someone out there will enjoy it #mirabella took

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descendantofthesparrow · 4 years

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Do you hear what I hear - Harry Hook x reader - soulmate!AU

Soulmate au type, hearing your soulmate sing.

Harry had never heard a voice, not once in his life, from a wee babe to a rowdy teen, not a single note had echoed in his head.

His father had praised him, for his son, the only VK without a soulmate! It was one of the few times he had been vocally proud of his son.

While harry had preened at the praise in front of his father and his “friends”

Only he, his sisters, and uma knew the truth.

Harry wanted a soulmate, someone to truly understand and love him, someone to help him through his episodes and attacks, someone to just be there with him.

But alas, he had never heard a voice, so the only likely conclusion was he didn’t have one.

Until one Christmas season, when he was 18, his very first Christmas in Auradon.

A voice, a beautiful voice, echoed in his head.

Oh holy night, the stars are brightly shining~

What? Harry bolted up from his school desk, in awe as the voice filled his mind.

It is the night, of our dear saviors birth

Harry was so distracted by the voice, he didn’t hear FG call his name, so as she tapped her ruler on his desk, scaring him slightly.

“now what is so important that you couldn’t hear me Mr.Hook?”

“i-I” his voice cracked, tears beginning to fill his eyes “I can hear singing”

FG stern look melted into pure shock and joy, having been told of Harry's misfortune.

“oh my! That’s wonderful! Ohoh!!! Class dismissed!”

Uma bolted right up, her mouth opened in a wide grin.

“you can hear them!!!”

Harry started to laughed, touching his ears “I can hear them!!”

“It must have been the barrier that blocked the magic!”

Harry felt hot tears of joy slip down his cheeks, his face daring to split from the grin.

“i-I have a soulmate!”

“you have a soulmate!”

Long lay the world~, in sin and error pining. Till he appeared, and the soul felt its worth.

Mary did you know~ that your baby boy, would one day walk on water~?

Harry sighed, leaning on his hand, listening to the voice flowing through his ears.

“dude you haven’t even met them and you are smitten!” uma teased, pinching his ear. Harry flinched away from her, pouting.

“they’re meh soulmate uma, of course, I am”

Uma chuckled “I know I know, so when are you gonna go on the hunt?”

Harry shrugged, smiling as the voice became for powerful “aye Dinnie kae, im just kinda hopin’ tha’ I’ll just find ‘em” uma smiled fondly.

“you will, maybe for christmas~!”

You had never heard a voice, you had never run to your parents exclaiming ‘I hear them!’ they were sad for you.

Because there were only two options, one: you didn’t have one, or two: they were on the isle of the lost.

Honestly? You preferred the latter because it meant you still had someone to love, and someone to love you.

You…you didn’t sing a lot, you had grown up with taunts and bullying about your voice, so you were a quiet one.

Except when Christmas came around, oh boy.

You couldn’t stop singing, at least when you were alone.

“Mary did you know~ that your baby boy, would save our sons and daughters~? Did you know~ that your baby boy, has come to make you new~”

You sang softly as you wrapped presents for your secret Santa present, for Harry Hook, the new pirate boy.

You had to admit, he was extremely handsome, his voice wasn’t bad either, the Scottish accent did things to you.

Though you had never talked to him, being the shy person you were. You really wanted to though, you felt such an odd pull from him.

Just come on and tell it like it is, oh yeah, just come out and say it~

You stopped, your entire body freezing, as a male voice began to echo through your head.

“no way” you whispered, slowly sinking to the floor, joyful tears beginning to burn at your eyes.

Take a chance and the words fall out, open up let me hear you know~ ohh ooh, just come on and tell it like it is

You knew this voice, you had listened to him speak for hours.

Harry Hook.

The voice had stopped, Harry had sourly accepted after a few days that it would not continue. he would get tunes of Christmas songs stuck in his head, which he realized was his soulmate humming something.

But no full-on singing running through his head.

His soulmate wasn’t singing anymore.

And honestly? He was kinda sad, and also it was almost Christmas, he was hoping to find his soulmate by then. And Christmas was in three days.

Harry sighed, breathing into his hands, trying to warm them up when he noticed a person stuck outside in the snow.

Quickly jogging outside, he caught them before they were blown over by the wind.

“woah there” harry called, letting his arms wrap around them and bring their smaller form into his side “I've got yeh”

Harry hurried them inside the warm school dorms, they felt like ice.

“hey are yeh okay?” they looked up and Harry's heart stuttered when he met (e/c) eyes, and blown (h/l) (h/c) hair, lips and face darkened from the cold.

“uh-uh” they shuttered, teeth chattering from the cold “y-yeah-the-thanks--h-har-harry”

Harry swallowed harshly, nodding “uh yeah no prob-wait yeh know my name?” they raised their brow.

“uh yeah? You’re quite popular around the school?”

“oh” harry shuffled on his feet, slightly embarrassed in front of the pretty person in front of them “so uh, can I know yer name?”

“oh” they smiled, white teeth showing “my names (y/n)”

“nice the meet yeh (y/n)” you held your hand out, letting harry shake it “now what were yeh doing out in the cold little (lassie/laddie)?”

“oh um” you blushed “I was getting a last-minute thing for my soulmate” Harrys heart began to hurt, but he didn’t know why.

“really? Alright, well I see yeh later?” you nodded, clutching your jacket closer.

“yeah! See ya later”

You started to walk away, biting your lip as you walked away from your soulmate.

It was Christmas, and Harry hadn't heard a peep from his soulmate, and now it was time for the class secret Santa, and it was his turn.

FG gave him his gift, he nodded slightly, frowning at the small package.

“wow, someone didn’t spend much on you huh hook” Chad taunted, wincing as Lonnie smacked his shoulder.

Harry glared slightly, opening the envelope and raising his brows at what he saw.

Meet me in the chapel, were the sound of music echos to the heavens, at midnight tonight.

-your soulmate.

below the note was a scarlet red thick scarf, his initials sewed into the edge.

Harry blinked wildly, jaw-dropping slightly, his-his soulmate? They wanted to meet him.

…

Alright then, he showed the letter to uma, who squealed slightly, hitting his shoulder.

“you gotta go!” harry sighed, nodding. “I will”

Said the night wind to the little lamb, Do you see what I see

Way up in the sky little lamb, Do you see what I see

A star, a star. Dancing in the night

With a tail as big as a kite, With a tail as big as a kite

Harry heard two voices, one within his mind, and another echoing from the chapel. Harry walked closer, tightening the scarf around his neck, the voice coming from the building becoming louder than his mind.

Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy, Do you hear what I hear

Ringing through the sky shepherd boy, Do you hear what I hear

A song, a song. High above the trees

With a voice as big as the sea, With a voice as big as the sea

There was (y/n), their voice, their amazing voice echoing on the walls, rebounding and surrounding him.

“(y/n), yer my” Harry whispered, watching as their voice became more powerful.

Said the king to the people everywhere, Listen to what I say

Pray for peace people everywhere, Listen to what I say

The child, the child, Sleeping in the night

He will bring us goodness and light

They looked angelic, their air gleaming under the candlelight of the chapel, their lips moving softly with their voice, dressed in a ravishing (suit/dress).

(this but crimson red)

They slowly danced around, (dress/suit) flowing around them.

“soulmate?” (y/n)s voice came to a stop, opening their eyes and locking with his.

“harry” they whispered, a small blush on their face, “I didn’t know if you would come”

“well,” Harry stuttered, patting down his red jacket, now feeling underdressed “i-I had ta, I wanted the-I needed ta meet meh soulmate?”

(y/n) smiled, making Harrys heart race as they stepped closer “that’s-that’s good, I really wanted to meet you too”

“re-really” harry grinned, biting his lip nervously, playing with his fingers.

“Yeah, ya know, oddly enough I've had a major crush on you” (y/n) laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of their head, shuffling their feet.

Harry felt his face burn, he stepped closer, reaching his hand out “im harry hook” and now he felt stupid, face burning hotter as (y/n) giggled.

“pfft, feeling that awkward huh? Well harry hook” they shook his hand, a bright grin on their face “im (y/n), the descendant of (Disney character)”

“Nice ta meet yeh (y/n)” Harry muttered shyly, smiling.

“I hope we get along”

“We have to” (y/n) laughed, pulling Harry in and hugging him “ we’re soulmates after all~!”

--the end--

@marichat4lyf

@sweetweasleygirl

#descendants #Descendents #disney descendants #christmas fic #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine #soulmate au

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mythriteshah · 4 years

Text

Dinner with Violet & Steel

Within the mythril-blue halls of the Higuri Regalia’s Main Branch Headquarters was a vast dinner table made of that same blue metal. Precious fabrics of tulle were placed evenly along the length of the table, as plates of exquisite food from all corners of Hydaelyn were being placed.

The Angels – Lord Thiji’s personal retinue of assassin-maidservants – were gathered around the table. At the head was the Mythrite Sultan himself, being poured a glass of his Winter Lassi by his Main Branch Advisor, Veeveena Veena. He and his Angels were regaling one another over their recent success in the Bloodsands…

Lilina: So how’d it go?! I wanted to witness the spectacle myself, but I have been so busy with my Summoner training…

Veeveena: Oh, it went quite well, Miss Lilina! In fact, we would be honored if Miss Susuna could recall the story for us in full detail!

Susuna: Hey, can I at least get in a glass or two of wine first?!

The Angels chuckled as Susuna gulped down her caelumtree wine. All the Angels were garbed in the uniform of their respective branches, save for a few who were wearing items from the PiB Catalogue: Veeveena in her Impurity’s Sampot as per usual; Isja in her Life-Warden’s Veil, and Himmeya in the Griffin-Mistress’ Choil.

After a good half-bell into their feast, Veeveena popped the question to her fellow Angel once more, who took another long sip of her wine before jumping up to the table in a dramatic fashion, startling her sisters.

Susuna: So there we were, surrounded by the typical Ul’dahn crowd of nobles looking for bloodshed! Even Ishgard’s own nobility came to spectate! The Mythril Cup was nigh, and it was here that our latest operation would unfold: Violet Steel!

Luluma: But wait, I thought Miss Himmeya didn’t use weapons?

Susuna: I’m getting there! So anyway, the contestants were lined up in the Bloodsands: a big, burly Sea Wolf Gladiator; a not-as-big but just-as burly female Sea Wolf Marauder; a Midlander soldier of the Immortal Flames; a female Duskwight Lancer; a Sun Seeker male from the Black Shroud – a Redbelly Wasp; a pair of male twin Dunesfolk Thaumaturges, and a Highlander Thief!

Isja: Hm… I counted nine, including Himmeya. Who was the tenth?

Susuna: She was a Far Easterner, by the look of her armor. She had a pink scabbard which obviously housed a Doman Steel katana. At the time, she was masked, so her face was obscured from view. So as they welcomed the combatants, I placed a hundred thousand gil on Himmeya winning. The odds at the time were 100 to 1.

Lelena: What?! Then that must mean –

Susuna: That’s right! Ten million gil was going to belong to the Regalia once Himmeya won! Of course, the real victory was getting word out on the PiB Catalogue, which my sisters and Miss Shiro were manning just outside the coliseum at the time.

Umimi: Oh, when does the fun part come? Let’s hear about the fighting!

Sesena: Oh, don’t be so impatient, Miss Umimi! Suna’s gotta set the mood first!

Susuna: Whaddya mean? The mood is already set! The fight started and everyone was goin’ at it! The Gladiator and Marauder ganged up on the swordmaiden while the Lancer and the Redbelly Archer did their thing.

Umimi, taking a sip of water: Now that’s more like it!

Susuna: The Flames soldier made good use of his shield, deflecting the elemental onslaught from the Thaumaturge twins! Then here comes the Highlander Thief from out of the shadows, looking to draw first blood by taking out Himmeya!

The Angels gasped as Himmeya simply shook her head, biting into another piece of baklava. The Enforcer was amazed by the taste that she had to stop and appreciate the flavor for a moment…

Himmeya, thinking: Damn. Now I see why this is Lord Thiji’s favorite dessert.

