poor lassie

anonymous asked:

More of The Getaway please? I am addicted to this amazing teenage AU.

Opting for safety, Claire hid herself in the back of the Frasers Land Rover. The blacked-out windows shielded her from the prying eyes of students as they streamed out of the school gates. Burrowing further into the seats, she wrapped her arms around her middle as Ellen tapped her fingers nervously against the faux-leather steering wheel.

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Prompt #245 and #179

Howdy friends! it’s the weeist Bairn Marlo ( @marlosbooknook), bringing you another fluffy drabble! Thanks @caitbalfes and @cagedbirdsong for sending in prompts! Hope you enjoy!


245.”What counts as medical emergency?”

“Your whole body is a medical emergency!”

179. “Don’t get him all fired up. I’m gonna be the one who has to calm him down afterwards”

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10

Mind ye, ghosts are freed on the feast days.They’ll be wandering about, free to do good or ill as they please.

Had the urge to draw this lovely pale beef cake. ♡
I adore this man to bits and pieces, but I think Morräki does more than I do~.
Poor lassie is head over heels for him, especially after that nice little strip session huehyeh >:3c
Jammed out to Steel Tormentor by Helloween while doodling this

Abyss belongs to the most amazing sweetheart, @terhem. ♡
The creeper in the back is my child.

anonymous asked:

*waves* love your writing! can I request a fic about claire getting her courses while newly married to jamie and him being all attentive *seeing as he keeps track of these things :p* while claire's a little bit embarrassed by it but jamie reassures her ? Lurker out.

*waves fanatically back* Hi darling!! So glad you dropped me an ask!! I hope you like it! (feel free to direct message me if you want I promise I won’t bite!)


She hadn’t come down for lunch. They’d been married a short time, but he thought he knew her well enough by now. Spend weeks on the road with someone and you’ll know them well. Spend several nights sleeping beside someone and you know them better. It was very unlike Claire to miss meals.

He piled some food onto a plate and ran up the stairs to their room. The door was bolted shut.

“Sassenach?”

All he heard on the other side of the door was a moan.

“Claire? Are ye alright, lass?”

“I’m fine.”

Something was wrong. Her voice wasn’t right. Frowning hard, he thought furiously about what could have caused such a change in her mood. She’d been perfectly happy this morning.

“I’ve brought ye some lunch.”

There was a creaking sound and he heard feet shuffle to the door. When it unbolted, he opened it and slipped inside.

She looked ill. Her hair was a mess and a sheen of sweat covered her face. They hadn’t been wed a full month yet, but he’d been around Jenny enough to know when it was a female’s monthly course.

“Come here to me, mo nighean donn. Let me take care of ye.”

“No,” she protested. “I’ll be alright. I just have to wait for… Damn it!”

She hunched over, balled fists tight against her abdomen. Seeing her in pain sent ice through his blood. He couldn’t stand the sight of it and do nothing.

“I think Mrs. Fitz has a tea she gives to lassies wi’ monthly pains. Should I get ye some?”

“No, no. I’ll be alright. Really. I’m just not hungry at the moment.”

“Thirsty, then?”

Her eyes drifted up to his as she stood a little straighter.

“Maybe a little.”

“I’ll go and fetch us some water. Just go have a lie down, aye?”

Claire nodded and went back to the bed, curling up into the smallest ball she could.

Jamie was determined to get her something to help ease her pains. Anything to take her torment away.

“Och Jamie my dear! How are ye?” Mrs. Fitz said loudly when he stormed into the kitchen.

“I’m well, Mrs. Fitz, I thank ye. Might I ask ye a wee favor?”

“Of course lad, what is it?”

“Do ye have something for a lass’s monthly? Something to help ease the pain a bit?”

Her eyes narrowed for a moment before she remembered that he was a married man.

“Och! Is yon poor lassie having a rough time of it, then?”

“Aye, she is. She sent me to fetch her some water, so if ye have something that willna take long, I would much appreciate it.”

