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ohnotoomanyfandoms · 3 years

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If you wrote a quick lil Jordelia snippet in the style of one of Cassie's Chain of Iron excerpts (like write a tiny bit of a prediction of a scene that could happen between them) I would love you forever 🙏🙏🙏❤❤❤

My dear Jordelia Nation, I bring you a little Christmas present!

I am nowhere near satisfied of this ficlet (which is why I’m not even putting it on my AO3 page), but I wrote it and I can’t take it back now. Based on THREE snippets (you’ll find those in bold), I present you THAT confession scene under the cut.

I just want to point out one thing: I don’t think this is how the scene is going to go in the books. At all. I just had fun imagining James and Cordelia’s conversation on that Most Important Topic and tried to keep it as in character as possible, but I also know my Edwardian English is not the best.

Without further ado, here are 2k words of Jordelia angst for you all <3

Cordelia rang Risa for some tea. The boys would certainly require scones. As they settled around her drawing room’s table, Cordelia couldn’t help but notice they were starting this meeting without a key member.

“Where’s Lucie?” She asked no one in particular. She turned to James and he shrugged.

“Probably with Anna,” Matthew suggested. Hopefully with Anna, Cordelia thought. She knew Lucie had a secret. Now that James was out of the Institute, there was no way of knowing where her future parabatai was. If anything, Cordelia reprimanded herself silently, she was supposed to know.

“We should start without her,” James said. “Let’s get to it.”

“Grace will never talk to us. Not after last week,” Matthew declared. “We have to find another way.”

“I still don’t see why you think she won’t,” interrupted Christopher. “I am sure she will speak to Jamie, if he asks nicely. She was entirely amicable with me last month.”

“That was before what happened last week, Kit,” Thomas pointed out.

“Jamie can’t go. There is no point in even trying. It will be a waste of our time, time we don’t have. We need a different plan,” Matthew said.

“Why can’t Jamie go?” asked Kit innocently.

“We’ll never find a better—“ Tom was saying, but Cordelia cut him off.

“It’s of no consequence. James is free to go see Grace if he wishes to.”

She didn’t miss the furtive glance Matthew sent her way.

“I can accompany him,” Kit offered.

But James was shaking his head. “Daisy…”

She swallowed hard. “It would be beneath me to try and stop you.”

She would not be remembered as the villain in this story. Her husband, by the Angel, Cordelia still couldn’t believe it after a whole month of marriage… if staying away from Grace was so painful for James, as it was clear from his ghost-like pallor and his hollow eyes, Cordelia couldn’t very well ignore it. She would swallow whatever was left of her pride and her shattered honor and let him go. The mission was more important.

“I made you a promise. I told you I would keep it, and I am.”

If Cordelia hadn’t already been in love with him then, the intensity of his gaze as he delivered those words would’ve done it, surely.

“And I meant what I just said, James. I free you from that promise.”

Mathew, the only other person in the room who knew her secret and pitied her for it, was quick to intervene, to spare her the embarrassment of further discussion on the topic in front of their friends. “Then it’s settled. Jamie and Kit will both go. Tomorrow night, then we will need to regroup here.”

Lucie had never shown up, Cordelia thought after the Merry Thieves had gone. She would need to send her a message. Pondering where her friend had gotten herself, she didn’t notice James cornering her on the way to the master bedchamber, the room they both occupied as far as the Enclave was concerned. James had been courteous enough to let her take it since they wouldn’t need to share one.

“Daisy, we must speak.”

His golden eyes were fixed on her, fierce as a hawk’s gaze. She said, "It doesn’t matter what I said. I wanted them to leave you alone —"

"I don’t believe you," he said. She could feel the slight tremors running through his body — tremors of stress, that meant he was holding himself very still. Holding himself back. "You don’t say things you don’t mean, Daisy —“

“Oh, James. The Angel knows I do.” She took a deep breath and pointed to the Herondale ring on her finger. “Every day of my life I say things I don’t mean.”

“Yes, but not to me,” James said. “You are entirely honest with me, and that’s what I treasure the most about us. About this time. When we are here together, we don’t have to pretend.”

Cordelia’s heart broke. She averted her eyes for a second to focus on her feet, then met his again.

“James, you do not know how much it means to me that you try and pretend like you’re not sacrificing yourself for my sake in all this.”

There was nothing but honesty in his face. “What are you talking about, Daisy, if anything, it was you who did this for me, to save me from the Clave—“

“I am not referring to our marriage,” she said loudly. “I am referring to our promise. I am referring to the fact that you are doing your best to shield me from how much it pains you to keep it. Yet you are determined to keep it, because you are a man of honor, the best of men, no matter the consequences to your own heart.”

His voice softened. “Daisy, cariad—“

A part of her registered he’d never called her that before. It was a term she was used to hearing his parents use. But she had no time to ponder on its meaning at present.

“I can see that you have trouble sleeping at night. How miserable you’ve been. You’re a shadow of yourself, and it has nothing to do with your grandfather. If you miss her this much, you should go see her.”

“Cordelia,” he said, his tone suddenly serious, angry even. The change in name was not lost on her either. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“If you need to see—“ she forced herself to pronounce that name, “Grace, you should go see her.”

“Are you truly encouraging me to commit adultery?”

Internally, she laughed. “Do you believe me such a masochist? I am merely suggesting that you see her, instead of convincing yourself that you don’t want to.”

James dropped on the settee by the window. Cordelia remained standing, despite his silent request that she join him. He was so much taller than her that his head was at level with her chest. She tried not to think about it. James kept his hand on her arm. She was glad for its anchoring presence.

“I am your husband, Daisy,” he started.

“In name only,” she promptly reminded him.

James shook his head. “I placed marriage runes on you and my ring on your finger.” His own fingers touched the shape of the rune on her left arm.

“Rune,” she corrected again. “Just one.” Because you didn’t want the other.

“Cordelia.”

The intensity of his voice made her turn. His eyes were molten gold.

“We are married,” James continued. “You giving me permission to see Grace doesn’t mean I will go see her. I won’t betray your trust.”

“But the mission—“

“I’ll find another way. I would ask that you cease assuming what I am feeling or not feeling, I beg of you. It’s not being married to you that’s making me miserable. On the contrary.”

“Then what is?” She asked boldly. “James, you are wasting away. No one who loved you would want you to sacrifice your own happiness. I certainly don’t.”

“No, Daisy.” He shook his head again, more fervently this time.

“One of us should be happy, James.”

His fingers traced her arm. “By the Angel, Daisy, I am not unhappy with you. Please do not suggest the contrary. And besides, what do you think would happen? You may bless an adulterous union, but Grace is also engaged, and I doubt that dear Charles would be as magnanimous as you.”

Oh, but he would, Cordelia thought bitterly. No one was keeping James and Grace separated if not their own oaths. But she couldn’t tell James that, because she would need to expose Charles’ secret, and she wasn’t ready to do that as much as she was to expose her brother’s.

“Charles doesn’t need to know,” she lied quickly, although he appeared suddenly lost in thought. “You two could meet in secret tomorrow as per the plan.”

“What did you say?”

“That Charles doesn’t—“

“No, forget Charles. What did you say before? One of us should… gods, Daisy, are you miserable? Is that it? If so, tell me what I am doing wrong and I will do everything in my power and beyond to amend, bach.”

Another Welsh term she’d heard his family use. She shook her head. “There is nothing you can do. Seeing you happy will make me happy.” Only saying it felt like placing a dagger in her own chest.

“I know you dreamt of finding true love and this has shattered those dreams. But you can still have those things. You just need to find the right man and in a year you’ll be with him. I promise I will help.”

She was silent for a moment. Then she took a leap. “What if I’ve already found him?”

That took him by surprise. His eyes widened, he took his hand off her arm. “You… have? This must be even harder for you then. Who is it? If you wish to confide in me, of course.”

“You don’t wish to know, trust me.”

“No, I do. Am I not your friend, Daisy, before I am your husband? And did I not swear to fight your battles and to keep your secrets?”

“This one is better kept unsaid, for both our peace of mind.”

He seemed to consider their words carefully. After a minute of silence, he spoke, his voice calm. “I don’t want to push you. So you are determined not to share this with anyone else? Does Lucie know, at least?”

“No, she doesn’t. Matthew does, but that’s beside the point.”

“Matthew— why would you confide in Math and not me? Daisy, am I such a terrible friend to you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. But don’t hold your breath, he doesn’t love me back, his affections lay elsewhere.”

“Nonsense. How can a man be indifferent to you?”

She was tired of this conversation, tired of lying to him… “James, can you close the door on your way out?”

“Of course.” He understood at once and instantly stood up from the settee. He towered over her for a moment. “If you wish to speak later, or play some chess before dinner, I’ll be in the other room.”

He made to leave, then turned back to her and before she knew what was happening, he cupped her cheek and kissed her there. His eyes were melancholy. “You mean the world to me, Daisy. I wish I could show you how much.”

He closed the door behind him as she had requested, but she was still frozen in place where he had left her. Her arm and her cheek where he had touched her felt like they were on fire. She was suddenly reminded of the passionate kiss they’d shared in the Whispering Room, and for the first time in a long time, Cordelia questioned her assumption. She freed her hair from their complicated ‘do. Her mind was racing.

She jumped toward her desk, where Lucie’s latest chapter of The Beautiful Cordelia lay half-unread. She gripped the pages and scanned them for a single word. She could swear she’d read it just two days ago… there it was. Characters who were so clearly based on Will and Tessa filled the pages of this chapter. “Cariad” the hero kept calling his long-lost love. “Bach,” she had exclaimed once they were reunited. Cordelia had never paid as much attention as she should have when the Herondales communicated in Welsh, but she wished she had.

Before she could think this through, she sprinted for the door. James was in their drawing room, a worn-out copy of Ovid’s Heroides in his hands.

“Had a change of heart?” he asked without looking up from his book.

“Hardly,” Cordelia said breathlessly.

“Mittor ad Alciden a coniuge conscia mentis / littera si coniunx Deianira tua est,” he read aloud, which slightly annoyed Cordelia. She wasn’t here for a lesson in mythology. And it was beneath James to flaunt his Latin unnecessarily. She remembered he’d made her promise to teach him Farsi, once they were married, but they hadn’t delved down that road so far.

“You know I don’t speak Latin, bach,” she said slowly, doing her best not to mispronounce the last word.

That undoubtedly got his attention and made him meet her eyes. “How fortunate that this text also offers a translation, then. It’s Deianira writing to Hercules after he abandoned her to be with another woman: A letter, that shares her feelings, sent to Alcides / By your wife, if Deianira is still your wife.”

“James, can we not discuss mythology at present?”

“What mythology?” he grinned as he pushed the book aside.

“I have a confession to make.” She walked toward him this time.

His eyes were gentle. “Only if you truly want to, Daisy.”

“I haven’t been entirely forthcoming with you all these months. That’s what’s making me miserable. I don’t want to lie to you, James, and I’m tired of doing so.”

“I’m listening.”

“I said I’d met the right man, and that at least wasn’t a lie. Do you know what it’s like, to have everything you’ve ever wanted but it’s just pretend?”

“Yes,” he said calmly. “I do.”

Grace, she thought, because they’d been together in secret for years, had almost run away together.

“No,” she replied, “You don’t. Not this way.”

James suddenly stood. “Will you quit saying what you think I feel or don’t feel? It’s the third time today, Daisy. If you wish to know something, just ask, do not assume.”

“But I already know. You’ve told me.”

James, you don’t love me, she had said. No, I don’t, he had replied after his haste proposal.

“You feel what you feel and I cannot fault you for it. I can hardly fault my own heart.”

“Daisy,” he said then. “What are you saying?”

She took another deep breath and jumped into the abyss. “It’s you, James. It’s always been you.” The earth beneath her threatened to swallow her whole. “I’ve loved you all my life.”

