#i cannae take dis sheet

[unblighted]

gummy is literally rude asf to my muses, time to gatekeep

#ミ★ 《 MAJA 》 / * emotional support puthy #i cannae take dis sheet

[the--highlanders]

Repair

Jamie recovers from being injured while saving the Doctor's life. The Doctor takes the opportunity to get used to Jamie's new scar. 

on ao3.

Something – or someone – was opening his hand.

Slowly, and gently, but opening it nonetheless, prising his fingers apart one by one. Maybe they thought he was holding onto something valuable. Or maybe he was still dreaming. Exactly what he had been dreaming about – or was dreaming about – he could not remember. Maybe he had been holding something valuable, in his imagination.

It took his foggy brain far longer than it should have to be sure that it was a hand, this thing he was feeling. What else could it have been? Some kind of hand-opening robot? There was no warmth to it, nothing to tell him that its owner was alive. He must be dreaming, he decided. Only in dreams would you get something like that. Squeezing his eyes shut more tightly, he rolled over, half-burying his face in his pillow and drawing his arm back in towards himself laboriously. Away from whatever force had been keeping it open, his hand closed again, springing back of its own accord like an animal trap. His palm stung as it folded in on itself, but there was no blood, nothing hot and sticky dripping onto the sheets, no metallic smell.

And then that gentle force was back, pulling his arm away from his chest and going back to opening his hand. It was another hand, not a robot, even if it was cold. No robot could have the firm softness of a living thing’s skin and muscle.

Blinking himself into some semblance of consciousness, he forced his eyes open. They only wanted to stay open for a few seconds at a time, but it was enough for him to recognise who was so engrossed in his hand. The Doctor was sitting beside him, still wearing his coat and perched on top of the bedsheets. But his feet were bare, his legs tucked underneath him so he could bury his toes beneath the side of the blanket. That explained how cold the touch had been, he supposed. And the Doctor was opening his hand again, now. He had expected it to hurt, given that he could not seem to get it open himself, but the Doctor was gentle enough about it that he felt nothing.

Rolling over, he stretched his free arm out. “What’re ye doin’?” he mumbled. “’m tryin’ tae sleep here.”

“And I’ve no wish to wake you,” the Doctor replied, quiet in the pre-dawn hush. The sun was still buried behind the mountains, leaving their little room bathed in darkness. “But you’re not supposed to be applying undue stress to the injury while it’s still healing.”

“Och.” He struggled to push himself upright enough to sit face-to-face with the Doctor. “I’m sleepin’. How am I meant tae know what I’m doin’ with my hands while I’m sleepin’?” Sitting up one-handed was too hard, he decided a moment later. Better just to flop back down again and let the Doctor fuss, if he really wanted to. “An’ anyway, I cannae even move it when I’m awake yet. I dinnae know how I’m meant tae keep it open.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for.” The Doctor was holding Jamie’s hand up to his face now, turning it this way and that as he inspected the silvery line that now ran alongside the lines on his palm. One of his fingers brushed down the middle of it, so lightly that Jamie almost squirmed away. “Helping to keep your hand open.”

“Mm.” Why couldn’t the Doctor help keep his eyes open, too? It really was terribly hard – especially when the Doctor had just wrapped his hand over Jamie’s own and was stroking his thumb over the edge of it, just where his thumb met his wrist. How on earth was he supposed to concentrate enough to stay awake? “What are ye doin’?” he mumbled.

“Keeping your hand open,” the Doctor said, his voice halfway towards a chuckle. “Don’t you remember?”

“Aye, aye, I remember fine -” Sitting up was still far too much bother, especially if he didn’t want to disturb the Doctor’s grip on his hand. Which he didn’t. But he wanted to talk to the Doctor more than he wanted to go back to sleep, and he managed it somehow, levering himself up just a little further. “But you’ve got a funny way of goin’ about it.”

“Oh, well.” The Doctor’s thumb had moved onto the scar, rubbing over it. Back and forth, back and forth. Right on the spot that was still stinging. But somehow the sting vanished, replaced only by a funny sort of tingling, the sort that echoed in the roof of Jamie’s mouth and behind his eyes. “I’m, ah, helping to reduce the pain by stimulating other touch receptors. You don’t mind, do you?”

Whatever that meant. “’Course I don’t.”

“Good.” Back and forth, back and forth. Like the ticking of a clock, counting out the seconds. He could set his watch to the way the Doctor did things like this, he was sure of it. Always so precise, even when he was being as gentle as this. Which was funny, really, given how imprecise he could be about time when it really mattered. Like when they were trying to land somewhere in particular. “You seem to have responded remarkably well to the treatment.”

That was something he could remember all too well, even in his half-waking state. His palm burning, the deep cut struck across it oozing blood through its bandage, as determinedly as the tears forced their way through his screwed-up eyes. Someone had grabbed hold of his arm with none of the Doctor’s slowness or gentleness. It had been a bit more of an emergency, he supposed. But the shock of it had still jarred him all the way up to his shoulder. His hand had been shoved into a funny wee tank – and then the pain had stopped. He had peered through the glass, watching little bubbles pick away the blood like fish picking at a corpse. Only he was alive, and the bubbles very much weren’t.

When someone had returned to pull his hand out again, it had been numb and motionless, and the skin on his fingers was reddened and puckered, like he had been in the bath for too long. But the cut across his hand was nothing but a scar.

“I ‘spose you’re going tae tell me I shouldn’t have done it,” he said. “Even if I did save your life.”

“Well, ah -” The Doctor paused in his inspection, his finger frozen in the middle of Jamie’s palm. “I won’t say I’m not grateful.” He bent his head over again, going back to tracing out the line. His finger wobbled back and forth, always in the same places, and Jamie wondered if his hand was really so unsteady, or if he was just following some minute curve in the scar. “But I do wish you wouldn’t be so -”

“Reckless?”

“Self-sacrificing.”

“Oh.” A part of him was glad that the Doctor had been so gentle about it. He was not scolding him, after all. But another part of him felt almost worse. The Doctor had said it so lightly, but there was something steely at the core of it, something far more serious. Serious wasn’t something Jamie particularly felt like being, not with his brain still so addled from – well, from everything.

But the Doctor didn’t seem particularly keen on being serious either, because he said no more, just bent his head over to plant a kiss right in the middle of Jamie’s palm. He drew back a moment later, tilting his head from side to side as if inspecting his work, then leaned in for another kiss. His breath was ticklish against Jamie’s skin, his lips leaving even more of a tingling ghost than his fingers had, but Jamie’s hand remained still, more of its own accord than out of determination. The Doctor kissed the very top of the scar, and the very bottom of it, and the whole distance in between, as methodically as if he was measuring it out. Surely, Jamie thought, it was almost too thin for him to see, let alone to feel against his mouth. But he certainly seemed to have the measure of the thing, much more than Jamie did himself.

Letting his head loll back against the pillow, he inched a little way down the bed. “What are ye doin’?” he murmured.

“I told you.” Another kiss, this one more lingering. “I’m keeping your hand open.”

‘Funny way of doin’ it.”

“And,” the Doctor carried on, “I’m – well, I’m getting used to it.”

“To my hand?”

“To the scar.”

“Oh.” Jamie levered his arm up, pulling his hand out of the Doctor’s grasp just enough that he could see the scar for himself. It was barely visible from some angles, bright silver from others. But it would fade, he supposed. They usually did. “Do ye not like it?”

“Well, I do wish you didn’t have to have it, if that’s what you mean.” The Doctor had grabbed hold of his hand again, pulling it back down gently. A few of his fingers had started to drift closed, and he set to work on them again, pressing them open. “But – it’s here now.”

“Aye, I ‘spose it is.”

“And, ah – I don’t dislike it. I simply have to get used to it, you see. Know where it is.”

“Mm.” Rolling his head to one side, Jamie rubbed his cheek against the pillow. It was so terribly tempting to close his eyes again. The Doctor had been begging him to keep his eyes open, when he had been bleeding. Telling him not to go to sleep, to wait until help arrived. But he was not bleeding anymore, and the help had come, and the Doctor did not seem particularly worried about whether or not he fell asleep. Even as he thought that, the Doctor reached over to brush his hand over Jamie’s hair, like he was giving him some sort of blessing.

“Go on, then,” he said, a touch of a smile in his voice. If he was smiling – well, then everything would be alright, surely. “You need your rest.”

“Are ye sure I can?”

The Doctor’s eyes were twinkling now. “You know,” he said, “I wish you were this compliant when you were actually hurt. It would make my life rather easier.” Jamie scoffed. “But you’re quite welcome to sleep, now. In fact – I think it would do you good. Your body needs to rest and recover. Healing acceleration processes sap rather a lot of energy, I’m afraid, it’s – ah – one of their more persistent downsides.”

He had not really listened to much of that beyond you’re welcome to sleep. “Good.” Half-rolling over, he tucked his free hand between his chest and the sheets. But he did not attempt to pull his other hand out of the Doctor’s grasp, even if his arm was twisted awkwardly beneath him. “Goodnight, Doctor.”

Just as he closed his eyes, he felt the Doctor press another kiss to his palm. “Goodnight, Jamie.”

#second doctor #two/jamie #fanfic archive #my writing

[sciatu]

MODICA; MUSEO DEI MESTIERI -  Non dimenticarti quando sei a Modica di visitare il Museo dei Mestieri. In ampi locali sono distribuite diverse stanze dove sono raccolti gli antichi strumenti di lavoro. Nei piccoli paesi dispersi nei monti assolati o nelle pianure infuocate, tutto veniva costruito e realizzato localmente in una sorta di economia chiusa dove gli unici acquisti delle famiglie erano il sale e i fiammiferi, tutto il resto era realizzato localmente. Questa economia chiusa si basava su bravissimi e creativi artigiani che con pochi strumenti realizzavano quanto era necessario ai loro concittadini. Da qui l’importanza degli strumenti di lavoro mostrati nel museo. Erano loro a garantire la sopravvivenza del paese. Benché belli ed affascinanti, agli strumenti esposti manca forse la vita che le massaie o gli artigiani gli davano. Prendi ad esempio i ferri da stiro in cui veniva messa la brace rovente e regolarmente della carbonella. Tu vedevi le casalinghe sulla porta di casa che agitavano i ferri da stiro avanti e indietro per fare in modo che la carbonella si accendesse e arroventasse il ferro da stiro. Poi sentivi i colpi del ferro sul tavolo dove si stirava, che diventavano sempre più forti man mano che la stanchezza piegava le braccia alle stiratrici. Gli strumenti dello scalpellino erano tutti in metallo ed erano lunghi pali con cui divedere le pietre dalla montagna fino agli scalpelli con diverse punte per intagliare le pietre con colpi ritmici e regolari, accompagnati magari da una canzone o dal ritmo di una poesia (uno dei più grandi poeti popolari era infatti uno scalpellino. Tanto rumoroso era il lavoro del lavoratore delle pietre quanto silenzioso era quello del sarto che nel buio delle botteghe cuciva in silenzio un punto dietro l’altro con il metro intorno al collo e le stoffe distese su un tavolo con un immancabile metro in legno. Vi era poi il piccolo ferro da stiro e il piccolo asse da stiro per mettere a posto pieghe dei vestiti finiti. Il salone del barbiere invece era sempre rumoroso, pieno di gente con profumi di creme e di sciampi. Vi era sempre una radio che suonava o qualcuno con una chitarra mentre il barbiere parlava con i contadini che scendevano una volta alla settimana in paese per tagliarsi la barba immersi in onde enormi di schiuma da barba alla mandorla. Lo stagnino stava invece sulla strada e dai suoi strumenti proveniva un odore di acido e di fumo metallico mentre lui riparava pentole di rame o bidoni di stagno, le famose quattare metalliche per l’acqua o scatole di latta rettangolari dove si spediva l’olio. Nelle case vi erano poi molti telai, fatti con legno di castagno che scuriva con il tempo. Anche qui sentivi l’andare e venire della spoletta seguito dal doppio colpo che infittiva la trama e il muoversi dei pedali con cui si cambiava l’ordito. Il tessere aveva un rumore ritmico, regolare e preciso che solo le donne riuscivano a mantenere costante sia di giorno che di notte. Chi realizzava canestri lavorava per strada per beneficiare della luce e intesseva canne e legni che aveva raccolto con il fresco al mattino. La canna di fiume era la plastica di una volta; si facevano moltissime cose, dai flauti, alle cavagne in cui si conservava la ricotta, ai canestri in cui si formava il formaggio, ai ripiani su cui stendere la pasta o il pane o far seccare la frutta e i pomodori. Sempre con le canne si facevano anche grosse ceste dentro cui si mettevano strati di lenzuola o tovaglie intervallati dalla cenere. Dall’alto si versava acqua calda che scendeva tra le lenzuola e le puliva con la potassa che veniva sciolta dalla cenere. Le lenzuola diventavano bianchissime ed avevano un odore particolare. I pastori e gli agricoltori poi erano abituati a farsi tutto quanto da soli dai cucchiai alle forme intagliate per il burro. A loro bastava un calderone di rame per fare la ricotta o per far bollire i pomodori per far le conserve, mentre tutto il resto veniva recuperato o trasformato dai prodotti naturali. L’ultima stanza di cui ti parlo è quella del falegname a cui tutti ricorrevano per tutto quello che serviva, dai mobili per lo sposalizio, agli armadi, alle assi per il letto tenuti dalle gambe di ferro battuto, alle botti e, alla fine di tutto, alle casse da morto. Inutile dirti che una volta non vedevi gli enormi immondezzai di adesso perché tutto era prodotto da materiali biodegradabili e quanto non si degradava era riutilizzato.

MODICA; MUSEUM OF TRADES - Do not forget when you are in Modica to visit the Museum of Trades. In large site there are several rooms  the ancient work tools are collected. In the small villages scattered in the sunny mountains or in the burning plains, everything was built and built locally in a sort of closed economy where the only purchases of the families were salt and matches, all the rest was made locally. This closed economy was based on talented and creative craftsmen who, with few tools, achieved what was necessary for their fellow citizens. Hence the importance of the work tools displayed in the museum. They were the ones who guaranteed the survival of the village. Although beautiful and fascinating, the tools on display perhaps lack the life that housewives or artisans gave them. Take for example the irons in which the red-hot embers were put and regular charcoal. You saw the housewives on the doorstep waving the irons back and forth to get the charcoal to light up and the iron to heat up. Then you heard the blows of the iron on the table where you ironed, which became stronger and stronger as fatigue folded the arms of the ironers. The stonemason's tools were all made of metal and were long poles with which to divide the stones from the mountain to the chisels with different points to carve the stones with rhythmic and regular strokes, perhaps accompanied by a song or the rhythm of a poem (one of the most great popular poets was in fact a stonemason. As noisy was the work of the stone worker as silent was that of the tailor who in the darkness of the shops silently sewed one stitch after another with the tape measure around his neck and the fabrics stretched out on a table with an inevitable wooden meter. Then there was the small iron and the small ironing board to put away the folds of finished clothes. The barber's salon was always noisy, full of people with scents of creams and shampoos. There was always a radio playing or someone with a guitar while the barber talked to the peasants who came down to the village once a week to shave their beards by huge waves of almond shaving foam. The tinsmith was standing on the street and his tools smelled of acid and metallic smoke while he repaired copper pots or tin cans, tcalled quattare for water, or rectangular tin boxes where olive oil was sent abroad . In the houses there were also many looms, made with chestnut wood that darkened with time. Here too you could hear the coming and going of the spool followed by the double blow that thickened the weft and the movement of the pedals with which the warp was changed. The tesserae had a rhythmic, regular and precise noise that only women could keep constant both day and night. Those who made baskets worked on the street to benefit from the light and wove reeds and woods that he had collected with the cool in the morning. The river reed was the plastic of the past; many things were done, from flutes, to “cavagne” in which ricotta was preserved, to baskets in which cheese was formed, to shelves on which to spread pasta or bread or to dry fruit and tomatoes. Again with the reeds they also made large baskets into which layers of sheets or tablecloths interspersed with ash were put. From the top, hot water was poured down between the sheets and cleaned with potash that was dissolved by the ashes. The sheets became very white and had a peculiar smell. The shepherds and farmers then were used to making everything themselves from spoons to carved shapes for butter. A copper cauldron was enough for them to make ricotta or to boil tomatoes to make preserves, while everything else was recovered or transformed from natural products. The last room I tell you about is that of the carpenter to whom everyone used for everything they needed, from the wedding furniture, to the wardrobes, to the bed boards held by the wrought iron legs, to the barrels and, at the end of everything, to the coffins. It goes without saying that once upon a time you didn't see the huge garbage dumps of now because everything was produced from biodegradable materials and what did not degrade was reused.

#sicilia #sicily #modica #sicilian culture

[oceanlass]

Drabble ; Mikeala’s Deal with Calypso.

It had taken time to get here, deep into the murky waters of the swamp and alone with the corpse of her former Captain. It felt eerily disturbing how no one questioned her, if anything, the gatekeeper (an old man with eyes that have clearly seen too much in his time) merely motioned her with his cane. “She be expecting you.”