Susuna: Unfortunately for him, Miss Himmeya was in her exclusive Fists of Ice stance! When the Thief jumped onto her shoulders for an Assassination attack, she caught him off balance using Arm of the Destroyer, then quickly grabbed him by the leg, hung him upside-down for a mean Touch of Death to the gut, and chucked his tattooed ass across the arena, taking a shield bash and Scathe combo as he was sent flying into the wall!

Umimi & Veeveena: Nice!

The other Angels applauded Himmeya’s performance. The Fist of Rhalgr disciple found it difficult to respond to such an ovation, so she simply waved sheepishly.

Isja: Who knew the Treasurer had such a talent for storytelling?

Sosona: Susuna may be the youngest between the three of us, but her expertise at information gathering and gossip is second-to-none.

Susuna: With the first combatant knocked out, Himmeya took up a new stance: the Fists of Water! The Lancer incapacitated the Miqo’te bandit with a straight kick and went straight for the Flames soldier! Meanwhile, the Thaumaturges enhanced their defenses with Manawards as they prepared a mean spell to throw at Himmeya!

Lelena: How would she be able to close the distance in time?!

Susuna: She didn’t have to. Much like the Fists of Ice slowing down opponents she struck, this stance had a unique effect as well! The Fists of Water increased her effective striking range by at least ten yalms! So she was able to instantly break their barriers with another antiquated technique: the One-Ilm Punch!

Meriri: Goodness, lass! Ye be puttin’ Pugilists to shame with yer skills!

Koyuki: It was at this point that the crowd had its eyes fixed on Miss Himmeya, and some had even inquired as to where she obtained her clothes! You can only imagine what we told them in response!

Shishira: Lord Thiji dearest was spectating from the other end, cloaked in black and violet, signaling the next phase: bringing in the masses! But for now, Miss Susuna should continue.

Susuna: Thank you, ma’am! So, with the Thaumaturges’ defenses shattered by a single hit, the Archer managed to recover and shot an arrow at the older brother, which really pissed off his younger sibling! He gathered his might and dropped an orbital laser on his head – the Skyshard!

Isja: Heavens…!

Umimi: He died, right?

Susuna: He should have! It’s a Limit Break, for Thal’s sake! But capitalizing on this, the Marauder chick took out the exhausted younger with a mean Overpower, wrapping up the triangle knockout!

Meriri: So how was the swordmaiden doin’ in the midst of all this?

Susuna: She held her own no problem! In fact, I was going to get to her in a minute! So, the roster was down to half at this point, with only Himmeya, the Far Easterner, the Roegadyns, and the Flames Soldier remaining!

Yuanji: But you missed the Duskwight – what happened to her?

Susuna, taking another sip of her wine: Oh, right – her. She got slashed right below the tits by the Flames soldier.

The Angels broke out into laughter yet again from the Treasurer’s remark. Umimi nearly spat out her water as a result. Thiji only shook his head, the only thing escaping his lips being a soft chuckle.

Susuna: Which is even funnier considering how she was talking so much good shite to Miss Himmeya before the fight began!

Himmeya: Said I was better fit for ballroom dancing.

Lilina: Ballrooms can be arenas, too!

Susuna: Well-stated, Miss Lilina! Very true! So anyway, he was up next. Himmeya readied her third trump card: The Fists of Lightning!

Lilina: Ooh! Ooh! That stance had to have paralyzed her foes, right?!

Himmeya: Correct. Though my attacks kept hitting his shield, he would eventually find it harder to hold it up as the electric current danced around the metal and eventually shocked him.

Susuna: And that was when she gave him a double Tiger Claw Strike!

Himmeya: “Couerl Paw”, Miss Susuna.

Susuna: Eh, semantics! The point is, he was knocked on his ass and was eliminated! All eyes were on Himmeya now, and the nobles were starting to see the meaning of “Power in Beauty” through our star performer! So we directed them outside to the booth we had set up. Those who stayed, however, were in for a treat! That Marauder chick was furious now, and charged at Himmeya full speed! But she was able to stop her dead in her tracks with the Steel Peak technique, stunning her long enough to charge her power move… Uh, what did you call it again?

Himmeya & Sosona: Chesed (pronounced “heh-sed”).

Susuna: Thanks to Sona’s fine-tuning, Miss Himmeya overclocked her Fists of the Fiend and brought the full power of life and growth onto the face of the Marauder, sending her bouncing into the wall where she made a nice Roegadyn-sized hole in it before landing on her neck!

The Angels winced in pain.

Susuna: That left only Himmeya, the Gladiator, and the swordmaiden. At this point, the Roegadyn was getting frustrated as her opponent was getting the upper hand, so he tried to draw her away with a Bloodstain – or Circle of Scorn, if you prefer! But then she did this thing where it looked like she foresaw the incoming attack and instantly evaded it, sliding backwards a full 360-degrees before advancing and retaliating with a slash which disarmed him!

Luluma: So some sort of… Foresight Slash?

Susuna: Yeah, that’s what it sounds like! Anyway, she sent the man into the air with a Tsubame-Gaeshi, then bisected the fool with an Ougi – some Far Eastern word meaning “Hidden Technique”.

???: The Hana-no-Fukei – the Scenery of Blossoms.

Everyone looked around to find the source of the voice. Then from the entrance to the dining hall was a petite Midlander Hyur wearing the uniform of the Othard Branch, with a pink scabbard identical to the one Susuna described in her retelling. She had auburn hair tied in a ponytail and golden eyes, flawless skin, and an air of poise. She greeted everyone with a bow and immediately took a seat beside Himmeya.

Susuna: Introducing our newest Angel: Kaori Hanabira, the Petaldancer!

Kaori: Truly, it is an honor to be part of such a wonderful company. It is grand to see my old friend Himmeya again.

Meriri: Wait, you’re the same lass who cut down the Gladiator? Then how’d the rest of the match end?

Kaori: After I struck down that ruffian, I revealed myself to Himmeya. We had befriended each other during the Rhalgr’s Beacon operation when she was still in the Resistance.

Himmeya: She stowed away on an East Aldenard vessel all the way to Limsa Lominsa, where she sought to return the favor of the brave westerners who helped liberate Doma.

Thiji: We are honored to have you among us, Miss Kaori. You will serve us well as the Othard Branch’s Enforcer.

Kaori: I shall not disappoint.

Umimi: With all due respect, my lord… who won the Mythril Cup?

Thiji: That honor belongs to Miss Himmeya, of course. They had shared a dialogue before sparring. Both gave their all, but in the ensuing clash, Miss Kaori’s blade would shatter upon Himmeya’s enhanced fists. Without a weapon with which to fend herself, and her own martial arts proving inadequate, the only logical choice was to concede.

Kaori: But it was an honorable duel, and I only entered to find Miss Himmeya in the first place. She enjoys fighting – as do I. So I thought a coliseum battle would be the ideal event to find her. The kami smiled upon me that day to find her there, though I was unaware of a greater scheme in the works.

Yuanji: Ahh – of course! Miss Sesena’s team was swamped after the match, were you not?

Sesena: We would have been were it not for the fact that Miss Shiro is a master assassin! She gave everyone a copy with lightning speed!

Sosona: And now we have an easy 10 million gil in the bank; more exposure for the Regalia, and a new Angel. An awesome profit was won that day.

Susuna: The bookmaker was appalled by the outcome, but that’s the thing about gambling: sometimes –

Sesena and Sosona join in: You lose!

Umimi: But not for the Regalia! This gamble was a victory for us all! A toast to our success, and to our newest Angel – Miss Kaori!

Thiji: To Miss Kaori.

Yuanji & Koyuki: Kampai!

(Picture commissioned by Dizzyfuture)

#thiji higuri #Higuri Regalia #Lalafell #pib catalogue #Eikon Collection #Lucavi Assembly #Hydaelyn Runway #high fashion #ffxiv fashion #haute #the bloodsands #Ul'dah #ala Mhigan #comedy #ffxiv hyur #female hyur #ffxiv doma #samurai #monk

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gaamagirl565 · 4 years

Text

Matters of the heart S2 Ep11

Matters of the heart Season 2 Episode 11 Only Shards {OPENING CREDITS} {Open to a ship docking at a pier as ocean waves splash up against it; a few sailors lay down the gangway off of the ship and some men begin unloading wooden crates off of the ship; Pan up to Isaiah looking at everything from the Quarterdeck} Isaiah: Wow… Captain: Welcome to the dark kingdom, my boy. Isaiah: The dark Kingdom? my grandfather used to talk about this place. Captain: used to be abandoned for a long time. only within the last decade or so did it start becoming a normal Kingdom again. Isaiah: it's truly amazing… {the captain drops a bag of supplies at Isaiah’s feet} Captain: I truly wish there was more I could do for you. that bag there should have enough supplies to last you a few days but it’s not much sorry. Isaiah: you've done plenty for me! you gave me new clothes, you let me stay on the ship until you reach your next port, you even let me work for a small amount of pay. Honestly what more can I ask for? Captain: I wish Corona was our next port so I could just take you home. You gave us quite the scare. you injured yourself pretty good. Isaiah: you've done more than enough for me. {Isaiah bends down and picks up the bag: showing his bandaged leg} Captain: at least let me tell you the lay of the land so you don't get yourself lost. Isaiah: well that could certainly be helpful. Captain: Right now we're in the Gorge that connects the main town of the dark Kingdom to the outside Forest Area. after the black rocks in the gorge disappeared it allowed ocean water to flow through here creating a new port and opening trade for the dark Kingdom. there should be a gondola to take you out of the Gorge. Isaiah: thank you sir but I think I'm going to explore the port a little bit and try to find a ship to Corona. hopefully, the captain will be as nice as you. Captain: let me tell you something my boy ships are always looking for help. as long as you work hard you shouldn't have a problem finding a way home. also, be careful about your wounds they're still healing. I know by now they're only a couple of cuts and bruises but even still that leg was really banged up… Isaiah: I promise I'll be careful. it was truly an honor to meet you captain and thank you for everything. Captain: the pleasure was all mine, Isaiah. tell your old man he did a good job raising such a fine young man. also if you ever need me or my crew just send for the captain of the SS. Salvator. {Isaiah salutes him; The captain laughs and salutes back; Isaiah walks off} Isaiah: Don't worry dad... I'm coming home. {cut to old Corona; Varian stands coldly with Zapada sobbing into his shoulder; around him are Lance, Adira, Akina, Rapunzel, an exhausted-looking Eugene, Lily and her Siblings, Catalina and Keira, and Nathaniel; they’re all wearing black and watching as a preacher blesses a headstone with Isaiah’s name on it} Nathaniel:...I can’t believe he’s gone... I keep thinking I'm going to hear his obnoxious laugh anytime now… Lily:...Isaiah… Cyrus: It’s alright lily...we’re all here for you. {Rapunzel walks up to Varian and places a hand on his shoulder} Rapunzel: Varian? you've hardly said anything, are you all right? Varian:... what's there to say? My son is dead... I Have Nothing Left to Lose. Zapada: Iubirea mea… {Varian walks away from the service} Zapada: Varian! Eugene: it’s alright, Zapada... I’ll handle it. {Eugene follows him}