“You can’t mean—”

"I know it’s not what you want, but it won’t change anything between us. I’ve tried to stop, but I have been unsuccessful. This is my predicament and there is nothing either of us can do about it. We can stay friends and companions, the way we have these months. What if I just love you? What if I love you but I never touch you or talk about it, what would happen then?"

Cordelia wasn’t sure he was breathing. After an interminable time, his lips finally parted to say something.

She never knew what, because one moment he was there, his hand on her arm, and the next he was gone.

It appeared they hadn’t destroyed the shadow realm after all.

/// There you have it. Sorry for the cliffhanger. Sorry if you hated the entire story. Again, I kind of hate it too. If you enjoyed it, that makes me happy <3 I’ll go back to writing meta and speculation now.

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hatake · 2 years

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Ramblings ☆

In my last post, I talked about getting my first tattoo! In this post, I want to talk about miscellaneous stuff lol.

I'll start with my day yesterday! Yesterday, I went out with my little sister so we could have a long overdue photoshoot. I've been doing photoshoots with her since she was 14 or so (she's 20 now) and it's fun to look back at how much things have changed!

Here's a bit of a photo evolution throughout the years:

The last one ofc being from today's shoot 💖

I've always considered myself an editor rather than any kind of photographer, as you can probably tell from my crap composition throughout the years LOL.

The camera we usually use was being stupid today and we ended up using her phone instead 😂 We're looking into buying a FujiFilm camera in the near future, so hopefully the quality of the photos will be better in photoshoots to come 💖

Along with that, I watched a movie with a very good friend of mine last night ❤ She and I have been having movie nights every Friday for about six weeks now 😱💕

The first week, we watched a spy parody movie with Jamie Lee Curtis and Arnold Schwarzenegger?! The second week, we watched Chicago (as per my request ofc 😂) and the following weeks after, we've watched the original Spiderman movies!

Last night, we watched Into the Spiderverse 👀💓 (❗Spoilers ahead❗)

When I tell you I cried LOL. Tears of sadness, tears of joy, so many tears all over!!! As soon as Uncle Aaron died, I started crying and I was a mess until the end nxdmsxnskxn The initial death was heartbreaking enough (Miles having to fight his biggest hero was awful to begin with), but then having to see Miles' dad react soon after was just the worst 😭😭😭💔💔💔

The development of Miles' relationship with his dad was sooooo sweet, I was wiping tears everytime they interacted after that point basically LOL It was so nice to see his dad's growth and support of his son!! Esp with him making Miles say "I love you" back in the beginning via humiliation vs him saying Miles didn't have to say it back after Uncle Aaron died was so touching ugh.

I love Miles so much, I just want him to be safe and happy and loved 😭❤ The whole time I was like, "My son!! My baby!! Leave him alone!! You can do it!!!" 😂💕

His relationship with the 2nd Peter Parker was sooo cute, too!! There is no better dynamic than grumpy adult x bubbly kid, it's adorable every single time 😩💘 In my dream timeline, Uncle Aaron does not die from his gunshot wound, and the 2nd Peter gets to stay in Miles' world and act as a second uncle and who knows maybe the two uncles get married LOL

Tbh, most of these movies are ones I would never consider watching, but watching anything with my friend is super fun 💕 It's been the one thing I've been looking forward to most each week 💓

As you may or may not know, I have pretty severe agoraphobia; I've had to leave the house quite a bit since October, which has been super stressful, so having our movie night has been a real anchor for me and I'm so grateful for that 😢💕

Having someone you can be comfortable around to wind down each week is an absolute blessing 😭

Lastly (before this post gets too much longer lmao), I wanted to talk a bit about Final Fantasy IX! In my last post, I mentioned I already had a plan for the next tattoo I want to get; here's what I have so far 👀💓

The concept and quote come from this scene where Vivi (the little guy on the left) is taking to an apparition of his dead grandpa Quan (the big guy on the right):

I always cry so much at this part 😭 I love so many of the messages in FFIX, but I especially find the concept of people continuing to "exist" through our remembering of them to be very sweet, so it hits home everytime 😭😭😭 (This is also why Coco is my fave Disney movie LOL)

For the set up, I was inspired by the iconic umbrella scene in Totoro!

I decided on flowers for umbrellas bc I love flower umbrellas as a concept in general LOL. Daffodils are my fave flowers, so I wanted to use one for sure (ending up as Quan's umbrella ofc) and daisies look cute with daffodils imo, so I used that for Vivi's umbrella ❤

I want Vivi and his grandpa to be on the inside of my forearm, while the bus sign will be on top of my forearm and will say "Last Stop". I'm planning to change the straight line into some sort of grass and incorporate more flowers somehow 🤔

I've been debating whether or not to fill in Vivi's gloves black like his boots?? I feel like when I do, it looks weird somehow 🤔🤔🤔 But maybe it'll look better after I finish Quan's design!!

I'll do another update when the design is finished probably 😊💕

If you made it this far, thanks so much for reading! ❤💕 Let me know if you've watched any movies you really enjoyed as of late 👀💓 (Or if you also rly love FFIX LOL)

♡ lala

#eh.txt #blogs #a: blogs #long post

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desperationandgin · 5 years

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Summer (Gift of) Time (Summer of Smut #2)

Rating: Mature

Author: desperationandgin

Summary: With Jamie's help, Claire attempts to get her garden ready for planting. But it's hot, and someone has other ideas.

Also Read on: AO3

A/N: Here we go, smut ficlet numero dos! I hope you all enjoy and much love and thanks and SO MUCH APPRECIATION to @smashing-teacups and @missclairebelle for reading it, letting me bounce ideas off of them, and for betaing!

The heat in North Carolina in mid-July was, to be perfectly honest, some of the worst I’d ever endured, save for being stranded on an island with no water or relief from the sun. The Ridge felt as if it were on fire from the earth beneath us, heat rising up and setting the rest of the world a blaze.

It likely only felt that way because I’d spent the morning and early afternoon bent over it, trying to turn over the soil in order to prepare my garden for fall planting. Leafy greens and tomato plants were the objectives, along with Brussels sprouts. The latter wouldn’t be all that popular in America until the next century, but it hadn’t been hard to find kindly German immigrants in Wilmington willing to make a trade; a handful of seeds for a rooster and a chicken that would give them eggs and therefore chicks (and more food) later.

I was grateful for the opportunity to plant hearty vegetables to get us through winter (which I knew could be just as brutal as the summer), but it was hard to feel any sort of way other than sticky and done by the time mid-day arrived. It was just Jamie and me, as Ian was spending the day with John Quincy Myers learning how the delicate barter system with the Natives worked. As such, my propriety in regards to clothing had flown out the window, and while trousers weren’t uncommon for me to wear anymore, one of Jamie’s shirts hadn’t yet made it into my routine until now. It was too hot for skirts and stays, and after our meal, I disappeared to change clothing while Jamie went back outside.

When I reappeared, I wore one of his too-large shirts, tucked in so far I was sure the hem was visible at the bottom cuff of my trousers. I’d rolled the sleeves all the way up, and one side mostly hung off of my shoulder, but overall, it was better than all of the heavy material I’d been wearing. Leaving the house with a fresh bucket of water for us both to drink from, I set it down between us and kneeled in the section of dirt opposite Jamie.

“Did you remember to put more lotion on your face?” I asked, trying to get a good look at his skin. With no such thing as sunscreen and a red-headed husband prone to burning, I’d done my best to make a salve as close to sunblock as I could. It was a blend of almond, carrot, and red raspberry seed oil in a hand cream; not nearly as good as something with zinc, but better than nothing.

“Aye, Sassenach, I—”

His words stopped abruptly and I looked up, only to find him staring directly at my chest. Looking down to see what he was gaping at, I realized the low-cut shirt — suitable for Jamie — was giving him a perfect view of fabric hugging the curve of a breast. Rolling my eyes, I smirked at him. “Enjoying the view?”

“Is that my shirt?” he questioned somewhat dumbly. His eyes hadn’t moved back to his work yet, but they did roam my form now, or what he could see of it while I was on my knees digging.

I snorted, huffing and vigorously pulling at dead vegetation from winter. “It is. Your clothing is more practical and well-suited for being under the sun all day,” I pointed out, glancing back up at him as he seemed to reluctantly pull his eyes away and resume his job.

“I dinna mean to point out the obvious,” Jamie began, turning over soil. “But my own shirt tends to come off before I’m finished for the day, on account o’ the heat. It may be cooler now, but I promise ye, it will begin to feel the same as anythin’ else,” he assured me.

He wasn’t the only stubborn one in our family, and I jutted my chin out. “We’ll see. I’m not so sure; I think you enjoy watching me admire you,” I accused with a grin I tried to bite back. Mostly, I failed at the task.

“And ye think that’s why I remove my shirt?” he asked, having the nerve to sound affronted while gaping at me.

His tone was too much, and I laughed before I could stop myself. “I’ll never believe you if you say otherwise,” I admitted, eyes dancing in good humor at him.

Jamie grumbled, but couldn’t quite hide the smile I glimpsed before ducking his head.

“On the other hand, you do work hard all day,” I allowed. “You tend to roast in the sun longer than I do. I worry about that, you know. Skin isn’t supposed to burn and peel, generally speaking. The longer you can keep your shirt on, the better.” I did enjoy looking at him, but winced in sympathy each time he returned to me looking like a boiled Maine lobster.

This time when he peered at me, his features were softer and his eyes remained on mine. “I ken ye worry, but ye do well to take care of me. At least, I’ve no complaints.”

That earned him a kiss across the barely-there crops before we both focused on our respective jobs. By the time the sun began to shift from its highest point over toward the west, I felt as though dirt were sticking to my skin via sweat. Pausing, I made my way toward the water bucket, bringing out the ladle and taking a healthy swallow before contemplating the amount of water left. Dipping back in, I held the spoon in front of my face, imagining rivulets of liquid mercy flowing over my skin. Before I could talk myself out of it, I slowly poured the entire ladle full of water down my chest, closing my eyes at the cool blessing of it. Then, I did the same to my back.

Letting out a soft breath, I turned back to my duty only to find Jamie staring right at me, eyes wide and dark. Although I knew my soaked shirt had turned translucent and clung to my skin, I hadn’t expected it to garner this exact reaction. For one, it was so bloody hot, the idea of creating more heat exhausted me. Besides which, we were nearly done, and had spent all day kneeling; we weren’t old and stiff quite yet, but it was enough to make my joints alert me to their aging presence.

None of that seemed to matter to Jamie.

When he swallowed, I could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down. His shirt was indeed off by now; he’d removed it an hour ago, and I’d stubbornly not complained at all about my sweat-laden shirt seeming heavy and oppressive. While his eyes traced the dark outline of my nipples against the shirt, my own roamed his chest salaciously and without shame.

Christ, he might as well have been carved from stone.

“Mo maise,” he drawled quietly, and I furrowed my brow. That was a new one.

“What was that?”

Jamie blinked and finally looked up, meeting my eyes. “The only thing I could think to say. My beauty.”

I felt myself blush, cheeks warming beyond what the sun provided. “Hardly. I feel like a melted candle.”

He made a grunting noise in the back of his throat. “And now the fabric’s only half-dry, and it’ll feel like ye’re steamin’.”

“What, you’d have me take off my shirt in the middle of the garden?” I attempted to balk.

“No.” Jamie’s voice had dropped an octave, which made my eyes meet his again.

Just that one, evocative change, and I knew I would give him anything he wanted.

“I’d have ye remove my shirt in the middle of the garden.” Slowly, Jamie stood from his kneeling position and watched me. It seemed as though his gaze was on fire, making small flames of want lick at my belly.

“You’re serious?” I asked, wetting my lips and feeling my stomach tighten in anticipation, forgetting any earlier complaints about the heat.

“Oh, aye. Fair’s fair, Sassenach. Ye’ve been eyeing me all this time. ‘Tis my turn,” he decided, a somewhat smug smile on his face.

