so i hope you like it claire

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female awesome meme || 2/10 lead female characters » claire beauchamp randall fraser

↳ “I was back to the place where’d it all begun. So much had happened, so much had changed. Last I was here I was Claire Randall, then Claire Beauchamp and Claire Fraser. The question was, who did I want to be?”

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Jamie & Claire + snow

A Wild Night in Vegas -- Part 10

I feel like I say this with every chapter, but Ish and I enjoy this AU so much. It’s helped keep us sane in crazy days of stress and confusion and all sorts of things. Hope you like this chapter!

Catch up on all previous installments on my Master List


Fraser Bairn Watch: Month 4

Things were definitely beginning to change inside her body. She could feel it, even as she watched the changes. Her belly was beginning to really grow now, no longer appearing as if she’d eaten too much. Some mornings she would steal Jamie’s phone before he woke and flip through the photos he had of her belly. There were only a few of them, since they’d found out late, but he kept them in their own folder in his phone.

That was one of the best things about this situation. No matter how she was feeling, how many times she’d thrown up, or how many evenings she fell asleep halfway through her meal, he was happy. He was overjoyed to watch her grow.

She wasn’t getting as sick this month, though it still happened. Jamie was so good about making sure whatever had triggered her sickness didn’t make it onto the grocery list for that week.

He came home, several bags of groceries in his hands and a small bundle of flowers.

“You’re going to spoil me, Jamie Fraser. If you’re not careful, I’ll start expecting flowers every month.”

With a wink and a kiss on her cheek, he went to set the bags down. As he put their groceries away, she set the roses up in the vase where the previous three had been.

“Four roses for four months,” he said, coming up behind her. “Because I love ye more than my own life and I thank ye for carrying my bairn.”

The following day, she went to work as she usually did, armed with a cool water bottle and several frozen washcloths to help keep her cool. She’d had an idea brewing in her mind, but she hadn’t figured out how to execute it yet.

Jamie had done so much for her, given up so many things for her, and steadfastly held true since before she had moved out and back (if she was honest with herself), and she wanted to figure out what she could do for him. He wasn’t a materialistic man, he didn’t need things. She wanted to do something else, take him somewhere closer to home, but still have it feel like a getaway.

There were quite a few options that they could afford that were nearby, but she hadn’t been able to make a concrete decision yet. As she finished her shift, she watched a young family wander through the gardens. The man and woman held hands as they walked, their eyes content as they looked at each other. Their little girl toddled around them, eager to explore everything around her. Both parents looked at their child with such tenderness and fondness that Claire felt tears pricking her eyes.

The whole drive home, the image of the young family played in her mind’s eye. When she walked in the door, she stared around the front room with her mouth open. She wasn’t a messy person by nature, but with her odd cravings at times, she ate food just about everywhere. Jamie never complained about it either, which was comforting. Frank had hated if she’d had a snack somewhere other than the kitchen table.

But the entire apartment, from what she could see, was spotless. The carpet was freshly vacuumed, she could still see the lines in it, and everything had been dusted. When she put her bag down and headed into the kitchen for the extra washcloth Jamie kept frozen for her, she noticed that he’d even mopped and wiped down the counter. The bathroom was also probably wiped down and scrubbed as well, if he’d gone to this much trouble.

He was moving about the kitchen as if some exciting tune was playing that only he could hear. As he did, he hummed something she didn’t recognize. Sometimes when he was in a really good mood, he’d hum or chant something he’d heard growing up in Scotland. Given the cadence she thought this thing he was humming might be along those lines.

A pot sat on the stove, Jamie stirring its contents. She thought she smelled chili powder, but wasn’t sure. He had a few other bowls sitting out on the counter filled with a few different things and she realized what he was making. Meatless taco salad. It was something he’d tried a few weeks back and she’d loved it. None of the things in it had made her sick or given her heartburn.

Watching him swaying to his own music, an overwhelming sense of fondness flooded her and she began weeping.

“Claire?” He turned suddenly, surprised to see her standing behind him and noticed the tears flowing down her cheeks. “Christ! Are ye alright lass?! The bairn?”

Unable to form words, she just stared at his blurry image and wept.

“Is it something in the kitchen bothering ye? I thought it was alright last time and ye liked it so much… If it’s too much I can make something else.”

“No! No don’t do that!” she said, suddenly finding the words. “It’s just… You’re such a good man, Jamie. I know you had training at work today and you still had the time to come home and clean our whole apartment and make dinner. I just… I’m just…”

When the words fled from her mind again, she reached for him and brought his lips down to hers. He was surprised at first, but quickly melted into her embrace and returned it.

“I love you too, mo chridhe,” he whispered when she let him go. “Are ye sure the bairn’s alright?”

“Yes,” she said, spreading her hand over the small swell. “We’re both alright. I was just a little emotional. These goddamned bloody hormones. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, laughing, and went back to them stove.

“Dinna apologize for that, Sassenach. It comes wi’ the territory of you being wi’ child.”

She smiled. “How long until dinner is ready?”

“Only a few more minutes. Just need to heat the beans and corn back up and throw it all together.”

The idea that had been forming in her mind came suddenly to life and she knew what she needed to do.

“Alright. I just have a few things I need to do on the computer.”

Before she turned away, he took two steps toward her and stole another kiss.

Sitting down at her desk, she opened up her laptop and began researching Lake Mead. It was about an hour from their apartment and would be a perfect thing for them to do. They could get away without really going anywhere and have some time just to themselves. She knew Jamie would love it.

Friday night, she snuggled up to him and began playing with the hairs on his chest.

“Have you any plans this weekend?”

“Ah… No, I dinna think so. Why?”

“What if we went to Lake Mead for the day tomorrow?”

Craning his neck, he looked down at her, brows raised.

“Oh? For the day? We dinna have a boat.”

“No, but we can rent one.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“Aye, I’d like that verra much, Sassenach. Thank ye.”

“Well, this is sort of my way to say thank you actually. You’ve done so much for me since I told you I was pregnant. You’ve taken such good care of me, so I’ve got a whole day planned for us.”

“Have ye now? Been planning this for some time, then?”

She shrugged.

“Not really. It’s been brewing in my head for a while, but it only just fell into place.”

“I look forward to seeing what ye’ve planned for us, then.”

With a smile, she hugged him tightly and relaxed into sleep.

The following morning, she packed a few things into a large bag and they drove out to Lake Mead. They picked up their rental boat and Jamie set out to find a spot of beach just for them. It was hot, but being out on the lake was more fun than she’d expected. She stayed under the awning with him while he drove the boat around.

He looked good out here, dressed only in his swim trunks as he’d shed his shirt as soon as they’d gotten on the boat. She wore the only swimsuit she owned, but had put his shirt on over it.

“It’s a beautiful day,” he said, staring out at the blue water.

“It really is. I was worried it might rain, but it looks like the sky has cleared up.”

“Aye. Thank ye, Sassenach. This is a verra nice thing to do.”

They ate lunch on the beach, laying out on the towels she’d brought with them. It was too hot to be too near each other, but they were comfortable this way.

“We canna make love on a public beach, can we?” he asked some time later.

Claire snorted.

“This corner might be secluded, but it’s not that secluded. See?” she nodded to someone flying by on a jet ski.

He sighed.

“Someday I want to take ye somewhere and make love to ye on a beach.”

“Why?”

“Dinna ken. Something I’ve never done and I suspect ye havena either. Always thought it would be verra romantic to do that.”

