archie + jamie fraser from outlander betty + nancy drew veronica + holly golighty from breakfast at tiffany’s kevin + montgomery cliff hermione + joan crawford-mildred pierce core four + sad breakfast club
this was an idea i’ve had sitting in my list of drafts for literally forever, and i am so happy to finally put it together!
as always, i love getting requests from you guys, so feel free to send me requests for aesthetics, theories, or other kinds of content through my ask box or messages!
A piece I wrote quite some time ago but has only ever been posted on AO3. I am not sure why I love this one so much. It’s not my best writing or my most imaginative work but for some reason I am really proud of it so thought I would share it here too. :-)
Jamie crouched beside the bed and traced his finger along the fiery tendril of hair spread across the pillow nearest him.
The child was sound asleep and he moved carefully so as not to disturb them. He looked around the bed but could not tell by the toys and books whether the child was male or female. There were no clothes laid out and he didn’t dare try opening the drawers beside the bed. The child whimpered in its sleep and then cried out, a single wail that pierced the quiet of the house. Blue eyes fluttered open and fixed on Jamie’s own identical eyes.
“Aye a leannan, it’s me.” Jamie nodded, trailing his finger across the curve of his bairns cheek. The child shivered and he withdrew his hand at the same moment as he heard a door open down the hall. Jamie pressed himself into the shadows, raising a finger to his lips. The bedroom door creaked open and flooded the room with light, brighter and more insistent than any candle Jamie had ever seen.
“Bree?” A man’s voice called softly. Jamie held his breathe as the man stepped into the room. His hair was short and he wore a strange loose fitting shirt and trousers in the same blue striped fabric but there was no mistaking his face. Randall. Jamie tensed in his crouch and his hand silently moved across his hip to his dirk. The child sat up in bed and blinked.
Jamie drew the blade and braced himself; ready to attack.
“Yes sweetheart, I’m here. What are you doing awake?” Randall asked and Jamie hesitated. His voice was different, gentler and a little deeper. Randall crossed the room and sat on the bed beside Jamie’s child, gently smoothing the hair back from … her face? Jamie thought now that she must be a girl. His daughter then. Claire’s daughter. Jamie’s heart hammered in his chest and he was sure it was loud enough that they could hear it but neither of them looked towards him. He felt like an intruder but couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding before him.
“The Big Man was here again Daddy.” The little girl said, her voice thick with sleep, kneeling on the bed as she wrapped her arms around Randall’s neck. Jamie bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. Had he been here before? He didn’t remember this place but surely he would not forget his wee lass?
“Ah the Big Man.” Randall smiled and kissed the girls temple. Jamie longed with every fibre of his being to snatch the child from his arms and cradle her himself, to be the only man that kissed her head and the only one she reached for when she woke in the night. His hands were shaking but he forced himself to remain still.
“He always looks so sad.” She continued and Randall smiled down at her
“Ah well I am sure seeing you made him feel better, Bree.” He crooned, laying Bree gently down in the bed and pulling the blanket over her.
“She’s at the hospital. She’ll be home in the morning. Now close your eyes and get some sleep.”
The little girl yawned and obediently closed her eyes. Randall sat with her until her breathing turned heavy and then stood and faced the darkest corner of the room where Jamie crouched, his eyes fixed on a spot where Jamie’s face may have been if he was standing.
“I don’t know if you’re still here but if you are I want you to know that they are both safe and well. Now bugger off.”
He murmured; his voice deliberately low to ensure Bree was not disturbed. Jamie stood, slowly uncurling himself, straightening to his full height until he locked eyes with Randall.
The smaller man’s eyes flew open and then narrowed into a squint, not believing what he was seeing. The colour gradually drained from his face but neither man moved nor blinked.
Randall murmured finally. The light from the door way was getting brighter as Jamie stared at Frank and a sound like horses hooves hitting frozen earth filled the room but it seemed that Jamie was the only one to hear them. Jamie turned to look at his little daughter, whose name he now knew was Bree and her face was the last thing he saw before the light filled his eyes.
“Beidh mé cuimhneamh tú!” Jamie cried out as her face diappeared into the light. *I will remember you* * “MILORD! Wake up! The English, please ye must hide!” Jamie’s entire body jerked and he blinked up at Fergus. “What …?” “Now Milord, there is no time!”
Fergus shook Jamie’s shoulder and disappeared from view. Jamie sat up and desperately tried to piece together the fractured fragments of his dream. There had been a child … Randall …
“Bree?” Jamie mumbled, staggering to his feet as Fergus appeared in the doorway, his expression frantic.
“Brie? Milord, I will get you whatever cheese your heart desires, just please, for now … MOVE!”
The boy whispered, shoving Jamie bodily in the direction of the ladder he had placed beneath the attic. Jamie’s awareness finally shifted to his present situation and he scaled the ladder without another word, deftly dragging the ladder up behind him as heavy boots pounded the stairs.
Alone in the dark Jamie desperately tried to piece together the dream he had been having but nothing made any sense. Had he been rescuing a child from Randall? Perhaps that was it. Maybe he was dreaming of that night in Paris with Fergus. Jamie rested his head in his hands. He had slept so heavily that he had not heard the English arrive but he did not feel rested at all.
* What he could not know, what he would never know, was that two hundred years in the future, a historian was sat at his desk with a glass of whiskey clutched between his trembling hands and was making up his mind to begin a search through time for a man he had previously refused to believe existed.