Rolling my eyes in mock annoyance, I crossed my arms over myself and pulled the shirt up from the bottom, draping it over the fence before turning to face him. Without his having to ask, I pulled my curls free so that the long, wild mess of them flowed freely down my shoulders. I watched his lips part but no sound spilled forth, though idly, he wiped his hands on a cloth hanging from his belt. Now, I was the smug one, and I made my way closer to him.

“Now what, Mr. Fraser?” I asked as one finger dragged down the center of his chest slowly.

When his hand cupped my breast, I closed my eyes at the contrast between my still slightly cool skin and his scorching touch.

“I need to have ye, Sassenach,” he panted against my ear. “Every way I can.”

I pulled my head back to look at him, an eyebrow arching. “In the dirt? Scandalizing my poor plants?”

His hand had worked itself into my trousers; before I could feign protest, his thumb glided across the overheated center of me, and I whimpered.

“If ye can hold out I’ll take ye into the house, but do ye ken, Sassenach? I dinna think ye’ll stop me.”

The bloody bastard was right; he hadn’t even finished his sentence before I wrapped one arm around his neck and the other slung around his hip. My lower half rocked of its own accord, and I dragged myself against his fingertips, eliciting a moan from both of us. I don’t know who began sinking to the ground first; I was only aware of it when his fingers plunged into me and I gasped in pleased surprise. With Jamie, it took very little to make me want him, and he groaned to find me slick and ready. I thought that meant he’d be burying himself inside of me, but instead, he kept his hand right where it was.

Flat on my back, I could feel moist soil against my skin and Jamie’s mouth floating over mine. Reaching out, my hands grasped at his sides, needing an anchor as his fingers curved inside of me, searching for what he knew was there. As he touched, his nose grazed the tip of mine and his lips hovered, breathing the same air with me. His free hand was in my hair, fingers gliding in the same motion as his hand below. Out of breath, I made lazy attempts to catch his mouth with my own, opening my eyes as he denied me.

His focus was intently on mine, and as I met his gaze he smiled, face warm and soft with it. My own smile pulled at the corners of my eyes, causing a pattern of wrinkles to form from years of smiling at him exactly like this. Languidly, my hips rocked in time with the movement of his hand, and I had to close my eyes, tilting my head back. I felt him move from my hair, taking the back of his hand and dragging it along my jawline, letting his knuckles graze my skin. As pleasure wound in my belly, I whimpered and pleaded, opening my eyes only to lunge at him with my mouth.

“I want you inside of me,” I panted, flashing back for a moment to a campfire twenty-five years ago.

His smile proved he recalled the same moment, and repeated now what he’d said then.

“I want to watch ye, Sassenach,” he murmured, and I couldn't say I minded.

As his fingertips grazed my mouth, I pressed my lips to them and he moved faster, causing my back to arch and my arousal to slick his path, making his touch faster, easier. His free hand once again drifted down my breastbone, and I wondered if he could feel the way my heart slammed. His eyes locked on mine, and as my pleasure hit a crescendo, I pressed my forehead to his until finally, finally he gave me his mouth to sink into. Crying out his name into our kiss, I pressed my hips into his touch until I shattered into oblivion, one hand holding his curls in a death grip, the other grabbing a fistful of earth.

Jamie eased me down slowly, fingers sliding from my body only to graze the insides of my thighs. I could feel his smile against my mouth as I relaxed and let out a soft breath of contentment.

“Christ, do ye ken how perfect ye are?” he breathed out, the question rhetorical, as I slowly dragged the tip of my nose up his cheek. When his hand withdrew, he brought his fingers to his lips, holding my gaze as he licked them clean one at a time. “I dinna think a wee taste will do,” he decided as his mouth began to blaze a trail down my body. For a moment, he doubled back to have his way with each breast before finally continuing on.

I wasn’t sure I fully processed his intentions until his hands were pushing my trousers down and my legs were complying of their own accord. Laying flat on his belly, Jamie pushed apart my thighs before burying his face between them, making me thank God for his enthusiasm. Both of my hands pressed into his hair, back arching as I sobbed out my pleasure. It was so close on the heels of my first climax that I found myself gasping and writhing beneath him in a matter of moments. Draping a leg over his shoulder, my hands restlessly moved through his hair, unable to stay still.

As my pleasure began to peak, Jamie roughly repositioned himself and yanked my hips forward, making me cry out sharply and arch. His tongue felt relentless as a hand moved up my chest and over a breast, squeezing with fervency. I panted, fingernails digging into his scalp as I held my breath and then, on a gasping cry of his name, peaked again with my thighs around his head like a vice. I felt him retreat, pressing a scorching kiss to my navel before rising over me, my hands reaching to shove at his trousers as our mouths met and tongues clashed.

“Christ, Jamie, it's so hot,” I whined as he guided himself into me. “I feel like I’m on fire.”

“I’ll burn beside ye,” he grunted, moving hard and fast within me, pressing my hands up and over my head. Every time he filled me I gasped, one arm wriggling free and hooking around his neck as he buried himself as deeply as he could, over and over again. I felt as though my skin was burning as my heart pounded with over-exertion. My vision swam and still, I leaned forward, biting at his shoulder. I felt him shudder and heard the sound of our hips coming together over and over again, a chaotic symphony that recounted a story of lust and bone-deep need.

“Tha gaol agam ort,” he mumbled into my hair; that one I knew.

“I love you,” I managed to gasp out, the effort to make the words taking all the air from my lungs. “I love you, too, Jamie.”

Dizzy with pleasure and overheating, I felt my body squeeze around his, and without warning, Jamie drove home twice more before spilling into me with a loud groan of my name. It was such a different warmth, this one flooding me from the inside out. His hips moved long enough for pleasure to ripple up and down my spine once more; quieter, lazier this time.

Panting heavily, he at least had the good sense to lie on his back beside me, rather than rest on top of me in the heat. My skin felt sticky and damp, and I could feel my hair clinging to my forehead and neck, wet with sweat. With my eyes closed, I was vaguely aware of Jamie moving away from me for a moment and then returning, settling beside me again. The yelp of surprise I gave as cool water trickled down my chest was quite undignified.

Jamie’s laugh had me opening my eyes to glare at him but I soon found I couldn’t help but return his smile.

“Mo luaidh,” he breathed out, leaning over to kiss me before helping me sit up and drink some water.

“What does that one mean, Jamie?” I asked after taking a few sips, passing the ladle over to him.

“My darlin’,” he said with a grin. “Weel, ‘my dear,’ to be more specific about it.”

I watched as he drank greedily, reaching out to run my hand up and down his shoulder. “I like all of the sweet names you call me,” I admitted, not for the first time, and with a soft smile.

“Ye inspire me to call ye many things in different languages,” he revealed, bending to kiss my forehead. A true act of love, considering how sweaty I was.

“Like what?” I all but purred, turning my head to nuzzle his jaw.

“Mon trésor,” he breathed out against my throat, and I smiled.

“Your treasure?” I asked, laughing quietly under my breath.

“My gift,” Jamie amended, shifting to stand and reaching out to help me up. Once I was on my feet, he pulled me into a kiss before dragging his nose up the bridge of mine. “Time gave me a gift, Claire.”

He nuzzled my temple before kissing my forehead once more. Kneeling, he gathered our clothes, cradling them in the crook of one arm, then reaching for my hand with his free one.

“Come, Sassenach, before we press our luck wi’ Ian returning home.”

“Christ, that’s all we need,” I agreed, shaking my head and walking beside him. “I want to get you in some cool water before I rub aloe into your skin,” I decided, fussing over him already. But inside the house, I tugged at his hand until he turned and faced me.

“You’re a gift to me too, Jamie.”

His smile made joy well as tears in my eyes, and our foreheads met once more.

The heat was all but forgotten.

#outlander fic #jamie x claire #outlander #jamie fraser #claire fraser #summer of smut #summer (gift of) time #my fic

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justallamaimaginingthings · 5 years

Text

Family [Jaime Lannister x Reader]

Request: "My second message will be for a request (I give you extra work, sorry) please. Something funny and cute to cheer us up! A Jamie x Mormont!reader (what a surprise!) The war is over, and Jaime gets better acquainted with the father of the reader, Jorah and her cousin Lyanna, but everything doesn't necessarily happen as expected, which amuses the reader who will eventually come to help him, and reassure him about his concerns. (I must admit that it sounded better in my head....) Thanks <3" by @cyaa-niide

A/n: I absolutely loved writing this. Pure fluff and cuteness is what we all need after season 8! Thank you very much for requesting and I really hope you like it 💘💘

Words: 2400 || GoT Masterlist

Dust. All that was left of the Army of the Dead was dust. Somehow Jon's plan had worked and the Night Kings was dead, that was the only explanation you could come up with. Realizing every single wight had disintegrated into dust, you turned to Jaime as the look of hesitation in your eyes turned into one of relief and joy.

Jaime had fought in many wars but was never one to be afraid, until then. During the battle a sense of pure dread had nestled in the pit of his stomach making him feel straight up terrified. For the first time in his life he had something to lose, something real. So, when his eyes met yours, every trace of fear left him at once. Dropping his sword to the ground, Jaime ran towards you, inspecting for any apparent wounds. Finding none, he wrapped his arms around you in a bone crushing hug keeping you close to his chest.

"We won" you mumbled into his chest in realization. Upon hearing your voice, Jaime finally allowed himself to feel relieved. The Dead had fallen and the war was truly over. At last, the chance of a happily ever after became plausible, something the Lannister had never truly believed could happen.

Lifting your face upwards so that he could look into your eyes, Jaime nodded before pulling you into a passionate kiss. The both of you were covered in mud and blood, but nothing mattered except from the fact that the war was actually over.

Looking back at that day, it seemed to have been decades ago, you realized smiling. Since then so much had changed. Having kept your promise to each other, you and Jaime left war and destruction behind you starting completely new lives away from it all.

Jaime had never felt happier than he was now. Being able to wake up next to you every day was a blessing and he couldn't believe he was lucky enough to have you. Jaime's past was awful and if it weren't for you, he'd still be that cruel and arrogant man. You had shown him the way that led to the light and had been his anchor when said past came back to haunt him.

And when he thought life couldn't get any better, it did.

"I'm pregnant" Those three words were all it took to shock the Lannister beyond any comparison, making his heart swell with love and affection.

"I'm going to be a father" he exclaimed picking you up and twirling you around as a happy laugh escaped your lips. That was what happiness felt like and Jaime thanked the gods for the millionth time for allowing him to have this.

The smile on Jaime's face when he realized you were with child had been one of the most beautiful sights you had ever seen. His eyes were full of joy and love as he showered you with light kisses. Seeing him react so warmly was all it took to erase any doubt or worry from your mind.

And now it was his turn to be worried. As the ship caught harbor in Mormont Keep, Jaime couldn't help feeling anxiousness taking over his mind. He knew both your father and cousin, Lady of Bear Islands, were honorable people who had been greatly wronged by his House, and that gave them two equally strong reasons to despise him. Remembering the disaster talking with your father for the first time had been Jaime cringed internally. Feeling you squeeze his hand he turned up to see your reassuring smile.

"I know you want your family to find out in person, but do I really have to be there?" he asked making you roll your eyes at his antics.

"Jaime, you’re the father of that child, of course you have to be there" you exclaimed

"I hope I am" he joked making you playfully punch his shoulder "It's not that bad" you argued encouragingly

"Y/n, they hate me" he deadpanned which wasn't exactly a lie. Sure your father was not negative towards Jaime, but the same couldn’t be said for your cousin Lyanna.

"It's going to be fine. We'll just stay for a couple of days and I'll be here with you the whole time. Plus there are some places I'd like to show you. Some places only I know about" you explained, voice lowering seductively during the last part causing a smirk to appear on Jaime's face.