She smiled at him.

“You really are a romantic at heart, aren’t you?”

“Aye, maybe I am. Ye said ye had other plans for us today?”

“I do. We’ll need to head back soon so I can get started on our dinner.”

Nodding, he helped her up and gathered her into his arms for a very thorough kiss.

“Then let’s return the boat and head home.”

On the drive back, she dozed off a little. Jamie woke her when they got back to their apartment.

“Can I help ye wi’ the meal?”

“No, you can’t. Go and read or watch TV or something. It’s my turn to appreciate all that you’ve done for me.”

Pursing his lips, he grunted and went to the couch to read. She got to work on a full dinner for him. Pan-seared steaks, his favorite garlic mashed potatoes, and cheesy broccoli. The last time he’d had cheesy broccoli had been over a month before and it had ended with her vomiting in the bathroom. But she knew how much he’d loved it, so she made it for him.

When the meal was all done, she set the table and looked proudly at all she’d done.

“Christ Sassenach, this looks amazing!”

“I hope so. It’s all your favorites.”

“And the cheesy… Claire, ye dinna need to cook things ye canna eat.”

Shaking her head, she motioned to his seat and he took it.

“This is something you like, Jamie. I wanted to do this for you.”

“It isna fair for me to eat it and you to-”

“I made you these bloody cheesy broccoli to say thank you, damn it! Will you not just eat them?!”

He blinked and looked down sheepishly.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Sassenach. I appreciate that ye made them for me.”

“Good. Now eat up. I have one last thing planned for tonight.”

After they finished, Jamie insisted that she leave the dishes for him to take care of the next day. Reluctantly, she agreed.

“So what are we to do next? Dessert, perhaps?”

The glint in his eye made her giggle a little.

“Maybe later. How are your shoulders?”

He moved them stiffly, as if his shirt didn’t fit him quite right.

“Still sore. But no’ so bad as they were a few days ago. Ye’ve a good touch.”

“Lie down on the bed. Take off your shirt and trousers.”

As he did, she caught the wince he tried to hide. No matter what he did, all of the tension and soreness from his work ended up in his broad shoulders. He lay down on their bed arms folded beneath the pillow she’d moved for him.

“I’m glad we did this today,” she said, running her hands up his back.

He shivered a little, gooseflesh rippling over him

“Aye, me too. It’s always good to get away wi’ you. Helps to get away from the city and the strip. Sometimes I think…”

Squeezing the bottle of oil, which she’d gotten specifically with this in mind, onto his back, she began to work it into his muscles.

“Think what?”

“You’ll think I’m daft.”

“I live with you. I already know you’re daft.”

One blue eye opened a crack to glare at her. She smiled at it and started digging her fingers into his tense back.

“Weel now I’m no’ gonna tell you.”

“Please? I like to hear what you’re thinking.”

A knot in his lower back gave way and he let out a deep sigh.

“Weel… Sometimes I find myself thinking that if the whole world fell away, I would be alright. Because I have you.”

Again, she felt tears in her eyes.

“Oh Jamie, that’s very sweet. I couldn’t think you daft for that.”

“Thank ye, Sassenach.”

Working slowly, she released the knots in his lower back and middle back before reaching his shoulders. His breathing was slow and even, but he wasn’t asleep. She climbed onto the bed and held herself above him to get a better angle.

Putting as much pressure into her hands as she could, she compelled the knots to release. Closing her eyes, she imagined the muscle held beneath his skin. She thought of how they should look, how they should feel, how they should move. Kneading and pressing in the places her hands told her, she continued until she felt the tightness give. Jamie let out a mighty gasp, his body flinching beneath her.

“Oh… Claire that…”

“Did it work?”

“Aye, lass. It worked verra well. I dinna think my shoulders have felt this good in weeks.”

With a pleased smile, she got off the bed.

“Good! That was the whole point of doing this, after all.”

Jamie rolled onto his back, staring up at her. His eyes drooped, but they glittered with desire and mischief.

“Though, now that ye have me thinkin’…”

Claire snorted, already opening the bottle of oil again.

“What? Are you going to tell me your cock has a certain stiffness as well?”

He smirked at her and shook his head.

“It doesna yet. But I think other bits of me could use yer touch.”

As she looked his body over, she thought it would be most enjoyable to start from the bottom and work her way up, skipping sensitive areas. With the majority of his body now covered in oil, she felt her own desire stirring. How could someone be so perfectly formed? In the waning light of the room he looked like a sculpture of a Greek god, in the living flesh.

Her eyes darted down to his crotch and she smiled. Living flesh indeed. Flesh that she needed to feel. Hands back on his chest, she made the mistake of looking up to meet his eyes.

She was drawn to him by some invisible force. He made no move for her and said nothing. Yet he compelled her to bring herself closer. Was it the eyes? Perhaps. But it was also more than that, as if his soul was calling to hers and it was calling back.

Before she even realized how close to him she was, her mouth found his. Both of his arms came around her waist then and pulled her up onto the bed. Feeling his body beneath hers shortened her breath.

At some point, he’d begun to pull her jeans off. Forcing herself to get off him for a moment, she stood and finished what he’d started. Jamie was not one for remaining idle, though. Hopping to his own feet, he pulled her to him and kissed her hard.

His skin was smooth to her hands, oiled as it was. She couldn’t help but smile when his hands found her buttocks, squeezing them excitedly. Then he pushed her panties off before removing his boxers.

“I must have ye now, Claire,” he said, voice strained with his desire.

“Then have me,” she answered.

He brought her back into his arms and began to tug at her shirt. She shied away from him, pulling it back down. His brow furrowed at her, eyes narrowing in question.

“Just leave it.”

“And no’ see your beautiful body in all it’s naked glory? I think not, Sassenach. Off wi’ it.”

Reaching for it again, he had her stomach exposed before she started to pull it back down. For a moment, she thought about insisting, but that would lead to questions. Instead, she lifted her arms so he could take the last bit of covering from her.

He laid her down on their bed, pausing briefly to kiss her stomach. Then he moved back up to kiss her lips.

“Thank ye, Claire, for all you’ve done today. Taking me out for a day on the lake, cooking me a verra fine dinner, even wi’ things ye couldna eat. And then ye tend my body? I’ve never kent a woman like you.”

“I don’t think there’s ever been a woman quite like me before,” she sighed before stroking his face. “Or a man quite like you.”

“I’m glad I found ye.”

She opened her mouth to say something back, but was cut off by his sudden thrust. Whatever she’d done to help relieve the tension in his back and shoulders had clearly made him feel better. He moved with a frenzy she hadn’t felt in some time, like he was making love to her for the first time.

Her legs couldn’t lock around him, constantly slipping off his body from the oil as much as his vigor. She let her head fall back onto the pillow. His lips visited her neck, biting gently. Her back arched off the bed in response, hands clawing at his back uselessly as they slipped and slid against his skin. Lifting her head up, she bit his neck in kind, spurring him to rear up and continue his merciless attack on her body, hands exploring every piece of her as she did the same.

Overwhelmed by the animalistic feelings aroused in him, he pushed on, growling into Claire’s ear, “Ye’re mine, mo nighean donn. Now and forever, yer mine.”

He gripped her hips to hold her body in position while he continued on. The end was coming nearer, her body preparing for that release it needed desperately. Taking a grip on his hair, she pulled him back down to her and bit his shoulder hard to mute her scream. Then he too cried out, his own body bucking against hers.