Preacher: may this boy rest in peace, Amen… All:...amen… {Varian is on the edge of the river tossing stones in} Eugene:...Varian I- Varian: We didn't even have a body for the service… Eugene:... I know… Varian: we just... set up a headstone for him. that's all I have of him now. a stone with his name carved in it. Eugene: Varian… Varian: Haven't I suffered enough? but it just keeps piling on... I Fall In Love... I lose her...my family starts to become whole again... I lose my father... I become a leader, my wife is expecting our first child together, and I finally have a way to get rid of the cult for good...and then… {he throws the rock harshly into the water; Eugene flinches} Varian: my son is taken from me... the one thing I had left of Estelle. every time I looked in his eyes I saw his mother. it made every day a little more bearable because part of her was still here. and now he's gone. it's all gone… {there is a moment of silence between the two with nothing but the sounds of the countryside before Eugene walks over next to him} Eugene: ... I'm so sorry. Varian: it doesn't matter now… Eugene: ...one of the cult members was wounded... we captured him and he is currently waiting for us in the dungeon. {Varian looks up at him} Eugene: We might be able to get some answers out of him... maybe you'll get some closure. {Varian gets up and starts walking away} Eugene: Varian? Varian: I'll meet you at the dungeon later today... be there and be ready. Eugene:..uh..Okay!...ready for what? {cut back to the dark kingdom trading port; Isaiah is still walking around he finds another ship docked at the pier and runs up to a sailor by it} Isaiah: Umm... excuse me. {the sailor snores and Isaiah groans before taking a deep breath} Isaiah: EXCUSE ME!!! {The sailor yelps and falls over} Sailor: what ye’ going and doing that for!? Isaiah: look I've been walking around all day and I'm exhausted... I'm trying to find a ship that will take me to Corona I'm willing to work to stay on board. Sailor: Corona? Sorry, Lassie. But the next ship to Corona isn’t going te’ be here for another 3 weeks. Isaiah: What do you mean 3 weeks!? Sailor: I mean 3 weeks, lassie! The trade ship for Corona won’t be comin’ ere for 3 more weeks! Isaiah: What am I supposed to do for 3 weeks!? Sailor: I don’t know, lass...maybe some odd jobs around town...maybe an inn...ye’ seem like a resourceful kid. Isaiah: no I can’t wait 3 weeks I have to go home… Sailor: Corona is a 4 day trip on foot… Isaiah: i’ll...i’ll need a map...and provisions..plus I need to heal my injuries... Sailor: That’ll take coin. You need te’ work for that. As for te’ injuries...that’ll take time. Isaiah: then..i’ll need a place to stay for the time. Sailor: more coin, Lassie! Isaiah: You are literally no help! And stop calling me Lassie I’m a Laddie! {They stare at each other before the sailor starts walking off} Sailor: I think I’ll be needing a pint… Isaiah: HEY! G-Get back here! Sailor: Good grief, Laddie! What do ye’ want? Isaiah: You know you could be a little nicer! Sailor: I could be but I choose not te’ be... look this town isn't very accepting of newcomers and strangers. and if ye’ truly have te’ wait a while before setting off I suggest ye’ find a way to survive. this is the real world. There isn’t a mummy or daddy here te’ protect ye’. Figure it out, kid. {the sailor leaves and Isaiah walks away looking nervous; he looks around a bit before sighing and walking towards the gondola. He steps on and quietly rides his way up} Conductor: all departing! {Isaiah steps off and notices most head for the bridge connecting the kingdom to the outside forest. He looks from the bridge to the forest and starts walking for the forest. As he’s walking there his eyes flash in colour for a moment} Isaiah: AUGH! {he falls to the ground and grits his teeth waiting for his episode to pass; once it does he whimpers and curls in on himself; cut to the entrance of Corona’s dungeon where Varian is waiting} Eugene: You're here earlier than expected. Varian: let's get this over with. {Catalina and Keira walk up} Varian: And what are they doing here!? Catalina: moral support. Keira: I just want to get a good look at the guy who dared to touch a single blonde hair on that boy's head. Lance: that’s my girls... Rapunzel: They just want to help, Varian… Varian: ...fine… {Eugene walks over and unlocks the door to the dungeon; they all start walking down} Keira: so what do you think this guy is like? Catalina: anyone willing to hurt a kid is probably a piece of crap. Keira: he’s been running with this weird cult crew for a while I heard… Catalina: I don’t care who he ran with… the point is he was directly involved in Isaiah’s death. I’ll never forgive him for that… {Eugene opens the Cell door to reveal Noremoth tied to a pole in the middle of his cell with his shoulder bandaged} Catalina: *gasp* Noremoth: ...Catalina… {Catalina shakes her head slowly in shock} Noremoth: Cat...please let me explain! {Her lip quivers and she runs out of the cell in tears with Keira close behind her} Keira: Catalina, wait! Lance: Should I be concerned about that? Noremoth: it’s none of your concern… {Lance get close to him } Lance: oh I think it is… Eugene: Lance is Catalina’s father. Noremoth: * gulps*... you’re her father? Well then. Do what you must. Though do aim for the neck please that’s the quickest way. Varian: We're not going to kill you... yet. Rapunzel: Or in general! nobody's killing anybody! we just want to know some information. Noremoth: of course you do. Eugene: If you cooperate we’ll loosen your restraints.also I'm going to need to take your helmet and any weapons you may be carrying. Noremoth:... fine...W- wait a minute. why didn't you just pat me down for weapons when you threw me in the cell? Lance: We were a little more concerned with the fact that you were bleeding out. Noremoth: fair enough… {Eugene walks over and takes off his helmet and takes his weapons; he eyes the nordic necklace around his neck and lifts it up to look at it} Noremoth: Not that! {everyone jumps} Noremoth: please not that...it’s all I have left. It was given to me as a baby. The orphanage said I was dropped off with it...please...Y-your majesty. {Eugene lets go of it; Varian narrows his eyes} Eugene: don’t worry I’m not taking it. Noremoth: Thank you… Varian: enough of this…you’re going to answer our questions whether you like it or not, Noremoth. Noremoth: I never said I wasn’t, Varian. Lance: he knows you? You know him? Varian: He was the one that stole the blueprints to the device all those years ago. he's also larkspur's right-hand man. he's been a collective pain in my side ever since. Noremoth: I could say the same about you… {Varian puts his hand into his satchel} Varian: tell me Noremoth... do you know what it's like to lose people you've loved? people you swore to protect? Noremoth:... not really. never had anyone care about me in my opinion. Varian: Well then, let me enlighten you. you have to wake up every morning realizing that no matter how hard you tried they still died. and now I have one of those people responsible for the deaths of those that I loved in front of me right now. give me a good reason why I should show you any Mercy. Noremoth:... I can't think of one. Varian: no you can't, can you? Rapunzel: Varian… {Varian takes out a flask with a glowing yellow liquid inside} Rapunzel: *gasp* Varian: do you know what this stuff is? It's a chemical solution of my own design. it grows at an exponential rate and encases everything it touches... I wonder what would happen if I were to... inject it into someone. Eugene: VARIAN! Varian: you can tell us what we want to know... or you can possibly go through a long and agonizing death. your choice. {Everyone is silent but Noremoth blankly stares at Varian and then slouches against his restraints} Noremoth:...do it… Varian: what!? Noremoth: do it... honestly I don't know what you're waiting for. in your mind I killed your son even though I wasn't anywhere near him when he went over that cliff. none of that was supposed to happen. I tried to stop her... but it was already too late. her mind was made up. I've never held any real power in the decision-making. the fact that they all left me behind should prove how much I actually meant to them. I've never mattered to anyone so what's the point? {Noremoth looks up into Varian’s eyes} Noremoth:.. do it… {Varian trembles slightly before Eugene runs up and grabs his hand} Eugene: Don’t! Varian: Y-You heard him! He- Eugene: Varian, Your king commands you to stop! {Varian looks downward} Varian: ...My apologies, your majesty. {He starts to walk away out of the cell} Noremoth: for what it's worth... I'm very sorry for what happened to your son. please understand... it was never our intention. {Varian bites his lip and exits the cell; cut to the edge of the forest where Isaiah is stumbling weakly; thunder rumbles above him and rain starts to fall} Isaiah: No! AH! {he runs through the forest before happening on a cave; he looks around before going in and sitting down shivering; He whimpers and he sneezes before his eyes droop and he falls asleep} Juniper: Over here, papa! {She runs in the cave} Juniper: Mama told you it was going to rain! you never listen to us! I knew it was a bad night for hunting. {Hector walks in the cave dripping wet} Hector: it's never a bad night for hunting. Juniper: Papa, look! {she points to Isaiah} Hector:... it's probably a kid from town. Juniper: what's he doing out here? Hector: most likely the same as you and me... hunting.. maybe Gathering... who knows and who cares. he was probably waiting out the storm and fell asleep. {Juniper walks over and touches his forehead} Juniper: he's freezing! {She takes off her cloak and drapes it over him} Hector: W-What the- Juniper that is a premium fur cloak! Juniper: and I can make another! I swear Papa you’re such a misanthrope. Hector: And I swear I don't know where you get this sassy attitude of yours. Juniper: you had best be joking...brr… {Hector rolls his eyes} Hector: Alright enough of that... now get over here before you get sick. {Juniper runs over to where Hector is in the cave and sits next to him; Hector wraps his cloak around them both} Juniper: *yawn* do you really think he's going to be okay? {Hector looks over to the boy and cocks an eyebrow before looking back at his daughter} Hector: he’ll be fine… {Cut back to Old Corona and Varian looking up at the stars} Zapada: Varian? I’m heading to sleep… Varian: I’ll be there soon… Zapada: are you ok- Varian: I’m fine! {Zapada jumps slightly} Varian:..I...I’m fine..just go to bed, you need the rest. {Zapada closes the door; Varian looks back up at the sky} {begin song “never enough”} {VARIAN} Make one mistake and it paints you for life Try to move on from all the pain and the strife We pray that life is forgiving to all, young and old But the thing we seem to forget is that life is Cruel and cold And although my heart screams to just give up My head screams back that it is never enough The path before me is laid out And although it’s dark and bleak I won’t give it satisfaction It will not hear my mournful shriek. Every day just brings new pain As this grief continues to wrack my brain I keep wondering if I should just give up Of is it true that it’s never enough? It’s never enough. Never enough. {End song “Never enough”} {END CREDITS}

#tangled #TTS #RTA #matters of the heart #MotH #rapunzel’s tangled adventure #Rapunzel #Varian #Isaiah #Eugene Fitzherbert #kiera and catalina #tts hector #fanfic #zapada #tangled oc #tangled the series #tts oc #rta oc

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the-durin-boys · 5 years

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Mushrooms..? -- Thorin x Reader

Howdy yall I hope you like this I got this idea when I was falling asleep and u know those dreams where ur like half awake and half asleep? It was like that, and I was dreaming about this. So I got up and wrote it.

Enjoy!

--- The morning hunt was not as successful as it could have been, Fili and Kili only bringing back two small rabbits that would, in no way, feed fifteen people. Everyone was, of course, disappointed and hungry, but all had the better mind to not complain.

So not the best start to your day. You knew that when you signed that contract that you would be going on an adventure where the next place that you sleep, eat, and drink, would not be known or assured, so of course you knew that there would be some days where there would be little to no food. You aren’t an idiot.

But by the gods. This. This is just awful. Just a truly awful experience.

The day before the company of Thorin Oakenshield had been run down and then chased through a field full of hidden rocks and roots, the hunters being a pack of Orcs (again). This forced the company into hiding, without a fire, and without movement for several hours. By the time the Orc pack had left, it was far too late into the night to actually go out and successfully and safely hunt for dinner. Thorin forbid the use of a fire that night, so everyone went to sleep tired, cold, and hungry, hoping that the dawn of tomorrow would bring about food and peaceful travel. And as you can see, that is not how things went down.

Balin rationalized the lack of game in the forest to the forest just being run dry by other hunters and hungry folk. So the day started off less than lackluster, and as the company slowly and hungirly packs up their bags, the Master Burglar, Bilbo Baggins, has an idea.

“We could go foraging. For food that is.” He pauses and looks around the lightly wooded area that the company hid in. Bilbo’s hands are at his hips as he quickly surveys the trees. “There might be some edible mushrooms and possibly some berries that might make up for a lack of breakfast.” Thorin steps forward, a stern look on his face but a gleam in his eye.

“Well why didn’t you speak up earlier?” Thorin’s shadow all but hides the poor hobbit, who can do nothing but squeak until Bofur claps a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“Ah, he’s only jokin’ with ya, Bilbo! Now, what were you sayin’ about those mushrooms?”

It doesn’t take long for a small pack of dwarves to form, and then they’re off, being led into the forest by Bilbo. Left behind in the camp are you (you have no idea what mushrooms are good, bad, and drugs), Ori, Thorin, Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur. You kept yourself busy, puttering around the little camp, mending clothing that needed it, filling up water sacks, the like. You always did little things like this, and thus, quickly became cherished by those around you. It had gotten to such a state where the others would actually jump on your chores, and help you out. A few even asked if they could do anything for you. You politely declined, saying that you enjoyed the work, and that you are grateful for something to keep you busy, as you never liked to dottle.