A handmaid showed the both of you to a shared room informing you Lady Mormont and your father would be waiting for you at dinner. The moment the handmaid closed the door behind her, Jaime jumped into the bed landing face on. Chuckling, you moved to lie down next to him. Closing your eyes, you enjoyed the peaceful moment as Jaime's arms wrapped around you and-

A high pitched scream left your lips as the blond man started tickling your sides. You tried to pull away but his grip was too strong. Laughing, you began struggling against him, which only prompted him to tickle you even more until your laughter echoed down the halls.

"I surrender- Just stop" you exclaimed between laughs

"What will I win if I do?" he asked teasingly, keeping his hand millimeters away from your side, ready to return to his actions. Messing with you that way, was something Jaime absolutely adored. Even when you pretended to be mad at him, the smile on your face and the sound of your laugh were all it took to make his heart flutter and a wide smile form on his lips.

"I was about to go for a bath. Maybe I'll let you join" you replied. Truth was he'd end up with you either way and you both knew it. However, he seemed to like your offer as he nodded in agreement. You placed a gentle kiss in his cheek before getting up and started undressing trying to slow down your movements just enough to tease him as much as he had you. Following your example he took off most of his clothes and opened the door to the baths that were joined to your room.

The warm water was a pleasant change from the cold northern weather and you felt your body relaxing the second you walked inside. Jaime sat right behind you and hugged you close to his chest. For a moment neither one of you spoke as you enjoyed the comfort of the warm water. After scrubbing the salty sea water off of your bodies you helped Jaime wash his hair, a habit you had adopted years ago, when he had just lost his hand. Even though he was perfectly capable of doing it on his own by now, he let you to the task loving the feeling of your hands combing through his hair and the gentleness of your touch.

Wrapping his arms around you, Jaime pulled your naked body flush against his as he started leaving a trail of light kisses up and down your neck. Knowing very well where he was planning to take this you sighted in delight but slowly took a small step backwards.

"We're going to be late" you warned, trying to convince him just as much as you were trying to convince yourself.

"Not necessarily" he replied smirking, as his hand headed down towards your lower back while a mischievous smirk formed on his lips.

"Jaime…" you tried one more time but it came out more like a moan than a warning. The gentle kisses turned more intense as he found that spot on your neck causing a shiver to run down your spine "If we're late I'm going to kill you" you warned before completely giving in and wrapping your arms around his neck while your fingers tugged at his hair.

"I told you so" you grumbled at Jaime while the both of you almost ran down the corridors that lead to the dining room after having been notified by the same handmaid that the feast had already begun.

"Not like you were complaining" he noted playfully earning a smack on the shoulder. Fixing your dress you gave Jaime a wide smile before opening the door to the large room. All eyes were on the two of you as you made your way to the seats that had been arranged for you, right next to Lyanna who was sitting on the head of the table.

"Cousin" you addressed her formally the same time Jaime said "Lady Mormont" and bowed slightly. His respectful action was met with a cold stare as the girl ignored Jaime and turned to you.

"It's good to see you after all this time, Y/n" she said making a smile appear on your face. It wasn't the warm welcome you were expecting, but it was a start. However, that changed when you locked eyes with your father, Jorah, who got up from his seat and wrapped you in a bone crushing hug.

"I missed you Y/n" he said while kissing your forehead. After your mother died in childbirth, Jorah was the only family you had left and the two of you were extremely close as you grew up, before he was exiled. When you were old enough, you left Bear Island and searched for him all over Essos. In a nutshell, your father loved you greatly even though sometimes he could be a little too overprotective.

"I've missed you too father" you replied sincerely as he gave you a warm smile and turned to Jaime, who had been awkwardly standing there the entire time.

"Good to see you, Ser Jaime" your father said shaking Jaime's arm.

"You too, Lord Mormont- Father- Ser Jorah…?" Jaime stumbled over his words making you stifle a chuckle at how tense he was being. Your father smiled as well before all of you returned to your seats. Taking Jaime's hand in yours under the table you gave it an encouraging squeeze.

"May I ask what was the reason for your delay was?" Lyanna asked politely.

"I apologize cousin, I must admit I was so exhausted I fell asleep" you lied, trying to prevent a blush from rising to your cheeks. Jorah shot you a questioning look that Jaime spotted, but didn’t say anything.

"I believe there's something me and Y/n would like to announce" Jaime said, earning the attention of your relatives.

"We're having a baby" you exclaimed happily causing everyone to congratulate you as tears of happiness gathered in your father's eyes. The rest of the dinner went smoothly and after the feast was over, your father asked to talk with Jaime in private. The Lannister followed him to a dark room on the same corridor.

"You love my daughter" the older man stated

"With all my heart" Jaime confirmed genuinely

"I have never trusted the Lannisters. Your House has hurt and betrayed the North" your father continued making Jaime sight in defeat. He had been absolutely certain something like that would happen. Before he could speak in his defense, Jorah continued "However, I have never seen my Y/n happier than when she is with you. I hope your son or daughter will put an end to the rivalry between our Houses"

"I hope that as well" Jaime confirmed, feeling some of the tension leave his body. That was until he saw your father picking up the largest sword from the wall. Had he said something offensive without realizing it? The last thing he wanted was having to fight with your father. A deep laugh snapped him out of his thoughts.

"I don't want to fight. Y/n would kill us both if we did" the Mormont noted smiling "That was my father's sword. And his father's before him…" Jaime's eyes widened in shock as he realized what the other man was implying.

"I can’t accept this. I'm not a Mormont" Jaime respectfully denied knowing the importance family swords carried.

"You're married to one. That makes you the closest to a son I'll ever have" your father argued handing Jaime the Valyrian steel sword "I trust you would never hurt Y/n. But if you do, pray word never gets to Bear Islands" he added, tone changing completely. Before Jaime had a chance to answer, you barged into the room making the tense atmosphere disappear.

"Am I interrupting something?" you asked upon noticing the almost panicked expression on Jaime's face, stifling a chuckle. There goes your promise of not leaving him alone with your relatives…

"Nothing at all, my dear" your father replied making his exit. The moment the door closed behind him, Jaime let out a deep breath.

"That was a disaster" he explained

"What happened?" you asked wanting to know more. After all nothing could have been worse than the last time, right?

"Your father wanted to give me your family sword. I thought he was about to challenge me in a duel" Jaime explained and you couldn't help a laugh from escaping your lips at his miserable expression "He must think I am a complete idiot"

"That's not true. Longclaw means a lot to him, you know. The fact he gave it to you means he considers you as family" you reassured him, as your hands made their way up his chest resting on his shoulders "And even if he didn't, I do. You are my home, Jaime and that will never change no matter what anyone thinks" you added making a smile appear on his face for the first time since the night began.

"Thank you" he whispered pulling you into his arms. Thank you for staying. Thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for showing me what love can feel like. Placing a soft kiss on your lips, he rested his forehead against yours marveling at the sweet moment.

"At least my drunk aunt did not flirt with you this time" you exclaimed making him chuckle and nod in agreement "Let's go to sleep. It's been a long day" you said softly, taking him by the hand and heading back to your shared room. Following you through the narrow corridors, Jaime felt his heart fill with joy. Sure, it would take your family some time to fully accept him, but he was more than willing to try this out…

#jaime lannister x reader #jaime lannister imagine #jaime lannister #jaime x reader #jaime imagine #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #got imagine #got x reader #got #got season 8

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7deadlycinderellas · 5 years

Text

if the summer of our lives could just come again, ch6

Ao3 link

Tyrion

Tyrion Lannister knew he was clever. It was one of his only traits which he felt he could always depend on. Even his father and sister could begrudgingly admit he was quick and quick-witted. And only in the throes of truly heavy drink did he ever feel like his faculties had left him.

The entire ride north had robbed him of this belief. A single letter, and a few whispered words had been the culprit.

The Stark bastard had seemed similarly struck dumb on the journey, but Tyrion had merely taken that by being faced with the realities of his decision to join the Night’s Watch. Tyrion had felt at one point to remind him that they weren’t even at the wall yet, he could still change his mind and turn around.

Yet every time he spoke to the boy, memories of the things contained in Sansa’s letter returned to his mind and he was once again robbed of his wits.

It’s not until they’re all camped a few days from the wall, that Tyrion finally manages to ask the boy,

“I was wondering if you’re sister…”

“Which one?” Jon replied. He was on his back staring up at the sky and didn’t seem to be paying much in the way of attention.

“Sansa, the older one. Has she...ever sustained some sort of violent blow to the head?”

“No, she was always the most careful of us.”

“Has she ever been prone to fits or spells or other sorts of madness? Does she ever eat strange wild mushrooms? Drink suspect liquor? ”

Jon rolls on one side to look at him .

“A few weeks ago I would have told you the only time Sansa ever lost her head was over songs or stories of romance. She was always conscientious and proper and never would have even thought of disobeying. But from the way you’re speaking of her, I’m guessing she sent us off telling you of some of the same madness my siblings laid on me.”

The same sort of madness?

“More than one your siblings spoke of this...madness?”

“And though it was, as you say, complete madness, they all seemed completely convinced. And as much as I wished that some of the things they told me were not the truth, I cannot dismiss them completely. ”

The smaller man is quiet for a time.

“Your sister told me something only two other people in the world besides me should know. She spoke a name to me I haven’t said aloud in more than a decade.”

He didn’t think Jamie or his father had either. Tywin had paid the matter no spare thought once it was done, and Jamie too did not mention it. Tyrion hoped it was due to shame.

“They told me things they should have had no ability to know. I guess that’s what convinced me to listen.”

“What are you going to do?”

Jon is silent.

“Go on ahead with things? Try and remember the important things they told me? Even the ones that are terrifying...It’s the only thing I think I can do. If you really want to know more, I guess you could try and ask them yourself. You’ll have to go past Winterfell on the way back down the Kingsroad anyway.”

Tyrion makes an excuse to step away from the young man after that. They had still been speaking so much in vagaries. He isn’t sure anything the other Stark children could have told the bastard could have shocked him to the core as much as what he’d been told.

Before drifting off to sleep, Tyrion pulls out Sansa’s letter and re-reads it.

She’s a good writer, and has managed to only hint at things which might make the note inflammatory if anyone else reads it. “The lioness tires of the stag, might make him a hart,” and the like. He would have likely dismissed it as the ravings of a bored maid with an overactive imagination, if it weren’t for the words she has whispered to him.

“Your first wife’s name was Tysha,” was all she had said to him.

He hadn’t said that name since nearly after it had happened. He had buried it. Jamie had done the same it seems. There was absolutely no reason Sansa Stark could have known that name.

And he was going to find out how she did.

Gendry

The week’s journey had not been an easy on Gendry. He did not have sealegs. And they didn’t seem to think growing on him was a good choice.

He staggered and stumbled about the ship, trying to help out where he could. He could fetch and carry and he learned a few knots. It was enough that he didn’t feel like a freeloader.

Davos tried to assure him that he didn’t expect him to be an experienced seaman, that if this was his only trip by boat, than that would be fine.

They’re dropping anchor in White Harbor when Davos finds him heaving the last bit of his food over the railing.

“Give it all back to the sea, boy, you’ll be on solid land again tomorrow. We have enough for a good meal before starting out.”

Gendry heaves, though this one is empty. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Might not stay down too long. Might just turn to nerves.”

Davos sighs, and slaps him on the shoulder.

“Don’t go doubting yourself. I was there when you wed the girl. I don’t think she’d suddenly jilt you, especially after an experience like this.”

“It’s not that.” Gendry lets himself smile at the memory. Arya had dragged him to the Godswood, with only Davos and the Hound to speak, the latter man cursing all the way. Jon had been pulled away by the continually rising wights, and it hadn’t been a good time for a proper ceremony.

Sansa had been rather upset, that she hadn’t gotten to be there. Every one else agreed that it hadn’t really been the time. That hadn’t stopped the two of them from basking in the glow as long as they could.