They lay together for several minutes, neither able to move after the climax faded. Jamie gave her a very sweet kiss before rolling onto his side. She curled up in his arms, observing the bright red mark she’d left him.

“Sorry about that one,” she said quietly, poking it.

He hissed a little.

“Dinna fash. Was worth a little pain to hear ye squeak like that.”

With a contented sigh, she pressed her ear to his chest and let his steady heartbeat sing her to sleep.

###

The following night, Jamie was nudged awake by his wife. Grunting, he forced his eyes open.

“Are ye alright?” he mumbled. “The bairn?”

“We’re alright. Would you mind… Maybe going and getting us some hot wings?”

“Are ye daft? I dinna even ken what the time is.”

With a heavy sigh, he looked at the clock on her bedside table.

2:31 AM

“Wings? Ye want hot wings? Now?”

She smiled sheepishly.

“Pregnancy cravings?”

“If ye start craving pickles wi’ yer ice cream, I’m moving out,” he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “But if it’s hot wings ye need, it’s hot wings ye’ll get.”

“Thank you, darling.”

“Anything for you.”

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he tried to ignore the clock inside his car. He drove around for nearly half an hour until he found a place that was open and sold hot wings. As he pulled up to the window, his phone buzzed.

Hello darling. Could you maybe pick up some cheesy chips too? Thank you!

The speaker squacked and a woman yawned.

“What can I get you?”

“I’d like an order of hot wings and cheesy chips, please. Thank ye.”

“One order of hot wings and one order of nachos. That’ll be-”

“No, miss. I’m sorry. I mean cheese fries.”

“Hot wings, nachos, and cheese fries. That’ll be…”

Jamie rolled his eyes. He was too tired to argue with the woman at three in the morning.

He tripped several times as he went up the stairs to their apartment, but he kept the food from dropping. She was in bed, wiggling like an excited puppy. Her nose flared when he walked in.

“Did you get nachos too?”

“I forgot to say cheesy fries rather than cheesy chips, so she thought I meant nachos. But I got you proper chips too.”

Laying out a napkin on the bed, she pulled the things out of the bag and began shoveling them into her open mouth, still wiggling happily.

“Why did it take you so long?” she asked, licking hot sauce from her fingers.

“It isna easy to find a place that sells hot wings at three in the morning.”

When she smiled at him, he sighed and wiped the sauce from her chin.

“You’re a good husband.”

His heart leapt, hearing her say that, though he chose to keep that feeling to himself. Instead, he stole a cheesy and slightly spicy kiss from her.

“Here,” she said, setting the nachos out. “Share with me.”

“I wouldna dream of taking a pregnant woman’s late night cravings,” he said with a chuckle.

“Well this pregnant woman is sharing them with you. You went out at three in the morning to get them for me.”

With a nod, he gave in and split the nachos with her. They weren’t bad, he thought. When she finished, he gathered up the wrappings and took them to the kitchen trash.

Despite how tired he was now, the look of satisfaction on her face was worth it. He slid back into bed beside her and held her close. Her breath smelled like all the things she’d just eaten, but he didn’t mind.

###

After she showered in the morning, she went out to breakfast. Jamie beamed at her and kissed her cheek.

“Morning, Sassenach. Sleep well?”

“Very. Thank you for going out last night.”

“Dinna fash. Glad I got ye what ye needed. Oh! And it’s Monday. Ready for yer weekly photo?”

She was a little surprised he wanted to take it right now. It was usually something he did after he got home in the evenings.

“Oh, um… Sure, I guess.”

Going to the same spot she always stood in, she tentatively lifted her shirt to expose her growing belly. It felt heavier somehow, like a lead weight had settled in her stomach.

“Look at ye! Finally looking verra pregnant. Christ, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen!”

Verra pregnant.

Those words echoed through her mind all through her classes that day and through her short shift at the gardens. She’d known that she would get bigger, of course, she wasn’t stupid. But she wasn’t sure she liked how she was starting to look now.

She was nursing a mug of tea when Jamie came home.

“Sorry I’m home late,” he said, locking the door behind him.

“It’s alright. I just had some leftovers for dinner.”

“Are ye alright?”

She finished the tea and nodded.

“Yes, we’re both doing just fine.”

As she reached to put her mug in the sink, Jamie made a move to feel her stomach. It was something he’d done regularly since finding out about the baby. But with her newfound discomfort, she shied away from him, backing into the wall.

A hurt expression moved over his face before he stepped back. Unable to meet his eyes, she maneuvered around him to her desk to attempt studying while he ate his own leftovers for dinner. When they went to bed that night, she chose to wear a long night dress. It felt a little old fashioned, but the cut of it hid the new shapes of her body.

Jamie observed her new sleeping outfit with lifted brows, but he didn’t say anything. He only gathered her into his arms and held her as they went to sleep. She let him rest his hands on the bump, the deep-seated awful feeling she had at pulling away from him before tugging at her heart. She knew the coming days and months would bring more changes. All she could hope, for now, was that she’d grow to accept and embrace them.

Alfred: “Everything is going accordingly, my queen”

Arthur: “ Very well. Glad to hear it.”

Ahem. So this is for @so-starry​, for usuk xmas exchange. Ah I chose her cardverse prompt. Lots of cardverse this year! When I think of cardverse AU with this couple, I think of a hella badass, politically savvy power couple lol Something like Frank and Claire Underwood from House of Cards?? Anyways , just my take on it. 

I hope you like it so-starry! I actually wanted to post it tmr when I wake up but I realize by then xmas is over for you so I’m posting it now xD;;

Ahh also wanna thank @egggplannt for throwing this event together. Wth girl you’re amazing I just asked casually if we were doing anything and within minutes you had everything planned out. You’re the yolk 👌👌 ;shot;

Merry Christmas guys! Going to collapse now ^q^;;

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get to know me meme >> Favorite Female Characters [14/40] Claire Littleton

That’s better. So how are you today Mum? Did you have an okay night? There’s umm, something I have to tell you, Mum, something I should have told you a long time ago. I’m pregnant. I err, I’m giving it away, it’s for the best. I wish—I don’t know how you did it… raising me alone? It must have been so hard. And I was just awful, awful… so horrible to you. I’m so sorry, Mum. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for all the awful things I said to you in the car; that I hated you; and that I wished you weren’t my mother; and I wished you were dead. It’s all my fault, the accident and everything. I’m so sorry, Mum. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll see you soon, okay?

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Hi!!! These are all my drawings of Disney movies based on Rapunzel’s wall paintings illustrated by Claire Keane! :D
I know there are more movies, but they are too many so I chose my favorite ones !!
It took me a lot of time to do all these drawings!! But I had fun! I’m so happy I finished! I hope you like them! :)

Which is your favorite one?

A Wild Night in Vegas -- Part 8-ish

So, @outlandishchridhe and I were talking and we realized something… There was one thing in chapter 8 we really wanted to do (and were super duper excited about) and COMPLETELY forgot. SO y’all get a wee little ficlet today. Don’t worry everyone, we’re both multitasking. I’m still reading my books for school and doing my schoolwork, plotting oddly is helpful with that. Hope y’all like this little tidbit you’re getting!


That was the last of it. They’d made arrangements for the furniture she wouldn’t need and had found places for all of her things. The closet and dresser were a little cramped now, but it somehow felt right. Uncle Lamb’s Viking sword hung back in it’s place, looking like it was finally home. Claire seemed happy too, to be back.