“Thorin.” You approach the king who sits smoking his pipe. Thorin quirks an eyebrow up at your funny little mannerisms and sees a small, folded stack of (just washed, your friends are considerate of you.) clothes. “You have anything that needs mending?” The lilt of your tongue always surprised him, he doesn’t know why. There’s nothing too odd or off about the way that you speak, or the grammar that you use, and maybe it’s just because Thorin’s used to hearing the gruff sounds of words being pushed past bearded lips. That’s not to say that he is complaining, no, it’s far from that. Each time you spoke Thorin could feel himself being drawn towards you, and he just wanted to sit and listen to you talk. The feelings that Thorin feels aren’t absolutely unknown, just old and dusty from not having been used in many a year. You blink down at Thorin who only just notices that he’s being staring at your lips a little bit too long, with Dwalin trying to hide his laughter behind a gulp of water.

“Ah, no. Thank you, (Y/N).” Thorin then busies himself with smoking his pipe, and looking at the grain of the wood which suddenly got very interesting. You purse your lips and look down at Thorin, but elect to say nothing to the slight quiver of his voice, and choose to turn to Dwalin.

“Have anything for me, Dwalin?” Dwalin rests his hand on his back, and gives you a smile.

“All good here, lassie.” You return his smile and move to a shaded spot under a little tree, leaving Thorin and Dwalin to talk. “So. Thorin.” Thorin takes in a deep breath and promptly sputters on the smoke. Dwalin snorts at watching his King and friend get flustered like a dwarfling over the kindest of the Company.

“Leave it, Dwalin.” The sternness that Thorin was going for gets lost in translation as he chokes on another lungful of smoke, twice now. In one day. More in one day than in an entire year. Dwalin chuckles to himself but leaves the subject be.

In the forest, the rest of the dwarves and Bilbo have successfully managed to fill several sacks with wild mushrooms of all assortments. Several times throughout the little field trip Bilbo was questioned about the different types of mushrooms, giving a variety of different lessons on the types of wild mushrooms (he thought that the dwarves would have known a bit more about forest living, but that’s quite alright.), and gave many reassurances that the mushrooms that they were going to eat would not in any way get them stone, killed, or in any other way affect their health. As the group not-so-stealthily makes their way back to camp, the air seems to lift and the thought of hunger is soon to be forgotten.

The boisterous noise of the small group alerted the attention of you and the others at camp, and soon, you were up with everyone else to help distribute whatever findings they had.

There was a long debate on how the mushrooms should be cooked - and if at all. The argument was that there would have to be a fire and that there would be no point in cooking them as it would only take up time, energy, and resources. On the other hand, the mushrooms should be cooked because it would be easier to digest and would bring out the flavor of the mushrooms, and that would be a pleasant change from the tasteless water soups and dried meats that everyone had grown accustomed to. Bilbo eventually settled the debate by saying that it would probably be best to eat them raw as while it was safe to ingest, the fumes would not be too safe to inhale.

Each portion was dished out equally and the company sat and ate the mushrooms, thankful that they had something to fill their empty bellies, though something…..odd, started to happen. Only to you, apparently. About ten minutes after you finished your portion of mushrooms, all of the colors seemed...brighter? Your body adopts this new sense of freedom, like there’s helium being pumped through your veins and it’s lifting you off the ground. You feel the days, and the yesterdays, stresses melt off of you and you giggle. Just a little giggle. A few more minutes pass and the textures of the things around you start to shift and move, and for some reason, this sends you into a fit of side-peeling laughter, and in turn, this gets the attention of literally everyone in a forty mile vicinity.

“What’s so funny lassie?” Bofur, your best friend through this whole thing, asks, eyebrow quirked and smile on his face.

“I don’t even know! I-” Your face pales very quickly and you almost dry heave, clapping a hand over your mouth in an instant. The rest of the company, who was watching this entire ordeal, jumps to their feet at your sudden deterioration in health. Thorin is by your side in a flash, quickly pulling your hair out of your face as Bofur turns you so that you vomit into the grassy underbrush of the forest, gagging up the little meal that you had. All Thorin could do was gently rub your back and hold your hair while you topple forward, spinning where you sat. Thorin doesn’t know when Oin arrived, but he lets him take over and do his job, whilst he moves aside to watch.

Oin had eventually declared that the mushrooms were the things that had this effect on you, but “not anyone else, which is as strange as it is fascinating!”, and it had been ruled that these mushrooms had a similar effect that one of his medicines had, and he had stated that while these mushrooms had no effect on anyone else, the makeup of the human body made it so it was more like a drug than a food, and that you had simply had too much and needed to let your system calm down and clear out, which would only take about twenty to thirty minutes for the initial high, and from there, he isn’t as sure.

Fili, Kili, and Bilbo have tasked themselves with watching you and keeping you company. Bilbo does so because he feels at fault for this situation, even though he has been assured many a time that it was not his fault that you reacted differently. Fili and Kili stayed because the way you laugh at nothing is probably the most amusing thing they have seen in a long time. Bilbo eventually moved away, taking up the stitching that you were doing to make up for what had happened.

You had been quiet for a few minutes, staring pensively off into the distance, eyes wide and full of an unknown knowledge, something that would probably be lost as soon as your high was gone. Fili and Kili continue to jest and joke, but stop abruptly when they here you sniffle.

“Hey hey hey hey, (Y/N). What’s wrong?” Fili asks scooting a bit closer to you. Fili doesn’t know what he did or what set you off, but as soon as he said those words, fat hot tears burst and roll down your cheeks as you start to sob. Thorin, who was walking nearby, quickly walks over and stands above his nephews.

"What did you do?" Fili and kili look panicked.

"We didn't do anything!" Fili cries. "She just started to cry!" Kili is just as baffled as his brother, frozen and unsure as what should be done. Thorin sighs and crouches down next to you, gently taking your hands in his.

"(Y/N), what's wrong?" You don't look at Thorin. "(Y/N)?" Thorin tries again by gently turning your chin with his thumb and forefinger. You blink up at him with big watery eyes and Thorin can only ignore the pang in his heart. "What's wrong?" You sniffle and more tears well up in your eyes.

"It's not fair!" Thorin's voice is smooth and gentle, unlike anything Fili and Kili have ever heard before as they stand and move away from their uncle and friend.

"What's not fair?" You almost start to wail, and Thorin moves a bit closer, his temple braids brushing your hands.

"You have SUCH pretty hair!” Thorin freezes but you continue. “And I can't touch it and I can't play with it and I can’t even say anything about it.." your voice breaks and your lip quivers. Thorin almost laughs but manages to keep himself composed.

"Really? You think my hair is pretty?" You grip Thorin's hands in your own and lean forward.

"Very." Your expression is dead serious for only a minute before a wide smile spreads across your face and you laugh, letting your head drop into Thorin's shoulder. "I'm feeling' tired." Thorin doesn't even try to stop the smile from spreading across his face.

"Then I guess you best be off to bed then, huh?"

"I guess.." you hum into his coat, letting Thorin gently pull you off of him, but your already fast asleep in Thorin's arms, leaving a very happy Thorin, and a very confused company, behind.

Word count: 2,092

I hope you enjoyed reading! If you want to see something specific or see a certain pairing, feel free to make requests!

Love and best to all,

-ya gorl

#Thorin Oakenshield #thorin fanfiction #thorins company #thorin x reader #thorin imagine #x reader #oneshot #the hobbit #i love thorin oakenshield so much like yall #im in love #sry for the spelling and grammar mistakes im writing this at 230 in the morning

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imagineclaireandjamie · 6 years

Note

What if Colum had allowed Claire to leave Leoch right at the beginning? Jamie knew he loved her already - what would he have done?

Gone Girl:

It had been agreed in private, Colum giving Claire permission to leave Leoch without further harassment. He hadn’t wanted Dougal to be privy because he knew how antagonistic the man was. But he was the leader of the clan and he would chose what happened to the sassenach without his brothers involvement.

Grinning, Claire left the laird’s chambers, clasping the shrug carefully around her shoulders as she made her way back to the surgery.

“So yer to leave then?” Jamie asked quietly as he joined her in the corridors. He had guessed from the light in her eyes that Colum had granted her freedom and his heart sank a little at the prospect of losing her.

“Yes, I said I could make my own way back but Colum was insistent that I wait and go with Mr Petrie, the peddler.”

“It isna safe out there for a lassie on her own.”

Quirking a brow at Jamie, memories of her journey here with himself and Dougal flashed before her eyes at his comment. “I think I might have already had enough experience of woodland kidnappers, don’t you think, Jamie?”

“Ach,” he scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck, “I dinna think it was as bad as all that, aye? It could have been worse.”

The image of Captain Randall came to mind, their eyes locking in the darkened halls as they began to descend the stairs.

“Then this time I’ll take Colum’s advice and wait until I have a chaperone.” The word tasted acrid on her tongue. She thought back on the war as they walked, she’d been alone then -for the most part- and, even though it had been extremely dangerous, she had persevered. She had made it through when many hadn’t. Despite Frank’s warnings, she had done her duty and returned home safe. Being at the mercy of men was not something she was used to.

As the door to the surgery approached, Jamie laid his hand softly against Claire’s arm causing her to stop in her tracks.

“How would ye feel if I accompanied ye, Claire?” He asked softly.

“You can’t,” she returned, her voice low and kind, “I can’t put you in danger like that, Jamie. You’re still a wanted man, remember. What if there are redcoats out there? If we hit an ambush again you’d be alone, without Dougal and his men to help you fend them off. I don’t want to be responsible for your capture.”

“I promised ye my protection,” he continued, seemingly ignoring all of her protestations, “and I mean to keep that accord until I see ye away. I ken this land, mistress and I ken how to keep myself out of harm’s way.” Taking her hand, he clasped her fingers tightly. “Do ye trust me to see ye safe?”

“Yes, of course.” She returned, her eyes locked with his. “Thank you, Jamie.”

Locking the door behind her, Claire let her back sit against the damp wood as thoughts of her imminent departure sparked mixed feelings. She recalled, with vivid clarity, what Jamie had told her about Randall and although it was very dashing of him to offer himself, she knew that if he went with her at some point in the journey she would have to tell him some form of the truth. If she went with Colum’s original offer, she could sneak away from Mr Petrie without having to explain anything at all, he probably wouldn’t even blink should she just disappear.

The thought weighed heavy on her mind as she went about her business for the next few days. She avoided Jamie, therefore avoiding any more discussion on the topic in hopes that she would be able to placate him closer to the time of her leaving but the idea that there was something more behind his generous offer continued to plague her.

“Yer head’s in the clouds, Claire!” Mrs Fitz exclaimed, patting her arm gently as she placed down the much abused dough. Flour coated her arms and the front of her dress, the puff of dust finally beginning to settle around her as she ceased her ministrations. “It wouldna be to do wi’ the talk around the castle, would it now?” She asked, a kindly jest in her tone.

“What talk?” She asked, her brows furrowed in confusion.

Mrs Fitz chuckled. “Ye dinna ken? Young Jamie asked Colum’s permission to accompany ye wi’ Mr Petrie when he comes.”

“He’s signing his own death warrant.” Claire muttered under her breath, her hands clenched into fists as she shook her head and looked up at Glenna. Audible once more, she shook her head, rubbing her cheeks and smearing flour all across her fair skin. “It’s very gallant of him, Mrs Fitz, but he’s not thinking clearly, is he?”

“From where I sit, lass, he’s thinking verra clearly.” She replied.

“Care to elaborate?”

“It isna my place to say, but I think ye ken deep down.” Pointing to her face, Glenna winked as she wiped her own hands. “In the meanwhile, ye have a little something on yer face.”

Mrs Fitz walked away then, leaving Claire to clean herself up and place the finished bannocks on the tray ready for baking. She did have an inkling, of course. She’d felt the attraction between them burning steadily beneath Jamie’s skin as he’d followed her around the castle with his eyes.

Sighing, she took off the small apron she’d wrapped around her waist and placed it on the table before leaving to collect the rest of her things. With the secrets of the fairy hill swirling around her and the arrest warrant haunting Jamie, it would be better for him once she was gone -though she knew now that there was no sneaking off without him.

With the pack of her belongings tucked securely under her arm, she made her way down the stairs and out of the castle. Mrs Fitz was there, a smile on her face as she passed Jamie a small parcel of food and patted his shoulder lightly.