“Of course, laddie. Give me just a moment and I’ll have something for ye.”

Not five minutes later, she came back to him with a tray of tea things.

“I’ve got the tea steeping at the moment, but it should be cool enough to drink by the time ye get back upstairs.”

“I thank ye, Mrs. Fitz.”

She smiled tenderly up at him and cupped his cheek in her worn hand.

“Your da raised ye well. Now go and care for your wife, laddie.”

As quickly and as carefully as he could, he hopped up the stairs back to the room he shared with Claire.

She was still curled up in a ball on the bed, but she had more color in her face.

“I thought it was taking too long for water,” she muttered.

“Aye. Mrs. Fitz says this will help wi’ the pain a bit. At least make it no’ as sharp.”

Claire sat up and pushed her damp hair from her face.

“You didn’t have to go to all that trouble. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“It’s no trouble, Sassenach. I promised ye that I’d care for ye and that’s what I’m doing. Here. Drink this.”

She took the cup and sipped at the tea. It smelled quite sour, but he didn’t have to drink it so he didn’t mind. Her face scrunched up at the taste though, so it must be similar to it’s smell.

“This is positively horrid.”

“Aye, I ken it is. But is it helping?”

She nodded and took another drink.

“It is, a little.”

“Why did ye no’ have something sooner? Surely ye ken which of your wee herbs would have helped.”

“I do, but I didn’t have a chance to get down to my surgery, or to the kitchens for Mrs. Fitz. I tried to get up about a quarter of an hour ago, but I got dizzy and almost fainted.”

He nodded and looked at her a little harder.

“Is that your other shift?”

Blinking rapidly, she looked down.

“How did you know the difference? They’re identical.”

“Close, but not quite identical. The other one is yellowed a bit more than this one. It’s older. What happened to the one ye had this morning?”

She bit her lip and looked down.

“I, ah… I bled on it.”

“Ye have it soaking in something?”

“I do.”

“Good. Then drink yer tea and get some rest.”

With her tea finished, he gathered it up on the tray and sat with her until she was asleep. Then he got up and went to check on her soaking shift. 

Sure enough, the water was slightly pink. He’d cleaned his own blood out of enough shirts to be familiar with the process. While she slept, he did his best to get the stain out. The monotony of the task let his mind wander a bit. If she’d gotten her monthly course, it meant she wasn’t with child. But they’d only been married a short time. No doubt the other women of the castle were giving her all sorts of tips and tricks to help her get with child. He wondered absently what she thought about it, about having a child. But no, that would be a talk for another time. 

As he hung up her newly cleaned shift to dry, he made a mental note of the date. In thirty days, he would see if perhaps she was with child.

anonymous asked:

I actually really liked the "Mute Claire" story! Please update soon!

Part One. Part Two.

NB: Mod Note - Claire has been mute from birth, genetic difficulties and damage to the tissue in the vocal chords occurred and she’s never spoken. Her hearing was damaged during the war. During a bombing she obtained a nasty head injury, and although as you’ll see later she can hear some *minor* things, she cannot pick up most sounds. Especially when she’s in a noisy environment. Enjoy <3

Mute: Part 3.


Claire woke with her fingers tangled in Jamie’s hair. The man himself was still sleeping soundly, his head tilted towards her as if willing himself closer. Shame the wood of the bed was in the way, she thought, watching him sleep on.

Wanting to touch him, she ran her fingers softly along the brief expanse of exposed skin at the base of his neck.

So soft, she reflected, brushing the thin skin that lay there with the pads of her fingers. Drawn to her touch, Jamie shimmied closer to her roaming hands. Claire couldn’t help herself, just the sleepy scent of him pulled her in. Sliding down on the tiny cot, she shimmied herself until their lips were almost brushing against one another. Snaking her tongue out, she tasted him. A hint of salt coated his dry skin, that and the subtle remainder of the whisky they’d consumed on the road.