The only photographs she had of her parents sat beside the photos of his own family, though he’d moved hers to the forefront. Looking around, he was pleased to see how well her things fit in with his own. Hearing her soft voice drifting in from his - their - bedroom, he went to see what she was up to.

“That’s just about right, I think. I’m glad to see you survived being packed and unpacked and repacked.”

Delicately, her fingers drifted over a glass case as she stared lovingly at the rose inside. It was the same rose he’d given her when she’d come to see his show, the one she’d hung in his closet to dry.

“I was hoping ye’d like it,” he said quietly. She didn’t seem surprised that he was there. “When I left it there, I wasna sure if ye’d keep it as a memory of us together, or throw it against the wall. But I kent that ye had wanted to save it.”

“I thought I might faint the first time I saw it, lying on my bed. It clicked with everything else.”

“What did?”

She turned to face him, standing and putting her arms around his neck.

“That you loved me. And that you loved me enough to let me go, even though it broke your heart. I didn’t see it before, that I loved you too. Or, I did, but I was afraid to admit it to myself. But then it all made sense and seeing what you did for that silly little flower, well… I knew I had to come home then.”

He kissed her, long and slow, feeling the emotion swirl through him at her words.

“I’m glad ye did, and that ye feel that here. If ye wished, we could find a different apartment. One we pick together.”

Shaking her head, she smiled softly.

“Home isn’t this apartment, you silly Scot. Home is you.”

kaitrionabalfe  asked:

I'm in dire need of a fluffy scene where Claire tries to read the lines on Jamie's palm and she ends up failing miserably.

Liv says: So this isn’t fluff, so to speak—but I hope it’s still fun! Set about 2-3 years before puir Frank the Mailman died in the Three Witches AU. No worries if you haven’t read it. This one stands alone! :)


Intersection: A Three Witches Story

Claire knew this was against coven rules. Like, totally outside the realm of acceptable witch behavior.

To dole out one’s magical talents—particularly at the county fair—was a bit manipulative (in regards to the customers), a bit sad (in regards to Claire). Still, she liked to think she was working for a kind of greater good. Ensuring the happiness of all mankind! And that was almost admirable, wasn’t it? Giving hopeful glimmers of adulthood to the stork-like teenagers, comforting the mopey singletons who trudged around, heads bent? She’d offered such assurances as:

“A new man will come into your life. A handsome one—with a huge prick! His name…I think his name begins with a ‘T’.” (This to the recent divorcee, clutching her naked ring finger like a burn. She hadn’t known what a “prick” was but was no less forthcoming with her money.)

Or this, to the bucktoothed 16-year old picking at his acne scars: “You’ll be the coolest person in college. Captain of the ultimate frisbee team!” He’d been disappointed at that one, enormous chompers clamping over his bottom lip. “Ho ho ho there, young man!” she’d said then. “Ultimate frisbee is cool where you’re going. The coolest cool.” And then he’d smiled, a patchwork of teeth and holes, which Claire hoped someone might find endearing. A nice and wholesome blind girl, maybe.

And then this, to the both of them: “For just $5 more, I can guarantee it! All you have to do is buy this magical rock and carry it with you wherever you go.” Nevermind that said magical rock was actually from Claire’s backyard. Nevermind that several of them were speckled in bird shit. Maybe some cicada guts.

But that was the thing about desperate Mortals. Metaphorically speaking, their whole lives were a succession of bird shit plops and smeared bug guts. So they didn’t even notice when it was covering their $5, not-magical rock.

“Yes please! I’ll take two!” the divorcee had cried, handing Claire a ten dollar bill. (Did she think this would bring two men into her life? Because that’s not how Claire’s bird shit rocks worked.)

“Um. Yeah. That’s sounds pretty sick,” said Beaver Bobby. “I’ll buy a rock.” He’d paid in all quarters but, hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

If her best friend Gillian were here, she would likely call this “an exploitative farce,” two terms she would’ve picked up from her beloved Word of the Day calendar.

Claire,” she would hiss, “this is such an exploitative (Wednesday’s word) farce (last Friday’s word).” And then she’d pull out her Moleskin, update her word count with a self-satisfied tick. Her record, she claimed, was sixty words in a single morning, and Claire imagined a horrible plague descending upon their town, zombifying everyone until they could only grunt “verisimilitude.” Gillian thought an expanded vocabulary made her smarter but, really, it just increased her smart-assedness to a barely tolerable level.

Luckily, Gillian wasn’t here to offer one of her impressive synonyms because she’d bailed on their plans. If Claire could place money on it—and she couldn’t, with only $7 to her name, the very reason for this “manipulative/sad/exploitative farce”—Gillian was protesting GMO’s one county over. Perhaps arguing for the rights of beluga whales. Or, and this was the most likely, she was loitering at the Creamy Whip, breasts thrust at a very specific angle so that customers’ cones would find their shirts and not their mouths.

Psh! Now if that wasn’t an “exploitative farce” then Claire didn’t know what was. Gillian had mosquito bite boobs and a push-up bra more magical than her own powers.

But here was the thing: Claire wasn’t completely faking it. She wasn’t, so to speak, wearing a bra with three inches of padding. She could read palms, see futures unfurl, weblike, across strangers’ skins. Forks, divots, complex branches—each had such a distinct voice, that Claire had no doubt as to whether or not, say, Mr. Duncan over there would choke on a hot dog and die very suddenly. Or whether young Malva—that girl with the cotton candy and ruffled socks—would pop out a kid by the time she was 17. Claire, being a witch, knew precisely what would befall her clients by simply looking at their hands.

But of course, teenage pregnancy and death by synthetic meat logs weren’t exactly good for customer satisfaction. And so Claire would read Mr. Duncan’s palm, and she would see Mr. Duncan’s red face, gasping on a particularly troublesome bit of hot dog, but say he’d live until he was 85. A little white lie for a happy client. And a happy client meant A) money, B) a potential second visit, and thus C) more money. The $5 rocks weren’t scams, just for-profit business cards.

So she was lying, but not, y’know, totally lying. She’d deal with the prevention of hot dog-induced deaths later, when it better benefitted her monthly budget. (Because just as she wasn’t a complete liar, she wasn’t a complete asshole either.)

The fair had died down to a trickling of stragglers: mostly drunks, a couple of junkies who’d staggered into Nayawenne County for cheap-rate smack. Sighing, Claire stood to begin packing up, turned off the moody sound effects, gathered Gillian’s stack of Tarot cards (all hand-painted variations of herself: man Gillian; tree Gillian; Gillian with bigger-than-mosquito-bite boobs).

In the five hours since Claire had arrived, she’d made $120. Not a terrible turnout if one compared it to last year’s fair, when an angry swarm of Bible-thumpers had tossed her earnings into the funnel cake fryer. Sally Bain—or, as Claire called her, Sally Bane-of-Her-Existence—had rallied her troop of Jesus warriors and thrust crucifixes into Claire’s face, chanting things like, “Begone Satan!” and “This is God’s land!”

Which was kind of funny when you thought about it. If God wanted to claim ownership of Nayawenne—out of every other place in the universe—then he was pretty damn stupid.

Fortunately, Claire had suffered no further Bible-thumping, crucifix-wielding disturbances. Sally Bane-of-Her-Existence had fled town once she’d discovered her husband had fucked the organ player up in the ass. And in the church rectory, no less. (Such irony! Claire’d had absolutely nothing to do with it. Ha.)