“I’m still concerned, Jamie.” Claire said as she helped him load her belongings onto the back of the cart. “I’m positive I’ll be safe here, I’ll just hide in the back - Mr Petrie assures me he hasn’t had anything untoward befall him before now, he’ll get me away alright and he can even bring you word when he comes back that I’ve made it. You can stay here in the castle, where you’re free from danger.”

“If he can get ye back to Inverness wi’out harm, then he can do the same for me, aye?” He returned, unwilling to be moved.

“Fine.” She huffed, rolling her eyes as she skirted by him to say her goodbyes to Mrs Fitz.

“Dinna fash, lass. Murtagh is going to stick close behind ye. He’ll make sure Jamie gets back here in one piece.” Cocking her head to the side, she watched as some of the fear left Claire’s face. “Ye didna think we’d let him go wi’out some form of guide home did ye.”

“Thank you, Mrs Fitz, for everything.” She replied happily, kissing Glenna on the cheek before letting Jamie help her into the back of the wagon.

The first day passed without much to-do. Petrie guided them away from Leoch. The road was long but there didn’t appear to be many others around as they slowly made their way through the highlands. Winter was well and truly upon them and small flakes of snow fell from the sky, evading the canopy of trees and surrounding Claire and Jamie in a blanket of cold.

It was only when Jamie shimmied himself closer, wrapping himself and his plaid around her did she realise that she was shaking horribly.

“This is the second time you’ve had to warm me, aren’t you sick of it now?” She asked, her teeth chattering madly as she burrowed her face against his neck.

“It wouldn’t be much of me to accompany ye and let ye freeze to death on the way back, would it now?” He said, the heat of him thawing her as her cold fingers found the warmth of his stomach as she flattened her hands against his shirt. The road was uneven beneath the wheels of the cart and she was pushed closer to him as they hit a particularly bumpy part of the path.

“I need to get back to a very specific part of the forest where you found me, Jamie, do you think we can do that?”

It was the opening he’d been waiting for. Something about her tale had been somewhat unbelievable - it was part of the reason Dougal believed her to be a spy for the British. Colum had been in two minds about her but, in the end, the safety of all of those at Leoch was his priority and he didn’t think it prudent to keep the lass around -under the circumstances. She had already seen enough.

“What is it about that particular place?” He asked quietly. “That has ye racing back to it wi’ all yer might?”

“It’s the stones,” she said, knowing that she had to tell him the truth now no matter the consequences -though she didn’t want Mr Petrie hearing and kicking her off his carriage in the middle of nowhere- she couldn’t just disappear off into the wilderness and never come back, especially not thinking that Jamie might very well search for her. “It’s going to sound…strange…but I touched them in a different century and ended up here.”

“Aye, that does sound strange.” Jamie bandied back, “but I’ve heard the legends. Yer one of the folk, a traveller?” He returned as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Maybe, I mean I don’t really understand it. I just knew something odd had happened. One minute I was looking at the flowers at the base of the stones, the next thing I was being torn apart from the inside and thrown back together again. When I finally pieced myself back together, I heard gunfire and fled from the hill. I thought–” she stopped dead in the middle of her sentence, realising that Jamie wouldn’t know what a feature film was should she mention it. “I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing, but it wasn’t what I was used to. And then I ran into captain Randall.”

“If ye get back there, do ye think you can travel back? Back to yer own time?”

“I don’t know, but I hope so.”

“This means that yer husband isn’t dead?”

“No, Jamie,” she replied honestly, “he just hasn’t been born yet - not in this time at least.”

Letting the steady beat of her heart soothe him, Jamie shifted to allow Claire to curl further under the plaid and closer to him. “Then I’ll make sure ye get back to there, lass, no matter what.”

Sticking to his word, Jamie encourage the man, Petrie, to take a wee detour. As they came closer to the base of the hill a clearing in the trees appeared and, through the thin tarpaulin that covered the back of the wagon, Jamie and Claire could both see the rise that led to the stones.

“We only have a moment,” Jamie whispered, pointing upwards as the sun rose over head, “and then ye need to get yerself up there. I’ll make sure nobody follows you, but…” he took a long breath, leaned over and kissed her forehead, his hands shaking as he hovered his palm underneath her chin, “please take care of yerself, sassenach.”

It was then she felt the inexplicable pull, the moment his lips touched her - the sensitive way he kept her close and the warmth of him dragged her under causing her blood to pump furiously in her veins.

“Now, Claire.” He urged as the carriage slowed slightly - enough for her to sneak out without hurting herself in the process…

…but something stopped her for just a second.

“Lass, we dinna have much time.” Jamie repeated.

“I think you need to promise the same to me.” She said quietly, one foot inching towards the exit to the wagon. “Get back to Leoch, please?”

“Aye, I promise.”

Nodding, she twisted herself to face the hill, the wind blasting against her face as she slipped from the carriage, hiked her skirts and ran so that she didn’t have to think about dagger like pain that was seizing her heart. She didn’t look back, though she desperately wanted to. Instead she focused on home.

Home.

The word reverberated through her mind. Ordinarily it would have thrown images of the house she wanted - a vase in the window and Frank by her side. But now it conjured an altogether different view. As the hill rose before her, her footsteps shortening as she tried to keep her footing, her lungs seemed to constrict. Unable to breathe, Claire slowed, the hum of the circle growing louder with every step. When she reached the top she forced herself forwards, her pulse racing in her ears as she raised her hands and walked towards the central stone, the ground shaking beneath her feet…

–

Gone.

Jamie watched as Claire became smaller and smaller until she finally disappeared over the brow of the hill.

He had removed himself from the wagon as quickly as he could without rousing Petrie from where he sat up front. Creeping into the underbrush, he waited for the sound of hooves before signalling Murtagh from where he had hidden himself.

They walked together, skirting the edges of the forest until it felt safe to climb the hill. The light was fading, dusk swallowing the daylight as night lurked on the periphery.

“Do ye think–”

“Aye, I reckon so, I think we’d have found her by now if she were still here.” Murtagh replied quickly, his eyes serious as the circled the stones twice. There was a filthy patch of fabric lying covered in mud at the base of the largest stone and the two men eyed it for just a moment before retracing their steps backwards.

“All we can do is pray her safe now,” Murtagh added, patting Jamie lightly on the back, “and get ye back to yer uncles in one piece.”

In that moment he didn't care about his soddening uncles, or even being in one piece, for he knew he already was missing a piece. It had gone through with her. He only wondered if he'd ever see her and be whole again.

#;Mod MBD #Gone Girl AU #Jamie X Claire #;featuring: Murtagh

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suzie-guru · 5 years

Text

Strange Magic Fanfic - “A Highway Passion Play”, Part One

Here’s my (VERY belated) contribution to the start of Month of Lofe for the Strange Magic Fandom! I was originally going to make this a whole fanfic, but I’ve decided to divide it into two parts with each one giving focus to our lovely couples!

The two types of love the week focused on were Eros (sexual or passionate love) and Ludus (playful and/or uncommitted love). One of the suggested ideas was a Car Trip AU, which I have always wanted to attempt!

Part One will focus on Potionless and Ludus, though I also think there’s a healthy helping of Storge (a slow developing, friendship-based love). I think that just proves that Love can not and will not be easily classified or confined!

Part Two will focus on Butterfly Bog in an continuation of this AU, with five guesses going as to what type of love theirs will be...

As always, I hope you enjoy!

One would say that ambitions and bucket-lists were synonyms, but Dawn understood that ambition was merely the fuel for such an endeavor – you could only get so far if you had enough in your tank. In that metaphorical regard, all four of them were fine.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the lemon they were driving.

For the third time the cheerful chime of the gas tank sounded, its song quickly followed by a chorus of groans, Dawn and Sunny’s weary and Marianne’s full of frustrated acceptance.

But Bog’s was near a snarl as he glared at the dash, blue eyes bright and baleful as he stabbed an accusatory finger at it. “This is wha’ we get fer not stoppin’ at a motel–”

“We need to cover ground if we want to make it to New Mexico by Thursday,” Marianne replied, tipping her head back in a sigh, the glow of perspiration across her taut tendons highlighting the elegance of its arched state.

With what energy the heat of the desert hadn’t managed to steal, Dawn had to admire how her sister managed to wear messiness so magnificently, sun and sweat and eight hours on the road be damned, the gusts warm wind only ruffling her pixie cut into a positively stylish disarray. Dawn wearily pushed her hand through her own damp curls, already dreaming of cool showers and air conditioning and ice machines as Marianne continued on. “We passed a station like a while back. We’ll go back, fill up, grab some gas containers, then Sunny and I can switch–”

“Sunny stays here,” Dawn interrupted, her eyes closed as she leaned against her best friend’s shoulder. God, how did he manage to stay so cool? “He’s my personal ice pack.”

Sunny’s laugh rumbled through her before cool fingers swiped over her brow, and Dawn wondered at the sheer saintliness he contained that he was able to wipe away another person’s sweat without even a shudder. “First rule of road trips, Dawn, we do not ignore Marianne’s schedule. Second rule of road trips–”

“–we do NOT ignore Marianne’s schedule,” the whole car chorused on cue, Marianne’s voice especially empathetic. Even as the words left her mouth, Dawn knew she wouldn’t win this battle. But oh, dear God, the heat–!

“Can we at least blast the air conditioning?” she asked with pained hopefulness.

“The windows are open, stick your head out,” Bog replied with no small amount of grumpiness, stretching his body as hard as he could in the front passenger seat, the long line of his lanky body giving several snaps cracks and pops.

Dawn draped her leg over his shoulder to delicately stick her big toe in his ear, making him jolt. “That’s not a viable option and you know it, Mister I Wear A Tee Shirt and Jeans No Matter What The Weather’s Like–”

“When we get to the gas station, I’ll see if they have a cold compress or something,” Marianne promised, shoving her sunglasses down to meet her sister’s eyes. “We can’t risk the air conditioning just yet, not until we find an auto shop. If our personal mechanic can’t figure it out–”

“We really don’t want to chance it,” Bog finished grimly, and Dawn knew that was that. If Boggy was putting his grease monkey pride aside to admit the car had stumped him, they couldn’t tempt fate. They had already had to switch out a tire, they didn’t need anything else slowing them down. Especially my whining.

Dawn slumped back against Sunny, out of sorts and upset that she was so. “Guys, I’m sorry, I am, I wish I wasn’t so freaking sensitive about heat–”

Bog grabbed her foot back, his whole hand dwarfing it easily, her heel cradled in his callused palm. “None o’ tha’, lassie. Some flowers are desert born an’ bred, yer just not in yer appropriate climate.”

Dawn pursed her lips at him, trying to keep her smile back. “Why are you’re still on this Treat Dawn Like A Flower kick?”

“Because ye are,” Bog replied easily, giving her ankle a tickle.

Dawn shrieked and the resulting flailing of her foot to escape those fingers had her nearly kicking Marianne in the head.

“Hey!” The sunglasses came down once more, and the scorch of the desert had nothing on those amber eyes set in a glare. “Can we NOT take out the driver while she’s making an ambiguously legal U turn?”

“Ambiguously legal meaning incredibly illegal but there’s no cops here?” Sunny interjected dryly.

“You get me, Sunny.”

“Sorry,” Dawn winced, taking her foot back. She cocked her head at Bog. “Why isn’t Marianne a flower?”

“I’m a weed,” Marianne promptly answered.

Bog rolled his eyes. “Weeds can still be flowers, Tough Girl. You’re just different.”

Marianne smirked, the plum line of her lips twisting wryly. “I’ve been told.”

Bog chuckled and looked across at the petite driver, and there was no small amount of affection and pride in his voice. “That’s what I like.”

There was a distinct softness to those blue eyes, and Dawn felt her heart get pittery-pattery on her sister’s behalf since she had to focus on the road. But there was now a flush to her sister’s cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat, and Dawn bit down on the squeal burgeoning in her. Oh God, please please please let this be the trip where they finally––

There was a CRUNCH of gravel, metal and rubber, and Dawn found her body being caught by her seatbelt and the air knocked out of her lungs. After several seconds of nausea and confusion, she looked around, getting her bearings, her ears ringing and her neck sore. “What the hell was that?”