She’d heard stories in her childhood, what she had engrained into her memory and refused to forget. Her mother had spoken to her before about Calypso, of the myth that they were akin to Calypso’s granddaughters, of sorts. How the goddess had felt taken with one of the men as he sailed and had spent a time favoring him until she bore him a child—a daughter. Now they’re family consisted more of women then men—and most of the women born in the Faheem lineage carried a gift of the sea. Some stronger or weaker then others.

Mikeala’s mother had a gift for sensing bad storms and at times even knowing when danger lied ahead. It was how she had ensured Mikeala’s escape and safety when they lost their home—and yet, for her gifts, she was still murdered. Mikeala shook her head gently, her loose hair spilling over her shoulders as she pushed away the haunted memories of her past.

She was here for a different reason. She glanced at the burden she shared the boat with, steering it with care as he remained unmoving. She kept him covered, wrapped as well as she could manage with pale sheets and—to remember him better with the dignity he carried alive instead of dead.

It was a hard word to wrap her head around after all she’d been through as his first mate. The shock on his face that mirrored her own when the bullet passed into his chest, and at last he felt.. and bled. She hadn’t wept, too shocked to really cry and too pained to let the tears fall. He’d looked so pale…

The sound of wood creaking drew her attention back to the approaching dock, where a woman in a dark dress and shawl stood expectantly with two tribal men—locals she suspected. Mikeala felt herself still when she met the woman’s dark gaze, her heart suddenly jolting in her chest and hammering loudly in her ears. She felt a strange pull to the woman, and swore when the woman’s mouth curved into a smile that she knew who Mikeala was at once. Maybe she did.

She climbed and secured the boat out of habit, and watched wordlessly as the two men worked and lifted her corpse—bringing it inside the shabby hut then leaving. Tia Dalma waited by the entrance, waving a hand expectantly towards her. “After you child.” Swallowing down her nervousness, Mikeala guided her boots up the step, straightening her back slightly as she stepped inside.

“I had heard of Barbossa’s death, but I cannae say I was ready for his corpse to be delivered tae my door.” Her grin was all too knowing, her steps eerily light as she moved around Mikeala. Those dark eyes watching her every step. “To think one of my kin, would come out of hiding tae see me.” She giggled, resting her hip against her wooden table. “A child with tae blood of my blood.”

“You..” Mikeala had to wet her dry lips, feeling herself rooted in place. “You know me?” Tia’s dark mouth curved upward, her lashes low and veiling her dark eyes briefly. “I sense it—-She feels it too, don’t she?”

Yes, she did. There was something about the enigma of a woman behind her, goddess, witch—whatever names she went by—she pulled at something that hummed in Mikeala’s veins. It felt as if she’d found something lost and precious, and yet her instincts were still screaming at her to be cautious. Instincts that have kept her alive still.

Tia’s black gaze looked over Mikeala’s form thoughtfully, taking in her battered clothing and features. “Why bring me Barbossa?” As if she didn’t know—no, this was how she was, Mikeala realized. She wanted to hear it straight out of her own mouth. She swallowed and felt her fist clench then unclench. “To bring him back..”

”Why?”

Mikeala hesitated again, feeling her stomach roil nervously. She lowered her gaze. “Because he was my captain—and should have had a better death then the one he was cheated.” Just as the curse was broken—-he died. She knew, at least now as she thought back on it—Jack had not taken any grim satisfaction in killing his former first mate… However, they’re rivalry was something built upon years of betrayals and battles and simply.. being pirates. If Barbossa and Jack chose to kill each other again afterwards, by all means they could—so long as the fight was honorable between the two men.

“Donnae lie to me child.”

The words were ominous, and Mikaela held her ground as her head jerked up, Tia Dalma—no, Calypso, circled her like a predatory shadow. “I can sense the call of the sea in yer blood.” She grins, bearing her teeth. “It be a song that hum’s in her blood, hm?” Her hands settle on Mikaela’s shoulders, warm and light—yet she feels herself suppressing a disturbing chill that raced down her spine. The hairs on her neck and arms rose when Calypso breathed by her ear, the scent of sea salt and brime dizzying. “Aye, I can sense you be another daughter of tae sea—Kin of my kin an’ blood from long ago.” She moves slowly, until she’s face to face with Mikaela, Calypso’s hands cupping her face.

“But like me, her heart was taken by one who loves the sea an’ woman hm?” There’s a knowing look, a shadow of sorrow that comes and goes as quickly as it came. An understanding that flickered within the depths of her dark eyes. It startled Mikeala, causing her eyes to widen slightly. She felt Calypso’s finger sweep back her hair, toying with one of her thinly woven braids. “You knoa there be a price for this.”

She nodded, swallowing thickly. Mikeala had heard the stories—and as she brought his corpse with her (it hadn’t felt right, seeing him unmoving and without life—she kept him covered with a blanket out of respect). Her heart had felt heavy since his death, no—Murder by the hands of Jack. She couldn’t re-join the pearl’s crew, didn’t want to even think of it. She’d told him before, I’m your first mate. and had meant it. Never let it be said she wasn’t a woman of her word.

“What be your price, jidda?” She asked, lowering her head. She wasn’t sure what she could give but didn’t care. Calypso raised her chin lightly, holding her gaze just as her hand drifted down, hovering over her chest— “Her heart.” She said, the tip of her fingers skimming over the skin beneath her collarbone.

“All tae love you burned and carried—no more.” Mikeala’s eyes widened. “I.. It’s not like that—I respect him and served as his first—“ Calypso’s hand rose up, stopping her rambling and for a moment Mikaela thought she imagined a look of brief pity on her face. “You cannae deny how yer heart burns and aches no? Like a snake be squeezin’ at your chest when you remember his dying hm?”

Mikeala recoiled, taking a step back. Calypso clicked her tongue, shaking her mess of dark hair. “You heart burns for dis man—what I ask in price is a gift tae my kin. Donnae let her heart be taken by he—Men of the sea betray us all in the end.” In a lower voice, she added, “No matter how she loves deeply. It be their nature.”

“…Can you really do it?” Calypso tilted her head, dark eyes narrowing. “I am a ‘oman of my word. I be need’n his revival, but price must be paid.” Mikeala hesitated, raising her hand for a moment. “…After your done with him though, you let him go free.. Promise?” Her great aunt sighed, nose crinkling before she closed her hand over Mikeala’s. “Word promised child.”

A strange sensation washed over her, something that made her heart both ache and seize as she gasped and fell to her knees. Calypso did not release her hand yet, watching her thoughtfully. “The price is accepted.” She released her and turned, Mikeala grasped her chest. She looked at her chest, seeing a dark tattoo manifest over her heart; a tribal clock. “When the clock finishes its lap, it shall no longer burn for the Captain of the Pearl.”

Mikeala watched in growing horror as Calypso disappeared to the back of the hut, no doubt preparing to revive barbossa. She closed her eyes, keeping her head bowed as she felt her eyes stinging. All the times she’d felt too stubborn to give this feeling a name, this pain and ache that lingered in her chest.

”…I’m… such an idiot.” She lamented, pressing the heel of her palm against her eyes, feeling a tear roll down her cheek. “Sorry.. Hector..” This would be her burden… Her curse in exchange for his freedom.

#╳---Drabbles #╳---Love of the Sea #╳---Barbossa #╳---Tales of the Sea #Tw angst #tw death

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Beauty Chooses II-Chapter 14

            A special thanks to @statell​ for all your help and wisdom

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter 14 Life On The Ridge  (NSFW)

I spent some time writing in our new bible, however, my excitement over telling Jamie I was pregnant kept stealing my thoughts. I would catch myself gazing into space seeing a newborn at my breast. Misses Crook asked me several times if I was well and finally laid her hand on my shoulder with a knowing smile. I looked up at her with wide eyes but she said no more. How could she know I was pregnant? I cleaned up the main room a bit and helped Misses Crook with dinner, followed by Glavia and Faith. It was getting rather crowded in the kitchen and I wasn’t feeling that well, so I excused myself to my room. The nausea eased when I laid down, so I gave in to fatigue and closed my eyes with an abstract worry taking hold in my stomach.

I dreamed I was being pushed to the curtain to start my walk. Many hands guiding me to the stage as the garment rustled around my feet. The pain in my abdomen brought me to my knees and I heard the collective gasp of those around me as they pulled me up. The pain passed and I walked quickly to take my first step into the audience, seeing girls coming back and disappearing into the curtain. Two steps and the pain gripped me once again. I tried to put one foot in front of the other until it drove me to my knees again and stole my ability to breathe.

My eyes slammed open as the pain sliced through me making me moan and clutch my knees. What the fuck is happening! Pain came again and felt like a wave flowing through my abdomen until I screamed. I knew this was some kind of food poisoning, I had seen it before when a tenant ate spoiled meat. I just had to endure until it worked its way out of my body. I closed my eyes when another wave came and panicked when I felt severe nausea threaten to spill my lunch all over the bed.

Misses Crook came running into my room and brought the chamber pot close to the bed. I felt her cool hand on my sweaty head and then a damp rag over my eyes. I wasn’t aware of time passing as I drifted in and out of sleep, or consciousness. I felt a cool rag on my face and heard Misses Crook calm me as she lifted my skirts. What the hell was she doing? I couldn’t ask her because the pain suddenly gripped me, and I heard myself moan loudly as I held my knees. My skirts were untied and pulled off me. I wanted to shout at Misses Crook, but I could not utter a word as the pain rippled through me. Towels were shoved under my lower half as I clutched the sheets and clenched my teeth. I just had to vomit or rid myself of diarrhea from the food poisoning. Then I would be fine.

When the pain came again, I turned my head to the pillow and screamed feeling a gush of warm fluid come out of me and expel one of my organs. I dearly hoped I didn’t need it. That did it. The pain left me, and I breathed in relief feeling sweat roll down my temple. Misses Crook was wrapping my organ in cloth and cleaning me up. I wanted to tell her it was over, not to worry, but lost consciousness and drifted in my sick sleep. I surfaced twice and heard Misses Crook whispering to someone. I was buried in quilts and shivering with cold. The next time I woke I called to Misses Crook and she looked heartbroken as she sat on the bed and mopped my face. I watched her as the tragedy of my loss took shape in my mind. The sadness on her face told me to prepare for a truth that would break my heart.

“Misses Crook?”

“I’m so sorry Claire.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks and she held my hands as I started to cry. I drifted in darkness, asleep I think, until I woke myself up crying.

“I’m here, love.”

The room was dark and Jamie held me close to his warmth. Sweet Jamie had the sniffles and I worried he was catching a cold. No, that wasn’t it. He knew our baby died today and he had cried. I turned toward him and buried my face in his chest, feeling his arms come around me, he stroked my hair, and calmed me with his beautiful Gaelic. It was a story about love I think, and it lulled me back to sleep. By morning, I was thinking clearly and understood I lost the baby. Jamie stayed in bed with me until mid-morning when I got up with a deep sigh.

“Thank you, Jamie, for staying with me, for grieving with me. You are the best man I’ve ever known, and I am so sorry.”

“Ye tried to bring me a child Claire, but God called him home. I celebrate your love for wee ones and I believe God will bless us with another. Your pain will fade lass, I promise, and he lives in our hearts forever.”

“He?”

“Christian Alexander Mackenzie Fraser. Please, Claire, I couldna put him in the ground wi’out a name. I hope yer not mad.”

“How could I be? You loved your son enough to give him a proper name and bury him.”

“I will work extra hard next season so we can have a grave marker carved for him.”

I was overwhelmed with Jamie’s sensitivity and love. I had known a few women of my time that miscarried and did nothing like what Jamie did. Somehow, it made me feel better he was named and buried, someday to be joined by the parents and family that loved him. I cupped Jamie’s cheek and felt I owed him my soul for what he had done. He kissed me softly and asked me to rest today and then he was gone to welcome a new family to the ridge.

I stayed in my room for two days and asked Misses Crook not to mention the miscarriage to anyone. Since no one else knew about the pregnancy, it seemed easier if people didn’t offer sympathy. What Jamie did burying our son made all the difference to me as he had a name and a place in the kirkyard. He existed.

When the calendar was turned to November, winter rolled in with a vengeance. Many of us went outside to see the beautiful snowfall and a big fire was started to keep us warm until nightfall. A cauldron of warm cider sat above a low fire and we toasted the storm and each other. I loved impromptu gatherings to spend time with my neighbors and friends. There would be far less of that during the cold days of winter, so I hugged them all extra hard.

It had been months since the miscarriage and I felt better every day, mentally and physically. I lost myself in the new books we had ordered to get us through the cold months. Jamie sat next to me on the sofa and asked me to read out loud while he cuddled with me. He looked closely at me and smiled as if to say, I’m glad you’re back. The pages turned as the story unfolded and Jamie pulled a strand of my hair out and twisted it around his finger. He pulled me closer to him and kissed my neck, then ran his tongue from my shoulder blade to my jaw making me squirm in his embrace.

“Sassenach, ye look flushed, are ye alright lass?”

I gave him a side-eye and continued to read. Misses Crook was right around the corner cooking dinner and could easily surprise us. I tucked the strand of hair back into my pins and cleared my throat. Jamie played with my skirt, inching it up slowly until I slapped his hand.

“I like it when ye fight me wife, yer so adorable when ye do it. I am ready for a midday nap, will ye join me?”

I almost laughed at the invitation, as if Jamie needed permission to rip my clothes off and have his way with me. I couldn’t resist him, and he knew it, but I acted distracted to heighten his ardor. The pages continued to turn while Jamie ran his big hand down my back, pulling me into a hug where he could run his hand down my breast and pinch a nipple. I opened my mouth to breathe exposing my arousal and I felt his interest shoot up.

“Dinna scream mo chridhe.”

Before I knew it, Jamie held me firmly and pushed his hand under my skirt and up my legs. I was horrified someone would walk in on us and see something impossible to forget. I felt his finger open my fold and his hand was back in his lap in seconds.

“Ye canna hide your honey drippin for me, love. Now, be a good lass and go to our room takin every stitch off ye sweet body before ye lay on the bed, quiet and willin. I’m comin to love ye Sassenach and I will have my way with ye, that I can promise.”

He whispered the last part of the sentence and looked at me indecently through dark eyes. My heart rate shot to the moon and I squeezed my thighs together.

“Be gone with ye.”

I bolted toward the stairs calling for Misses Crook to assist me as Jamie walked outside. I was breathless as my laces were pulled and I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. Now out of my dress, I thanked Misses Crook and feigned a yawn as she left. I laid on the bed, naked, as requested, looking at my mental pictures of Jamie’s favorite positions. “Mmmm, yes that one.”

“Yer a minx alright, my lovely wife. Just what were ye plannin to do with that finger inchin down yer stomach? I’m yer husband, and I want ye to show me.”

I looked at him through slit eyes and watched him pull his clothes off. His erection was large and purple making my arousal almost hurt. My core was throbbing and I pulled him to me, but he resisted and told me to continue. He ran his finger into my fold and my back arched as I moaned. I saw him suck his finger into his mouth and that was so sexy I threw caution to the wind and buried my finger between my legs.

“I canna see mo chridhe, open yer legs, it will be far better, I promise.”

My legs slammed open as my finger found my bud, swollen, and engorged. I whimpered his name until my breath caught as I pulled my arousal up to dangerous heights. Jamie watched me closely and settled between my legs, his face inches from my finger. I was close to climax and my chest was heaving for air. Just before my release, Jamie pulled my finger away making me cry out for him. He got off the bed and searched my drawers until he found a belt which he used to tie my wrists to the headboard.

“Jamie please.”

“In just a moment my love, I want ye all to m’self, yer lovely body belongs to me. Relax and breathe mo chridhe, this is gonna take a while.”

When he belted my arms to the headboard his erection danced not an inch from my mouth. I opened my mouth and tried to lift my head to it but couldn’t reach him. I tried to scoot my head under him and suck his magnificent balls into my mouth and became frustrated I could not reach him. Jamie looked down at me and told me to open my mouth before he pressed his cock into my mouth crashing into my throat. I was immobile and lost myself to his cock gliding over my tongue, nearly choking me. He pulled himself away from me and walked to the whisky we always kept in our room. Rather than fill a glass he tipped the bottle to his mouth as he walked back.

He ran his hand down my breast, stomach, and legs, and then tipped the bottle to my mouth. I couldn’t refuse if I wanted to and felt my mouth fill with the strong spirit followed by Jamie’s cock buried in the liquid. I swallowed as best I could and felt him yank out of my mouth. I looked at him with a warning not to torture me and heard a chuckle out of him.

“My love, this will take some time so ye need to relax and calm yerself.”

I looked into his eyes and growled like I wanted to tear him apart. One of his balls was shoved into my mouth and I was told to suck it, which I did, gladly.

“Open yer legs love.”

A fat finger invaded my body and I pressed against it wanting it deeper before it was gone again. I whimpered and moaned, feeling true pain in my throbbing core. Jamie kissed me and descended, placing kisses along my stomach and lower until he kissed my clit and I lost my mind. His tongue took possession of my sacred place as he sucked and flicked until I tumbled into the erotic abyss. I felt my stomach jerk into my orgasm and felt Jamie’s tongue on me while I took flight.