The dead had been rising in the fields and hollows, but the two of them hadn’t felt so alive in a long time.

“It’s not her I’m worrying about. It was easy enough, when the world was coming apart around us. But now things are normal, as normal as they’re ever going to be. She had tried to convince me once, when we were younger, that her family would accept me, but now I’m just not sure if I should believe her.”

Davos takes a seat atop a barrel sitting by the railing. It’s full of ale they were carrying to sell, and he feels he could use a cup. Ale, wine, spirits, they were all easy to haul and ship, and fetched a solid price wherever they were sold. Only problem was stopping your crew from attempting to skim off the top.

“I can’t say I knew the she-wolf better than you do. But I met her sister, and her half-brother, and I know her father had a reputation for being honorable. If things were truly ordinary again, I would say you likely would encounter a number of setbacks, but it isn’t. Nothing for us will ever be normal again, not with what we know. And if the three of them told anyone else...than I would say your greatest worry is far from marrying a girl who was born above your station.”

Gendry has another niggling doubt.

“You don’t think she’s...told anyone else about the, uhh... circumstances of my birth?”

Davos sighs, more deeply than before.

“I don’t think Arya’s the type to put much stock in things like that, and truthfully, I’ve always thought the dead should stay dead.”

He glances at Gendry, his black hair longer than before just beginning to fall in his eyes.

“But I highly suspect others will figure things out anyhow. Family resemblances being what they are.”

Gendry looks at him, and asks.

“You got all your sons back when we returned. Don’t you ever get tired of having to deal with all the strays you picked up along the way?’

Davos laughs, deep and hearty.

“One of these days, you may be blessed with sons and daughters of your own. Whether they’re your blood or not, they can never be cast aside.”

Sansa

Sansa yawns and stretches her arms as she stood. She had been in her father’s solar all morning. Ned and Catelyn had just left for the mid-day meal, leaving her briefly alone. She’s got papers strewn in front of her where she’s written down a mass of things they need to keep an eye on.

Telling about Robert’s potentially forthcoming death had been an easy one. Being gored by a wild boar had been a very easy death for them to believe.

“It even sounds like the sort of death that might appeal to Robert himself,” Ned had muttered.

Telling them about Joffrey and his siblings had been awkward, but similarly simple.

“They...they really don’t look anything like him at all,” Catelyn thinks aloud.

“And I saw the first bastard he sired before his marriage,” Ned trails off, clearly thinking that that had been before Robert had supposed to marry Lyanna, “she looked just like you would have thought.”

“It ended up having nothing to do with Jon Arryn’s death after all,” Sansa adds, “But it definitely had its role in yours. And I am pretty sure Cersei had a hand in Robert’s death, even if I’m not sure how. I should ask Bran later if he’d had any kind of insight into that.“

Catelyn makes a noise deep in her throat.

“I once told someone that a woman ought to be able to lead as well as a man, but I cannot imagine a situation that ended with that woman on the Iron Throne.”

“There are other women who made their own bids into leadership,” Sansa tells her, though she doesn’t include herself in her list, “Yara Greyjoy might be the first trustworthy head of the Iron Islands in generations. But Cersei’s rule was based entirely on the deaths of all three of her children. I’m sure we can disrupt that.”

But eventually she has to push onto the one that’s been haunting her mind. She saved it until last.

“Mother,” she starts, reaching out to touch her, “You cannot trust a single word that comes out of Petyr Baelish’s mouth.”

Catelyn’s face freezes, and she opens her mouth as though she wants to object, so Sansa doesn’t stop speaking.

“I’m still not sure what exactly his end goal was,” that’s a bit of a lie but easy to run with, “but he has his fingers in so many pies right now that even if we had decided to go with Arya’s initial plan to sneak out and find a way to slit his throat-” there’s a big intake of breath from both Ned and Catelyn at that, “-then I would have absolutely no idea the fallout it would cause.”

She keeps going. It’s easier than stopping to breath or to give them a chance to respond.

“The Lannisters didn’t have Jon Arryn killed for finding out about Cersei’s children. Baelish had Aunt Lysa poison him at his behest- I know she’s your sister, but she’s seriously lost her grip on reality. And I obviously can’t say for sure, but I’m almost completely sure he had a hand in your death too, Father.”

There had been angry words after that, and tears. Sansa was beyond overwhelmed and couldn’t even begin to think about how to handle it. She missed Tyrion, he had always been able to keep a grasp on situations like this. She missed Margaery Tyrell too, who always seemed to be to handle difficult situations with grace. Sansa pauses at that thought. She wonders if she should try and send one of the Tyrell’s a letter too, but she didn’t have a clear enough picture of their motivations in the overall map that was their lives to feel comfortable doing so.

She feels a wet nose brush at her side, and turns to find Lady sitting at her feet. With a smile, she pets her on the head.

“I’m sorry you’re too big to carry now, girl. But you can come with me to the meal.”

The wolf is now as large as a small sheep, but lean and quiet. She can slip down the hallways on dainty paws, and hardly make a sound. Sansa sticks close to her as she leaves Ned’s solar for the Great Hall.

The meal is sitting on the table, but there’s hardly anyone sitting to eat it. Everyone seems to be keeping their own schedules as of late, and people wandered in and out on their own time. Ned and Catelyn appear to have gotten waylaid on their paths, as they’re not here yet. Arya’s here right now, munching on her bread and potato-and-leek soup.

“Don’t run off, I’m going to need to borrow you after we eat.”

Arya raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t bolt. The old her would have in a second, especially if she knew what was coming.

After Sansa eats, and as their parents enter to have their meal as well, Sansa and Arya leave and Sansa leads her back up to her chambers. Both Ned and Catelyn look as though there has been yelling between and now and before, and Sansa doesn’t wish to linger.

“I almost feel like I should be frightened.” Arya admits when she shuts the door and Sansa pulls a wrapped up parcel from one of her trunks.

She holds up the dress, there’s a ghost of the old Arya on her face.

“You’ll need at least one good dress, and I’d like to make one that will work for you.”

“What are you thinking of?” Arya asks her with suspicion, though she does take the darted and pinned garment and pulls it over her head.

Sansa touches the fabric. It’s soft wool, good for the coming winter, in a simple middling blue.

“Long sleeves, but they stop at your wrists and don’t hang. The neckline is neutral, it shouldn’t choke you, but shouldn’t show any cleavage either.”

She tugs it where it fits over Arya’s chest.

“I know you didn’t get exactly busty, but I can’t quite work out most of your other measurements, especially since I’m working from memory. You ended up about to my chin right?” Arya nods. “Not very big...at least I shouldn’t have to do more than let out a seam or two as you grow.”

Sansa’s going to make the skirt fit just above her hips, slender enough not to need any special smallclothes to drape properly. No excess, and loose enough she should be able to run away from anything that might chase her.

Arya touches the fabric, which has enough loose over her chest to eventually accommodate her breasts.

“Is it weird that I miss them?”

Sansa snorts.

“I didn’t pay them any mind when they were growing on me, but now I miss them. I miss all sorts of strange things.”

Sansa removes the garment from over Arya’s head and folds it back neatly.

“I miss when I could spend all my time sewing and none of it trying to puzzle out House politics so that we don’t all kill each other before the monsters over the wall come over and try again.”

Arya shrugs everything back into place as Sansa puts her things away.

“You should come out to the yard with me. Meera’s helping me get good with my bow again.”

Sansa pauses,

“I don’t know.”

She’s mentioned wanting to learn something to protect herself, but it’s daunting. She’s not Arya, anything more athletic than dancing has never been even something to consider adding to her skillset.

“It’ll be fine Sansa. Besides, Meera’s been trying to teach Jojen too, and he’s really awful. Rickon joined us yesterday too, and we still haven’t managed to make it stick for him that you can’t just run up and stab the target with the arrow.”

Sansa’s nerves don’t disappear as they make their way down to the training yard. It’s empty in the afternoon, and Meera, Jojen and Rickon already have the equipment out.

They do simmer down when they get there, and Jojen has somehow managed to get his thumbnail wedged into the wood of his bow.

“Are you sure you’re related to me” Meera asks indignantly as she dislodges his hand his hand and files the nail down with the edge of her knife.

“This is why I always left this to you,” Jojen tells her, pouting.

Meera then takes off her own leather glove and trades Jojen for his finger guard.

After a moment, she offers it to Sansa,

“We’ve only got the one, and I’ve got calluses already.”

“Keep it,” Arya tells her, reaching into her waist pocket and pulling out her own leather gloves, “I’ll give her one of mine, I shoot lefty anyway.”

Sansa pulls on the glove, it’s only a little tight.

“Don’t grip the string too tightly,” Arya warns her, “You should bring your kid gloves next time, it will be easier on your fingers that way.”

The bow and arrows feel unnatural in her hands, but she manages to pull and release without dropping anything, and even though her arrow misses, it doesn’t fly off anywhere unexpected. Arya’s right, it does make her feel better.

Soon the air is thick with flying arrows. Some of them go off into the ground, and others bury themselves in the straw men they’re using as targets.

“Arya, don’t aim for the balls,” Meera criticizes, when Arya manages to land an arrow square between one’s legs, “That will only make them bleed.”

“Lot of blood coming through there,” Arya insists, “and it’s not usually armored.”

“If you’re aiming at someone in armor, the neck is more deadly, or the legs if you just want to do damage.”

Arya shrugs her off.

Soon they run out of arrows, and Meera sends Rickon to gather all the fallen ones, which he does happily enough.

Soon, though Sansa’s arm begins to tire, the bow does begin to feel more natural, and the arrows begin to get closer to where she’s aiming.

“It’s mostly practice,” Arya assures her as she nocks her last arrow. “It’s like with me and needle, you just to learn your eyes and the arrows. There are a lot fewer variables than if you’re going at someone with a knife or a sword.”

“Way too close contact for my taste,” Meera comments, “I want to put some distance between me and whatever I’m shooting at.”

“Not that I disagree-” Arya starts, “but I thought you favored a spear?”

“Spear gives your arm an extra long reach, they’re garbage in close quarters, and-”

Whatever she was going to say next is cut off when Sansa moves to loose her arrow. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rickon, impatient as ever, move to start gathering the fallen arrows again.

Sansa yells, and feels the arrow slip.

Arya lunges forward and grabs Rickon, and the arrow falls to the ground barely three feet in front of her.

Sansa can hear Arya loudly berating the younger boy, but can’t make out her words over the sound of her own heart pounding. Her head is swimming.

Rickon is red-faced and abashed, but all Sansa sees is the tall, curly haired young man he became. Him running, and then falling, full of arrows.

Arya’s still yelling when Sansa hands Meera her bow and says, “I need to take a break.”

Meera reaches out to take her things, and gestures with a nod of her head over at one of the walkways.

“Bran’s been sitting up there a while if you wanted to talk to him.”

Sansa glances up at one of the walkways where she looked. She cocks her head.

“How’d you see him?”

Meera rolls her eyes, “I lived with him in a cave with hardly anyone else to talk to for over a year. I’m pretty sure I could find him in the middle of the woods blindfolded just from the sound of his snoring.”

“Do you...want me to tell him to go away?” Sansa asks carefully.

Meera sighs, and rubs her eyes. The two of them are the only ones in the group who look at all close to their adult selves, and right now Meera looks even older than then.

“No,” she replies quietly, “I just need time.”

Lady’s been sitting at the edge of the training yard watching them, and when Sansa approaches, she jumps up and trails behind her neatly.

Bran nods at her when she climbs the walkway and sits, Lady squeezing between them. He reaches out idly to scratch her ears.

“Bad thoughts?” He asks Sansa.

She nods. Bran ducks his head in response.

“I had some the other day when I saw Theon talking to Ser Rodrik. All I could see was him cutting his head off.”

Damn.

“I guess our lives are going to generate a lot of those now.”