“The pothole from hell,” Marianne muttered, steering the car to the side of the road as quick as she could. She then looked out of her window before slamming her hands down on the steering wheel with a snarl. “FUCK! It took out the back wheel!”

“So now we don’t have gas and we have to replace another wheel?” Dawn said, her voice getting higher as panic rose within her.

Bog unbuckled his belt and turned around, his frown born both of rage and worry. “The car’s a fuckin’ lemon, but at least the seatbelts work. Everyone okay?”

Marianne and Sunny gave assents and Dawn went to nod before wincing, her neck throbbing. “I think I got a little whiplash…”

Marianne immediately turned around, leaning over her seat and whipping off her sunglasses to inspect her baby sister, her fingers carefully prodding along Dawn’s collar, semesters of med school obvious in her touch. Nonetheless, Dawn leaned away. “Marianne, it’s fine, I’m fine…”

“No, you’re not,” Marianne retorted, the iron of her voice at odds with the warm concern in her eyes. “You need ice.”

Bog yanked his phone out of the car charger, looking at the screen and then down the road, grimacing under the hot sun. “Map says we’re about half an hour walkin’ distance away from tha’ gas station. We can call a tow truck there, have them take this to a shop, get this shit sorted out…”

Dawn shook her head instinctively and had to bite down at the yelp of pain that resulted, making Sunny place a concerned hand on her shoulder. “That’s gonna strain our budget!”

“An emergency is an emergency,” Marianne said, already riffling through her wallet. “Sunny, who gave you this piece of shit?”

Sunny’s sigh was low and full of shame. “Ten guesses who and the first nine don’t count.”

“Fucking Roland,” Marianne spat. “I bet he charged you full price too, right?”

Sunny nodded, his hands balling into futile fists on Dawn’s shoulders. “God, I’m such a stupid sucker, I should’ve known–”

“Just because my ex is a manipulative asshole who will rot in car salesmen hell doesn’t make you stupid,” Marianne interjected, finally pulling out a credit card. A sweetly evil smile slid upon her face. “But it is going to make using this to pay for everything a whole hell of a lot sweeter. I knew I swiped it for a reason.”

Bog stopped grimacing to stare at the piece of plastic with unholy wonder and glee in his gaze. “Ye did nae.”

Marianne favored him with a particularly vicious smirk. “Hell hath no fury like a Marianne Fairfield scorned. And if Roland wants to complain, I’ll tell Dad that Dawn was injured in one of the cars he sold.” She grabbed her hat out of the car, then pointed at Sunny and Dawn. “Sunny, keep an eye on her. Bog and I will be back as quick as we can with a new car.”

“What if you’re not back before dark?” Dawn asked, trying to keep the worry out of her voice – as hot as the desert was now, she knew how quickly the cold came at night.

“You can set up the tent, and we’ve got the blankets and sleeping bags,” Marianne reminded her as she grabbed their water bottles from the front. She then grinned. “And you have my permission to set the car on fire if you need the extra heat.”

Bog and Sunny both snorted, and Dawn couldn’t help joining in. When in doubt, set something that belonged to Roland on fire. Truly words Marianne lived by.

After slapping on sun screen and their respective hats, Bog and Marianne went off down the road, the sight of them soon rippling with heat. Dawn bit back a worried sigh. Marianne always said it was her job to worry about her sister, but…

“She’ll be fine.” Sunny patted Dawn’s shoulder, his brown gaze so full of comfort. “They’ll both be fine. Bog’s always ready for a fight, and your sister–”

“–can take care of herself,” Dawn finished, her shoulders slumping in resignation. She could, and she would, but still…

She continued to watch down the road, and Sunny leaned back against the car seat, taking off his bandana and wiping it across his face with a groan. “Honestly, when you think about it, this is good for them.”

Dawn whipped her head to look at him, disbelief scrunching up her forehead and making her ignore the twinge in her neck. “Good for them?”

Sunny shrugged at her, putting his feet up and resting his arms on his knees. “Yeah, don’t you think? They get to be alone for a bit. After all, the only thing that’s rivaled this heat is their–” he lowered his voice dramatically, waggling his eyebrows, “–smoldering sexual tension.”

Throwing back her head in laughter was probably incredibly counterproductive to her injury, but Dawn couldn’t help herself. “Oh, God, yes. I swear, I thought Marianne was going to pounce on him when he was all bent over and fixing the engine yesterday. Never mind that he wore that raggedy undershirt instead of one of those tee-shirts today–”

“–don’t knock undershirts, Dawn, it’s too hot for anything else,” Sunny grinned.

Dawn, still giggling, looked up back at him and—

Oh, yeah, he was also wearing an undershirt, the black cotton hugging his torso like a second skin, the lean muscles of his abs apparent even through the fabric—

And his skin, it was so golden brown and glowing, he looked so—

Dawn blinked before giving her head a little shake, and immediately regretted doing so, reaching her hand up to where her neck throbbed. “Ouch…”

Sunny sat up in concern and she waved a hand at him, trying to keep her voice light. “I hope whatever ice they manage to find survives the trip back.”

Sunny eyed her neck, his mouth taking on a twist of concern, before he hopped out of the car and went to the trunk, popping it open. “Set yourself down in the back, Dawn, I think I’ve got something for you.”

Dawn did as he said, and it was only due to how her neck throbbed that she kept herself from looking curiously after him as he rustled away in the trunk. “You think? What are you talking about, Sunny?”

Sunny came back to the side door, carrying some blankets and towels under one arm, their pillows under the other while his one free hand clutched at both their cooler and the portable radio his father passed onto him. He quickly put his supplies down, handing Dawn the cooler before he started arranging the blankets and pillow on the ground. “It should be right up near the top, in the left corner. After that, put our water bottles in there, keep them cool. I just need to take care of this…”

Dawn opened the cooler, wary of how long it would take her to find whatever Sunny had for her what with how the heat would melt the ice in it the longer she had it open. Thankfully, her eyes fell on them almost immediately and widened. “Sunny, these are from the last motel–!”

Sunny snorted. “That manager was a racist, sexist jerk, Dawn. I think swiping a few washcloths is more than fair. Besides, I know how funky you get when it gets super hot, your needs trumps his ownership.”

Dawn handled the frozen washcloths like they were dipped in gold, her eyes worshipful and wondering as she looked at Sunny. “But…how did you freeze them?”

“Stuck them in the mini fridge’s freezer last night. Thought it was best to be prepared.” He grinned at her. “Go on, slap one on.”

Dawn did so, and immediately let her eyes close in sheer bliss, the coolness of the cloth a balm on her sweaty skin, her tender neck…

She swiftly put the rest of the washcloths and their water bottles in the cooler before getting back to her tiny little heaven in the midst of all this heat, while Sunny rustled around the car, pulling this and that out.

There came a cough, and Dawn opened her eyes to where Sunny stood, his arms spread wide and his smile proud. “Bienvenido a la Casa de Sunny!”

Two makeshift beds now lay on the desert floor, along with the beach chairs and their enormous beach umbrella that Dawn had known they would eventually need. She clapped her hands, delighted. “Sunny! Eso es fantástico!”

She paused, her fingers curling in worry. “But, desert floors can be thirty degrees hotter than the air, I’ve looked it up—”

“That’s what we have the beach chairs floor,” Sunny said, shrugging his shoulders. “And I figured that as soon as the umbrella shade cools it, we’ll be okay as long as we have the blankets and towels between us and the ground. Besides, that car is gonna be an oven, you can’t stay in there.”

Dawn practically skipped over to him and his handmade oasis, blue eyes bright and smile thankful. “I swear, you take care of everything, I don’t know what my anxious ass would do without you–”

Sunny shrugged, but she could have sworn his cheeks got darker with a blush. “Just all that time spent building forts paying off, is all.”

Dawn sank into one of the beach chairs with a sigh, settling the cooler between them and fiddling with the radio, searching through the static for a station. “God, do you remember how long we fought over whether the name of our fort would be Fairy Fort and Pixie Palace?”

Sunny sat next to her with a sigh before giving her a sly glance. “I remember how you wouldn’t even consider Elf Village—”

“That had no alliteration!”

“—and how Dad had to give you lessons on how to properly use a hammer.”

“Then I hit my thumb and refused to pick it up the rest of the day,” Dawn said, giving a soft roll of her eyes but smiling. She rolled the knob on the radio once more, and music began to pipe through, though still patchy with static. “I give Marianne so much hell over her clumsiness, but it’s honestly a wonder I made it through childhood in one piece considering how we played.”

“Yeah, we loved our adventures…” Sunny’s grin softened, nostalgia in his eyes. “I remember you crying after that accident, how you wouldn’t stop until I distracted you.”

Just then, the static from the radio cleared, and a song they knew all too well began to play, sweet and strong. They looked at each other with wide eyes, and Dawn’s smile grew till the sunshine couldn’t match its brilliance. “That was the first time you sang it to me…”

“Don’t worry…about a thing…” Sunny’s voice was at once strong and soft over the sun baked sand as he sang along with the radio, his crooning curling over Dawn with the same comfort the cool washcloth had. “’Cause every little thing…is gonna be alright…”

Dawn tapped her feet, swung her head, and wriggled her fingers to the music, letting the song sink over her like the water of a lake. God, but if this song didn’t capture Sunny, nothing did. Upbeat, joyful, full of comfort and assurance, always shaking her free and calming her down whenever her insecurities and anxieties took her captive. From the very start, he had eased her pain, soothed her soul. Because of him, her childhood had been so sweet.

He makes my life so sweet.

Dawn’s head paused in mid-roll, her fingers mid snap.

All her life, she had never questioned Sunny being in it – he was simply there, simply a part of it, of her. She could scarcely imagine her life, herself, without him. It would be like removing her heart from her body and expecting her to keep living.

A strange sort of buzz filled Dawn’s ears, one that had nothing to do with being overwhelmed by the heat. To her distant surprise, it was actually a sweet sensation, like champagne bubbles bubbling up under her skin, exploding with excitement, sending sweetness swirling through her.

She had always loved Sunny, and despite what some had whispered, she had never taken him for granted. He was her dearest friend, her most beloved playmate.

Play.

A damp curl fell to her forehead, and Dawn idly twisted it with a finger, watching the flaxen lock flex as she thought. She had always been playful, always loved her fun, flirty and flighty and fervent in equal turns, and Sunny had never complained, never, not once, even when—

Even when I had never been so with him.

She had played with him, certainly, the innocence of childhood fueling so many excited expeditions, but now…

Dawn dropped her hand and looked at Sunny, still singing, his eyes closed as he moved his head to the song, his shock of hair swaying.

…now maybe she could start another adventure with him?

An adult adventure.

But only if he was down to dance to that tune.

Dawn shook her head, hoping if Sunny saw he’d blame it on the music rather than the minor case of shock she was suddenly experiencing. God, why had it taken her so long to realize this?

She looked at him again and her sigh came out of her before she could stop it, full and heartfelt. Honestly, the question she should be asking is why did she take so long to notice Sunny was such a babe?

Although in retrospect, that group of giggling girls at that last gas station and how they had gazed at Sunny and the odd rash of irritation that had rushed over her probably should have been her first clue—

Sunny finished the song with a flourish, which Dawn gave its due applause, her heart hammering in time with her claps because oh God, oh my God, she’d just realized she might be legit crushing on Sunny for lord knows how long and—

A new song started, Whitney’s undeniable voice echoing over the sand, and Dawn immediately sat up, eyes wide. Of course!

Her beach chair scraped over the dry dirt as she got up, the movement making Sunny look at her in confusion, brow lowering over sweet brown eyes. “Wanna change the channel?”

“No,” Dawn said, and Sunny blinked as she beamed down at him, not caring about the sweat on her skin or the stinkin’ hot sand, not caring about anything else but him, him and her, here and now. Her voice was sweet and sincere, her smile pure and playful. “I wanna dance with somebody.”

Sunny’s eyes lost their squint, widening in surprise. “Is the heat getting to you, Dawn?”

“My heart’s getting to me,” Dawn replied, and with any other boy she would have screamed at letting such words loose, but with Sunny…with Sunny, she had nothing to fear, nothing to worry over. Don’t worry ‘bout a thing. “Took the stupid thing long enough.”