When I became aware of my successful landing on earth, I still felt Jamie’s tongue on me. Ordinarily, he watched me spin into oblivion but this time he stayed between my legs. I felt his warm hands moving up my sides and wrap around my shoulders as my head cleared. He pulled me toward his mouth until his tongue was forced against me. It made me tingle and the harder he pressed down on my shoulders the more erotic it became. I was astounded he could pull my heat up that fast and was thrashing and grinding my core against his mouth minutes later. He pushed me off a precipice that threatened my sanity and I drifted in the erotic, pulsing fog for several minutes.

I heard him growling, low and quiet, and knew it was a spontaneous sound triggered by dangerous arousal. When I landed back in our bed my one thought was to gift him the same new level of abandon. What came to my mind was to push him away, stimulating the beast, the part of Jamie that was beyond social courtesy. The beast was brutal and limitless.

“Take this belt off my hands, Jamie.” It was not a request.

He stared at my breasts and licked his lips, but he released the belt and I rolled away from him and got up. He materialized in front of me so fast I ran into him feeling his hand grip my hair and pull my head back viciously. His mouth hovered above mine as he gripped my nipple and shook my breast hard before his tongue made my knees weak. He walked me to a chair and pushed my face into his groin telling me to suck lightly and pulling my head away from him if there was too much pressure. I smiled drunkenly, understanding what he needed. A feather touch of my mouth wide open. He pushed my head to the side so he could watch me, pulling my head back for another mouthful of whiskey.

I felt the room sway a bit, but the buzz was driving my arousal. When he pushed my mouth onto his cock again, he quickly pulled me up and spun me around before he impaled me. I was so wet and felt him slide into my depths making me quake with need. I tried to increase the tempo, I wanted the friction to make me come but he pulled me to him and leaned back in the chair so I couldn’t move. Every few minutes he would pull me up and let me slide down on him again. Each time I would gasp when he filled me until I was moaning for him to take me, roughly. I needed the beast.

When he released me, I jumped off of him and knelt between his legs. I pulled his cock to my lips and asked for the beast. He watched me open my mouth and his chest heaved a breath of air ending in a growl of warning. I kept teasing him, making my request and finally, he shoved himself into my mouth and held me against his body before ramming into my throat several times. I felt him lift me to the bed and turn me to the mattress before inching behind me, like a predator sizing up his meal. He pulled my hips up and caressed my butt as he lifted himself to his knees. I knew the beast was behind me and felt my stomach quiver with excitement.

“I’m gonna love ye lass and I have no more strength to resist the pull of yer drippin honey pot. Ye’ve pushed me to my limit so run if ye have the strength, lock yerself away from me if ye can. I’m comin for ye.”

When he pushed into me, I could tell he was momentarily sidetracked watching his cock sink deep into me. I feared the beast would be in his box before Jamie let him ravish me. I rammed my body against him, pushing him deeper into me and was overcome with the stimulating depths. That did it. The beast was in control and rammed into me mercilessly, pulling my upper body toward his chest he spread my legs wide with his own giving him deeper access where only the beast had been before. He flipped me to the bed and held my ankles up in the air as he rammed me and watched my body open to his assault. He pulled my legs open, still in the air, and growled into a dozen powerful thrusts before he held my pelvis against him and emptied his seed into me.

Jamie dropped to my side panting for his life, pulling me nearly under him again. He pushed the hair out of my face and kissed me before dropping his head to the mattress beside me. I could hear him struggle to breathe and smiled to myself.

“Yer a rare woman Sassenach,” he panted. “So refined to the outside world. Thank God, or I’d be fightin every bucky in the county for ye. Ye fascinate me wild cat, and I love ye for it.”

He pulled me to him and spooned me so he couldn’t see my triumphant smile. I let him pull me into a restful nap and felt his hands up and down my arms in his sleep.

I woke refreshed and stretched before rolling off the bed to get dressed. Damn corsets. I called for Misses Crook and Glavia materialized to pull my laces and help me dress. My breasts pushed up by the corset burned with heat that intensified when my jacket was pulled against them. When my skirts were tied, Glavia gushed about the progress Faith was making with her letters and I promised to come in the next day and observe her lessons.

I felt uncomfortable through dinner and didn’t know why. I found myself staring at Jamie’s face, animated in conversation. If he looked at me, I quickly looked away feeling foolish. I scrubbed dishes after the evening meal, lost in my thoughts, remembering his powerful body take control of me. When a serving dish slipped into the water Misses Crook sent me to bed saying I was not up to task and likely to break something. I walked slowly up the stairs feeling every step push my inner thigh against my core. I closed the door and leaned against it breathing heavily, almost panting. I couldn’t take this pain and throbbing. I realized Jamie had prepared me for a release that never happened and now I was in poor condition to sleep.

I left the house, looking in all the outbuildings until I found him stoking the peat fires under the malting floor of the whisky building. Even in winter, this building was unbearably hot and I watched his unclad upper body flex until his shiny muscles bulged. It was too much for me, I didn’t care how or where he made it happen, but it needed to happen. He pulled me deeper into the building where the heat from the peat fires made me sweat and my dress stuck to my skin. He pulled off my jacket and asked if that was better. I smiled at him feeling shy and needy.

“Do ye know I love ye more than anything in this world?” he whispered. “Ye are my angel, my dearest love.”

He pushed his erection into my stomach, and I was surprised he was ready to love me again. Hot kisses drove what was left of my sanity away and when he sucked on my neck, I felt his hand moving up my leg under my skirt. I let him push me down on the soft mounds of peat.

“It’s time to kiss the angels love.”

He dropped to my clit and sucked it, flicking is tongue viciously. When I fell into the cyclonic wind of my orgasm, he pushed into me and chased his own release. I felt like a bowl of jello, completely dependent on the glass bowl to keep me together. Too exhausted to speak I watched Jamie pull his shirt and coat on and then lift me into his arms. It was dark enough to slip into the back door and climb the stairs silently before dropping into bed under the warm quilt.

“My darling love,” whispered into my ear, “you are so much fun. Yer honesty sets me free.”

I wasn’t sure I really heard it, or what it meant, but his silky voice lulled me to sleep.

After Hogmanay, Jamie and Murtagh made the trek to check on families outside our community. They would be gone all day. I bundled Faith up and sent her outside with a large bowl of juicy scraps from recent meals and asked her to dump it into the pig's feeder. She came flying back through the front door and screamed to me that men were holding Mister Jackson and his face was bleeding. I grabbed my cloak, shoved a pistol into my belt, and loaded the rifle. I was shaking inside and steeled my nerves hoping the rifle didn’t tremble and give my fear away.

I could see Jackson being held down by three men who were taunting him. It looked like he was already beaten. I raised the rifle to my shoulder walking quickly toward the men. I took a shot splintering bark and a chunk of wood off the closest tree. I kept walking and cocked the rifle aiming it right at the head of the biggest man. The three of them looked shocked and said they were rounding up their escaped slaves.

“Back away gentlemen. That man is not one of your escaped slaves and I can prove it. I hold the bill of sale for him. Move away before I shoot one of you, intentionally or otherwise.”

I could see the men sizing me up, not knowing to stay or go. When I heard my name, I gave them a last warning.

“You three idiots need to move away and high tail away from this place. Someone is coming for you and it will not be pleasant, I promise.”

Jamie had called my name from the road into the ridge, so I knew he was running to back me up. I was starting to lose my nerve with these reluctant men who could easily kill Jackson if they decided to. Please hurry Jamie.

One of the men lurched forward and fell on the ground as Jamie came out of nowhere and grabbed a second man. I trained the rifle on the third man just as I heard neighbors coming to help. Jackson was taken to his house so his wounds could be cleaned up and the three men were tied up and pushed into the wagon. Murtagh carefully took the rifle from me and smiled before joining Jamie in the wagon. Later that night Jamie told me the men were tied to a tree and left for the night. I imagined the temperature dipped to freezing and below. I hoped it would be enough to keep them away.

It was a relief to finally welcome spring in our sixth year on the ridge. As the snow melted and the days warmed up the community was a buzz of activity. Fences had to be mended, the land newly turned in preparation for planting, baby goats and pigs were born, and more families arrived to see the Ridge. The renewal of spring made everyone happy it seemed.

A young man arrived today, looking lost and fearful. He said he was a preacher and his name was Daniel, sent to the Ridge to preach for the community of God-loving souls. I thought him too young to be so pompous. I giggled at his puffed out chest which was soon deflated and a youngster’s blush colored his face. I decided he was perfect and took it upon myself to walk him through the community and introduce him to the settlers.

“If I may be so bold madam, may I ask about what I have heard in town, the very thing that prompted my coming here?”

I looked at him thinking it was a strange question. “Of course, preacher, what have you heard?”

He looked to his right and left and stepped closer to me, “do you have freed slaves living in the community?”

I smiled at his whispered question, “yes, we do not allow slavery, indentured servants, on the Ridge. Sixteen men and women were freed and now live here. They are friends and neighbors who we value like any of the others.”

His eyes were wide and he smiled, “remarkable, and praise God! But are they truly free Misses Fraser?”

“Well, they cannot leave here as freed people, they would be claimed and returned to slavery. Jamie holds the ownership papers for all of them and must take them out from time to time when we are challenged. It isn’t perfect, but they are happy here with their families, making their own living on the goods they grow and very committed to the community.”

Daniel met with Jamie and they talked for a good bit of the afternoon. When they stood and shook hands, Jamie was all smiles and I knew we had a new preacher. There was a small living space built into the church that Daniel would live in and I looked forward to our first sermon the following Sunday. I made sure to pass the word and invite everyone to the service.

A few days later I walked Jamie out to the wagon and kissed him with my arms around his waist.

“I’ll be home tomorrow Sassenach and bring ye the sweet soap ye love so much and a promised candy for Faith.”

The wagon rolled away empty and would return in a day loaded down with supplies for the coming growing season.

I heard ladies giggling as a group of women were walking toward the house. I watched them move down the trail with the sun dappling through the leaves on this spring morning. It was a sight to behold, young and old, black and white, working and living together on the ridge. I shook my head and ran to the house to prepare for hours of dyeing wool.

There was much talk throughout the afternoon, but one comment was worrisome. One of the ladies had stopped to meet Daniel, the preacher, and gave him a pie.

“He stared at the pie until I left. The man is skin on bones, have ye seen him, Claire?”

“Yes, but he was wearing his black coat and I failed to notice how thin he was. Excuse me a minute, please.”

That poor man had not asked for a thing and was probably living off the treats given to him as a welcome. I grabbed a basket and went through my kitchen taking everything ready to eat. Bread, cheese, and dried meat filled the basket. I found Glavia in the nursery doing lessens with Faith and asked her to take the basket to the preacher at the church. In my mind, he was drawing his last breath from starvation, so I asked her to hurry. When she returned, I was pulled away again for the strangest request.

“You want what? My dear, I would love to purchase fabric to make you a new dress. We can make a day of it and bring Faith, as soon as Jamie gets back.”

Her disappointment was clear as I headed back to our work table. There was nothing I could do this instant without fabric which I did not have.

Misses Crook and I cleaned up the mess and served dinner with ale, watered down for Faith. We all missed Jamie when he was away, especially me, and Faith a close second. Many nights when he was gone, I suffered with insomnia and found it the loneliest of maladies. When my eyes opened with the new dawn, I was happy that had not happened the night before and I was well-rested. Jamie would be home today and tomorrow was Sunday, there was much to look forward to.

All of us walked the path to the church the next morning feeling very happy in the cool morning. Jamie looked up at the church and declared a large bell was needed to bring the flock in for the sermon. I chuckled at him and kept walking. After the sermon, we waited to shake hands and welcome Daniel one more time. I introduced Misses Crook and Faith but Glavia had vanished. We pushed away letting the next person in line shake the preacher’s hand as I continued to look for Glavia.

As we approached the house, I could see Glavia sitting outside like she was waiting for someone. She jumped to her feet when she saw us and smiled from ear to ear.

“I am ready to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“To town to buy fabric for my dress!”

“Sweetheart, the shops are not open on Sunday. I am so sorry, but we have to wait one more day.”

She walked to her room with her head down and mumbled to Faith to come with her and practice her letters. I looked at Misses Crook and raised my eyebrows.

“Dinna fash Mistress, the lass is in love and wilna come out of the house until she has something fancy to put on.”

“You don’t say!” I could hear Jamie laughing as he walked into the house and I stood closer to Misses Crook, “who does she love?”

“The preacher.”

I am quite sure my mouth dropped open and stayed that way for some time. That is how shocked I was. I couldn’t imagine a girl falling love because of a single sermon and then I remembered sending her with food for Daniel. Preachers are supposed to be righteous people, but they can still hurt a young girl with unrequited love. I truly hoped that didn’t happen.

As promised, we went to town on Monday. Jamie and Murtagh spent time in the tavern while we shopped for fabric and some spices. Glavia was thrilled with a beautiful royal blue fabric for a split skirt and jacket. Lace for making inserts at the elbows for fancy parties and church. I chose light-weight red wool with white lace for an underskirt and yarn of the same color for a warm cowl. I purchased my spices and we went to find Jamie. It was always exciting to be in town with all the people and goings-on. I took in the sights as we waited for Jamie and Murtagh to come out.

Glavia put her hand in mine and looked up to see her cowering in front of two very rude men.

“Leave us alone!” I snapped, and they turned and ran their eyes up and down my body. I pulled the shaking Glavia to me and whispered not to fear. I knew Jamie was within earshot of us if it came to that.

The ugly one held up a coin and leered at me, then added a coin and I scoffed at him.

“Do I look like a prostitute sir?”

He showed me another coin and grabbed me around the waist. I rolled my eyes and batted him about the head with my parasol, finally sticking the pointy end into his ribs with all my strength. The man yelped and took off with his toothless friend without so much as an apology. I huffed and pulled my jacket down. When I finally looked up, I saw Jamie and Murtagh leaning against the wall watching me. I know I blushed because I felt the heat on my cheeks. Jamie’s eyes were shining with pride and Murtagh was just highly amused.

Glavia thanked me profusely and I looked her over for any injuries letting my gaze settle on a smug Jamie, chewing on a piece of wood.

“You could have come to my aid!”

”What, and miss that brutal attack? Yer a warrior woman, and I am doomed to make ye my enemy. Walk with me so I can protect ye from the other idiots in the street.”

When Murtagh squeezed my upper arm muscle and shook his hand like it was burned I huffed at both of them. Feeling Jamie’s arm around my waist I looked at him wondering why he didn’t help us.

He ran his finger down my jaw, “Sassenach, I walked out of the tavern as you were thrashing the man. I could have pulled him away to pummel him, but I wanted ye to know yer strength and ability. Besides, I probably would have killed him and been dragged to jail for murder. And ye were so cute and feisty,” he chuckled, “red cheeks, given him what for.”

He pulled me closer and continued to laugh, asking Murtagh if he saw me stab the bloke with my wee parasol like it was a sword. The two of them were having quite a laugh and I finally gave in to my own laughter which allowed Glavia and Faith to giggle as well.

Misses Crook pushed me upstairs when we got home saying all heroes need their rest. I grabbed Faith’s hand and pulled her into bed with me and we giggled as we tumbled into the soft feather mattress. I pressed my forehead into hers and smiled.

“I hope you weren’t scared sweetheart.”

“I was so proud of you mommy and I smiled when you stabbed that man.”

“My sweet little girl, you should not see such things at your tender age.” I pulled her to me, suddenly aware of Jamie looming above us. His eyes were soft and tender watching us, but he launched into a lesson for his daughter.

“Nonsense, the wee lassie is in training.” He dropped behind Faith and tickled her a bit. “Look no further than yer ma to show you how to be a lady but fierce underneath. Make no mistake my wee love, she has the heart and courage of a warrior so let her teach ye. Now, I want to take my two lasses to the river to fish for supper.”

With that, he took our hands and led us outside to the stream. There was silly joking between Faith and her father but when they laid on the big rock that hung over the water, they became deadly serious. Faith did just as Jamie did and watched his hand through the water. My yawns were getting hard to hide and I doubted they would notice if I laid down in the warm grass for a bit. Just as I was drifting off there was a loud splashing of water and Jamie’s happy cry followed by Faith screaming in horror. I sat up in time to see her little hand around a fat fish and she was terrified, throwing the fish at Jaime and running to my lap. Jamie chased the flopping fish until he could grab it making short work of ending its life. He walked toward us pulling out his knife and I shook my head side to side. He retreated behind the rock and emerged with two gutted fish ready to cook.

“How is that for fierce?” I smiled at him.

“It’s a start, mo chridhe.”

Jamie showed Faith how to spit the fish and start a fire. She watched with great interest, inches from him as he struck the flint and blew life into the flame. Our stomachs churned smelling the cooking fish and we feasted until we couldn’t take another bite.

Faith laid between us and listened to Jamie’s story about Lallybroch and the adventures he had there. My mind drifted back to my own time where people were slaves to their mobile devices, social media, television, and fifty-hour workweeks. Parents were always striving to spend quality time with their children. I wondered if they ever ate by a stream and fell asleep together in the sun. I rather doubted it.