For a moment, as warmth filled her and her vision blurred, she wondered what he felt like. How his tense skin would feel pushed against hers. Gooseflesh prickled over her skin. She swallowed, her hands clenching as they hovered close to his jaw. If she were bold, she’d have pushed forward. She’d have pushed his kilt aside, ran her knuckles along the soft muscles of his thighs. She’d have touched him and found out for herself.

Memories of her first sexual experience floated to the front of her conscious mind and she almost fell forward with the force of it. Instead, her lips met his, and, shakily, she kissed him, willing the thoughts away with her actions.

Jerking awake, Jamie pulled Claire against him, her lips only moulding harder to his with the movement. Sliding his hands into her hair, he held her still and pulled himself away, urging himself to be strong.

“Claire, lassie, we canna, no’ again.”

Shaking her head as best she could, Claire tugged at his hold in an attempt at bringing herself back towards him.

The main door slammed open, it’s loud echo reverberating down the stairs and into the wee room below. Jamie, holding Claire as he stood, jumped up and put he back on her feet before stepping away, putting some distance between the two of them just in time.

Dougal stomped down and into the chamber, his dour face clean of dirt from their long journey. Still he looked unimpressed and marginally angry. Crossing his arms, he tapped his foot against the stone floor.

“Collum says if she’s t’ stay she needs to find hersel’ a place here. Ask her, lad, what can she do for Clan Mackenzie?”

Jamie balked. They’d begun to communicate with one another, but he still couldn’t understand her hand-signings.

Turning towards her, he reached over and took her chin between his finger and thumb, gently. “Claire, do you have any skills?” he asked, cautiously.

Shrugging herself from his light grip, Claire pursed her lips in distaste.

“I’m a nurse, don’t patronise me.”

“Weel! What?” Dougal griped back, his manner –and tone– impatient.

His eyes darted between his exasperated uncle and his indignant charge.

“A healer, uncle. That’s what she is.” He guessed, watching out of the corner of his eye as Claire rolled hers and nodded.

“Fine. She’s t’ stay down here then, where Beaton used to hide.” Turning on his heel, Dougal quirked a bushy brow at his nephew, “…and Jamie lad, this is the last time ye stay wi’ the wench, aye? Dinna let me catch ye holing out down here again. If I do, I’ll see to it that she’s dragged afore the great hall charged wi’ loose behaviour.”

Jamie’s cheeks flamed as Dougal stalked away, leaving a soft gust of air in his wake. The flames of their drowsy lust now forgotten, Claire plucked a blanket from the ruffled bed and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Dinna fash, sassenach. He’s full o’ anger at the moment. He’ll calm. In the meanwhile, though, I’ll find ye some better clothes.” Taking his dusty jacket from where it lay on the floor he walked in the direction of the stairwell before rotating back to her for just a moment, “but he’s right, aye? I canna stay wi’ you again. I promise no harm will come to ye thought, ken?”

Claire looked at the small tiles beneath her feet and nodded.

“Yes, I suppose. I’ll miss you though.”

“Stay safe, Claire. Stay out of the way, and naybody will bother ye. I’ll see you a wee bit later.”

Claire stayed where she was until she felt the soft swoosh of air surround her in his absence. The scent of him lingered, also, as she took in her surroundings. 

One small cot, a large table and stool and one meagre window to allow in the tiniest amount of light. Nothing spectacular, but better than her room in Paris during those long war years.

Settling herself, Claire pulled her feet under the large sheet of plaid and bent her head to lean against the thick brick of the wall beside her new bed.

Thank bloody Christ for whatever intuition had coursed between the two of them, allowing Jamie to make an educated guess as to her vocational skills, she thought as she closed her eyes, enjoying the peace that now encompassed her.


He’d been watching her carefully, loitering around corners and generally hanging out beneath the castle, catching glimpses of her as often as he could. It was the general consensus of most of Leoch that she was an odd one indeed. Jamie didn’t disagree, but, mostly, he found her compelling. He’d stuck to Dougal’s instructions, he hadn’t visited her dwelling since that fateful morning, but he usually awoke disappointed that she wasn’t close-by. Her silent company had become a pleasant aura, a balm that soothed his now-healed wounds.