Sunny blinked again, looking as though the concept of breathing was soon to depart all together from his mind if something wasn’t done. Dawn offered him a helping hand, blue eyes meeting brown, and her voice was not a command, but a question. “Dance with me, Sunny?”

Because she wouldn’t take him for granted, she had never and she would never, even if this was just a crush, was just playing around, no commitment or anything holding them down, free to float on air and swing with songs—

And if that changed…

Well…like she said. No commitment. No rules.

Just playing with her best friend.

Sunny stared at her hand and then at her, and she could see him swallow, the soft bob of his adam’s apple so suddenly dear to her, every little thing about him was so dear now that she was seeing him—

Then he smiled, and not for the first time Dawn was struck by how appropriate his name was, it warmed her soul the way the actual sun never could, the brown of his eyes so bright and beautiful. “Always, baby girl.”

He rose then laughed, the sound soft and a bit embarrassed as he stepped to her. “We’ll just have to get creative in compensating for the height difference.”

“And the heat,” Dawn added, grasping his hands in hers and letting her feet move her closer to him, the soft spice of his scent tickling her nose like it always did. “No super fancy moves necessary, it’s not like we need to work up more of a sweat.”

Sunny’s laugh was no longer any kind of embarrassed, and it sang through Dawn like the sweetest song. When they began to swing dance, the lessons her mother had taught them forever in their bones, it was so easy, so very easy. It was if they had always done this, had always been ready for this moment. No practice was needed with this kind of playing, no learning was necessary for this kind of love.

Just sweetness and song and sand and Sunny, Sunny-Sunny-Sunny—

He sent her out in a spin over the sand, the sunshine around them sent into a spiral, and Dawn’s head whirled as she twirled, her heart so happy.

She didn’t know and didn’t care about anything else in that moment, not about what this dance meant, not about what would await the two of them tomorrow once the car was fixed and Boggy and Marianne came back, not about what Dad would say when this road trip ended and they came home.

She was playing a whole new game with her best friend, and Dawn knew he needed no promises from her, no commitments or confinements.

Dawn knew he loved her, as much as she loved him, and knowing that…

That meant she didn’t have to worry about a thing.

#month of lofe #suzie's strange magic fanfics #potionless #strange magic #strange magic fanfics #strange magic au #strange magic car trip au #I truly *do* love writing Potionless they're so sweet...#God it felt so good to write this!#next up...Bog and Marianne get to *play*...#*eyebrow waggle*

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admin-cock-creations · 5 years

Text

A Change in Direction

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Fandom: A Hat in Time Pairing: The Conductor / F!Reader Summary: Stranded in a town full of birds where you’re the only human, it doesn’t seem like you’ve got much a chance at things going well for you. A local movie studio, however, changes your life for the better. Length: 5,137 words Warnings: N/A Other Locations: AO3

You still had no idea how you’d ended up here, though you could definitely recall when you woke for the first time and found the worried faces of numerous birds leaning over you. Most appeared to be owls, but one was a rather eccentric looking penguin with large sunglasses and an afro. He was pressing either a cold wing or a damp rag to your forehead when your eyes fluttered open, and once he noticed you were awake he had spoken in a boisterous tone.

“Darling!~ Are you alright? You took quite the stumble there!”

That made you pass out again.

The next time you woke you were in a bedroom, and for just a moment you were sure you were home and it had all been some weird dream. But then you noticed the room wasn’t your own and as you threw your legs off the side of the bed some arguing voices outside began to come closer. The only door to the windowless room was shoved open and the afro-sporting penguin from earlier walked in with a new figure by his side. Honestly, you had no idea what sort of bird the fluffy figure was, or if it was even a bird at all. Then, after a moment of the three of you looking at once another, the yellow one turned to the penguin and shouted in a clearly Scottish accent.

“Ye buffoon! Yer didnae tell me it was a lass faintin’ in the reception!”

Hard to believe that was the first ever interaction you had with your new boss, or rather, bosses.

Yes, once you found there was no returning to where you’d originally come from – not that you could remember it anyway – it was decided you’d have to stay and make a life in a town full of birds. You spent the first few weeks doing odd jobs around the town, periodically running into both the birds from the studio you now knew as DJ Grooves and the Conductor. Grooves was certainly the more open and friendly of the pair, not the say the Conductor wasn’t kind to you, it was just far more likely for the platform wearing penguin to find his way to your basic apartment, strike you up on a conversation of how your week was going and offer any assistance he could. That fact alone is why you were so surprised when on one evening you found his yellow partner at your door, instead, with the offer of an intern position at the studio.

Considering all you’d been doing for the past week was throwing your back out by wiping down cafe tables, you eagerly accepted the job. At least if you threw your back on a movie set it would be a more interesting story.

The following Tuesday you found yourself bustling about Dead Bird Studio, clipboard in hand and assisting DJ Grooves with production of his newest film. You’d come to learn the specific film tastes for each of the filmmakers over the short time you had been in town, and this newest genre was quite a bold step for Grooves to try. He was much more of a comedy and musical sort of bird, while his partner was the one better known for his action and murder mysteries. Though, considering you were just an intern, you really felt you had no place to speak on the director’s film choices.

A few days into the filming process, you had unfortunately been left alone in the studio for an evening, reviewing what shoddy film work they’d captured to that point and writing down every timestamp where there was some sort of error. Yawning and setting aside your now drained third cup of coffee, you glanced over your clipboard. You were on your third round of the film out of the recommended five, and things weren’t looking great so far.

18 scenes that needed scrapped. 32 boom mic shots. 74 actors out of place. 192 unintelligible and/or completely butchered lines.

You were starting to see why the Conductor was the more revered director in town. And speaking of the devil…

“I thought everyone had buggered off for the night, ye still burning the midnight oil, lass?”

Turning to look behind you, and unintentionally drawing a harsh crack from your back, you faced the Conductor from where he peeked in through the doorway. He must’ve taken his jacket off earlier in the day because it appeared he’d been in the process of putting it back on before spotting you on his way out, with the buttons still undone and his crisp white shirt and silver accented vest catching the light from the many screens in the room.

You nodded at his question and glanced over your clipboard once more, still new enough an intern to not want to risk accidentally offending either the filmmakers and lose the only good thing you had going for your life right now.

“Yes, Mr. Conductor. Mr. Grooves put me on film review before I leave for the night.” Glancing at a clock on the far wall, you winced internally at the time. Was it really that late? “I thought a few more crew members were still here but I suppose it is far too late to expect that.”

The man’s mouth seemed to purse as he took a small step into the room, arms folding over his chest and head tilting to look at the screens you had been watching. After a moment, he scoffed and shook his head a bit.

“Cannae believe DJ peck neck would leave an intern on film review. At least he could have given yer a second set of eyes!”

It was clear he saw how tired you were but you quickly blinked a few times and straightened your posture, hoping to look a little more awake.

“I’m quite alright by myself! I mean, I know everyone is so busy and I’m only an intern, I can take some of the load off everyone else’s backs.”

It was true. You worked your ass off through the day and throughout the filming process, but even then you were nowhere near as busy as the actual film workers. They couldn’t be expected to overwork themselves, otherwise filming would be interrupted. You’d had intern jobs before, granted none in the movie-making industry, but each time your job mostly consisted of making the load easier of the more important people. Whether you had been brainwashed into believing this was how being an intern was supposed to go or not, the Conductor seemed to disagree.

“Yer done enough for today. I can see those circles under ye eyes, and considerin’ ye certainly are no owl I think it’s time yer head in for the day.”

“But, sir, what about– ”

“Aye, don’t ye worry about ol’ Grooves. He isnae yer only boss, and if he has a word to say about it next time he sees ye just send him me way! Come along then, lassie! I can walk ye to yer apartment.”

Blinking slowly, you watched the bird man walk back out into the studio, hearing the distinct sound of doors being locked up and lights being shut off as you turned back to the wall of screens before you, clipboard still in hand. Could you afford to leave your work early? Would the Conductor really stick up for you if DJ Grooves had something harsh to say in the morning?

“Are ye comin’ lass?”

You glanced down to your clipboard, looking over the long list of timestamps and mistakes, listening to the hum of the screens for a few seconds before calling back.

“Coming, sir!”

The town had gone to sleep for the night, with only the pounding music from the club district giving any signs of life for several blocks. It had clearly rained recently as the cobblestones were still listening with puddles and a cool, crisp air brought goosebumps to your arms. Twas the downside of being a featherless human, you supposed. With no feathers to keep you warm and a very limited wardrobe you were used to walking through the cold to get back home some days. Though you certainly weren’t used to having company.

Beside you, the Conductor has his hands shoved in his pockets, rustling for a moment before pulling out what appeared to be a matchbox and a partly smoked cigar. You couldn’t help but watch in a mix of curiosity and confusion as he held the cigar between those pointed teeth and struck a match to life, the small flame bringing warm shades to his bright feathers as he lit up his preferred smoke. Had he always smoked cigars? You hadn’t spent much time working for him so perhaps he only did it in privacy, which would make sense as to why this was the first time you were seeing him do it.

As you watched the bird shove a hand back in his pocket and enjoy his smoke, what you didn’t realize was that he was watching you as well, and he spoke to you in an almost gentle tone as he held his cigar between his fingers and let the smoke roll from his mouth.

“Yer shiverin’, giriie. Ye that cold?”

Feeling a rush of warmth come to your face at your boss calling you out, you quickly looked back to the ground in front of your feet, doing your best to keep your shivering at bay with your arms folded over your chest.

“I-I’m fine, I swear! My apartment isn’t that far and it’s not that cold out so I’ll survive.”

Though you couldn’t see the way the Conductor's face scrunched up in a mix of thought and annoyance, you could almost feel it from the way he hummed in his throat. He didn’t say anything, however, and you expected him to leave it at that. What you weren’t expecting was for a warm jacket to be draped over your shoulders a moment later, and you definitely weren’t expecting to look over and find your boss with slightly ruffled feathers.

Reaching up to touch the collar of the warm jacket, your lips parted to retort but the owner was quick to beat you to it.

“That outta keep ye warm ‘til we get there, aye? Yer donae have the insulation like the rest of us, and if Grooves found out I walked ye home and let ye catch cold I’d nae hear the end of it!”

Another wave of heat found your face as you stared in soft wonderment at your boss. Was he truly such a gentleman, or was he merely keeping the studio's most active intern from getting ill? Those questions tumbled back and forth in your mind for a few moments until you noticed something you hadn’t before.

Now that his jacket was off you were given a view of the attire usually hidden beneath, but what intrigued you more than his fashion sense was his feathers… and just how fluffed they’d become. The Conductor was rather fluffy bird… thing… to begin with, but now, with his extra layer of warmth gone, it seemed he’d begun to fluff up slightly to keep himself warm. His ears and the smaller tufts on either side of his face were a little bigger, and there was some noticeable plumage peeking out from the one undone button on the collar his shirt. You knew birds ruffled their feathers for warmth, but in a town surrounded by the creatures, not once did it strike you that they would do such a thing.

“Thank you, sir. It’s very kind of you.”

The bird next to you let out a bit of a laugh before giving you an amused tone.

“Yer donae have to call me Mister and Sir all the time, lassie! Aye, I may be yer boss but I am nae a man for all them titles. Just call me Conductor, no need for all the professional mumbo jumbo.”

His bluntness took you by surprise. Never had you worked for a boss quite like the Conductor before, and you still weren’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. It seemed you’d have a little more time to think about it in the privacy of your own home though, as the bird pointed up towards an apartment complex, cigar between his talons.

“This is ye building, right? I’ll walk ye to the door, make sure ye get there nice and safe.”

Nodding silently, you keyed the pair of you into the apartment building, walking through the flickering lounge light and into the elevator before pressing the button for the fourth floor. Thankfully it seemed like the elevator was in working order today, with not even a flicker of the lights on your way up. Upon exiting, your small one-room apartment was the first to the right, so upon stepping out and before reaching to unlock your door, you began to shrug the jacket off your shoulders, but before you could get it off entirely the conductor was holding his hand up and shaking his head gently.

“But s- Conductor, won’t you need this?”