[coconutknightshade]

Merlin Versus IKEA

Rating: Gen Word Count: 3,300 Summary: 

In which Merlin is 50 Shades of Over he and Arthur's trip to IKEA.

----

Merlin gasps dramatically. Arthur looks down- The label on the sheets read GÄSPA.

AO3 or Below

"Hey- Hey, Arthur!"

The man in question comes to a stop, eyes falling shut as he fights to keep his patience. They've been working through IKEA for only a few hours, and Arthur is on a mission. It's near closing time, and they've not seen another soul for nearly a half-hour. And as dull and tedious as this trip has become, it's clear that Merlin is struggling even more so than Arthur.

"Merlin, I swear to God. If this is another-" Merlin collides into Arthur's back, forcing the man to stumble a step forward. He whirls on his boyfriend, glaring at the shit-eating grin on his face and completely ignoring the phone Merlin has trained on him. In his other hand, he's carrying a set of sheets. This has been going on for almost an hour now.

Merlin gasps dramatically. Arthur looks down- The label on the sheets read GÄSPA.

Arthur's jaw clenches as he tries to keep a straight face. As Merlin continues to laugh at his own joke, Arthur cracks, laughing traitorously and pushing Merlin away from him with a huffed, "You're not funny, Merlin."

He's a good seven feet away when Merlin finally stops laughing long enough to catch up.

"I don't think you have the necessary koala-fications to make that judgment call."

"I need to find a shop attendant. Somebody's lost their child in the store."

"Oh hoh, look who's got jokes now."

They go on like this for a while-

"Arthur, I don't think we've got any of these. Or you don't, anyway." It's a kitchen pan labeled TOLERANT .

"Arthur, I'm so skilled at this." Merlin flips around a set of notepads, the label reads SÄRSKILD. Arthur is not impressed.

Merlin's holding a notebook, the label reads KÄNNETECKEN. Arthur's already shaking his head when Merlin snorts, "Arthur, I just canna take it anymore."

Until finally, Merlin grows bored of the antic. Having been distracted by a mahogany table, it takes him a moment to notice that the other man has become unusually silent. It's with some trepidation that he slowly turns around, eyes scanning for his wayward boyfriend.

"Merlin, what the fuck are you-? Do not!" Arthur hisses quietly, glancing around hastily in fear of a shop attendant walking upon the pair. Merlin, the menace, is bent over, hands braced on a large display bed for balance as he toes off his shoes and clambers up, muttering to himself about looks being deceiving.

At Arthur's, it wasn't an outburst, outburst, Merlin grins, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he stretches out.

"Ya know," he says, completely ignoring the blond in favor of wiggling further up the bed, arms moving in a way reminiscent of making snow angels. "I really didn't expect this to feel as nice as it does."

"We're not here for a bed. Get up," Arthur says again, voice dropping an octave, but sounding more pleading than dangerous. Once again, his eyes dart around for any sign of employees. A derisive and somewhat amused snort pulls his attention back to Merlin.

"We absolutely are buying a new mattress. Mine is busted and yours- Well, let's not forget that I've seen first-hand the lads you used to parade through our apartment. We'd do the world some good lighting that mattress on fire. "

"Oi! Ironic, you knocking my taste in men when you're the one I'm parading through my apartment now." Arthur's taken a step forward, standing in the thoroughfare separating the bedroom section from the third kitchen section they've seen in the last three hours. He's got his arms crossed over his chest and is smirking at his long term friend turned boyfriend.

"Obviously, your tastes have matured." Merlin rolls onto his side, using a hand to prop up his head and running the other over the comforter, shooting Arthur a playful come hither look. Arthur, however, isn't having it.

"Merlin, I'm serious. If we get caught-'

"We aren't going to get caught! Have you seen the size of this place? They've not enough staff to patrol. I mean Christ, Arthur, how long has it been since we've seen another person? How long has it been since we've seen sunlight?"

He collapses onto his back dramatically, giving up now on trying to lure Arthur over to the bed. "We're mole people now."

"Considering you spend almost ten hours a day holed up in our bedroom, I'd say you were already halfway there."

Merlin gasps theatrically. "I'm an artist, Arthur. Those comic books aren't going to art themselves!"

Whatever retort Arthur has dies on his lips as Merlin's expression morphs into one of genuine consideration. He's braced his feet on the bed, sitting up and crossing his legs before bouncing in place. Arthur scans their surroundings once more before taking the final few steps towards his boyfriend. Merlin isn't usually this childish, but Arthur can't really blame him. If he's honest with himself, Arthur's confident the only reason he's not cracked himself is due to years of tedious work his father had pushed on him as a child.

"Arthur!"

The blond jumps, startled at Merlin's saying his name in a voice that indicates it's not the first time he's said it in attempts to get the man's attention. Regardless, Arthur shoots his boyfriend a withering look, eyebrows drew together in his signature "What the fuck, Merlin" expression. An expression that never accomplishes anything shy of Merlin grinning mischievously and Arthur's scowl deepening.

"Seriously, Arthur. This bed was made for my arse. And by that, I mean you," Merlin tries again, humming as he leans back against the thousands of pillows placed meticulously against the headboard. He's let his eyes fall shut in content, wiggling just a little bit further down the bed into a position more comfortable. Arthur rolls his eyes and steps closer to where Merlin is sprawled so that he can flick the man's ear. When Arthur inhales deep, ready to tell Merlin precisely what he thinks of the man's behavior, he instead yelps as arms drag him abruptly onto the bed.

“Merlin!” he gasps. “Merlin, no! Stop, I’m serious!”

Merlin does not stop, and Arthur only half-heartedly struggles to free himself from the other man's grip. He continues to squirm, however, trying to get his ass off the side of the bed so that he’ll maybe have enough leverage to slip free. But Merlin, laughing open and unashamed - damn him - has a solid grasp on Arthur and isn’t letting go anytime soon. They struggle for a bit longer, and Arthur, now laughing himself as he tries to wrestle free from his boyfriend, finally submits, letting his arms fall to the side. Merlin crosses his arms over his chest and grins down at Arthur, who is practically in his lap now, triumphantly.

“You’re a child, and, quite frankly, Merlin, I don’t know why I have anything to do with you.” He’s pouting now, eyes shut, and nose upturned in a very holier than thou expression.

Merlin laughs, placing a hand reverently to the side of Arthur’s face and brushing his thumb softly against the man’s cheekbone. “Because you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

At this, Arthur opens one eye and then the other. They sit like that for a moment- Merlin’s soft expression melting Arthur’s dramatic, cool exterior.

“You sound fairly sure of yourself. Is that your final answer?” Merlin doesn’t take the bait, instead choosing the lean in, pressing a kiss to the blond’s forehead. Arthur’s eyes fall shut once more, and a lazy smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. Merlin leans forward another few inches and properly kisses Arthur, whose soft lips are warm and pliant beneath his. The angle is awkward, but who is Merlin to complain? He’s confident that between Arthur landing a new job across the country, and the two of them finally admitting feelings for the other, Arthur hasn’t rested longer than a few hours at a time. It’s sweet, this. Even if it is in the middle of a goddamn IKEA and he himself is ready to pull a fire alarm if it means hightailing it out of there.

This time when he pulls away, Arthur chases after, seeking one more kiss that Merlin indulges him in before rolling away and out from under the blond.

Arthur shoots him a questioning look because, really, there’s no telling what Merlin is going to get into next. The man is unpredictable at best, and yeah, maybe - just maybe - Merlin is right; Arthur wouldn’t have him any other way.

He pushes himself up onto one elbow, twisting his torso to better watch Merlin as he bounces up and down on the bed with an all too endearing expression of pure concentration. At the sight, Arthur struggles to hide a helpless grin, knowing well if Merlin spots it, it’ll only encourage him further.

The effort is futile, as Merlin grins openly when he meets Arthur’s gaze. “Can you feel that?”

“Feel what?” Arthur asks suspiciously because no, he can’t feel anything. Apparently, this is the right answer, because Merlin’s face only brightens further.

“Sold! It’s settled. We’re taking this bad boy home.” He hops off the bed and circles around to where Arthur’s legs hang over the bed, and where Merlin’s shoes still lay abandoned.

“Yeah? How do you figure?”

Merlin rolls his eyes indulgently as if Arthur were missing the obvious. It’s not until he raises an expectant brow that Merlin caves, sighing dramatically as if Arthur is putting him out by having him explain. “You didn’t feel anything. That means whenever I get up in the night to take a leak-”

“To snack, you mean.”

“- you won’t be disturbed. And I won’t wake you in the mornings when I get up early for a run.”

Arthur snorts. “It’s not you crawling out of bed that wakes me, Merlin. It’s your complete inability to do so quietly and without knocking over everything on the dresser and bathroom counter.”

Merlin’s right, though. The mattress lacks the dip and shifts their current one is unfortunately infamous for. This would, of course - Merlin’s late-night snacking or no - make for a much more peaceful and healthier night’s sleep. Arthur tilts his head, considering. Idly, he can hear Merlin in the background offended and protesting the charges laid against him. Too busy to further roast, Arthur tries to work the price slapped onto the headboard into their tight budget.

It’s Merlin’s deep sigh after a moment of silence that pulls Arthur from his thoughts. With two elbows, Arthur props himself up from where he’s been lying, and better eyes Merlin, who is standing between Arthur’s legs with arms crossed over his chest petulantly.

“I mean, I guess if you aren’t satisfied, we can continue to shop. But who knows how long it’ll take. We could be here for days. Maybe even months.” Merlin once again sighs, turns his head to stare dramatically into the distance- very ‘when will Johnny return home from the war?’ style. Arthur rolls his eyes at the theatrics, but the corners of his mouth twitch threateningly into what might’ve grown into an amused grin.

“I thought you’d already said sold.” Arthur finally pushes himself into an upright position and pokes Merlin’s abdomen. The man’s face immediately lights up, sending a wave of warmth through Arthur’s chest at the sight.

“Does this mean we’re free? ‘Cuz I saw this place up the road… Go-Karts, Arthur. Go-Karts. I’m dying to kick your arse!” Arthur huffs in exasperation. And that would explain the daunting and near-immediate boredom on Merlin’s part upon stepping into the shop. With a smirk, he wraps his hands into Merlin’s scarf and tugs him close, Arthur’s thighs locking him in place.

“You’re gonna-? My, aren’t we optimistic today, Mr. Emrys. I sure hope you can deliver.” At this, Merlin raises a challenging brow before his expression twists into something more devious.

“Oh, I’ll more than deliver,” he teases, tilting his head down to capture Arthur’s lips with purpose. The promise of more sends chills down Arthur’s spine and pools low in his abdomen.

Arthur’s hands untangle from the scarf and drop to Merlin’s hips, fingers digging in as he pulls the man snug up against him. His own hips roll lightly when Merlin’s hands find their way into Arthur’s hair and give a sharp tug so to better control the angle. A quiet whine escapes him when they finally part, breathless, and wanting more than their environment will allow.

“I’ll make you a bet,” Merlin says, voice strangled as he pulls once again at Arthur’s hair until the man is less focused on his own breathing and more on the way Merlin’s mouth moves as he speaks. “And when I win, you, Arthur Pendragon, are going to-”

“Excuse you!”

The two men startle, Merlin jerking away at the same time Arthur tries to stand, both nearly tripping over the other in the process. They wear matching expressions of pure mortification as the sharp blue eyes of the man standing before them, mouth downturned and eyebrows furrowed in disapproval, pierce through them.

“Do you, or do you not, see that overbearing sign with large, bold letters stating that the beds are not to be laid or sat upon?”

Merlin opens his mouth to speak, but Arthur elbows him in the side before he can say anything too snarky.

“I am-” he voice cracks, still very affected from moments ago. He clears his throat before finishing, with as much dignity as he can muster, “- so sorry about that.”

Now, standing beside the bed, he absently fiddles with the silver ring on his thumb, ignoring the way his cheeks flush still with embarrassment. He can’t be sure exactly what the man - Mordred, his nameplate reads - would have heard had he happened upon them a mere few seconds later. Knowing Merlin’s filthy mouth, it likely would have been scarring for everyone involved. As it stands, Mordred’s expression does not waver at the uncomfortable apology. Arthur’s eyes cut to Merlin when the man turns towards him fully hands on hips with an appearance reminiscent of a parent about to scold a child.

“Arthur!” he says with an exaggerated and exasperated sigh. “What was I just saying? You can’t wander around testing other people’s beds.” Merlin places a hand over his heart apologetically, turning back towards Mordred, who is watching them still with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “Let me assure you, this will not happen again.”

Merlin plasters on the most trusting smile he can manage. All Arthur can do is stare at his smug boyfriend, jaw nearly dropped, in pure disbelief. Mordred rolls his eyes, spinning on his heels and walking off with a threatening "it better fucking not”  huffed under his breath.

As soon as the man is out of sight, Merlin’s fake smile morphs into something more light-hearted and teasing. He turns to Arthur, who immediately grabs a pillow off the bed and smacks Merlin square in the face, nearly knocking him off balance before hitting him once more, this time over the head. The surprised look on Merlin’s face is priceless, pulling effortless laughter from the blond. He tosses the pillow back onto the bed and crosses his arms triumphantly while Merlin processes having taken a pillow to the face in the middle of IKEA.

Arthur’s smug grin, however, falters when Merlin’s eyes sparkle with something that always ends in trouble. He gets so far as "Merlin, whatever it is you’re thinking"  before Merlin’s arms are wrapped tightly around his waist. They both hit the bed with a thud, bed lurching several inches to the left. The deafening screech of metal against tile and a damning crack - the two of them a sudden, scary four inches closer to the ground at an angle awkward enough they begin sliding towards the floor - has Arthur’s grip on Merlin’s shoulders tighten.

When they hear a loud curse and the sound of shoes swiftly heading their way, they both roll, tumbling to the floor in a heap of flailing limbs. Arthur pushes against Merlin’s gut as he scrambles upright before making a mad dash to escape the scene of the crime, very every man for himself  schoolyard rules as they desperately try to ensure they aren’t the one to get caught. Merlin isn’t too far behind, but without his shoes, his socks slip against the tile, and he hits the ground a second time before finally gaining enough traction to take off towards the kitchen section.

Arthur has lost track of Merlin, and while he thinks he should pause to maybe listen for him, Arthur knows it will be futile, as all he can hear is his heart pounding in his ears. It’s because of this that he doesn’t hear Merlin whisper-shouting his name until he turns a corner, full speed, and slams into the man.

It’s a miracle that their collision doesn’t send them both to the ground, but Merlin somehow managed to steady both of them… Not that it really mattered. Merlin hasn't actually slowed down upon their collision. In fact, in the process of trying to steady Arthur, Merlin's hand had gotten wrapped in the blond’s leather jacket, throwing him even further off balance. And Merlin, damn him, had burst out laughing before slapping a hand to his mouth in order to muffle the noise before taking off again.

Rude.

Mordred now forgotten, Arthur takes off after Merlin, whose eyes widen at the realization, and who throws a breathless,“It was an accident”  over his shoulder while managing to pick up his pace.

It’s when they hit the tile in the bathroom section that Arthur knows he’s got the edge. Stumbling still though in a fit of laughter when up ahead, Merlin’s socks once again slip, and he nearly tumbles to the ground. The floor inevitably wins out- This Arthur knows when up ahead he sees Merlin turn a sharp corner of display counters and, not three feet down the aisle, trip, upper torso disappearing from Arthur’s sight and never reappearing.

When Arthur finally catches up to him, Merlin is laid out on his back, arms outstretched, staring up at the ceiling in defeat, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. Arthur comes to a stop beside him and bends over, hands on his knees as he too tries to catch his breath. They’re both red-faced, breathless and laughing.

After a moment, Arthur reaches out a hand and pulls Merlin to his feet. They’re both grinning, Merlin bent sideways with an elbow resting on one of the counters, when Arthur punches his shoulder, which, honestly, only makes Merlin laugh harder.

“Oi! What was that for?”

“You almost threw me to the ground back there!” He says it like they were in the trenches.

“I was not about to get caught!” Merlin exclaims indignantly. “You heard me! I assured him that it wouldn’t happen again. And I’m nothing if not a man of my word.”

“Merlin, you're an absolute prat.” At this Merlin grins, turning around and drawing Arthur closer by the very jacket he’d nearly dragged him to the floor with. Arthur scowls but lets himself be pulled into Merlin’s embrace. When Merlin kisses the corner of his lips, still laughing softly to himself, Arthur tries and fails to smother a grin of his own.

“Of course, I am. But I’m your prat.” Merlin flashes Arthur a proud, cocky smirk and slides his hands from Arthur’s hips to his lower back, pulling him even closer. Arthur looks at Merlin’s stupid attractive face and his stupid warm eyes, and fuck, he absolutely loves this man.

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day.” Arthur buries his fist in the front of Merlin’s scarf and leans in, kissing him with fervor until the man melts against him with a small, pleased sound. Eventually, Arthur pulls back with a mischievous expression and starts navigating his way towards the nearest checkout, dragging Merlin with him.

“Now let’s go order that bloody mattress so I can beat your arse at Go-Karts. And afterward, I’ll tell you, as the loser, exactly what you can do for me tonight. In excruciating detail.”