Mrs Fitz had, happily, seen it necessary to dress the poor lassie, and she now had the appropriate attire. But her lack of speech still isolated her from most of the clan. Jamie, however, found peace in her muteness.

Having no clue as to her past, Collum had ordered Rupert and Angus to keep watch, and, in an effort to keep himself close to Claire, Jamie had managed to oust them (unbeknownst to Dougal) and had suggested himself in their place. He *was* better placed with the horses, but Collum, short in temper and lacking a good mood these days, hadn’t had the energy to argue.

Claire liked to investigate, he’d discovered. Just as the sun began to set, she came alive. Gripping her basket carefully, she would often wander in and out of the herb gardens, plucking at the greenery and placing specific plants inside the large wicker thing.

They’d been lucky, he remembered, thinking of his genuine guess as to her useful talents. A complete stab in the dark, he’d actually managed to make a correct assumption and he took pleasure in watching her bask in that expertise.


It was only in the absolute quiet that Claire felt truly relaxed. Even though the damage she’d sustained during the bombing –and subsequent head injury– had rendered her almost completely deaf, she still picked up minor noise. In the busy 20th century cities this had been a disruptive annoyance, but life at Leoch wasn’t without it’s rackets.

Above ground Claire was disturbed by the constant movement of the earth, and the ever-present hum of castle life. Horses trotted passed attached to large carts, big troops of Mackenzie’s marched upwards towards the castle, stomping their heavy boots into the soft earth. Claire was still balancing herself, her body and soul coming to –slowly–  accept eighteenth century life.

Mostly, she sought refuge in her surgery, coming out only in the evening to forage for herbs to add to her collection of healing potions.

Aware of Jamie’s almost-constant presence, she also quite liked feeling him close. Most of the other clan members gave her a wide berth. She caught the occasional devil horns as some of the older ladies passed her by, but knowing Jamie was hot on her heels kept her grounded.

Picking at the wee sprigs of fennel, she placed it to the side of her healing herbs and smiled. The sweet minty smell wafted upwards. That would make her little home smell nicer. Sweeping her basket into the crook of her arm, she walked briskly back to her room down the concealed corridor that linked the recesses of Leoch to the vast gardens.

Sensing him in the shadows was all well and good, but she’d come to enjoy his close companionship. Their ride back here had been quite intimate and she was keen to revive that.

Placing her full bundle on the table she reached behind her and began to undo the loose laces along the back of her bodice. Dougal be damned, she cursed. If she wanted Jamie and he wanted her, nobody would stand in her way. Of that she was sure.


Breakfast had been a mostly quiet affair, Jamie had discussed the new fillies at length with Murtagh, and Claire had simply sat next to him. This was the first time she’d made it to the feast, and her eyes had immediately landed on him and Murtagh as they scoffed their morning meal. He exuded calm, and Claire, striding over to the pair, had been eager to soak it up. Unconsciously, they linked hands under the long table, their fingers entwining to become one.

Murtagh smirked, his keen eyes picking up every move each made. Jamie would shuffle, placing his spoon down in order to pick up some more bread and end up that wee bit closer to Claire. Claire would reach for her glass, take a sip and then slide closer to Jamie. It was a subtle and carefully (silently) articulated dance.

Claire, able to focus her energy solely on touch, had realised early on the extent of their public display. The scent of stale beer hung in the air around her and she tried to lose herself in that, rather than over-analyse the situation. Right from the beginning, Jamie held this mystical fascination to her. She’d never been this tactile in the 20th century, and being so here had shocked her a little. Still, he didn’t seem to mind, so she was happy to let her body be the guide.

Jamie had one simple thought. He *liked* Claire’s attentions, and he wasn’t in the business of denying himself something he enjoyed.

As the morning wore on, Murtagh’s amusement faded. Claire had moved herself now. She’d lain her head against Jamie’s shoulder and had begun to nuzzle under his chin. Lulled by her calm, Jamie hadn’t even flinched. Half of the hall had been giving the amorous pair side glances, the whispers of the ‘silent lassies brazen behaviour’ growing louder and louder.