“Nah, lass, ye can hold on to it a while longer. I hear there’s supposed to be a nip in the air tomorrow morning and we can’t have yer gettin’ cold on the walk to the studio, aye? I’ve got more than one suit, and I’m nae expectin’ ye to keep it forever.”

With his cigar still clenched between his teeth, the yellow bird gave you a smile and nodded his head a bit before walking back to the elevator, leaving you standing in front of your door with his jacket and a strange feeling in your chest.

It was quite the feat on your part to manage sneaking into the studio the following morning without anyone noticing the fact that you were wearing you boss’ jacket. You were tempted to immediately go to his office and leave it there, but you decided that would look a bit suspicious and kept it neatly folded inside your messenger bag until a better time arose. Until then, you continued to rush about and work until you dropped.

Luckily, you weren’t left with another late job that day, and as you were packing up you realized you still had the Conductor’s jacket among your things. Keeping the folded article pressed to your chest, you made sure no one was out in the halls before making your way to the opposite end of the studio where the man’s office was. As you got deeper into his area of the studio, you could hear the hustle and bustle of some owls doing late night work, but with a few sneaky maneuvers on your part you managed to slip past undetected and made it to your boss’ office.

“Mr. Conductor? It’s me, may I come in?” You called inside with a gentle knock. There was a low grumble you took as permission, but you still opened the door slowly as if bracing for the worst.

Behind the door was an office you weren’t expecting. A desk made of some dark wood and stained a lovely hue of red sat in the center of the room, old movie posters of the director’s previous accomplishments hung in frames along the walls, a few lamps gave a warm light to the space and a few filing cabinets were placed about and filled with what you imagined to be movie scripts. At the desk, head in one hand and a glass of some alcohol in the other, was the Conductor himself. With the absence of his normal jacket he’d donned a different suit today, one that was a deep mahogany with a dark undershirt and tie. His current jacket was tossed aside and draped sadly on a corner of the expansive desk among the piles of crumpled papers. It was clear the man had been struggling with some sort of creative block and you couldn’t help but purse your lips. Looking back into the studio behind you, a moment passed before you closed the door behind you once again, placing aside your messenger bag and his folded jacket to take a seat in the closest free chair.

Once you sat down it seemed the bird finally noticed you and his head lifted from staring at the paper in front of him. A sort of crooked grin and weak chuckle was given to you as he forced himself to straighten up enough to slump back into his chair instead of hunch over the desk.

“Aye, lass, there ye are. I was – hic – I was wonderin’ if I’d see per pretty mug today. How are… how are ye? Is that DJ peck neck treatin’ yer well on set?”

Ignoring the strange airy feeling in your chest after being called pretty, you scooted closer to the desk in front of you and spoke softly to the drunken man.

“I’m treated fairly, he hasn’t yelled too harshly at me, yet. Thank you for averting what I’m sure would have been a nasty shouting session for leaving work early last night.”

“it was nothin’ lassie! I cannae let that peck neck pick on ye just because yer an intern. Intern yer may be, but ye do a smashin’ good job! Aye… with such a committed worker like ye I bet ol’ peck neck’s movie is going to win the annual bird movie awards this year.”

Looking away a bit, you fidgeted with a nearby pen on the edge of the desk.

“Actually… Mr. Grooves doesn’t take my advice on how his film could be improved. I’ve caught every mistake in the recording and acting and he won’t correct them. I’m not sure if he just refuses to listen to an intern or only cares about the dumb stardom stuff.”

Your confession seemed to catch the attention of the more serious director, leaning forward in his chair and setting aside in mostly empty whiskey glass now.

“That so, eh? Well I’ve seen yer workin’ on those shoddy recordings of his, and if he refuses to accept your criticism and advice then he’s just some – hic – some peck neck gone crazy on bird seed! I would give anything to have an intern like you on my crew right about now. Aye, poor Wesley cannae get a fresh film idea and the owls are no help.”

So that’s why he was moping around with a drink. He had lost his film-making groove and needed some inspiration. Or maybe… he needed an outside opinion.

“Well,”you started slowly, catching the little lift of his ear tufts as you got his attention, “considering how Mr. Grooves won’t take my advice, perhaps I could offer it to you and your crew, instead.”

You could see how the Conductor’s ear tufts wiggled a bit, whether it was out of thought or excitement you weren’t sure, but his mouth pursed for a moment and he tapped his talons on the desk a few time before turned to face you once more.

“If DJ peck neck cannae appreciate what ye bring to the table, then I certainly can. Startin’ tomorrow morning yer on my crew, and you willnae be catchin’ me ignorin’ that valuable input of yours.”

“No, no no! It’s all wrong! Are any of ye peck necks actually actors?!”

Several weeks had passed since you began work with the Conductor on his movie. It had taken both of you long enough to come up with a script, something rather new for his usual tastes but still in the ballpark, and you’d managed to fill almost every role with good actors. Now there was only one slot left, the most important one, and the one that was giving you the most trouble.

You were still searching for someone to fill the role of the main female lead and love interest.

When the drunken bird had told you in his private moment of weakness that he would never ignore your advice and criticism, he truly meant it, and since then you’d been something akin to his personal assistant. Sometimes he swore you knew more about film-making than he did with the quality tips you gave. You had even been the one to suggest the love interest in the story as a fresh new element to his usual tales, and you had been a great deal of help in helping him along the way. With this in mind, he pressed his hands over his face a mumbled to his side where you stood, clipboard in hand.

“Lassie, could ye please show these buffoons what we’re looking for in this character? It seems not a single owl can perform without havin’ their hands held.”

Nodding firmly, you placed aside the items you held and snatched up a spare script, making your way onto the auditioning stage and into the spotlight. You had written almost every line for this character so you barely had to glance at the printed words as you cleared your throat and began to act. You were nowhere near the professional level of acting, but you still knew how to put on a show.

Your voice was strong, your movement fluid, and every bird on set seemed impressed by the talent of a simple intern as you took upon the role of Lady Cynthia.

“I wanted to tell you that wherever I am, whatever happens, I’ll always think of you, and the time we spent together, as my happiest time. I’d do it all over again, if I had the choice. No regrets.”

Pulling his hands away from his face, the Conductor couldn’t prevent his jaw from dropping as he raised his head and watched you perform. Was it just the spotlight giving you that radiant glow or was he just imagining things? The passion and palatable emotion in every word you breathed made his feathers ruffle. Leaning forward in his seat, he stared on in pure awe as you continued the brief scene.

“I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.”

As you finished, the Conductor felt his heart soar, barely hearing the clap of every other bird on the set. You, meanwhile, smiled shyly and felt a rush of heat flood your face, taking a small bow before beginning to walk off the stage. You’d made it halfway across and were out of the bright limelight when the director barked out once more.

“Alright! That’s a wrap for today! We’ve got our choice for Lady Cynthia!”

You stopped in place on stage, giving your boss an odd look and arching a brow before he focused his attention on you, a wide grin on his face and his ear tufts wiggling a bit out of glee.

“Lassie, we’re gonna make ye a star! Yer the only one who can so flawlessly capture Miss Cynthia’s character!”

Dropping the script you held to the ground, the papers scattered about your feet and your entire face went red as you stammered to your boss.

“M-me?!”

By now you were two weeks into filming and the Conductor was as pleased as punch at how progress was going. With the sudden decision to make you, a human woman the role of Lady Cynthia you had spent a number of days in the costume department, being poked and prodded for every outfit you'd be required to wear at some point in the film.

Most of your scenes so far hadn’t been major, but today was your first real chance to shine. Today you were due to film the first romantic moment between Lady Cynthia and the main protagonist, and truthfully, you were nervous. You’d been spending the last hour or so pacing back and forth in the caboose of the Owl Express, the Conductor’s pride and joy and where most of the day’s scenes would be taking place. It was still at the moment, with the crew preparing for filming and the actors prepping, but you were too nervous to even think of glancing over your lines right now.

Your personal script sat atop a crate inside the car, and you currently leaning against the railing in the back. The sun was just beginning to set, painting the scene for the romance shot, and you couldn’t help but give a heavy sigh and take off the large hat you were to wear, allowing the gentle breeze to caress your face.

From behind you, someone cleared you throat, and as you turned you were met with the director, his jacket left behind somewhere and his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. Considering you were planning to film in the desert, you could only image how hot he was under those feathers, you were ready to melt in the over-the-top dress you were practically sewn into. Something about the Conductor’s body language made it seem like he was also nervous, and out of reflex you asked, “Is something on your mind, Conductor?”

With a soft hum, the bird shook his head, reaching up to scratch at the feathers on the back of his neck.

“Nae donae worry about me, lass, I’m perfectly fine. Yer look like the one who’s nervous, though.”

Sighing again, you ran a hand through your hair, looking out over the desert where the crew was working to load all the equipment onto the train.

“I just… I’ve never acted before, especially not in a high budget movie as the main love interest. I won’t lie, I’m nervous about today’s scene. What if I mess it up? What if I’m not emotionally convincing? I’ve got so many worries and I don’t want to risk looking at the script and making my nerves worse.”

The pair of you were silent for a few moments until you heard the rustling of paper and turned your attention back to your boss. The Conductor had picked up your copy of the script and flipped through until he stopped about two-thirds of the way in, where you could only assume the aforementioned romance scene was. You could see him scanning over the scene before he looked up to you, keeping the script in one hand and taking a step forward. You had no chance to question what he was doing before he took your hand in his, pressing it to his chest, directly over his heart, and you immediately knew just as he began to speak.

“Whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same. You deserve the world, and I know I can’t give that to ye. So I’ll give ye the next best thing: my world.”

Your chest swelled and you felt yourself get a little weak in the knees as the Conductor put on his best acting and took the place of the main protagonist and Lady Cynthia’s love interest, fully intending to act this scene out with you to calm your worries. So, taking a small breath, you recalled your own lines and replied easily to him.

“I have no need for such grand gestures, darling. Your hand holding mine is enough, this is how the galaxies collide. All I desire is to be near you, to gaze upon your face and know that my heart undeniably belongs to you.”

The Conductor gave a dreamy sigh and lifted your hand from his chest to the side of his face, where you cupped his cheek in your hand and felt your heart flutter. Those feathers were so soft, and as you stroked your thumb over the warmth of his face you watched as he grew fluffier than usual. Was he feeling unwell? There was no way your acting was drawing such a reaction out of him.

“I crossed a thousand leagues of sand and sky to come to ye, and lost the best part of me along the way. Donae tell me to leave.”

“Never, my love. Never leave.”

Abruptly standing, the Conductor swept you up in his arms, dipping you low as the protagonist was meant to do in the scene and you knew where this was headed.

“Yer are so amazingly…wonderfully…beautifully…awesomely…most definitely the most precious of all precious things.”

There must’ve been stars in your eyes as you draped your arms around the bird’s neck, not daring to pull yourself closer and break the scene as you watched him slowly begin to lean in. There was to be a kiss after he spoke that line, there was no way he was actually going to kiss you. He was a dedicated actor, you had watched the films he’d stared in himself, but if he was actually going to do this during an impromptu practice run then it was a whole other level of commitment.

But as you watched him draw close, part of you realized you wanted this.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you were fully prepared to kiss your boss before you heard some frustrated voices nearby, and both of you whipped your heads over to the source. A small crowd of owls had gathered with a filming camera and they had apparently been filming your little interaction with the director, which sent a wave of heat through your face and to the very tips of your ears. The Conductor quickly pulled you back to your feet, catching yourself on the railing so you wouldn’t collapse out of embarrassment as the furious fluff ball poofed up even more out of embarrassment and snapped at his crew.

“ What the peck do ye peck necks think yer doing?! Get ye tails in gear and load those cameras onto me Owl Express and that film better be destroyed in the next minute! ”

Watching the director storm off, you fanned yourself with your large costume hat, deciding that the impromptu practice had indeed helped. If you just pictured the owl plating the main character as the Conductor, you may just be able to give a flawless performance. And maybe, if you had the confidence, you’d ask him after filming today if he could help you practice the true romance scene at the end of the movie. Your acting was probably good enough to make yourself seem nervous again. But then again, after what the Conductor just tried to pull, perhaps you didn’t need to act.

#a hat in time #ahit #ahit conductor #a hat in time conductor #conductor x reader #conductor/reader #ahit conductor x reader #ahit conductor/reader

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