Merlin thinks maybe losing wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

#bbc merlin #merthur #arthur pendragon #merlin emrys #merthur fic #coconut writes

[space-blue]

The first short story I ever wrote

This story was my very first entry to the monthly competitions. It was my first ever English short story. Though it’s very tempting to edit it, I like to keep it exactly as I once posted it, so I can look back and see my own progress over time.

Hades didn't know how he felt about the sight in front of him. His life had led him to some of the most desolate places on the continent, and he had learnt to appreciate dreariness in a landscape. If you kept morals out, anything could become beautiful.

But the ruin of a city's Plant was something else. The vitreous building, still majestic despite its downfall, was marked by soot. Massive metal beams and towering shards of molten materials stabbed the ground around its broken frame. Fire had killed that Plant. Nothing spoke of slow and painful death like the carcass of a Plant. It meant no filtered water, no recycled earth. No uncontaminated food. Despite his twisted tastes, Hades couldn't find it in him to appreciate the view. Instead he shouldered his bag and went in search of a lookout, internally seething against his employer. It wasn't an assassin they should have sent out here but a recovery crew. The life of his target most certainly wasn't worth more than the smallest piece that could be salvaged from the Plant. His employer must be ill informed. The town had been doomed years ago in that fire.

He stayed in his lookout for two days before he spotted his first sign of human life. Gray shadow on grayer background. Proof people were still surviving. He sat in his concrete lair, charging his gun, screwing his silencer on. Maybe after all his target was alive. When he saw a second human in the distance, he took to the streets. For several hours he walked in expanding circles, hugging shadows, progressing through debris. The kid reached him before Hades could sense him. Instant brownie points earned. This respect was all that saved the child from getting his head blasted, as Hades stood, gripping his pack, grimly staring at the sheepish youth holding on to the other end of it. Hades shook the straps violently, jolting the kid off against the pile of trash sheltering them. However the kid stood his ground, cooly assessing the older man.

"Are you a Rogue?" the child asked, eyes suddenly sparkling. "Why? Are you a Rogue killer?" Hades scowled. The kid only groaned, turning his attention back to the pack. Hades had seen rogue killers younger than this kid. Considering that the ones who could claim the kill had first dibs on the rogue's belongings, people got motivated. In such ruined cities all thieves or scavengers, even simple shady strangers, would fall under the Rogue denomination. Of course Hades fell into other categories as well. Spy, thief, murderer. Gun for hire. Hopelessly for the locals, he would probably prove too hard a kill even if the entire town set after him.

"You've gotta be one though no?" The kid went on, "Not like people come to visit here no more."

"Your English is dreadful." Hades replied.

The kid shrugged, unconcerned. The sound of upset rubble clicked in the air and in an instant the kid fell forward, arms bent, fingers splayed to smoothly catch his weight. He landed soundlessly next to Hades, who had spontaneously crouched, palming his gun under his coat. He was impressed by the kid's reflexes. "Smart brat" he whispered. "Them dumb ones don't grow old." Hades waited, scanning the ruined street and staying stone-still, even after a scrawny fox dashed away, offering a possible explanation for the noise that had startled them. One didn't survive by being dismissive. As they finally relaxed, Hades made up his mind. "What's your name kid?" "Aki. What's yours?" "Hades" Aki frowned, his little dirty nose creasing in concentration. "Heard it before I think but… never met you" Hades laughed at that. "You probably heard it in old stories." "Stories about you?" "No. A very long time ago, some people believed in a God called Hades. They left many stories about their gods." The kid gaped, his jaw falling open in complete amazement. "You've got a god's name?! Dust me!" he was so enthusiastic that Hades resolved to keep the nature of his namesake's godly business to himself. No need to dampen the mood. "Aki, sorry to cut the fun but I've been traveling for days to get here. I've got a message for the town's Master Engineer. I didn't know the Plant had died. Is he still alive?" Aki nodded. "Could you take me to him?" Hades asked. The child stood up and dusted his thick gloves on his hips. "Canna do that if you're a Rogue." "I'm no Rogue." The kid shrugged again. Obviously the gesture was some local equivalent for "I don't care what you say". Hades opened his pack with a sigh and made a show of digging through his belongings under the suddenly burning gaze of the youth. He felt bad. Why bother with this kid? Hades had never had to invent a cover story before. Why talk to the rare people who got in his way when he could simply kill them? But if the kid led him to the Master Engineer, he'd speed Hades' work by days… And betray his Master. Anyway he wasn't lying was he? He was a traveller. He had a message to deliver. Bullet message between the eyes.

"Here, that's from Beiry. A shell, the home of a creature that lives in the sea. That's dried fruit paste. They make it in Sakarof, ten days walk West of here. It's sweet. And that's my old mister, you could plug it on your mask. It vibrates when the levels get too high. You pick. I give you the one you want to bring me to your Master Engineer." It was an easy bargain. The kid was quick in making decisions and wisely chose the mister over the rest. Aki might look twelve, but Hades suspected him to be older. The scraggy body poking under the layers of protective clothing spoke of years with too little food. He glanced down at his own chest, peeking under his combi at jutting ribs. He looked almost as malnourished as the child. That's what you got for spending weeks walking through the zone on stupid contracts.

Aki proved to be intense company. He needed frequent breaks and paced their movements in order to always rest in a shelter he was familiar with. He would then indulge in a stream of breathless chatter. He explained how the ruins of the town were mapped, took them to the water works, pointed at shelters, led the way to the cemetery field and cross-questioned Hades about the ways of other town-people, and if any around had pretty girls. He told him everything he remembered about the day their own Plant burnt. He was all around the single most bubbly, optimistic, good humoured zone dweller Hades had ever met. It baffled him. "You're a very trustful brat to tell a stranger all this." "It's my mom's doin' you know? It's how she saved the town too, when the Plant died on us." "What do you mean?" "You know of Master no? She's no leader, weird specialty too. Old tech, she used to study. When the Plant died, everyone was just feeling like it should be someone's fault, so they got after her." "Your Master Engineer is a woman?" Aki nodded. Hades was surprised, but waved at Aki to continue. "Like I said, my mom always went 'Aki, there is no trustin' no one these days, so you'll have to make a choice each time, and start trusting. Better live with treason than never trustin' no one'. That's what she went yelling at people who were after the Master, too. And she did good on that. None of us would be living but for the Master." Hades' curiosity was definitely piqued.

Aki had led them towards the edge of the town, walking along the hazy border between concrete and wilderness. He finally went up a slope, creeping to the top and hid behind a boulder, pointing down around it.

For the second time that week, Hades didn't know how to feel about the sight in front of him. Aki sniggered. Underground buildings poked out of the earth, next to three long, half buried glasshouses, complete with lead sheeting. A century old model. People where going around, caring for plants grown on aeroponic beds. "Dust me to Hell" Hades muttered, "your Master specialized in 21st century tech?" Aki nodded vigorously. "We're still twenty-two people, eight years after. She's teaching us good."

The Master, easily identifiable by her combi, appeared by a glasshouse, patiently showing another woman how to coil a water cable. And here he had come, to this impossible, hidden little village of hope, the god of Death he was, to put a bullet in that woman's head, crop it off and carry it to a ruthless employer. One bullet, twenty-two deaths. Hades felt sick. Dust it all! He turned to Aki, yanking him close. "Kid, in that cemetery, didn't you say you buried someone recently?"

~~ March 2015 – theme : Rogues

#original writing #original story #competition #rogues #fantasy

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Hi! Imagine Jamie and Claire introducing Fergus, Faith and Brianna to Jocasta. Thanks :)

Modern Glasgow AU

Claire briefly looked up as Jamie – two-year-old Williamin his arms – entered the kitchen, then re-focused her attention on herdaughters.

 “More cocoa, Bree?”

 Three-year-old Brianna nodded vigorously, face smearedwith jam and crumbs. Across the table, four-year-old Faith carefully sipped hercocoa, a perfectly half-eaten jammie dodger resting on her plastic plate.

 “Mama! The post!” William exclaimed.

 Carefully Jamie sat beside Claire, placing William –clutching the day’s letters in his tiny hands – onto his lap.

 “Great job!” Claire smiled, and bent to kiss her son’srosy cheek. “I’m sure Da appreciated your help!”

 With one hand holding William steady, Jamie gently tookthe letters from William and spread them out on the table. “Let’s see…counciltax bill…water bill…something from the hospital…”

 Claire squinted at the half-dozen envelopes. “That onethere – no return address. And the stamps look foreign.”

 Jamie held up the letter in question. “Canada. Do youknow anyone in Canada, Claire?”

 “Murdina MacKenzie said her Mam’s auntie is in Canada,”Faith helpfully interjected, nibbling on the rest of her biscuit.

 “Thanks, lovie.” Jamie handed William over to Claire andcarefully slit the letter open. A single sheet of lined paper fell out – both sidescovered in spidery script.

 Jamie frowned, and turned over the letter to read thesignature.

 “Aunt Jocasta,” he gaped.

 “Who’s that, Da?”

 Jamie blinked and turned to face his younger daughter. “She’sone of my aunties – Grannie Ellen’s younger sister.”

 “I thought you’d lost touch with her years ago.” Claireshifted William on her lap.

 “I did. She and Uncle Hector moved to Canada when I was abairn – and from what I can remember, he estranged her from the rest of thefamily. Colum and Dougal never speak of her – and they’re just a few hourssouth in New York. Last I heard of her was a card she sent to Lallybroch whenDa died.”

 Quickly he scanned the letter. “Seems that Uncle Hectorpassed away a few months ago. Aunt Jocasta wants to make amends.”

 Claire raised her brows skeptically. “What does thatmean?”

 “Dinna fault her for reaching out, Claire. I canna imaginewhat it must have been like for her husband to move her so far away from therest of her family. It may take years for her to recover.”

 Claire wiped Bree’s mouth with her napkin. “Well then. Iwonder what Murtagh would have to say.”

 Jamie set down the letter, grinning. “Da always said thatMurtagh carried a torch for Auntie Jocasta.”

 Claire snorted. And then the house phone rang.

 “I’ve got it!” Faith bounded off her chair and reached upto take the cordless phone off the counter. “Fraser residence.” A pause. “Hi,Murtagh.” Another pause. “No, today I dinna have school, remember? Somethingfor the teachers.” She started walking back to the table. “Yes, he’s righthere. He just got a funny letter. Love you too.” Faith handed over the phone,and Jamie had barely picked it up before he exclaimed,

 “You too?”

 --

 “Are we all ready?”

 Jamie turned to check the sea of smiling Fraser faces huddledaround him on the couch – Claire, with Bree on her lap; Fergus, with William onhis lap; and in between them, Murtagh and Suzette, with Faith on her godfather’slap.

 “Aye!” they chorused.

 Jamie carefully dialed the long-distance number and putthe phone on speaker.

 Three rings, and then –

 “Hello?”

 Murtagh closed his eyes.

 “Auntie?” Jamie’s voice asked.

 “Is that Jamie? Oh, Jamie – it’s so wonderful to hearyour voice!”

 “She sounds like Ellen,” Murtagh murmured to his wife,who squeezed his hand in silent reply.

 “And yours, Auntie. Am I calling at a good time?”

 “Och, ‘tis always a good time to speak to family!”

 “That’s good – because I’ve got my whole family wi’ mehere. There are so many new people for you to meet.”

 “Truly?”

 “Aye – first is my wife, Claire. She’s a surgeon, Auntie –and a good one, too!”

 “Pleased to meet you,” Claire smiled into the phone.

 “A sassenach! Jamie!”

 “He’s not the only one,” Murtagh piped up. “Hello, Jo.”

 Never had Jamie heard such a loud gasp. “MurtaghFitzGibbons Fraser. My God.”

 “I’m here wi’ my wife, Suzette – she’s French from France.”

 “Allo,” Suzette added softly. “Lovely to speakwith you, Jocasta.”

 “My head is spinning!” Jocasta exclaimed.

 “Hold onto yer hat, then,” Murtagh smiled, “for Jamie hasyet to introduce ye to his four bairns!”

 “Four?”

 “I still canna believe it myself sometimes, Aunt. Firstwe have Fergus – he’s twelve, and he joined our family just two years ago, fromParis.”

 “Hello Auntie,” Fergus chimed in. “Hello to Canada. Theyspeak French there, yes?”

“Oh hello Fergus! They certainly do! Je parle un peufrançais.”

 Fergus beamed. “Très bien!”

 “And next we have our daughter Faith, who’s just turnedfour.”

 “Hi, Auntie,” Faith shyly spoke into the phone.

 “Hello, dear! Do you have beautiful red hair like yourDa?”

 “I do!”

 Jamie smiled. “That’s our younger daughter, Brianna. She’sthree – and yes, Auntie, she definitely inherited my hair.”

 Jocasta chuckled. “You may remember my hair was likethat. But none was like your Mam’s.”

 “And last but not least – we have wee William. He’s two.Can you say hello?”

 “Hi.”

 “Hi, sweetie. It’s so lovely to speak wi’ all of you.”She sighed. “I havena been home in so long, Jamie. I’m overdue.”

 “Ye always have a home wi’ us in Glasgow – or wi’ Jennyand Ian at Lallybroch. Ye ken that.”

 “I just might, Jamie. I just might.”

#;mod gotham #modern glasgow au #Anonymous

[isitgintimeyet]

Road To The Aisles

Previous

AO3

Thanks for all your likes and reblogs and comments. Hope you enjoy this next chapter. It’s time for William to meet the family.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge, @happytoobserve and @wickedgoodbooks

Chapter 3: A Poignant Assembly

And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobbly knees -- Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.

J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone

While Jamie went to pick William up for the first time, visibly bristling with excitement, Claire moved systematically from room to room, checking that no rogue dust had somehow manifested during the night.

She knew that Jamie was right. It didn’t matter to Brian, Murtagh, Jenny or Ian whether anything was out of place, but it was important to her. She wanted everything to be perfect. She wanted a perfect family, the kind of family life she had never had, for William and the children she and Jamie would have together.

Claire had just finished unloading the dishwasher when the doorbell rang. Standing on the doorstep were Brian and Murtagh. Brian greeted Claire with a warm embrace while Murtagh rushed past.

“Sorry, Claire, I canna wait. I’m burstin’ fer a piss. Been desperate since Glencoe. Yon man wouldna stop. Couldna wait tae get here.”

Brian followed Claire into the kitchen.

“Coffee?”

Brian nodded.

“You are actually quite early, you know. Jamie’s only just gone to fetch William.” Claire said as she put the kettle on and collected the coffee from the fridge.

“Aye, I ken. But I jes’ wanted tae see ye before all the commotion with the bairn and Jenny and her rabble. I wanted tae check how ye’re doing with all this.”

Claire stopped preparing the coffee and turned to face Brian.

“I’m fine… truly. I must admit, it is going to be strange at first, having William around for part of the week. But it’ll be strange for Jamie too. It’s one steep learning curve for both of us. It seems like we’ve been planning and talking about this for so long and now it’s here we’re a bit in shock.”

Brian laughed. “Ye and every other new parent. It’s nae different, ye ken.”

Claire added coffee into the cafetière and poured the boiling water over it. “And Jamie has William for a few day visits before he stays overnight. So, I guess Jamie’s being eased in gently, you might say.”

“Ye better make sure Jamie does all the tendin’ in the night. Dinna make it too easy fer him.” Murtagh joined them in the kitchen. “Christ, I feel better fer that. Brian made us leave Lallybroch afore six this morning, with no stops. He canna wait tae see his new grandson. And, I admit, I canna wait either. He looks a braw laddie from his photos.”

“Well, if it’s been such an early start this morning, do you two fancy some toast, or...how about a bacon sandwich?”

Brian and Murtagh looked at each other. Claire sighed. “I can cook some stuff, you know.”

“Aye, sorry lass. We jes’ are so used tae not eating anything prepared in this kitchen, on account of Jamie’s lack of… er… skills. A bacon sandwich would be grand. Thanks.”

Claire made to move across to the fridge. Brian caught her arm and gently pulled her back to him. “Claire, I dinna usually say things like this, but Jamie is a lucky man tae have ye stick around. And he kens it. His mam woulda loved tae see him settled like this.” Brian stroked Claire’s hand. “And his mam woulda loved ye, Claire. Truly.”

Murtagh cleared his throat.

“A-Aye, Claire. Ellen woulda loved ye.” Murtagh repeated.

*****************

Claire, Brian and Murtagh sat companionably around the kitchen table with full stomachs and empty plates. The clicking of the key in the front door lock alerted them to Jamie and the newest family member.

Brian immediately stood up and rushed into the hallway, closely followed by Murtagh. Claire hung back a little and gathered her phone, ready to capture the family welcome.

Jamie led the procession and carried William in his car seat into the living room. Brian and Murtagh settled themselves on the sofa while Jamie placed William’s car seat on a chair and unfastened the straps. Claire stood in the doorway, phone at the ready.

Gently, Jamie lifted his son, holding him close to his chest, and passed him to his father. Brian’s eyes glistened with tears as he gazed down at William, still fast asleep. Jamie stood next to Claire, who was busy taking pictures of Grandda and grandson together, with Murtagh softly stroking the little lad’s head.