It had been a windy afternoon, and Claire’s crystal ball was now coated in a fine layer of dust. Though it was only for decorative purposes—for customer satisfaction!—Claire decided she ought to give it a nice shine, make it look at least halfway capable of revealing visions of tomorrow.

Witch Tip #1: Unbeknownst to Mortals, crystal balls were like kisses from a true love. Which was to say, not powerful in the slightest. The most a kiss could do was give you mouth herpes. And, at its highest power, a crystal ball would fly across a room, break a window and the pinky toe of an irritating significant other. Not that Claire had experience with either situation. Certainly not the mouth herpes.

Claire ripped off a paper towel and went to grab the Windex, only to realize she’d left the Windex at home. Had, by a stroke of poor planning, only brought the herbal tonic she sometimes had to spritz into her eyes when they got a bit cloudy.

Witch Tip #2: Seeing the future had its drawbacks. Your eyes would get all crusty if you did it too much. As if your body was punishing you with goopy morning blindness. Honestly, it was pretty gross.

Well shit, Claire thought. She spat on her hand and rubbed the ball, hoping the couple beside “Whack-A-Democrat” wouldn’t think she was, like, doing something sexual to an inanimate object.

But whatever the couple thought, they were watching her, whispering behind their hands and giving her darting glances. Oh God, Claire thought, Bible-thumper radar blaring. Did Sally Bain send them? Did she organize a sabotage via prayer? Was it possible to raise an army of vengeful Baptists an entire state away? (Claire wouldn’t be surprised. She’d heard of stranger things. Done some of them herself. See also: anally-fucked organ player before he was anally fucked.)  

But no, the couple wasn’t looking at Claire with the fury of God in their eyes—but fascination. The woman, a petite but sturdy thing, was shoving her partner in Claire’s direction. Making a not-so-obvious pointing gesture, like, Her. Her! that he seemed somewhat reluctant to obey. Still, he did, and soon he was striding towards Claire, long legs stomping up clouds of dirt dust, red hair matching the synthetic blood of a “whacked” Bill Clinton.

“Are you…” the man began, looking nervously over his shoulder. The woman pursed her lips, arched her brow like, Do it, you pussy. He shoved his hands in his pockets, defeated. “Are ye done for the day, lass?”

“I was just about to pack up, but I’ve time for another reading if you’re interested.”

“Aye…” he said, completely unconvincing. “Aye, I suppose I’m interested.”

“Well then, take a seat, Mr…?”

“Fraser. Jamie.”

Keep reading

OK BUT GUYS!

This quote from Cait in TheWrap interview!

“When we come back this season, I think everybody knows, the stories are quite separate. So we see a lot of Jamie’s story and what he has gone through in 20 years. And we see a bit of Claire and Frank, and Claire and Brianna, and you see some of Claire as a professional doctor/surgeon at the hospital.”

That plus her previous comments about how Claire’s story will be told in vignettes *really* makes me think that the first five episodes are going to focus mostly on Jamie. (Like that section of the book does.)

So like, if the episodes are already going to be Jamie-heavy and they have to fit in the Frank stuff, the Bree stuff, and the hospital stuff into Claire’s side of things, I’m getting pretty hopeful that the Frankfiction will be limited. Like I’m sure there’ll be some, because there always is, but it’s sounding more and more like it won’t have enough screen time to get me to Peak Rage.

C’mooon, season three!

Originally posted by firelordasami

already i’m so lonesome i could die

Vietnam AU


Strange, the things you remember. Single images and feelings that stay with you, down through the years.

Like the moment Claire realized that her marriage to Frank Randall was over.

Her mind jumped and danced from thought to thought as Frank told her everything.

Or at least – what she hoped was everything.

It was true that his work prevented him from contacting her. From contacting anyone outside his division. As a result, it forged very close bonds with the people within Military Intelligence.

And in this case, extremely close bonds.

“A stenographer, Frank? Really?”

He looked down at his hands.

How come she hadn’t realized before that he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring?

“She was there, Claire. I have had to make some excruciatingly difficult decisions. I couldn’t talk to my CO about it. I couldn’t talk to my colleagues about it.”

“But you *could* tell her.”

He clenched his jaw. To his credit, he looked up at her and met her gaze squarely.

“I could. And I did. And Claire – Claire, this has absolutely nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me.”

The windowpane rattled as a truck drove by outside, plowing the snow-covered road.

Plowing a furrow right through what precious little remained of Claire’s heart.

“Are you fucking serious, Frank? I’m not stupid. Don’t give me the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ bullshit.” She sprang to her feet and turned away from him, peering out the window at something – anything – as long as it wasn’t his face.

“I’m stronger than that, Frank. I fucking *deserve* more than that.”

“You do, Claire. But it’s the truth. I swear to you – it’s the truth.”

Claire watched two MPs hitch a plow up to the front of a Jeep, get back inside, and slam the doors shut.

The windowpanes rattled again.

Behind her, Frank’s breaths were shallow.

She turned to face him. God, he looked sick in this terrible yellow light.

God, she felt sick just being in the same room as him.

“But an annulment, Frank?”

He nodded. “Yes – it’s the best way forward for us, Claire. We can petition the Church and then it will be quickly behind us. I don’t want to go to court. I don’t want to argue over what meager possessions we have – ”

“I don’t give a fuck about any of that, Frank. You know me better than that.”

He rested his head in his hands, digging his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t know you anymore, Claire. And you know that as well as I do.”

Everything came into focus with those two short sentences.

“But an annulment – Frank, that’s saying that our marriage never officially happened. I – I can’t - ”

“It allows you – and me – to one day remarry in the eye of the Church. It will be quick and easy in our case – the priest will understand. Just think about it, Claire – in all the time we’ve been married, how many weeks have we actually spent together?”

Claire’s hands gripped the windowframe, feeling the cheap paint crumble in her hands. “This is a convenience for you, Frank. An easy way out. Don’t think I don’t see that.”

He shrugged. “You didn’t answer my question.”

She shook her head. “I’m not even dignifying it with a response. Because you’re giving up. Hasn’t everything I’ve said to you this afternoon proven to you that I’m willing to fight for you, Frank? That I’m willing to fight for our marriage? To do whatever the hell it takes to make it work?”

“You’re going to medical school, with our without me. It would be so much easier without me.”

“You didn’t even let me tell you that I’d be willing to go to school wherever you were stationed!”

Finally her voice rose to match her anger and indignation and impatience with the whole damn situation.

“I would have postponed it if it meant I could spend more time with you, you bastard! But you’re shutting the door in my face before I’ve even had a chance to explain myself.”

“You have your own plans, Claire. I don’t want to get in the way of them.”

“Bullshit,” she seethed. “Bullshit. You don’t want to even try to make this work.”

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

Memory surged – the first time she’d seen him do that was right before he’d proposed to her. That magical, far-off day when they were young and foolish and she was so, so naïve and didn’t care that he hadn’t given her a diamond to seal his promise.

“Claire – to be honest, I don’t. I have a woman waiting for me back on the west coast. I want to do right by her. I want to be married to her more than I want to be married to you.”

So this was how a marriage ended.

She wanted to hurl the bedside alarm clock at his head.

But instead she nodded, waiting for tears that never came.

Because to cry would indicate that there was emotion felt – and that the thing that was lost was worth mourning.

This thing – this marriage – that had been lost was not worth anything.

“Well then,” she rasped, hands on her hips, feeling so calm. Uncannily calm. “I want you to take care of all the paperwork for this annulment. I want you to pay for it. I want access to the storage locker where our things are kept. And then I never, ever want to see you again.”