Bran turns his eyes down to Lady again. “Have you ever dreamt that you’re seeing through her eyes?”

Sansa’s alarmed.

“Like you do?”

“Arya’s told me it happens to her with Nymeria too, and I know Rickon’s had them...I thought you would too, and you just didn’t have a chance before.”

It’s not something Sansa ever thought about. Bran’s right, her and Lady were cut apart too early before for a bond of that sort to form.

She wonders what it would be like, to run through the woods with Lady’s eyes. To see the other animals as she does, to be able to slip past enemy lines nearly undetected. Lady’s already shown ability to be quieter and more stealthy than her littermates. It could be terribly useful.

She doesn’t get a chance to ask Bran anything else, when there’s a sudden commotion from below.

She has to help Bran get his crutches and stand, and by the time they get back down to the yard, the commotion has calmed a bit. Jojen’s rolled on his side, the shaking beginning to slow. Once he stills, Meera pulls the bite strap from his mouth and lifts his chin.

“Give him a minute, sometimes he comes out really confused.”

It doesn’t take long though for Jojen to start mumbling, and pulling himself up to sit.

“I thought you said you hadn’t had a vision since all of us came back,” Meera asks him when he comes all the way to.

“I wasn’t sure about this one, it’s been so long, I thought it might have been a regular dream.”

“You haven’t had a fit like that in ages, what was this one about?” Meera asks, trying not to sound too rough, but frightened.

Jojen takes a deep breath.

“I saw a group of crows, flying over the wall, when they fell from the sky. One of them managed to get away, injured. Another shed its feathers and flew over again, nothing but a skeleton.”

There’s a long quiet, as all of them think on Jojen’s words. And with the image of a bird rising as a wight, Bran suddenly has a familiar feeling creeping in his gut.

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #gendrya #breera #time travel fix it #fic

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itwasanangryinch · 6 years

Link

Here’s what Mitchell had to say about working on the soundtrack with Stewart:

This film began as a short story gleam in the eye of Neil Gaiman which was then refracted through Philippa Goslett’s adaptation. She saw our hero Enn as a young Neil-like punk comic book artist from much-mocked suburban Croydon. Naturally the film includes 70’s classics: the first UK punk single “New Rose” by The Damned (Captain Sensible & Rat Scabies did time in Croydon); Lou Reed’s “I Found a Reason” (thank you Hal Willner and Laurie Anderson!), “Nursery Chymes” by the great Bruno Wizard of The Homosexuals (who cameos as our club MC). But DIY being both our medium and our message, this album favors the new stuff and we had didn’t have room for period gems like Bruno’s “Soft South Africans” or Dub Specialist’s “Starring Dub”. The punk side of things is anchored by our fictional band Dyschords, created by Bryan Weller and singer Martin Tomlinson (bless you Danny Fields for those YouTubes videos of Martin’s band Selfish Cunt). Kudos to Dyschords producer/mixer Rory Attwell. AC Newman contributed the instant classics “Fuck All” and “Angry Universe” (inspired by a line from the short story) while Ezra Furman delivered the creamy “Rainy Life”. Along with Justin Craig and Tits of Clay (the Broadway Hedwig band), I formed The Dyslexic Cnuts (which lasted for a day… so punk) to record the song “Extraction” with cabaret legend Amber Martin who offers the melt-in-your-mouth “Bermuda” (and who also voices the soul singer in Mum’s kitchen scene). The vast and deep alien soundscape was conjured by sonic sorcerers Matmos (who also give us the faux krautrock “Flecken”, or “Cum Stain” in German). Maestro Nico Muhly provided alien choral textures and a glorious Exit Requiem for our departing aliens (or was it a Brexit Requiem?). Xiu Xiu’s Jamie Stewart and I spawned the trans-species alien-punk “Eat Me Alive”, performed live by Alex Sharp and Elle Fanning, as well as our space-dance credit song “Between the Breaths” voiced by indie goddess Mitski. Bless you Michael Hill for shepherding our musical flock. I urge the reader to make things with her/his/their mates. As with us, a wonderful time will be had by all.

#john cameron mitchell #how to talk to girls at parties #neil gaiman #HtTtGaP #do more punk to me

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imagineclaireandjamie · 6 years

Note

More Mute please? Happy holidays everyone!

Previous parts can be found: HERE.

Mute Part 8.i - Leaving Leoch:

Sliding his hand along the soft expanse of Claire’s leg, Jamie let the gentle sounds of the tweeting birds pull him awake. Still sleepy and half intoxicated he remembered the events of the night before.

Their wedding had been an incredible thing. It was supposed to have been small and intimate but the moment that Mrs Fitz took over things had gotten out of hand. Not that he minded of course, anything to show his love for Claire publically and without apology wasn’t something to be sniffed at but he’d seen the stress alight on Claire’s face as the day had worn on.

They had said their vows first thing, pledging themselves to one another with Murtagh translating Claire’s signs for the priest and from there on out most of the day was a blur of food, liquor, conversation and dancing. For the most part the inhabitants of Leoch had let their guards down in relation to Claire. Watching her dance, her head neatly lain on Jamie’s shoulder as the piper had played well into the night, his notes as flawless as the bards singing, each and everyone of them saw nothing but love emanating from the newlyweds.

Even Dougal had kept his hands to himself, thank goodness.

But Jamie got the feeling that their stay at Leoch was about to come to an end. With Dougals’ continued interest and Claire’s growing fatigue, Jamie sensed that it might be nearing the time to take Claire back to his home by birthright. There, at least, he could properly investigate gaining a pardon as well as surrounding Claire with a more familial warmth.

Slipping her legs apart, Claire gasped soundlessly as Jamie’s hands roamed freely. He was lost, she could tell, to the drunk haze that surrounded them both but she was hyper aware of him. Rolling her hips backwards, she thrust her naked behind against his groin using her foot to link through his calf - pulling him closer still.

Licking her lips she felt him slip between her thighs, his hard flesh suddenly anchored solidly between her legs. But she didn’t want it like this, not on the first morning of their marriage. She wanted to turn herself around, lie flat and pull him over her but the weight of him beside her, pushing her deeper into their homemade cot, stopped her from being able to. Unable to voice the words required to wake Jamie and have him move with her, Claire opted for rocking them to and fro, her hands keeping Jamie firmly against her as she tried to use the motion to pull him from his slumber.

She could feel his hot breath on her neck as his fingers gripped her hips. It bordered painful, but just as the sensations began to drag Claire under, Jamie would magically calm loosening his hands as if compelled to do so.

Claire was on the brink. The maddening sensations of Jamie thrusting unconsciously between her legs leaving her desperate and wanting whilst *nearly* tipping her over the edge. Opening her mouth, she turned her head to the side, gripped him with as much force as she dared to use and silently cried out as she used his body to aid her own climax. Her heart was thrumming in her chest by the time she realised her release had -finally- pulled Jamie from sleep.

Gathering her up in his arms, Jamie gently turned Claire over, moving himself over her as she let her legs flop bonelessly against the thick straw bedding beneath them. “Morning, mo nighean donn,” Jamie whispered, no need to raise his voice in the dim morning light. “Good morning...my wife.”

Cracking her eyes open as much as she could, Claire read his lips as he rolled his groin against hers. She was sated, shattered from her own surprise orgasm but the sight of him above her, his eyes trained solely on her as she shook involuntarily beneath him, brought her round a little.

“Ye can rest longer,” Jamie sighed, nudging his nose against hers in a cute motion that made Claire smile softly.

She shook her head, her thighs keeping Jamie pinned in place as her skin prickled with goosebumps. ‘No.’ She mouthed, running one hand along the length of her supine body as the other brushed through the short stubble that had arisen on Jamie’s face through the night.

“Canna leave me wanting, lass?” He returned, adjusting himself so that he lay poised and ready.

Claire let her head tip to the side, her smile widening as she nudged him on with the base of her foot against the roundest part of his arse.

“Jamie!!” The mad knocking on the door made Jamie twist his head as he grasped the bedclothes tight, thinking that at any minute he might need to cover Claire.

“What is it Dougal, can I no’ have the morning wi’ my wife?”

Lying calmly beneath Jamie, Claire ran her hands over the length of his taut stomach, waiting patiently for him to shoo away whoever was disturbing them. She could feel the distinct rumble of irritation run through Jamie as he spoke with the invisible visitor but she wasn’t about to give up on their amorous morning joining just yet.

“I think ye’ve had enough time wi’ that one, aye? Collum has asked for us. Get yer lazy arse out of bed and up to his rooms...and fast lad!”

“Collum willna mind if I’m a wee bit late. Bugger off, Dougal. Leave us be. I’ll be wi’ ye in a few hours. Whatever is it, it can wait.” He cooed, turning and leaning in to kiss Claire, a long languid kiss that assured her that he wasn’t getting up to leave any time soon.

“Fine, laddie. But on yer head be it.” Dougal grumbled, leaving the pair alone once more.

As Jamie turned, Claire slid her hands down to rest on his arse and pulled him flat against her, not wishing for the moment to be interrupted again. It was quick; Jamie set a punishing rhythm as soon as he entered Claire, his hip bones hitting the inside of her thighs over and over as he lost himself to the joint sensations of lust and love racing through the blood in his veins. He wanted to go slow, to watch and feel as her whole lower half rose up to meet him but there was something primal about the way she’d brought him to and he couldn’t hold back.

With a short sharp cry, Jamie came apart, his hands almost tearing the thin sheets apart as he shook. Claire, still half-sated beneath him, wrapped her arms around him and brought him to her chest slowly, basking in the heat emanating from him. She knew that once he woke from his post-orgasmic haze he’d have to dress and go and find out what Collum wanted from him. But for now he was hers.

“I haveta go, mo nighean,” he panted, falling to the side as he peeled his left eye open and smiled softly.

Claire nodded, her hand coming up to rest gently against the slope of Jamie’s face.

| ‘Come back soon though, alright?’ | She signed with her free hand knowing that he probably couldn’t understand most of what she was trying to communicate.

But he had, at least, gotten the gist of it.

“I’ll be home soon, promise.” He whispered, forcing himself from their cot and dressing (purposefully) very slowly, giving Claire a very clear view of his bottom as he re-pleated his kilt.

Unwilling to brave Leoch on her own, Claire pottered around their self-made home above the stables, making sure everything was clean and tidy. She knew that there was always the surgery if she needed another task to keep her occupied but the space was sullied now by the various assaults on her person. Hopefully, though, now she was actually married to Jamie he would leave her alone but until she’d been assured of that, she would keep out of the way.

Making her way down into the stables themselves, Claire grabbed the broom and continued her housekeeping with the horses as company. She found some small pleasure in their musty smell and by the time Jamie marched back inside, Claire had cleaned out every stall and made sure each mare had been groomed thoroughly.

| ‘What’s the matter?’ | She signed, seeing Jamie’s distress the minute she looked up to take him in.

“Claire,” he began, taking hold of her hands and rubbing her warm fingers softly, “I have to leave for a wee while.”

Claire’s mouth gaped open, her pulse racing all of a sudden at the thought of Jamie not being by her side.

| ‘But we’ve only just been married? Did Collum say you *had* to go?’ |

“I have to, Claire. If there was any way out of it I’d have spoke up, ken?”

She nodded sadly, her eyes filling with moisture.

“Murtagh will stay here wi’ ye, alright? He’ll take good care of ye lass, him and Mrs Fitz. Ye can stay out here or go back to the castle for yer lodgings should ye wish no’ to be alone at night.” He continued, bringing her their joined hands to his lips and kissing them reverently. “The only blessing is that Dougal is leading the party, aye? It means he willna be left here to cause ye any distress.”

Feeling her stomach settle a little, Claire clenched her jaw. She wanted to pull her hands away and rant and rave at how unfair it was that Jamie was to be taken from her at such short notice, but it would do no good. That and she was enjoying the last close comforts she might have for a while.

| ‘How long?’ | She mouthed, unwilling to take her hands from his.