Claire put the phone down and looked at Jamie. He smiled and drew her close to him. “Look at them, Sassenach. I canna believe that we’ve got here...when I think back on all the difficulties of the past year. But, let me tell ye, on the way home, he smiled at me. A real smile, no’ just a random movement… a proper one. Mebbe, he’ll smile fer ye later… although ye may not get a chance tae cuddle him today, especially once our Jenny sets eyes on him.”

“That’s ok. I’ll have plenty of time when it’s just us. Let your family have their time today.”

Together Jamie and Claire watched as William finally woke in his grandfather’s arms.

“How was Geneva, by the way?” Claire continued.

“The same as ever. She gave me a laminated sheet with William’s schedule on it and a list of items tae be returned. Oh, and told me no’ tae get his outfit dirty. It’s Gucci, apparently.”

“Gucci? Who buys a baby a… Oh never mind. But maybe, when you go and change his nappy, change him into one of the ‘outfits’ you’ve bought him.”

William started to turn a bit red as his face took on a look of intense concentration.

Claire laughed. “Which may not be too long. Time for daddy duty.”

****************

Jamie complimented himself on his much improved nappy changing abilities, mess totally contained this time. William lay on the changing table, happily kicking his legs, enjoying the freedom.

“So, ma wee man, we’ll keep yer Gucci designer clothes all nice and clean fer yer ma-- mummy -- and we’ll pop ye in an outfit from that famous designer, er, ‘Asda’, shall we?”

He slid a fresh nappy under his bottom as William, as if in agreement, gurgled before releasing a miniature fountain over Jamie’s hand.

“Argh, ye wee tyke. A clean nappy and ma hand…”

Jamie quickly reached for the wipes and yet another nappy.

With William freshly changed and dressed in his supermarket outfit, Jamie headed for the stairs. A sudden crescendo of noise downstairs announced the arrival of Jenny, Ian and their children. Even from upstairs, Jamie could clearly hear his nephew calling him.

“Unca Jamie, Unca Jamie, where is ye? Mam says ye have a ‘prise fer me. What is it? Can I play wi’ it?”

Jamie came down the stairs slowly, suddenly very aware of the fragility of the baby in his arms and followed the noise into the living room.

Wee Jamie immediately rushed to his uncle. “Whatcha got? Can I see?” he cried pulling at Jamie’s shirt.

“Careful, Jamie,” Jenny scolded. “Come over here and ye can see with me.”

As Wee Jamie obeyed his mother, Jenny turned to Claire and whispered. “I havena told Wee Jamie anything about his cousin. His uncle can do all the explaining, and serve him right too. Let him figure out what tae say tae a four year old.”

Jamie gave William to Jenny. He immediately settled into her arms, bringing his hand up to his mouth. After a few attempts, he succeeded in finding his thumb and started sucking intently.

Her face softened as she stared at the baby. “Oh Jamie, he’s so lovely. When I think about…” Jenny paused and cleared her throat, blinking back tears. She tried again. “...when I think about all ye’ve been through… the pair of ye. But tae look at him, he’s worth it.”

Wee Jamie huddled close to his mother, staring at the baby with a bemused look on his face. “A baby. Is that ma ‘prise… a baby? We already got one o’ them.”

He jerked his thumb in the direction of Maggie, sitting on Claire’s lap, happily chewing the corner of a soft baby book.

“An’ ye canna play games wi’ her. She canna play the footie, can she Da?” He addressed the last remark to Ian.

Ian smiled. “No son, she canna yet, but give her time. She and William will be able tae join ye soon enough.”

“Unca, did ye borrow the baby? Where’s his mam and da then?”

“Jamie, I’m William’s Da. He’s ma son.”

His nephew grinned. “Nah… ye’re Unca, no’ Da.”

He looked to Jenny for confirmation. She momentarily drew her attention away from William and raised her eyebrows at Claire before speaking. “Jamie, yer Uncle is William’s da, like yer da is Maggie’s da too.”

Wee Jamie screwed his face up in thought and quietly went to sit down between Brian and Murtagh.

While Jamie went to make tea for everyone, different conversations sprang up around the room: Claire and Jenny talked together, while Ian, Brian and Murtagh started discussing how Jamie’s life would change. Nobody noticed how quiet Wee Jamie was.

Once all the adults were settled with a cup of tea, Jamie brought a glass of apple juice over to the lad before sitting on the floor next to his legs.

“Ye’re awfa quiet,” Jamie commented.

“Maggie came out of Mam’s tummy,” his nephew began, patting Jamie’s head playfully. “Mam said Da planted her there. And Mam’s tummy got awfa fat, so as Maggie had room tae grow in there. But…”

The other conversations died down as everyone listened.

He continued. “... but… Claire’s tummy didna get fat. How did William fit in there?”

Jamie felt himself redden. He looked over at Claire. “Claire isna William’s Mam. It’s a lady called Geneva.”

Jamie was pushed aside as Wee Jamie launched himself across the room and clung to Claire’s legs, burying his head in the part of her lap not occupied by his sister.

“Care bear, I dinna want ye tae go.” His voice was muffled.

Ian took Maggie from Claire, leaving her free to comfort the now sobbing child. She scooped him up onto her lap, brushing his hair away from his face before giving him a noisy kiss. Jamie came and perched on the arm of the chair, next to Claire.

“Jamie, look at me.” Claire spoke softly. “I’m not going anywhere. Your uncle and I are getting married, remember. And I’m moving all my stuff in here in the next couple of weeks, so I’ll be here all the time.”

“But William’s mam…”

“William’s mummy has her own house, same as your uncle. So William will spend some time at his mummy’s house and the rest of the time here with his da. Don’t worry, Jamie. We’re fine.”

Wee Jamie put his hands on Claire’s cheeks, pulled her close and looked directly into her eyes.

“And ye’re no’ going nowhere? Promise?”

“I promise.”

The little lad twisted around to face his uncle. “Unca? If ye didna want tae live wi’ that lady, why did ye plant William in her tummy?”

Jamie blushed once more as everyone turned to look at him. He could see Jenny biting her lip trying not to laugh.

“Er… weel… I didna mean tae… it was an accident.”

Wee Jamie patted his uncle’s hand reassuringly. “Never mind, Unca. Next time, remember tae plant the baby in Claire’s tummy.”

He looked around as everyone burst out laughing, confused as to why his family were all laughing at his eminently good advice. Still he ploughed on with his questions.

“Care bear, what will William call ye… will he call ye Mam?”

Claire thought for a moment before answering. “I don’t think he”ll call me that. I’m not sure what he’ll call me..., probably Claire.”

“He canna call ye that. Ye need a special name.”

“What do ye suggest?” Jamie joined in the conversation, relieved that his nephew's line of enquiry had shifted.

“I dinna ken…. what about what ye call Claire? I hear it. Ye call her… er… er... Sackasan. William can call ye Sackasan.” Wee Jamie heaved a sigh, pleased that he had sorted out all his family’s problems.

Jamie put his arm around Claire. “How about it, then? Are ye happy tae be William’s Sackasan too?”

**************

Once everyone had left and Jamie had returned William, now clad once more in his still clean Gucci romper suit, to Geneva, the house seemed incredibly quiet.

Not that Claire or Jamie minded that. It had been a wonderful family occasion, one to be treasured and William, although he would never remember it, had been warmly welcomed into the Fraser family.

But now, Jamie and Claire were both exhausted. It had been a very emotional day. They sat together on the sofa, Claire’s feet resting in Jamie’s lap while he rubbed them.

“Hey, ye should be doing this fer me. The amount of times I’ve been up and down those stairs today, fetching, carrying, changing. Ye may want tae think about doing the odd nappy change in the coming days, Sassenach.”

“But you’ve managed so beautifully today, Jamie. And feeding as well, no problem.”

“Aye, he's a good lad right enough. And I canna tell ye what it means tae me tae see him today with Da and Murtagh and Jenny… and ye. He’s part of the family… part of our family now.”

Claire closed her eyes and sighed in contentment. The foot massage was practically sending her to sleep. She yawned.

“Claire…”

She opened her eyes and looked at Jamie, now focussed on her face. He leant over her and kissed her cheek. “Ma Sassenach.” he breathed. “I wouldna be here, so happy and content wi’out ye.”

“So, what do ye think of Wee Jamie’s suggestion then? Are ye tae be William’s Sassenach too?” He continued.

“Such an awkward name for a little boy to pronounce, though.”

“Och, he’ll manage it somehow.”

“Yes, Jamie, I’ll be William’s Sassenach. Although, I should remind you that technically, Geneva is also a Sassenach… as is her mother.”

Jamie shuddered at the thought. “Aye, that may be. But ye and ye alone, Claire Beauchamp, will be our Sassenach, now and forever.”

#outlander fan fiction #outlander fanfic #Road To The Aisles #Chapter 3 #modern au #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #wee jamie too

[desperationandgin]

Deep as the Road is Long (Part III, Chapter 19)

General Rating: Bringing it back to cleansing tears

Also Read On: AO3

Previous Chapter

March 2017

The closer the anniversary of Faith’s death gets, the quieter Jamie becomes. He doesn’t withdraw, not completely, but ups his therapy appointments temporarily, tries to stave off the inevitable all-encompassing pain and sorrow. It’s Dr. Cho who attempts to impart at least a small bit of wisdom before the day actually arrives.

You grieved apart from the person you needed to be with. Now, you may grieve together.

It’s what they need. It’s what they both need. He’s usually a man of words that come easy to him, but what are the words when you grieve a death so big it leaves a gaping chasm where a heart used to be? Claire’s made him feel as though he’s living again, but it’s been easy to get lost in the ache of losing a part of himself forever. Still, he can’t and won’t repeat his mistakes; he can tell Claire’s being wary, being careful, as if he’s a live wire the entire week before, and he realizes they can’t go on like that. She has grief too, and she was alone with it for so long.

In the morning when he wakes, it’s in her bed. He’d thought about going home, being with Jenny and Ian and the kids, but it would have been too much. His sister constantly trying to help by telling sweet stories of Faith isn’t something he could face sitting through, so he’d told them that for now (and even for as much as he loves his sister and Ian, the bairns) he needed to be with Claire. Looking over, he watches her sleep, face soft and relaxed. Reaching out, his fingers trail over her cheek as he speaks quietly. “Ye deserve better than me.” He’d broken her, almost beyond repair; accidentally to be sure, and he’s working on putting her together again, piece by piece, but there are still bits laying at his feet. She didn’t deserve what he put her through, and yet here she is, loving him.

She stirs under his touch, inhaling and letting the breath out softly before her eyes slowly open and her gaze lands on him. When she speaks, her voice is still low and hazy from sleep.

“Don’t tell me what I deserve,” she murmurs, covering his hand with her own on the side of her face.

“How can ye still love me?” Already his emotions are running high, already he wants to weep in her arms.

Claire sits up, tugging the sheet around her chest and looking right at him. “Because you were hurting and angry.”

“Grief doesna give me a free pass to be an arsehole.”

She contemplates that for a moment, running her thumb over the inside of his wrist. “No. It doesn’t. But I became the face of cancer for you. Maybe not intentionally, but I was the one fighting it for your daughter. I was her champion in battle and I lost,” she breathes out, throat tightening. “I began thinking you should hate me long before she died. I was waiting for it, you know? The moment you said those things, I’d told myself it was coming, back in...Christ, in December of that year. So when you said it to my face, I already believed it,” she admits, looking at him as a tear rolls down her cheek, disappearing under her chin.

To hear it, to know that his words validated something false in her mind, it blows his heart apart. If it was shattered before, now it’s obliterated, and he gathers her into his arms. “It wasna yer fault. I’m sorry. Christ, I’m sorry, Claire. I didna know. I never meant to make ye hurt the way I did. Not like that, not like this.”

Her face presses against his shoulder as she closes her eyes tightly. “I wanted to be here for you. I wanted to make it all okay somehow, but I couldn’t. I knew I couldn’t.”

“Your job was no’ to fix me. That’s never yer job. We were supposed to get through it together, and instead, I pushed ye away and said things to make ye go. I thought it was better that way at the time. To make ye never want to see me again.”

That’s a revelation to her, and when she pulls back to look at him, face tearstained, she realizes he’s crying too. “What? Why, Jamie? Why did you think that?”

His head bows, jaw tightening as he tries to find the right words to phrase his answer. “Because I—” He stops, clears his throat, and begins again. “Because I felt so empty, Claire. I felt as though I couldna ever love enough again to make ye happy.”

“And now?” she asks, reaching up to cradle his face in her hands.

“Now, I ken I canna survive wi’ out ye.”

It’s a dangerous declaration and he knows it. He’s lost so many people, but his heart is stubborn, it seems. He loves her anyway and can’t see a way forward without her. For a few long minutes, they hold onto one another and he listens to her breathe quietly against his neck until she speaks.

“I miss her, Jamie. So much.” Claire’s voice breaks on that last word, head turning as she shifts to tuck her head against his neck.

Jamie’s arms are strong and sure around her, closing his eyes as one hand cradles the back of her head. “I ken it, mo nighean donn. So do I. Her wee laugh; Christ, I miss the sound of her voice.”

That’s all it takes for both of them to dissolve into tears together, holding one another. He can’t tell her tears from his, but he knows this is what it should have been all along. Eventually, they pull themselves together, dress, and drive to the cemetery. Faith’s grave is easy to find and he sees others have been here before them; stuffed animals have been left propped against the headstone, flowers and notes to his daughter. There’s a card, faded from rain and sun which declares on the front You are 6 today!. The first birthday she never saw. It’s more than Jamie can take standing up and he kneels, tugging Claire with him as he holds onto her hand tightly.

She’s wanted to bring something to the grave for a while, but a part of her couldn’t do it alone. If she’d never had Jamie she would have asked Jenny, but now, Claire reaches into her pocket and pulls out a letter, holding it in her hands and staring down at it, folded in a neat square.

“Sassenach?” His voice is quiet, thick with tears but still curious.

“I wrote this last August. Before you ever reached out to me. I needed to get everything out, somehow, so I wrote to her.”

After a moment of Jamie weighing the idea in his mind, he speaks quietly. “Would ye read it to me?”

Claire closes her eyes, feeling herself shake a little, but she nods, wetting her lips as she lets go of his hand to begin unfolding the notebook paper. “Are you sure?”

“Only if ye want to, Claire. It’s for Faith, no’ me.”

After a minute of hesitation, she looks down, reading aloud.

“Dear Faith.” Already, she has to pause, tears blurring her vision for a moment before she’s able to blink them away.

“I thought, the moment I saw you for the first time, asleep in your father’s arms, that I could save you. I knew I would. You were always so brave, always smiled, always looked so happy to see me, and when all of the medicine seemed to be making you better, I was relieved in a way I never have been before. I let myself fall in love with you. I can’t have a child of my own, but I thought if I could see you grow up, it wouldn’t matter.

But then you began getting sicker, and I couldn’t make it better. I tried, so hard for you, Faith, but it wasn’t enough. I know you fought too, but I also know you were so tired. You were brave and strong and you wanted to live, but your body was too worn out. As I held you and kissed you goodbye, I felt like a piece of me died with you. A future I’d planned in my mind no longer possible. Your fight, the one we fought together, was over.

I miss you every single second of every single day. Your light and laugh were incredible. You were the link between Jamie and I. You made me love again. You gave me an incredible gift by loving me, too. I cry for the time I won’t ever have with you, but I hurt most for your father. The things I know he hoped and dreamed for you, the pain he’s in but won’t let me soothe. I know his blaming me isn’t logical or right, but neither is you not being in the world.

Thank you, Faith. For every happy exclamation to see me, for every drawing you gave me, every laugh at my terrible jokes. I know that one day, whether it’s soon or years from now, your father and I will both be grateful for the lessons in strength and determination you gave us. Those lessons are what we’ll cling to now in order to make it through life without you. I would fight for you again. I will love you, always.”

By the time Claire finishes, she doesn’t need to look at Jamie, she can feel him shaking as they turn into one another and she falls apart, sobbing against his shoulder. Again, they hold one another and finally — belatedly — share their joint ache.

“Ye are my strength, Claire,” he whispers fiercely into her hair, tucking her as close as he possibly can.

“And you’re mine,” she manages in return, closing her eyes.

They stay like that, wrapped around one another until the sky turns purple and gold.

Next Chapter

#outlander fic #outlander #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #datril #deep as the road is long #my fic

[bee-kathony]

Four Years | Year Three - “December 26th, 2016″

a/n: thank you so much to the people that still read this story, I know it isn’t always easy and this year was an especially tough one for them. There is only one more year left to this fic and I can’t believe it. There’s been so many times that I wanted to give up and never write again, but I have a story to tell with this and I’m almost there, so thank you to everyone who has encouraged me with this! Hopefully year four won’t be too far off and should be posted shortly! 

Year One | Year Two

January 9th, 2016 | January 24th, 2016 | March 3rd, 2016 | March 30th, 2016 | April 10th, 2016 |  May 17th, 2016 | June 16th, 2016 | July 28th, 2016 | August 26th, 2016 | October 31st, 2016

December 26th, 2016

For Christmas, we spent the day at Lallybroch. This was now my third Christmas with the Fraser bunch and it was still just as fun as the first time. Only now, our own son got to run around on Christmas morning with all his cousins, making a mess with the wrapping paper and eating too many sweets.