Under the table, Jamie felt Murtagh nudge the bottom of his boot. Pulled from his haze, he sat bolt upright, shrugging Claire from his shoulder. Claire, in turn, straightened her spine, pursing her lips as she did so.

Sensing that she’d caused somewhat of a stir, Claire removed her hand from Jamie’s, rose and let without so much as goodbye.

Let them talk, she decided (internally), she didn’t care how they saw her.


“Jamie, lad. Just watch yerself, aye?” Murtagh raised a bushy brow, eyeing his godson carefully.

“I am, dinna fash.’

Abashed, Jamie dipped his head and finished off his food before, belatedly, following Claire from the hall. He’d let the dust settle, get Rupert to keep an eye on Claire for a day or two and then go and see her. The inhabitants of the castle, given time, would move on to more mundane gossip and he’d be free to pursue Claire once more.

Happy with his internal plan, he scratched his head and went in search of Rupert. Alec would be requiring him soon, and he didn’t wish to be late for his daily duties.


Despite deciding that she didn’t care for the castle’s opinion of her, Claire had spent the rest of the day hiding in her basement rooms instead of venturing outside.

Her’s and Jamie’s intimacy wasn’t something she wanted shared. She’d actively made herself walk further from him when they’d arrived at Leoch, knowing she wouldn’t be able to help herself should she be close. But with the passage of time, she’d given in.

She refused to be ashamed of herself.

Hours passed, and the daylight slowly began to ebb. She only had a small window, high up along the outer wall. So she could barely tell the time from her quarters. But as the room began to darken, she knew she’d have to leave for dinner.

The staircase that led towards the entrance to her chambers stood, a bleak darkness hovering at the archway. She could only see the first few steps, but those were the only ones she needed. Taking a deep breath she hitched up her skirts and began to climb the winding staircase.

Her brow furrowed as she came to the top, the wooden interior door was closed. Only the outer door was shut to, usually. Normally this one was left slightly ajar. A small smattering of light glinted underneath, teasing her. 

But it was definitely closed.

Subconsciously she knew, before she’d even had chance to reach up and test the handle, that it was locked. Something deep inside her niggled, and she hesitated, a large lump forming in her throat. Swallowing, she placed her hand on the knob and twisted.

Sure enough the door wouldn’t budge.

It was sealed shut.

Forcing herself from the stupor that clouded her vision, she stepped forward and banged with all of her might. She had no clue whether anyone would be close enough to hear, her pleas, but she had to try.

She woke only hours later, her whole body aching. She’d fallen asleep against the steps, the door propping her head up.

In her haste, she’d forgotten the wee exit underneath the main walls, and standing, she rushed quickly back into the chambers below. Her heart raced as she bent to enter the corridor that lead to the outside of the castle. Running her hands along the filthy walls she prayed that her hidden passageway had been overlooked.

Despondency filled her as she saw the creaky wooden door that blocked her only hope of escape. Her captors had obviously been thorough, stymying both entrances and completely sealing her below.

Despair crept through her bones as she dragged herself through the passage once more, slinking towards new prison. Whatever were to come, she’d have to make sure she rationed her supplies. She’d done this before, during the war, she could do it again. 

Her only hope was that her jailor would change his (or her mind), or that Jamie  would notice her missing.

The fire flickered dimly behind her as she sat on the mattress of her small cot. Maybe she should have been more careful in public. She hadn’t realised at the time, but she’d obviously given someone reason to want her removed. Mouth dry and heart heavy, she kicked off her sodden shoes and crawled under the tartan sheet that she’d left screwed up on her bed.

No, she decided. No matter what the cost, she would not be sorry to her actions in front of the men and women that now lingered above. Angrily she pulled the blanket over her head and buried her face in the one pillow she’d been afforded, and for the first time since she’d arrived at Castle Leoch, (in silence) she wept.