“Dinna ken,” Jamie returned, paying attention to her mouth and deciphering her soundless words, “hopefully no’ too long but it’s best to plan for at least a month.”

Claire shook her head violently and ripped her hands from his as she stormed wildly up and down the small aisle of the stables. She was furious, her hair flying about in the wee breeze that filtered in through the gaps in the slats. Stomping her feet and grinding her teeth she fought the urge to scream.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around her from behind, twisting her around and surrounding her in warmth and Jamie tried to quash her irritation. Whispering directly into her ear he tried to speak clearly so that she might hear his voice. Sensing that she needed something more than physical contact to calm her ire.

“I’m always wi’ ye, Claire,” he sighed, “in yer heart. I ken what terrible timing this is, but I love you...so much.”

Pulling back a little, Claire looked up at Jamie with tears in her eyes.

| ‘When do you have to leave?’ | She signed slowly.

“As soon as I’m ready.” He replied sadly.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Claire let the tears fall as her nose and cheeks begun to turn a sorrowful shade of maroon. The overwhelming urge to scream and shout had lessened but she still wanted to race to Collum’s quarters and plead with him not to send Jamie away though she got the distinct feeling that it was some sort of test of his metal. Collum hadn’t actually objected to her presence but nor had he castigated his brother or punished him for his wayward behaviour towards her. And aside from their one run in during the conflict resolutions in the grand hall he had barely acknowledged her at all. But she was still English and now she’d married his nephew.

| ‘Be safe, please?’ | She asked, hiccuping as she pulled herself fully from Jamie’s grasp and mouthed across at him. Wrapping her arms around herself now she rubbed her suddenly cool arms and ran her feet across the incredibly clean floor.

“I will, my Sassenach. Look after yerself, aye?”

Nodding, Claire waited until Jamie was safely away before falling to the floor and going thoroughly and completely to pieces.

#;Mod MBD #Mute #Mute Claire

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ecampbellsoup · 6 years

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The Characterization of Jamie Fraser: Intentional or Inconsistent?

I love Outlander!!!!!! Ok now that’s established:

Just putting this out there: this is a wee rant (and by wee I mean it’s rather long; what’s a gal to do?)

Generally, I write on aspects I love about Outlander: the many things they do well. However, sometimes, we as viewers/fans can be heavily affected by things they have not done well.

I am offering a bit of constructive criticism not because I hate the show but because I LOVE the show. I want it to be the best it can be. And it is frustrating when it misses the mark.

With that being said, there is going to have to be a bit of context and set-up before I get into the ‘nitty-gritty of this debate; it’s necessary for my criticism to make sense. Stick with me though and you will see what I mean at the end.

Hang onto your britches, and let’s get going:

I am a bit of a television/movie fanatic. Genuinely, I appreciate every aspect that goes into making a piece of film what it is.

I love the complexity behind a script. I love the mastery of a director. I love the dedication of the actors. I love the passion of a producer. I love the details of the costume & set designers. I love the precision of the editors. I love the eye of the cinematographer.

I love and appreciate it all.

There are innumerable moving pieces that all cohesively fuse together to create what comes to the screen.

With that being said, ironically I can also tend to be a little bit critical sometimes of film. I genuinely try not to be because I know how much work and passion goes into it.

However, if a production does fall flat, it’s RARELY one person’s fault. Let me explain further:

When you’re analyzing a scene, there are three main components that make a scene what it is: writers, directors, and actors.

The writers make the story.

The directors interpret the story.

The actors execute the interpretation of the story.

These three facets all mold together to manifest what we see.

A good writer tells a story that is descriptive and truthful.

A good director interprets the story with a mastery of tone, pacing, and theme.

A good actor yields to the trust of the director while also contributing their own perceptions as well.

I make this clarification because although the actor’s job is crucial, it is not just their work that’s being contributed when we see them on screen. It is a marriage between them and the writers/directors. They do not have complete autonomy to do whatever they wish (unless the script and director explicitly dictate so).

So with that in mind, let’s discuss the characterization of Jamie:

As I’ve been reading blogs and rewatching season 3, one thing is abundantly clear to me:

Jamie Fraser’s characterization is all over the map and not in a good way. It is the epitome of inconsistent. I do not always know who I am watching. #whoareyouandwhathaveyoudonewithjamie

At first I was trying to give the production the benefit of the doubt. As I would watch scenes, I would try to find any justification for this bizarre portrayal from a scriptural or directorial stand-point.

With a well-written script and anchored director, there is typically an intentionality behind an inconsistency in character. Meaning if a character is acting “out of sorts”, this is purposeful from the writers, director, and actor to enhance the story.

For example, in season 2, Jamie would occasionally be uncharacteristically curt or cold. If you look at why, this is consistent within his character-arc because he is dealing with the horrific PTSD of rape. Likewise is true with the lack of sexual initiation or intimacy from Jamie.

But now let’s take that logic and apply it to season 3:

Jamie’s character-arc is not only a case of Jeckyll/Hyde but there seems to be no plot-driven reason behind it.

Occasionally, but rarely, in season 3, we have seen justifiable shift in character.

For example, Jamie becomes a shell of his former self in “The Battle Joined” and “Surrender” … he is CLEARLY not the Jamie we knew and loved.

BUT THERE IS A REASON:

He has lost his wife. He has lost his child with Claire. Everything he felt sure of is now a question mark. He lost everything that matters.

His masked, altered, broken behavior is completely consistent. It matches with the story. Not only that, but it informs the story and the story informs it.

These are choices that, in my humble opinion, were well crafted by the writers, directors, and actor. Bravo.

Ah, but now we come to ““All Debts Paid”, “First Wife”, and “The Bakra”

The Jamie we see manifested during these episodes is gravely distorted in many respects to the Jamie of the rest of the season (and the entire show for that matter).

I firmly assert that it is not a result of intentionality, but rather careless inconsistency.

Jamie has moments of apathy with regard to Claire and her reappearance.

Jamie has showed little to no interest in his daughter Brianna, who was an imperative reason why Jamie released Claire and was separated from her to begin with.

Jamie has dialogue where he lacks ownership of his actions and projects blame elsewhere.

Jamie engages with other characters with complete disregard for his previous experiences and PTSD (which should inform these interactions)

NONE OF THESE CHARACTER CHOICES coincides or agrees with the plot and characterization of James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.

I understand that Jamie is dealing with a lot, so there will be some complexity, but these are not believable behaviors. They do not in any way, shape, or form propel the plot forward or reveal to us the real nature of Jamie. In fact they utterly oppose the real nature of Jamie.

They are completely confusing and contradictory. And not in a nuanced, humanity-revealing way, but in a “I have whip lash from watching this cause I don’t know who I am watching” kind of way.

Ok so now for WHY is this inconsistency happening:

It’s two-fold: writers and directors. Outlander has different writers and directors for each episode. This means that each episode has a different agenda to the story and a different translation of that onto screen.

Simply put: it’s a tightrope walk. The fact that Outlander navigated this so well in season 1 and for the most part in season 2 was miraculously balanced. Logistically, it is incredibly difficult to have a TRULY consistent character with this many people putting him on the screen each week. There is a real risk of the character falling off the tightrope into the oblivion of inconsistency. And this is what has happened with Jamie.

I am purposefully placing the ownership of this on the writers and directors because like we’ve just discussed: it’s their story and their interpretation.

Sam Heughan is merely trusting what they give him and then faithfully portraying just that.

He does NOT have ownership of the material.

He does NOT have freedom to do whatever he pleases.

Of course there is occasional improvisation, collaboration, and input on how he delivers Jamie. But ultimately, he must submit to the writers and the directors because this is what an actor’s job is.

To his credit, Sam does miraculous things with the material he is given. Even with the whip-lash, he still delivers every line and every action believably. He has done phenomenally despite the challenges. But we still get confused about who Jamie is because the script and application there of is contrary.

So what’s the point:

There needs to be a massive sit down with the writers and directors to determine WHO Jamie is and collectively commit to that narrative choice and developmental arc. And stick to it.

The show will not continue to thrive if they recklessly throw their hero under the bus.

The narrative will suffer

The quality will suffer

The believability will suffer

The chemistry will suffer

The acting will suffer

Sam Heughan, as flawless as he is, cannot out-act a decidedly poor script and poor integration of his character. A poorly written character and interpretation will derail an entire production: guaranteed.

I love Outlander. It brings me so much joy. I passionately support it and will continue to do so. I still love Jamie and his character. AND I STILL LOVE THIS SEASON. I just whole-heartedly hope this little conundrum is rectified by season 4.

Ok wee (long) rant over.

(If you made it this far, bless you darling)

Also just to clarify: I have not read ANY of the books yet. All of my analysis and observations come exclusively and solitarily from the show.

As always, you are free to agreeably disagree. All opinions are valid even if they are not like mine. Just please be kind as you share them 😊

#outlander #outlander character commentary #outlander show commentary #outlander and the characterization of jamie fraser #outlander season 3

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palaces-in-every-paragraph · 3 years

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Dear Yuletide Writer 2020

Hello Yuletide Writer!

Thank you SO MUCH for writing something for me. I know I’m going to love whatever you come up with! I truly appreciate the time and effort you are going to put into this. PLEASE do not stress over it; I am really very easy to please and just looking forward to seeing what you come up with. I’ve jotted down some basic prompts here, follow them or don’t–the choice is yours! It looks like my holidays are going to be very, very different and a bit lonely this year, so thank you for giving me a little shade of something to look forward to.

Style Stuff and Likes:

Competency is absolutely my greatest kink. I also have a decent-sized hair kink and love hair-touching/stroking/brushing, etc, as well as any kind of safe touch and praise. I like friendship in love, equal partnerships, ass-kicking females, friends to lovers, grudging respect that becomes not so grudging, fluff and cuteness, light angst (angst over the perfect gift, for example), caretaking, hairbrushing, cuddling and tender kissing, blanket/bed-sharing in a totally platonic way, all the non-sexual intimacy and tenderness, late-night talks, letters. Tenderly-described safe touch makes me squee. I don’t mind sex so long as it’s consensual between adults, well-written, driven by emotions, and true to character. My favorite AUs are coffee shop and library.

My A03 bookmarks are pretty heavy on MCU and Hamilton, my two latest obsessions, but they’ll give you a good feel for what I like, style-wise. I love mission fic/casefic, adventures, unwinding/caretaking after a mission, hurt/comfort with emphasis on the comfort, celebrations, and all the happy things.

I adore setting detail and good descriptive writing. Fall is absolutely my favorite season–so perfect for walks, crisp air, toasted marshmallows, apple orchard trips, cider and donuts, colorful leaves that crunch underfoot, hay rides, cozy sweaters, knitting, lazy weekends, bonfires (or fires in fireplaces) new pens and notebooks, etc. I also love holidays and celebrations–all of them equally, so whatever feels natural to you and the characters is great. Cultural descriptions and events are fabulous, as well as setting, time period, and seasonal details. I’ve been blessed to grow up and live my entire life in a place with four distinct seasons, and as long as I’m not driving in them, I actually adore blizzards and being snowed in. If you happen to live in a place where you don’t have seasons, I’m sorry! But pull up some Google images and describe away and I’ll love it.

Dislikes:

D/s relationships, PWP, A/B/O dynamics (I don’t understand how these work), dark/dystopian or supernatural AUs, kidfic.

Hard Squicks:

Please no rape/non- or dub-con, rough sex, underage, graphic violence, suicide or self-harm, depression, or non-canonical character death. All of the above are major triggers for me. Also, in general, I feel like the world needs to come together and celebrate love and inclusion without judgment. In other words, please use this exchange to make the world a softer place for everyone.