My heart was so full it felt fit to burst at the sight of Fergus’ face whenever he opened his presents. Of course, a three year old would love anything you gave them, sometimes they even loved the cardboard box the toy came in more.

This time last year I had been pregnant, but only a few months along. My belly was growing bigger by the day — I was now the most pregnant I had ever been, seven months. It was hard for the both of us whenever this baby grew past the point that Jane had lived. I mostly felt fear… fear that something would go wrong at any moment.

Jamie was supportive as always, making sure I had everything I needed and that I was taking it easy. I had stopped working at the hospital a month ago, and I was grateful for a boss that understood that with everything I had been through in the last several years, the stress of being a doctor wasn’t going to help.

I missed it of course, the daily routine and helping patients, and maybe one day I would be able to return to that, but for now I wanted to focus on my family. I was also grateful for a husband who had his own business and was able to support us.

We stayed at Lallybroch last night, too tired to return home to wake up in our own beds. Slowly, I opened my eyes to see Jamie sitting up in bed with a book in his hands.

“What time is it?” I said groggily, wiping my hand across my face.

“Nearly noon, Sassenach,” Jamie smirked. “Ye slept like the dead.”

“Noon?” My eyes widened. I hadn’t slept in like this in so long, especially not since I’d been pregnant — I always slept lightly and scared that something would happen.

“Must have been all that eggnog ye drank yesterday,” Jamie smiled and pressed his hand to my cheek. “I went down for breakfast and I tried to wake ye, but ye didna budge.”

“I probably needed the sleep then,” I sighed. “Is Fergus alright?”

“Och, aye. Playin’ wi’ his cousins and his new toys.”

“Good,” I smiled and sat up a bit in the bed. “Oooo!” I put my hand over my belly and Jamie immediately turned towards me.

“What’s wrong? Are ye alright, Claire?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” I smiled sheepishly, feeling bad that I had worried him. “She’s just kicking,” I grabbed his hand and placed it over the spot where she had just kicked me.

A few moments later, Jamie’s eyes lit up and he pressed his other hand to cover my stomach. “Wow… that’s… the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt, Sassenach.”

“Isn’t it?” I smiled as tears came to my eyes. Jamie leaned down and placed his ear against my belly to listen to her heartbeat. I ran my hand through his curls, watching him smile as he felt her kick against his face.

“A rowdy one,” Jamie laughed and sat back up, his hand sliding over my stomach.

“Like her Da,” I chuckled.

“That’s amazing,” Jamie said again as he sat back against the headboard, his hand still covering my stomach while he picked his book back up.

He kept his hand there while I continued to fully wake up, checking my phone for any missed messages.

Grinning to myself, I slipped my hand under the cover and he dropped the book. “Sassenach! We canna—“

“Well we can,” I smiled as I moved my hand up a little more, just touching the head of his cock. “But I know we said we wanted to be as safe as possible until the baby is born.”

“Aye, we did, Claire…” he moved his hand on top of mine, grasping it firmly to move it, but I only pressed harder making him squirm. “Which is why ye canna be touchin’ me like this.”

“Oh, but there are other ways to enjoy ourselves in bed my dear lad,” I laughed and moved my thumb on the tip, swiping the wetness there. Jamie groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as his head hit the pillow behind him.

“But I wouldna feel right takin’ pleasure from ye while ye dinna receive any in return,” Jamie opened his eyes looking me seriously in the face. Oh he did break my heart with loving him.

“What makes you think I don’t get any pleasure from watching you like this?” Smiling, I pulled back the sheet to expose him to my wandering eyes. He was half-hard in my hand. I started to pump his cock, watching as it grew and his thighs clenched. “You have hands, surely you can think of something to do to repay me.”

“Christ!” Jamie’s hips jerked and then his hand was covering mine, setting a steady pace — much faster than my current one. “I canna wait until the bairn is born, Sassenach.”

“Oh me too,” I smiled softly. “She’ll be so sweet and—“

“I dinna mean to talk of our unborn daughter just now while ye have me in such a position,” Jamie smirked, his eyes glancing down my robe, the opening revealing my full breasts. “I only mean that I canna wait until yer belly isna full of my child so I can take ye as I please.”

“And how would you take me?” I urged, twisting my hand just so.

His eyes squeezed shut again and I saw a light sweat breakout on his forehead. “Sassenach,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Would you have me on all fours, my fat arse in the air?” I moved my other hand to cup his balls. “Or would you have me on my back?” His hips bucked once again and I knew he was close. “Perhaps you’d like me on top to please you… my breasts swinging in your face.”

With that final image in his mind, Jamie came with a deep groan, his body jerking and I kept my grip firm on him, enjoying watching him come undone. I pumped him twice slowly before releasing him and leaning over to kiss him.

His breath was hot and his chest rose quickly after his climax. Jamie wrapped one arm around my waist holding me to him. “Sassenach, I thought my heart was goin’ to burst.”

“Did it not?” I smiled as I kissed his cheek all while letting my hand trail down his toned stomach and rest just near his groin.

“Nah,” he moved his hips to try and get my hands off him. “Tis yer turn, mo nighean donn.” Jamie tried to push me to lay back, but I was faster. I shimmied down the bed, placing both my hands on his thighs and looked up at him. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, sitting up on his elbows.

With one hand in my hair, I leaned down and took him in my mouth. Jamie groaned, holding me close as I began to bob and suck. It didn’t take long and I swirled my tongue, hollowing my cheeks and drinking him down.

“Claire!” He shouted, his hand gripping my shoulder. I came off him with a ‘pop’, feeling slightly light headed and rather sated.

I moved over to lie on my back beside him and immediately his hand came to untie my robe. “Let me catch my breath and then I’ll have my way wi’ ye, Sassenach.”

“Oh do take your time,” I chuckled. He gave me a sly grin and then after a moment to collect himself, resumed the task of undressing me, laying me bare before him.

Jamie leaned down, his head at my breast and took one pink nipple into his mouth. I winced at the tenderness and he looked up at me through full lashes and I smoothed back his hair, a sign for him to continue.

“So soft, mo ghraidh,” Jamie kissed each breast, his fingers squeezing gently. His tongue pressed against my sensitive peak and I moaned, loudly. A trail of kisses were placed from breast to navel and my heart sped up in anticipation of what would come next.

The moment his finger touched me there, I cried his name. He parted my folds and I heard the sound of my own desire. “Oh, Claire,” Jamie said reverently and placed a gentle kiss to the underside of one breast before sliding a finger inside of me.

“Jamie,” I sighed, arching my back and flexing my pelvis. His other hand came to rest on top of my belly as he pumped his fingers in and out. “Jamie!”

“Come for me, my own,” Jamie begged, his mouth now nibbling on my breast. I clenched my thighs around his hand, stopping his movements for a brief moment and then his thumb pressed against my clit. In slow steady circles, Jamie brought me to my climax with just the tip of a finger.

“God, I love you,” I sighed, smiling as he slid up my body and pressed his lips to mine.

“I love ye so much,” Jamie nuzzled his nose against mine. “Sometimes I think I must be the only one who knows what it feels to love someone as much as I love ye. It’s overwhelming, Sassenach.”

“Yes,” I stroked his curls. “Yes it is.”

Jamie brought both our hands to rest over my stomach. “This child will live, Claire. I ken it. We have nothin’ to be afraid of.”

I squeezed his fingers tightly, holding onto them lest I float away. “But I am afraid, Jamie. So terribly afraid.”

“It’s seven months now…”

Jane was just over four months when she died. This child had already outlived her sister.

“Just over two months to go.”

“Two months until I can watch ye cradle her safely in yer arms, Sassenach.”

I turned in his arms, pressing my face into his chest and he tightened his arms around me. This time I would will my body to do what it could not before. This time, when we left the hospital in two months… we would be leaving as a family of four.

#four years #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #outlander #jamie x claire #december 26th 2016 #jamie fraser #claire fraser #year three

[renee-writer]

One Step Into the Future Chapter 2 What? Where? When?

“Jamie?” She kneels beside him and takes his pulse. It is strong and his eyelids are fluttering. Just a faint then. “Jamie, open your eyes.”

He does and finds her amber eyes staring back at him. So, he hadn't dreamed her. What of the rest? “Claire what of..”

“Yes Jamie?” He sits himself up and looks down. It is still there, whatever it was.

“What is that?” She looks where he is pointing and only sees her car. She frowns.

“What is what? It is only my car.”

“Car?”

“Jamie, how hard did you hit your head?” she is feeling under his curls again. But even the feel of her bonny hands canna distract him. “I don't feel anything but fainting and disorientation mean we should have you checked.”

“Checked?”

“At the hospital.” He still looks at her blankly so she just urges him up and towards her car. She open s the driver's door but he just stands there. It is like he has never seen a car before. She frowns, climbs out, and leads him to the passenger side. She urges him to have a seat. He sits and she places the seatbelt on him. She then reenters her side and starts the car. He is silent but jumps at the sound of the car starting. It isn't loud. Who is this guy?

“It is okay Jamie. It is safe and I am a good driver.”

“The Stones! It must be. The stories. They are true.”

“What stories?” He is distracted by the feel of movement. They are moving faster then any carriage and there are no horses. “Jamie?”

“Of travel. Of those who go through the stones, into another time.”

“You think you have went through another time?”

“Aye. Unless this is 1742.” It is her turn to be shocked.

“It is 2019. Jamie, are you saying you believe you are from 1742?”

“Nae Claire, I am saying I ken I am.”

She hurries to the hospital really worried about him now. She pulls up and helps him out. He follows her in, looking at the flashing lights, the ambulances, the doors that open as they approach, with wide eyes.

“Claire Beauchamp, we didn't expect you here today,” Dr. Geillis Duncan greets her.

“I didn't expect to be. I have a patient.” Her eyes move to Jamie.

“He is the most Highlander, Highlander I've ever seen.”

“James Fraser, at yer service ma'am.” He bows low in front of her, letting his kilt swing.

“Geillis Duncan, and it is a good thing I am married.”

“Is your husband about?” Joe Abernathy was the best psychiatrist Claire has ever worked with.

“Aye, I can page him.” Her questions are in her eyes.

“Jamie, stay right here.” He nods, still studying the electric lights, the lasses dressed like lads, the strange wheeled beds, and all the other queer things.

“He believes he is from 1742 and has came through some standing stones.” She explains to Geillis all that had happened.

“Okay. Let's do a complete physical. Make sure it isn’t something medical. I will get Joe to consult.”

“Thank you.”

The lead him to a bed. A nurse comes in and explains he must change into a gown.

“Why?”

“Hospital rules. I will give you a moment.” He carefully removes his clothes, laying them on the edge of the bed. But he has no idea how to put on the gown.

“Claire!” he calls out. She is close, standing by the curtain. She hurries in to find him as nude as a newborn.

“Christ Jamie!” her cheeks flare bright red. She has seen patients nude but she wasn't expecting..

“The lass says I must wear it but, I canna figure it out.” She comes in and helps him place the gown on. She ties it in the back then covers him with a sheet. It is short and barely covers his manhood. Hospital gowns were not made with Scottish warriors in mind. “Thank ye Claire.”

The nurse returns,” I need to draw some blood.”

“Like with leeches?” Jamie asks, startling the poor girl.

“No. The standard way.” Claire explains the process as well as she can. He nods but holds Claire's hand. She lets him squeeze it. “Quick pinch.” He jerks a bit then is still. He watches instead as his blood moves like magic into the wee glass thing. “Thank you Mr. Fraser.” She places a bandage over the small hole and slips out.

“Are you okay?” she asks him.

“I think so. Seems easier then the leeches.” She smiles. Another nurse enters with a cup.

“Mr. Fraser, we need a urine specimen.” He looks to Claire.

“She needs you to pee in that cup.”

“Ye wish me tae piss into that?”

“Well yes.” She hands it to him and he shrugs. He lifts the end of the gown giving both ladies a glimpse of what God has gifted him with.

“Jamie! Not here. You are to do it in the loo, ahh privy. Come.” She leads him out and into an empty bathroom. He looks around in wonder. “See, this is a sink. Water comes through pipes in the wall.” She turns it on and shows him.

“Nae need of drawing from a creek or a well?”

“No. And this is an indoor privy. You stand over it, lift both lids, and pee inside, whatever doesn’t fit in the cup. To, ah, defecate, you place one lid down and sit. When done you simply press this lever down and it is carried away. Then wash your hands.” She demonstrates flushing. He jumps a bit at the noise. “I will be right outside.”

“Claire nae! Please dinna go. I am scared.”

“Okay. I will turn my back.”

“Thank ye.” She does. A moment later she hears him peeing into the cup, and then into the toilet. She turns then to find him holding the cup in one hand and staring at the lever that flushes it. She takes the cup and places the lid on. She watches as with shaken hands, he flushes. He then washes his hands. She leads him back to the room.

“His blood and urine are clean. Very clean. No minute traces of the pollution I would expect to find in any modern person.” A shaken Geillis reports an hour later.

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying, I am getting Joe.”

“Hello Mr. Fraser. I am Doctor Joe Abernathy. You can call me Joe.”

“What happened to yer skin?” Joe is a dark skin black man, something that Jamie had yet to see.

“You have never seen a black person before?”

“No.”

“Well Jamie, may I call you that?”

“Aye tis my name.”

“Jamie, I am black. My ancestors came from the continent of Africa.”

“I have heard of such just nae seen.”

“Jamie, I need to ask you some questions. That alright?”

“Aye.”

“What is your full name?”

“James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.

“What year were you born?

“The year of our Lord 1720.”

“And what year is it now?”

“Well Joe. Twas 1742 when I woke this morning but Claire says it is now 2019. It must be sae.”

“Why?”

“Weel, there is not any of this in 1742. I had ne' seen a car, a door that opens on it's own, beds with wheels, fireless lights, an indoor privy, weel, any of this before today.”

“What are your parent’s names?”

“Brian and Ellen Fraser?”

“Your mother's maiden name?”

“Mackenzie.”

“Do you have siblings?”

“Aye, a sister named Janet but everyone calls her Jenny. Had a brother named Willie but her died?”

“When did he die?”

“1730. It was the pox that carried him away?”

“Smallpox?”

“Aye.”

“Are your parents still alive?”

“Nae. My mam passed a year after Willie, in childbed. My da was felled by a sudden attack two years ago.”

“What is your phone number?”

“What is a phone?”

“Okay, where did you go to school?”

“I was educated by my mam until she passed. My sister taught me some then my da sent me to my uncle's at Castle Leoch. I studied under them for two and a half years.”

“Where do you work.?”

“I was a soldier in France until the war ended. Now I am a stable hand at Castle Leoch. Or was?”

“Okay Jamie. I will be back.”

“He is intelligent, articulate and believes every word he told me. But other then the delusion, there is no other sign of a mental illness, no paranoia, no depression, nothing.”

“Nothing but the fact that he believes himself from the past and the lab tests seem to back him up.”

“You were on the hill Claire. What did you experience?”

“It was strange. Their was a loud humming, like a hive of bees. Then silence and he was there, on the other side of the stone.”

“I deal in facts but there are certain things we can't know. Mysterys.”

“You believe him?”

“He does. His words and actions show he isn't aware he is lying or mistaken, if he is.”

“And the lab tests.” He nods.

“I can't admit him or medicate him.”

“What do I do with him?” He shrugs.

“I can't say. But he is like a domesticated animal. They way he is now, he will never survive out on his own.”

“I found him so I keep him?”

“He isn't a danger. You can take him to a shelter or..”

“Take him home with me.”

“Yes”

“Thanks Joe. I guess I have a houseguest, for awhile. I will see him on his feet.”

#my wtiting #modern au #outlander fanfic #one step in the future #wht where when

[the--highlanders]

25. Nest

on ao3.

Striding from one end of the room to the other, Jamie paused just beneath where the domed ceiling began to slope down to the floor, tapping at it to see if it would crumble away beneath his touch. From a distance it looked as if it were simply made of earth, and when they had first been ushered into the room his heart had leapt at the thought that they might simply tunnel out of there. But closer inspection had shown him that it was fused together somehow, hardened into an odd, plastic-like sheen, and he had yet to find a spot that might be weaker than the rest. Huffing to himself, he turned on his heel and headed off to examine a different spot.

“You might do better by walking the circumference,” the Doctor pointed out mildly, not looking up from the sheaf of paper in his hand.

“Eh?”

“All the way around the outside.” He raised one arm lazily, tracing out the ghost of the room in the air with the pen he held. “Pacing is so much harder in circular rooms, I always think.”

Not that he looked particularly interested in doing much pacing. He had deposited himself in the round hollow that passed for a bed almost as soon as the door had been closed behind them, and he had not moved from the spot since. “Aren’t ye gonnae help me find a way out?”

“I am helping.”

“No, you’re not, you’re -” Jamie squeezed his eyes closed, struggling to calm himself before he spoke again. If only the room had a window, he thought. Just one. Just enough for him to see how dark the sky was getting outside. “You’re just sittin’ there.”

The Doctor held up his sheet of paper. “I’m drafting a peace treaty.”