“I can do that.” His voice was small. He was a shell of the man she thought he was.

Had he ever truly been the man she thought he was?

“And now I want you to get out of this room, and explain to your CO why I will be staying here indefinitely, until I hear back from medical schools. Because you have conveniently left me with nowhere else to go.”

“Claire – ”

“No, Frank. I was willing to make a life with you. To make a home with you. I flew halfway around the world for you, for something that I wanted. But if you don’t want it, then I sure as hell don’t want it.”

He stood and shuffled to the closet, retrieving his coat. He stood with his back to her as he buttoned it.

She strode across the room and opened the door.

He turned to retrieve his bag, then approached her.

“You’ll get in to every school you apply to. They’ll recognize your gift, Claire. I envy you, that you have such a calling.”

He was trying.

She didn’t care.

“I don’t want your envy. I don’t want anything from you, anymore. I wanted to give you everything, Frank.”

He shifted the bag on his shoulder. “I know, Claire. I’m sorry.”

“And I don’t want your apologies, either.”

He nodded. “I deserved that.”

For a long moment they looked at each other.

Claire’s right thumb and forefinger reached for her left hand, slid off his gold ring, and held it out to him.

“I don’t need this anymore.”

He secreted it away in the pocket of his dress trousers. Emotionless.

“Merry Christmas, Frank. I hope she makes you happy.”

Something flickered across his face – but then hardened.

“I wish you happiness, Claire. You deserve it.”

“I make my own happiness, Frank.”

He entered the dimly-lit corridor and faced her for the last time.

“You always have.”

Then he walked right out of her life.

She didn’t even stay in the door to watch him reach the end of the hallway.

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp locked the door behind her, leaned against it, counted to ten, and exhaled.

these days (i can’t take too much) - part ten

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Reader used to be a villain; a stone cold killer. But she doesn’t do that anymore. Helping the Avengers stop her old boss once and for all leads to a lot more than she bargained for, especially when it comes to Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: abuse, violence, language, torture, angst, death

A/N: so this part really got away from me….. like really really. and im sorry it took me so long! thanks for being patient :) i hope you enjoy…. :) 

read part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7part 8, and part 9

You run until you physically can’t anymore, and then Bucky half carries you into a building that looks two days away from falling down. It’s abandoned, but with remnants of previous squatters littered around the place - needles, plastic bags, clothes with suspicious dark stains on them. Rats. Bucky treads lightly up the stairs, testing each in case they break.

He eases your limp onto the ground, but even so the strain on your wound causes your eyes to flutter shut with a quiet groan. Your head rolls on the grimy floorboards, but Bucky catches your cheek in his hand to keep you looking up at him. Dimly, you think you probably tied your tourniquet too close to the wound, and you’ve lost too much blood.

Keep reading

Not a Costume Party

Originally posted by jurassicparkfilms

Prompt by @mouserzwuzhere: Owen and reader go to a Halloween party as Fred and Wilma Flintstone… because dinosaurs.

A/N: AGH sorry school got super crazy before Halloween, so please enjoy my very late Halloween story.  I know I haven’t written in a while, so I’ll try to fix that.  I really enjoyed this one, because it was nice to write a character as truly awkward as I am.  Anyway, hope y’all like it!

-

“I look so dumb,” you whisper.

“You look fine,” Claire replies.

“Claire, don’t lie to me,” you say.  “I look so dumb.”

“It’s not your fault that I didn’t get the memo,” she says.  

“Didn’t get the memo?” you fume.  “You’re the one who told me to dress up.  You even picked out my costume!”  You gesture to the short, white dress you’re wearing, an oddly sexy version of a Wilma Flintstone costume.  

You had thought the idea was cute, but now that you were here at the Jurassic World crew party and you were the only one dressed up, you felt anything but cute.

“(Y/N), relax,” Claire says.  “You look adorable.  The dress looks good on you.  You know who’ll like it?”

“What?”

“Owen.”  You roll your eyes, trying to appear nonchalant.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You like him, right?”

“Is this payback?”

“For what?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”

“(Y/N), trust me,” Claire says.  “It’ll all be-”

“Claire, I thought you said this was a costume party!”

You look up at the sound of Owen Grady’s voice.  It takes a couple seconds for you to process that not only is he shirtless, but his shorts are orange with black spots.  

And then it hits you.  He’s Fred Flintstone.

And all the pieces click together in your brain.

You turn to Claire, who’s doing her best to hide a growing smirk.  She looks down at her phone and puts it up to her ear.

“Sorry, I have to take this call,” she says.  You glare at her as she walks quickly away.  Liar.  You could almost swear you see a skip in her step as she exits the room.

“Claire told you to dress up too?” Owen says.  You take a deep breath and turn to face Owen, doing your best to keep your eyes focused on his face, instead of…other things.

“Yep,” you say calmly.  “I’m guessing she also picked out your costume?”

“Yeah,” Owen says, a little sheepishly.  As people pass, they stare at Owen and you’re suddenly very grateful that Claire opted for something slightly more conservative for you.  “I see we’re matching.”

“Yes,” you say.  “I think Claire had some ulterior motives tonight.”

“Oh?” Owen asks, raising an eyebrow.  “Like what?”  Your eyes widen as you realize that you’ve said more then you meant to.  

“Um…” you say, grasping for words.  “Well…she picked a super revealing costume for you.  She probably just wanted to…check out your…rocking bod.”  You cringe at the words coming out of your mouth, hoping that a hole opens up in the ground and swallows you up.

“You think I have a…rocking bod?” Owen smirks, his tone amused.

“I think Claire thinks you have a rocking bod,” you backpedal.  “Also, can we stop saying the phrase rocking bod?”

“You started it.  Plus, I think you’re wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“About Claire’s ulterior motives.  I think she’s trying to set us up.”

“For a crime?” you ask stupidly and Owen laughs.

“I think you know what I mean, (Y/N),” Owen says.  

“Maybe you’ll have to spell it out for me,” you reply.

“Claire thinks we’d be good together,” Owen says.

“Claire also thought that she could create genetic dinosaur hybrids and everything would be okay,” you quip and Owen laughs.  

“Well, do you agree with Claire?” he asks.

“No, I think genetic dinosaur hybrids are disastrous,” you reply.  “Too much probability involved with the genetics-”

“(Y/N).”

“What about you?” you challenge.  “Since you’re the one that brought it up.”

“I think we’d be great together,” he says matter-of-factly.

“I…what?”  Owen smiles and raises an eyebrow.  “Oh…um…yeah.  Okay.”

“Okay?” Owen teases.  “That sounds so enthusiastic.”

“I don’t…” you trail off.  “It’s just that….you’re so…I don’t-”

“Can I just kiss you know?” Owen asks.  “Unless you want to keep rambling.”

“No, please, go ahead,” you say, leaning forward.  “I didn’t know what to say anyway.”

the signs as different incarnations of castiel
  • aries: classic cas from season 4 complete w/sex hair
  • taurus: leviathan!cas
  • gemini: emmanuel
  • cancer: fanfiction!cas, actually a cute lil spn nerd called kristen
  • leo: godstiel
  • virgo: meta!misha
  • libra: crazy!cas, shows up on dean's car naked and covered in bees
  • scorpio: jimmy novak
  • sagittarius: steve from the gas n sip
  • capricorn: season 10 cas w/new and disappointing trench coat and tie
  • aquarius: endverse!castiel
  • pisces: cas' true form; a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent; about the size of your chrysler building; will burn out your fUCKING EYES
A Lightened Soul

Prompt from @limax25: First of all, LS is one of my favorite stories EVER. And that’s saying something. So well done you! I was wondering how and why Jamie found himself up on that rooftop the night he met Claire and if she ever asked him about it.