Specific Fandoms/Prompts:

Code Name Verity - Maddie, Julie

This is one of my absolute favorite books ever. WWII is one of my favorite periods to study/read about, so play up the setting and the war and the clothes and makeup and all of those details. I would love to see the early days of the war, how they became best friends and maybe something more. Show me each of them knowing more about the other’s job than they strictly should–Maddie showing Julie how to navigate/fly or fix an engine, Julie teaching Maddie how to communicate in code. Did they write each other letters in a code known only to the two of them? Give me their stolen moments of friendship or dates in the middle of mayhem, nights at the pub, bike rides, perfecting cover stories, meeting each other’s families, days when Julie doesn’t have an assignment and Maddie is grounded because of weather or the need for repairs, sharing newspapers and iced buns and making jokes out of their fears. Show me the cuddling and comforting that goes on after missions/interrogations, saving up ration coupons for special treats, or using up the saved-up rations for something like comfort food. Give me a missing scene from that time that they don’t see each other, during which Julie’s brother Jamie gets hurt. Do they have an umbrella that they pass between the two of them as a token, a reminder of their first meeting? I also love the dynamic between Maddie and Julie’s brother Jamie, so use that if you’re so inclined. Was the whole meeting between Maddie and Jamie a setup on Julie’s part, so that Maddie could be taken care of/stay in Julie’s family if something happened to Julie? Was Maddie’s relationship with Jamie originally meant to be a front for her and Julie’s relationship, which then became something entirely different that grew out of their shared grief over Julie? How does a lesbian couple manage to date in the middle of a war, and particularly World War II? How much pining goes on before it comes to fruition?

American Girls: Kit - Kit, Charlie, Ruthie

My main ships in ths story are Ruthie/Charlie and Kit/Stirling. I know Stirling wasn’t nominated, but I love him, so please feel free to bring him in if you’d like. In my headcanon, Kit finishes school and becomes one of the first female war correspondents during WWII, perhaps doing time in London during or after the Blitz. I love her adventurous, can-do, change-the-world spirit and I also love Ruthie’s dreaminess and how they play off each other. I also like to think that Ruthie grew up, maybe lost a bit of her dreaminess (but not all of it!), and eventually got together with Charlie. And if you happen to be writing a WWII future Kit story for me and want to throw in some letters from characters to other characters, great! I am probably one of the last people alive that prefers to write letters on actual stationery, so play on that all you want! Wartime courtship is one of my favorite story tropes, too!

Sports Night - Casey, Dan, Dana

I just recently rediscovered this, which was my favorite show in its first run. I would love to see some pre-canon with these three together in j-school or some post-canon, like now. What would it look like with Sports Night covering the Winter Olympics? Were any of them in the “bubbles” of pandemic pro sports? Was there a political/ethical debate about pandemic college sports? Were Casey and Dan together in college or were they together off the air and closeted during the show? Was Dana a crack sportscaster who couldn’t get hired as an anchor or sideline reporter because of her sex? How did Dan and Casey try to make that better for her? Give me some backstage shenanigans here if you want, too.

Thanks again for writing for me! I know that whatever you create, I’ll love it.

#dear yuletide author #yuletide #fanfic #exchange letter #fic exchange

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years

Note

In Modern Glasgow, Jamie and Claire go see Joe about their troubles conceiving a child. Could we see a few moments that led up to that decision and how they supported each other since they both want children so badly?

Modern Glasgow AU

“Claire! There you are!”

Claire Fraser looked up from her medical journal, perchedat one corner of the crusty table in the ER’s dimly lit break room. “Dr.Abernathy?”

The kindly American doctor allowed the door to creakily swingshut, wiping his sweaty forehead on the back of his scrubs sleeve. “It’s amadhouse out there. I know you’re on a break, but would you mind pitching in?”

But Claire had already risen. “Of course – lead the way.”

It was spring – the first truly nice evening since theprevious autumn – and, seemingly, an occasion for people to do whatever theydid that landed them in the emergency room. Claire was just finishing up hersecond year of medical school, and had been lucky to land an internship in the emergencyroom at one of Glasgow’s leading hospitals. Learning the art of triage.

Dr. Joe Abernathy was on a long-term exchange from Boston– his specialty being OB/GYN – but on a night like tonight, everyone and anyonewith advanced medical training seemed to be needed.

“What have you done tonight? I thought it was youranniversary?”

Joe quietly laughed and shook his head as they walkeddown the hall together – quickly darting around the nurses and orderlies. “Wellit was – still is, I guess. But I somehow had a gut feeling that things wouldbe crazy around here tonight – it’s the first full moon of the spring, afterall. And it’s fun to be doing sutures and setting broken bones – God knows Ihaven’t done that for a while!”

By now they’d reached the nexus of the ER – overflowing withhalf-drunk men bleeding from various places on their bodies, mothers clutchingwailing children, and a smattering of elderly people.

Nurse Murdina Bug – who reminded her so much of Mrs. Fitz– appeared at her elbow, clutching a stack of clipboards. Deftly she handed oneto Claire and nudged her and Joe toward a small area to the side of the waitingroom, where patients waited amid partitions separated by thin curtains.

“Here ye are – I thought this woman would be perfect forye, Claire. She’s seven months pregnant – complaining of cramps and bleeding.Dr. Abernathy – ye can lead, but I’d like Claire to observe?”

“Of course,” he smiled at the red-cheeked nurse whoalways had a kind word and smile. “Lead on.”

Claire glanced down at the chart, and Murdina pulled backthe curtain, and then she and Joe met Amy Higgins.

“Good evening, Mrs. Higgins – Mr. Higgins,” Joe greetedthe nervous-looking couple. Amy sat up straight against the headboard of thebed, tracing the large curve of her belly – her husband stood right next toher, face ashen with worry.

“Hello,” they said softly.

“I’m Dr. Abernathy and this is Claire – she’s a secondyear medical student and one of the finest I’ve ever seen, if I may say so. You’llbe in good hands with us. Now tell me – what seems to be the problem?”

–

Claire thanked God yet another time that she had found aninternship so close to her and Jamie’s flat – just a fifteen minute walk andshe could be home. And after pulling a double shift, full of blood and brokenbones and screaming children and just a little bit of heartbreak – she wantedto enjoy the late afternoon sunshine, drink a restorative cup of tea, shower,and go to bed with Jamie – in that order.

*Be home soon,* she texted him as she turned onto themain avenue about five minutes from home.

*Waiting for u mnd,* he replied immediately, followed byten heart emojis.

How he always brought a smile to her face. A smile whichhe kissed with such sweetness when she finally strode through their front door,and he swept her into his arms, and time stood still.

“Have you been drinking?” she whispered against his lipsa bit later, after he had set her down on the edge of their kitchen table.

“Aye,” he breathed, kissing the tip of her nose. “We gotword a bit after noon – Scarlett went into labor this morning. The bairn camearound two – so Rupert’s got three now, in less than three years. Can yebelieve it?”

And then a most profound feeling of fear and regret – andshame – surged through her heart.

Of course Jamie felt the change in her. He reached downto take her clammy, trembling hands in his.

Her pulse picked up – rapid breaths in and out. Visionblurring.

“Claire?” he whispered. “*Mo graidh* - ye’re scaring me.Did something happen today?”

“I’m having a panic attack,” she observed – voice absolutelydetached. She closed her eyes as the room began to spin.

Her senses sharpened – and she heard Jamie swallow.

“Claire? Claire – what can I do?”

Slowly she looked down at their joint hands –distractedly admiring how the J tattooed just inside her right thumb perfectlylined up with the C tattooed just inside his left thumb.

“It’s what *I* can do – or, rather, *can’t* do,” shesaid, so quiet. Lost.

Jamie gently cupped her flushed cheek with one of hishands, tilting her chin so that his eyes met hers. Waiting.

“How come I can’t get pregnant, Jamie?”

He physically reeled back. Shocked.

“What?” he croaked. “What – what do ye mean? These thingstake time – ”

“We’ve been married almost two years. We’ve *never* usedprotection. And I’m still not pregnant.”

Now he stepped a bit closer – eyes still locked on hers. “Aye.So?”

Tears welled.

Where was this fear and pain and sorrow coming from?

“We’ve made love a thousand times, Jamie – but neverconceived. Statistically that’s – that’s terrible. Beyond terrible.”

He pursed his lips, and swallowed. “What are ye saying?”

“I’m saying that I don’t think I can get pregnant. If Ihaven’t already – I’m not going to.”

Now his eyes narrowed – and color flared on his owncheeks.

“How *dare* ye say that?” His voice rose – not in anger,but in emphasis. “Are ye giving up, then? Giving up on our dream of a family –of a house full of children?”

“I’m surrounded by women who get pregnant as easily assneezing – I treated a woman today who has been married for three years and ispregnant for the second time. Rupert and Scarlett met not too long before wedid, and she’s been pregnant non-stop since they married.” She closed her eyes,chest heaving with feeling. “Why can’t that be me? How come I can’t do that?”

Jamie leaned and wrapped his arms around her so tight.She buried her face in his shoulder, and all of a sudden let out a sob thatshuddered through her entire body.

“Sshh,” he soothed. “Sshh. My love – my heart. Let mecomfort ye.”

And she clung to him, mourning the life she didn’t have –and feared she would never have with him, this incredible man who deserved somuch more than she felt she could give him.

Sometime later he carried her to their bedroom and helpedher shed her sweaty scrubs. They burrowed under their plaid quilt, naked, butnot wanting to make love – just craving skin-on-skin intimacy. Oneness.

“I want so, so badly to give you children,” she whisperedafter a while. “And I’m so afraid that I won’t be able to.”

“We can always adopt,” he replied softly, thumb tracingthe contour of her hip, dipping into the hollow of her navel. “There are somany needy children in this world – we could give one a proper home.”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Of course. But – but it is selfishto say that I want a child that’s part you and part me? That I want ourlovemaking to create a product of our love? That I want to grow and shelter achild inside me? That – that I want to make love when I’m pregnant? And – and thatI want to feed you, so close to my heart?”

His thumb skimmed up her side to swirl around one areola,watching in fascination as her nipple puckered.

“Those arena selfish things,” he said after a while. “Lordknows I want to see you pregnant – show it to the world. Have a daughter thatlooks like ye, or a son that looks like me.”

He shifted his hips a bit closer toward hers, tracing hishand down her side and then cupping her lovely round arse, anchoring her tohim.

“Are ye telling me ye’ve given up on that dream?”

She jerked her hips against his, seeking friction.

“I want you inside me,” she pleaded.

He stilled her against him. “No, *mo nighean donn* - no.Not now. We need to talk about this.”

She closed her eyes. He watched her – would keep watchingher for as long as it took.

“No – no. I haven’t given up. But I don’t think we can doit on our own.”

He pressed his thumbnail into the sensitive flesh of herlower back. “All right – so what do we do?”

“I’ll ask Joe. We should both meet with him – he’d giveus an honest answer. And then we’ll know.”

He leaned in for a long kiss. Full of strength, andpromise.

“I love you,” he breathed against her lips. “I will loveyou until the day I die. No matter if we have no bairns or adopt fifteen or youcarry a few of our own. I have *you,* Claire. That’s the most important.

“I so, so want a family with you,” she whispered. “I wantwhat I didn’t have.”

“So we shall make one together.” Gently he eased onto hisback, letting her straddle him. “Full of so much love that we won’t know whatto do with it all.”

She leaned over to kiss him. “I love you, Jamie. I – itjust keeps growing. I can’t believe how much I love you. How lucky I am to haveyou.”

He nudged up a bit. “God blessed me with you – and Godwill bless us with children. He may just need a bit of help from your friend.”

She reached down between them, stroked her thumb back andforth to prepare him, and took him inside. They both gasped. Yet she heldstill.

“You astound me,” she whispered. “In everything. Always.”

“It’s because I love you. How could it not be so?”

Impatient, he rolled his hips. Helped her take power inthat moment – so that she could take power in the days and weeks to come.

And prayed that their firstborn would have her eyes.

#;mod gotham #modern glasgow au

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