“You’re – what?”

“Drafting a peace treaty.” Finally abandoning the idea of digging his way out, Jamie flopped down beside the Doctor. It was comfortable, he had to admit, to curl himself in a hollow filled with pillows and listen to the rustling of straw inside them. “That’s how we’re going to get out.”

“Ye can’t just -” Jamie shook his head. “Write a peace treaty an’ expect it to fix everythin’. Ye havenae even talked tae the ones who took Zoe.”

“That’s true.” Tapping the pen against his lip, the Doctor cast a glance over at the door. “I do wonder how she’s getting on. If only I could convince them to let us talk to her.”

“Assumin’ she’s alright enough tae talk to,” Jamie said darkly.

“Oh, Jamie.” The Doctor set his pen and paper aside. “I’m sure she’s quite alright.”

It had been just their luck, Jamie thought, to land on a planet that looked entirely uninhabited, only to find that there had been a war raging beneath the surface for a hundred years. If only they had stuck more tightly together, then Zoe would not have been left to wander across the invisible line, and she would not have been taken into one nest and them into another. The people had been pleasant enough to them, he supposed – it certainly made a chance to have someone believe them when they insisted they were not spies from the other side. But they seemed entirely disinterested in mounting a rescue party for Zoe, and the thought that she could have been hurt had been numbing enough to even carry Jamie through a bowl of the intensely sour broth they had been brought earlier.

“Why won’t they let us try an’ rescue her?” he asked at last. “We could rescue their people while we’re at it.”

It took a long moment for the Doctor to answer, and Jamie was struck by the unsettling thought that perhaps he did not know either. “I don’t think they understand the concept,” he said at last. “I think they’re something like – ants, on your Earth -”

“Aye, well, they look enough like them.”

“- and they have very little individuality, you see. They’re something of a hive mind. When one of them is captured, or – or -” He swallowed. “Dies, it’s more like an injury to a body than losing a friend. I suppose they’re more like a slime mould, in a way. Two colony organisms fighting back and forth and taking chunks off each other.”

“Oh, aye.” He had not thought that the Doctor could have said anything to make him feel worse, but strangely enough he had succeeded. And if their hosts really were unable to understand why they wanted Zoe back… “I’m startin’ tae think that idea of digging our way out was a good idea after all.”

“Well, you’re welcome to try, but I doubt you’ll get very far. That stuff’s stronger than reinforced steel, you know.”

“Hm.” Tilting his head back, Jamie stared up at the ceiling. “What is it, anyway? It doesnae look like anythin’ I’ve seen.”

“It’s a special compound they make out of dirt. They chew it up, you see – like your ants, again – and their saliva sticks it together. Like a sort of concrete.”

And he had been running his hands over it and everything. Surreptitiously, Jamie wiped his fingers against his kilt. “Oh.”

“Now, I’d rather like to get on with this draft.”

“Aye, alright.” Jamie lay back against the rim of the hollow, pulling a pillow out from beside him to hug it against his chest. The fabric of it was a thick-woven fibre, sharp and scratchy against his arms, but he ignored the discomfort to press on it harder. “Hey, Doctor?”

“Mm?”

“What if ye can’t just… fix things by writin’ up a peace treaty? What if it’s more complicated than that?”

The Doctor did not look up from his work, but his pen paused against the paper. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well...” Jamie trailed off, struggling to wrap his head around the conviction that had settled unbidden into his gut. “We’re always comin’ into these places an’ trying tae sort things out. An’ it’s alright when it’s just the Cybermen, or the Yeti, or somethin’, when there’s good an’ bad and we know which is which. But if Zoe’s bein’ treated just like how we are, how do we know where we stand?”

The Doctor smiled, but there was something disquieted in his eyes. “This isn’t a condemnation, you know, Jamie. It’s a compromise.”

“Aye, but – they’ve been fightin’ for a hundred years. It cannae be so simple that ye can just – drop in an’ fix it in five minutes. Doesnae matter how clever ye are. Maybe it’s worse if ye do think you’re clever, an’ you’re above all their problems.”

He had struck a nerve, he knew. The Doctor set aside the papers, picked them up again, and finally tossed them to the side. The pen went flying after them, scratching a long, black line across the scribbled words. “You’re quite right, of course,” he said – and he looked tired. Frighteningly tired. For all his frustrations, Jamie was beginning to wish he had not said anything. “I can’t fix everything.”

“I didnae mean it like that,” Jamie said, softly, awkwardly. “Just that – we rush intae places, an’ we rush out of them, an’ maybe we don’t really get it, ye know?”

“Yes, I know. But – one has to try, doesn’t one?”

“Aye, ‘course.”

“And perhaps just a little bit of peace is enough, sometimes. Just for a moment. Just to make people stop and think.” The Doctor nodded, more to himself than to Jamie. “It isn’t always perfect – there was that time, with dear Dodo, and she had that cold...” He trailed off hurriedly. “Zoe first,” he said instead. “We’ll have them bring us Zoe, and then we can try and – get it.”

“Aye, alright. Zoe first.” Shuffling over, Jamie picked up the pen and papers to hand them back to him. “So what were ye thinkin’?”

#second doctor #fanfic archive #my writing #sketchtober 2020

[distoretion]

||A Few on the Way|| A Dis x Carney Drabble

Dis shook out one of the heavy sheets from the pile of laundry, straining on tiptoe in an attempt to keep it from touching the ground as she pinned it into place on the washing line. As soon as that was done, she turned to grab another, only to be blocked by a toned and freckled chest as a pair of strong arms wrapped around her in a tender hug.

“What are ye doing with those!? I thought th’ doc said no hard labor till after th’ babies come!” Carney pouted down at her, his gaze accusatory. His grip on her was soft and light as if handling a delicate piece of glass that might break at any moment.

“Oh come now, it’s just a bit of laundry! I hardly think that counts as ‘hard labor’.” She said lightly, rolling her eyes at his dramatics. “And the doctor did say I’m meant to get half an hour’s light exercise every day.” 

“No no, I saw the way you were struggling to hold up that sheet! My delicate little aingeal shouldn’t be pushing herself like that.” He was whining now, leaning down to nuzzle his lips against her cheek. “My sweet, what if you pulled something? Or fell? It’d be awful if you hurt yourself!”

“Carney, please! I’m pregnant, not an invalid.” She protested, blushing when his breath tickled her ear. “Honestly, we aren’t even in the third trimester yet. If this is how much you’re fretting at only five months you’ll wear yourself thin by the due date.”

“But lovely, I cannae help myself! You’re carrying such a precious load...” Carney slid down further, placing his palm over her swollen belly. “Wee little babies, tucked up in Mummy’s tummy. I’ve got t’ make sure all three of ye stay safe and healthy, isn’t that right?”

“All three?”

“The two little twins and Mummy of course!” He said it as if it couldn’t be any more obvious. The way he was holding her so carefully like she really was some sort of precious miracle, made her heart flutter.

“And, hm? What’s that, babies?” He got down on his knees and placed his ear against her belly, then stayed there a minute nodding slowly at whatever he was pretending he heard. “Uh-huh? Yes? You want Mummy to let Daddy take care of all the chores? You want Daddy to pamper her?”

“Carney...” Dis let out an exasperated sigh, a hand running absently through his fiery hair.

“Mmm, so I should be giving Mummy foot rubs and warm bubble baths? And keeping her away from the dishes?” He was nuzzling closer again, pressing a trail of kisses across her stomach as he spoke.

“Well...” She supposed the part about the foot rubs didn’t sound so bad...

“And you’d like it if Daddy did things like bring Mummy breakfast in bed? And sing the three of you songs? Ah, and I bet you want me to cuddle you and Mummy to keep you all nice and warm, too.”

“Okay, okay, I get it...” She sighed again, finally relenting. “I’ll take it easy for the day. And you can take over some of the chores while we’re waiting for the twins to arrive.”

He grinned up at her, standing to press a long, soft kiss against her lips. Then, sweeping her up into a delicate bridal carry, he headed off towards the bedroom. “I knew ye’d see it our way eventually!”

“Wha-!? Wait, Carney!” Dis gasped, looping her arms instinctively around his neck. “What about the rest of the laundry?”

“Later... Besides, I thought I owed ye some cuddles and a couple o’ kisses first.”

“I don’t remember you saying anything about kisses!” Her voice came out higher than she would have liked, the same sort of slightly nervous squeak from when they first started dating.  

“Mmm, didn’t I?” He asked, managing to steal a quick peck from her lips as he leaned down to get the door. “I’ll just have tae fit ‘em in while I’m drawing ye that bubble-bath.”

“Oh, Carney...” She blushed, hiding her face against his neck as she heard the soft rumble of his laughter deep in his chest. As the door slid shut behind them, she let herself relax in his careful hold. Safe, secure, and content to let herself bask in his affections. At least until tomorrow.

#Dis x Carney #shippy ships #drabble #fluff

[phoenixflames12]

The next chapter of Vergangenheit is still being a right headache, due to most of it being in flashback- you’ll understand why when you read it- but after a lot of time spent sitting at my desk and pulling my hair out whilst dragging each sentence out of my brain with excruciating slowness I have managed to get a half decent and v. emotionally painful interaction between Faith and Brianna, on Brianna’s last night at Lallybroch before she leaves for Glasgow, down. 

‘Faith? Faith are ye awake?’

Her voice had sounded queer and small to her ears as she had knocked once and listened to the rustle of bedclothes and a sleepy, disgruntled sigh in answer, before taking her cue and pushing the door open.

‘I am now.’  A tousled halo of blazing hair had peered out from under the piles of blankets that Faith had taken to bed, her face white, eyes widening, expression softening at the sight of her little sister.

‘What is it, Bree? Can ye no’ sleep, a pluithair?’

And Brianna had shaken her head mutely and Faith had nodded, drawing the covers back.

‘Get into bed, then, mo chuisle. I’ll warm ye.’

They had lain in silence for a long moment, listening to the steady, sleep-filled rhythm of each other’s breathing, Faith’s arm tucked around Brianna’s shoulder, her sister’s nose nestled deep in her shoulder blade.

‘What if… What if I’m terrible at it?’

The question had hung in the silence for a moment before Brianna had even known that she was asking it, the words small and caught and broken in the soft, companionable dark.

‘Terrible at what?’

Faith had pulled her closer, tucking the sheets around her tightly, as if they were bairns once more and not grown-up, facing the strange and perilous path towards adulthood.

‘Ye won’t be,’ she said at last, her voice a low, fierce murmur somewhere in the pit of Brianna’s shoulder blades.

‘Ye’ve got a real talent. Ye can conjure up so much wi’ your pens and your pencils and I’m a wee bit jealous of it myself, actually.’

She had felt the smile in her sister’s voice then and felt a small crack of warmth light in her own heart as she had twisted round to face Faith, her sister’s face flickering in and out of the incremental lamplight.

‘Jealous? You? Ye havena got a jealous bone in your body!’

Faith had smiled a little shyly at her outrage and dipped her head, murmuring something that Brianna had not been able to catch.

‘What?’

She had snuggled closer, listening to the rise and fall of her sisters’ lungs from beneath her nightgown, the comforting thud of her heart pressed up against her ear. Far out on the moor, a vixens’ scream pierces the night and somewhere far away, some unsuspecting rabbit or vole dies for its’ carelessness.

‘Ye dinna ken that,’ Faith had murmured quietly, nestling her chin on the top of Brianna’s head.

‘Don’t I?’

‘I can be jealous Bree. I just… I’ve learnt not tae show it, that’s all,’ she had paused then and with a pang to her heart, Brianna had heard the hitch in her breathing, the sobbing breath choked back into oblivion.

‘When we were both in school together for that short time and ye… Ye streaked ahead an’ I… It was all I could do not tae rage at ye, but kenning that it was your destiny tae do well, tae always be in the light, whilst I, a puir sparrow in comparison…’

‘Oh Faith, ye canna think such things!’

Fumbling in the dark, she had latched her arms around her elder sister’s neck and pulled her close, drinking in the sharp, sleep filled scent of her, yearning with all her heart that now was not the last time she would smell it.

Faith had sniffed masterfully then and returned the embrace, their tears mingling freely in the dark.

‘Ye’ll be just fine, mo chuisle,’ she had murmured quietly, the words almost lost in her sister’s hair, and Brianna had had to choke back another sob of reproach.

I won’t.

I can’t.

‘Ye can.’ By the guttering lamplight, Faith’s face had been lit with a tremulous, quavering smile, one that Brianna could do nothing but return, her eyes aching with impending sleep.

‘Promise me one thing,’ she had murmured, the words almost lost as she snuggled down against their shared pillow.

‘Anything,’ Faith’s voice had been a whisper in the dark, mingled with the creak of the bedsprings as she had settled herself down.

‘Write tae me. Please,’ slowly Brianna had propped herself onto her elbow and held her sister’s gaze with what was left of the light, twin cat eyes blazing into each other.

‘Every day, if ye wish.’

#mine #writing #fanfiction #outlander #ww2 au #brianna randall #faith fraser #blood of my blood #thoughts?

[wafflesetc]

Gotham’s Writing Workshop: Week 5  Birds out of a Cage

Set in A Breath of Snow and Ashes. Mild spoilers for it, if you haven’t read it. You’ve been warned.

“I wasn’t on an island, but I was out there…. hoping for you to find me. When I heard a birdsong, I’d pretend it was you talking to me.”

“Ye ken that the greylag mate for life? If ye kill a grown goose, hunting, ye must always wait, for the mate will come to mourn. Then ye must try to kill the second too, for otherwise it will grieve itself to death, calling through the skies for the lost one.”

Outlander, 3x08 - First Wife

He stood, still by the window, watching the hues of orange, red and purple fade on the Ridge as the moon took its cast over the sky. Summer was fading quickly into fall and while he could still feel the heat of the long summer days, the damp and cool air of the fall was beckoning on their doorstep.

She had always told him he was a warm blooded man- her personal furnace in the winter, whatever a furnace might have been he didna ken, and now in her current state, he felt like an endless winter. Cold running through his veins- for as much as he held her, tended to her, and cared for her, and prayed for her— his hands and his body were of no use. He was not simply enough.

Whatever sickness had plagued her was strong and tough— Jamie stood, placing his hands on the window sill, closing his eyes, recalling all the times she had told him:

‘It’s alright, I have been inoculated.’ or ‘I cannot get that because I have something that is called resistance.’

Well damn those little things she called germs and damn that thing she had once called a vaccine.

He felt utterly helpless and useless, two feelings he very seldom felt. Years back he had given her his name, his family, his clan — and the protection of his body if need be. He could feel his heart tearing to into two, for he knew deep in his bones he had long kept each of these promises if not at least once but twice but now, now he so wished he could take the sickness upon him. To be the one to bear the sickness, to bear the pain and anguish, the one to bear it all for her. 

The moon was rising over the tree tops; The cool crisp air flowing into the cabin, bringing him back to his senses.

Claire let out a small grunt behind him and Jamie turned to her clutching the window sill with a sheer grip strength that might crack the frame in half with his anger and anguish.

She was flushed, sweaty, and wreathing in pain. Her eyes were squinted shut— the deep furrow of a V between her eyes— the way it was only when she had nightmares.

He felt gutted to his core- all his vulnerability laid out before him. His ultimate weakness appearing before his very eyes. An oxymoron he found in the timing, because he knew while Claire was like this he had to be his strongest, holding them both together.

Jamie took a deep breath, closing the window, slowly shuffling his way to her side. He grabbed the towel by the wash bin, soaking it and ringing out the excess water.

“Mo chridhe.” He whispered, as he wiped her sweat and tear stained face. “If ye can hear me or if ye canna, it doesna matter. Just know I am here, I willna leave yer side.”

He watched, his heart in anguish, as her already shut eyes clutched together even tighter, furthering the V between her brows. Whether it was because of pain, fever, a nightmare, or it being her only way of communicating that she had heard him, it didn’t matter.

Jamie stood, rubbing his knees, feeling his already bruised knee caps growing tender once more. Three days of kneeling by her side and saying prayers — three days too many with his world hanging in the balance.

He pulled the stool behind him to the edge of the bed taking a seat. He reached slowly under the sheet, finding her hands, pulling it towards his lips.

“Claire, remember that one time. I told ye about the greylag and how they are mated for life?” He whispered as he trailed her fingers along his the lines of his mouth. His breath cold amongst her feverish hands. She grunted and the bed shook with her shivers, sending chills down his own spine as well. “Weel, if ye do, I told ye that when one dies the mate comes and mourns. That ye have to kill the mate as well, or it will grieve itself to death.”

Jamie felt the lump in his throat. He stopped, the torment of the situation all too real, all too simple, an actual reality before him.

“If ye die on me Sassenach, I willna be too far behind ye. We will be two birds, mated, and free of our cage. We will be free together. That I promise ye.”

He whispered, clutching her hand to his chest, saying a silent prayer to those listening above.

“Just please don’t let it be so soon, I’m no’ finished loving her yet.” 

#Gotham's Writing Workshop #Outlander #Jamie x Claire #Jamie Fraser #Claire Fraser #myfic! #ABOSSA #uhm I am sorry for the angst #it's all I have though #sooooooo