Hi guys! Hope you all like Jamie’s pov of their first meeting. Let me know what you think and feel free to send me anything you’d like to see. I’m not writing the story in a linear fashion anymore, so literally anything :) Enjoy. Side note, I didn’t edit this a lot, so there may be errors

Catch up on the series here.


“Jamie?”

“Hmm,” he hummed against her damp neck, kissing a drop of water away.

They were snug in the small tub at Murtagh’s flat. The air was heavy with steam and the vanilla candles Claire had bought were scattered around the room, giving it a nice romantic feel. His legs were bent and toes smashed at the end of the porcelain. Claire fit snugly in between his thighs, her own toes just reaching the end of the tub. He buried his nose in the nest of curls atop her head while their fingers played together, twined tightly.

Murtagh had been so kind as to let the (semi) newlyweds have the flat to themselves for the weekend while he made the excuse of visiting friends in Glasgow. 

Jamie had gotten the news yesterday that their now mold-free flat would be ready at the end of next week. Tonight was a celebration of sorts.

“You never told me why you were up on the rooftop the night we met.”

“No?”

“No, I think I would remember,” she teased, her eyes glowing in the candlelight and vanilla air. 

He cleared his throat in preparation for the story and she snuggled back under his chin.

 “Ach, well, it was after a long night at the bar and I needed to clear my head, ye ken?”


Jamie took a big gulp of air as he finally opened the door to the roof. It finally felt like he could breath again. Too much time in the city wasn’t good for his mental health. He missed green things. He missed open landscapes with no buildings but land as far as they eye could see. He missed home.

Jamie knew it was ridiculous, but he felt some sort of comfort when he looked past the lights of London and to the north. It was the way home.

 It had become somewhat of a habit for him to go up on the rooftop. The bar he worked at to fill up his time was right across the street. And it was one night that he just walked in, took the elevator and found his way. Perhaps not the most legal thing, but he wasn’t bothering anyone. The roof was always empty. He found that no one noticed him slipping in after dark and he cherished his private retreat. A home away from home in a way.

Jamie felt a stab of pain in his chest thinking about how that home was so changed since the last time he had been there and the humiliation of not being able to muster up the courage to go back.

The thought of seeing his father’s grave filled him with so many emotions, he had to clutch the knob of the rooftop door to keep himself steady.

He was about to turn around and go back when he heard a noise. A sniffle? 

Jamie squinted in front of him in the dark to see a figure standing by the edge of the building, clutching the cement for dear life and the force of their sobs shaking their whole body.

Christ, were they going to jump?

A gust of wind came around him and the stranger and he noticed that thick brown hair twirled around the person. A lass, then.

 He struggled for a moment, thinking the best way to approach her if she was thinking about jumping. Should he just run up and grab her while she isn’t expecting it? Or just talk to her?

Well, if she isn’t suicidal, she’ll think ye one draftie if ye run up and grab her, he thought to himself.

 He tentatively took one step towards her and spoke softly, “excuse me, lass?”

 She jumped about a foot in the air when she heard his voice, causing him to panic even more. The lass turned to face him and even in the dark, he could see her red face, wet with tears. Another pain struck his chest like a lightening bolt, but this time, it wasn’t from pain.

She wiped her blazer’s sleeve across her face, trying to hide her discomfort.

“I’m sorry. I thought…I didn’t realize anyone else was up here.”

Calculating his next move, he carefully edged a few feet closer to her. He didn’t think she was going to jump, but he still couldn’t be sure.

“I come up here sometimes to clear my head. It’s peaceful, ye ken?” He spoke in the most soothing voice he could muster, but what did he know about comforting distraught lassies?

A few feet more now, she was almost in reaching distance. He read her face carefully, but saw nothing but simply curiosity towards him, not alarm. Good.

“My name is Jamie,” he said with a smile, reaching his hand out to her, slowly.

She stared blankly at him and his hand for a moment until a flash of comprehension and then horror washed across her face.

“Oh, I wasn’t going to…” she waved her hand out towards the city and the ledge, “I wasn’t thinking about jumping, I just needed air.”

Her voice broke on her last sentence and he could see the silver tears beginning to flow down her face again. She turned slightly away from him to hide them. 

Jamie felt something inside him, deep and powerful, as he saw her crying. It was an emotion that he didn’t recognize at first because he had never felt it in this way before. Something he couldn’t understanding feeling for a stranger he had just met not but a few minutes ago.

 But all the sudden she was in his arms. He wrapped his arms tight around her, as if to protect her from the pain she felt. To protect her from feeling that isolating feeling he intuitively knew she was crying about because it was all too familiar.

She melted into his arms and she fit like she was made for him. Her brown curls tickled his nose as he whispered Gaelic into her ears while she cried into his chest.

She wrapped her hands tight around his body and suddenly home didn’t seem so far anymore.

“That’s when I first kent I loved ye,” he whispered into her ear, coming back to the present as the story ended, brushing away a few stray bubbles from her chin. 

“Oh, Jamie,” she whispered, turning around to look at his face. “Oh, I do love you.”

He leaned forward to met her lips, running his tongue across her bottom lip, cherishing her taste.

She pulled back and wrapped her legs around his hips, making the water ripple around them and the candles on the edge flicker in the dimness.

“Turns out that when I needed home the most, home is what showed up,” he tapped her one the nose, making her giggle.

Her eyes filled with tears, but tears so different than the night they met, and he knew exactly what she felt inside. A feeling that words fail to ever describe.

“I ken, Sassenach,” he said softly as she wrapped herself around him in a promise that he echoed. To never let her go. “I ken.”

Da, Who is that woman?

Hi everyone! So I have had loads of requests for a continuation of ‘Time Moves to A Different Rhythm’ - specifically nice moments between Jamie and Bree (who doesn’t love those, right?) and also a couple of requests for Claire and Bree meeting Laoghaire. What I have come up with is a sort of one-shot chapter including both of these things. I hope you like it. Han xxx

Jamie settled Brianna on the horse before him and wrapped his arm securely around her waist. Bree craned her neck to look up at him and grinned

“You look really smart, Da. Like a painting.”

Jamie smiled broadly back at her and placed a kiss on her upturned forehead.

“And ye look quite beautiful yourself, Miss Fraser.”

The use of his surname was tentative and Jamie deliberately kept his tone light and even but Brianna seemed completely unbothered. She has looked at him queerly the first time he said it and questioned if that should be her name now, the wee frown inherited from her mother prominent between her fair brows. However since that first discussion she had become neutral to the whole thing. Still Jamie used it sparingly and always with an air of respect, he would not strip the lass of her identity but if he could add to her sense of self then he saw no harm.

Bree reached up to brush a small piece of fluff from Jamie’s bonnet and he ducked his head obligingly so that she could reach.

“Do ye remember what to say when ye greet people?”

“Greetings from the Fraser’s of Lallybroch! Bountiful Lammas to ye and your kin.”

Bree projected her voice with all the theatrical flourish of a budding thespian treading the boards for the first time, her hand fluttering before her like a pale hummingbird.

“Verra good.”

Jamie nodded trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. If his child had a theatrical nature then she came by it honest. Jenny had told him that the stately ride to each of the tenants was a daft and dramatic notion, especially as most had met Brianna and certainly Claire in the months they had been back, but Jamie had wanted to do it. He was once again in his rightful place at Lallybroch and he would ride out to greet the tenants as his father had done and he would show off his greatest treasures whilst doing so - modesty be damned.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Claire’s mount drew up alongside him in the courtyard and as Jamie glanced at her his breath caught in his throat. His wife, Lady Broch Tuarach. Her hair curled lightly, framing her face with gentle wisps that Jenny had left out of the intricate plait which wound across her left shoulder. Like Brianna, her dress was rich, ocean blue wool, but whilst Brianna’s plaid was worn as a neat little cap, a length of Fraser plaid wrapped around Claire’s shoulders and pinned across the swell of her breasts with a silver brooch.  

“Mo Maise.”

Jamie murmured, bowing as low as he could without crushing Brianna, taking Claire’s hand and bringing it up to his lips, smiling at the pretty blush his action brought to Claire’s cheek.

“Thank you. I don’t know how Jenny works such magic with hair…”

Claire smiled and touched the plait self-consciously, before smoothing back a stray lock from Brianna’s brow.

“You look every inch the Highland princess.”

She smiled and Bree sat up a little straighter under her mother’s proud gaze.

“No’ a princess, Sassenach. We have discussed the matter and both feel that she is more of a warrior queen. Just like her mother.”

Jamie commented, touching the small ceremonial dirk he had fasted to Brianna’s belt that morning. It had been a source of great pride to her to wear a dagger like her father wore and softened the blow of not being able to wear breeks for the outing.

Claire had to admit that there was more than a little of the warrior about their daughter, though she did not think she got it from her! Looking at father and daughter seated on Aioleaen together, both dressed in their finery, Claire longed more than ever for a camera. Their identically lustrous red hair fell onto their shoulders and twin sets of slanted blue eyes surveyed all before them with the same cheerful countenance and cool intelligence that Claire had come to think of as a singularly Fraser way of gazing at the world.

Overhead a kestrel shot through the sky calling out to her mate and all three lifted their faces to the pale sun to watch it make its crossing against the thick white clouds.

“Can you remember what to say to people who greet us Mama?”

“A very happy Lammas to you.”

Claire smiled and both father and daughter snorted simultaneously.

“What? That’s the correct thing to say!”

Claire huffed indignantly

“But it’s so dull! Lammas is a celebration of the first harvest of wheat for the year! You don’t want people thinking you don’t care about their harvest Mama!”

Bree scolded, carefully reciting what her Uncle Ian had told her of the reason for this celebration.

“People might give ye their first grain Sassenach, ye need to be prepared to look suitably pleased.”

Jamie joined in, mischief lighting up his eyes, making him look more like Brianna than ever.

“Taking the first grain is a verra great honour.”

“I took your first grain, surely I’ve been honoured enough!”

Claire muttered and Jamie’s eyes flew wide before he tipped his head back with unexpected laughter.

“And as I recall ye were suitably pleased.”

He grinned once he had recovered and Claire rolled her eyes, fighting back her own smile.”

“Don’t worry Mama, I’ll do the thanking, you just collect what they offer.”

Bree organised, handing the small sack Jenny had given her across to Claire who took it with as much dignity as she could muster and folded it neatly in her lap.

*

Claire curtsied and made polite conversation but allowed Jamie and Bree to take centre stage and both seemed more than happy to rise to the occasion.  Jamie kept his countenance as straight and formal as he could, greeting the tenants with dignity and warm smiles but Claire could see the barely contained pride in the set of his shoulders and the indulgent smile that curved his lips each time Brianna made her proclamation of good wishes to the houses they visited.

He shook hands, accepted tributes and handed out small loaves of bread from Jenny’s kitchen but throughout all the dealings one hand remained with Brianna, either around her waist on the horse, on her shoulder as she spoke to people or holding her own smaller hand in his as they walked towards a door. It was, Claire realised, the same way he had declared her as his own the first time he had brought her to Lallybroch and the sight of it warmed her heart.

They continued on, the bread running lower until there were only a couple of loaves left, whilst the wheat sack that Claire held was becoming increasing fat and rather cumbersome and she became quite concerned that it would swing down from her lap like a pendulum and smack a well-wisher in the face if she leant too far over in the saddle to greet them.

“I’ll go alone to the next house, a leannan.”

Jamie said quietly and both Bree and Claire looked at him askance.

“It’s the McKimmie place, ken?”

Jamie’s eyes met Claire’s apologetically and she shrugged, despite the slight flutter of anger in her chest that she felt whenever she had to think of Laoghaire. Bree also wrinkled her nose, she had never met Laoghaire and had no particular reason to dislike the residents of the small house beneath the hill, but she felt that Marsali was too often the centre of her beloved Fergus’ attention and all too often he would send her back to the big house when Marsali came along. Bree would not call it jealousy, not even to herself, and forced herself to be polite when she had to be but she was in no hurry to wish the girl a happy Lammas either.

They rode on in silence; Jamie intended to stop by the shade of one of the large oak trees by the creek so that the horses might take a drink whilst he conducted business as swiftly and hopefully painlessly as possible.

None of them spotted the small woman crouched by the roadside until they were almost upon her. She was crouched low, her head bent and face averted from them and when she looked up, the lower half of her face was covered in blood.

“Oh!”

Claire was out of the saddle and hurrying forward, medical instincts overtaking, before she could think twice, Jamie’s call of warning and muttered curse lost to her.

“Laoghaire! What happened?”

Laoghaire had stiffened seeing who it was approaching but blood was dripping from her chin and the bleed from both nostrils was showing no signs of stopping so she could hardly deny that anything was amiss. Of course the Sassenach couldn’t help herself with a chance to show off her ‘healing’, she thought bitterly to herself as she forced herself to her feet.

“Nothing, I get the bleeds sometimes. It is no concern.”

She answered as Claire pressed a clean handkerchief into her hand and tried to examine her face.

“Please… Mistress Fraser, dinna fash o’er it. I dinna need tending.”

Laoghaire ducked away from the cool touch of Claire’s fingers and waved her away. It was bad enough that she should be found in such a state, but to be touched and prodded by the bitch was more than Laoghaire could stand.

“Da, who is that woman?”

Bree asked, turning to Jamie, her brow wrinkled in confusion and shock of seeing the state of her face.

“Mistress McKimmie, a woman that your mother and I knew long ago, mo chridhe.”

Jamie answered shortly and swung out of the saddle, taking the last of the bread with him.

“Stay here.”

Bree glanced again at the woman waving her mother away and her interest sparked

“But can’t I …”

“Stay.”

Jamie spoke firmly, fixing his daughter with a gimlet eye that brooked no further argument, before turning on his heel and approaching the women.

“Oh!”

Laoghaire curtsied as elegantly as she could, the new handkerchief pressed to her face as Jamie strode towards them.

“Mistress McKimmie, can we help ye at all? We came to bid ye a bountiful Lammas.”

Jamie kept his words formal, but his tone gentle and slowly bridged the distance between them, palms held out in a gesture of peace.

“Ye seem to be in some distress, lass. Will ye not let my wife tend ye?”

“’Tis just a nosebleed Ja… my laird. Nothing more.”

Laoghaire looked at Jamie with pleading eyes and after considering for a moment Jamie offered the small cloth bag of bread to her, gently pulling Claire away, placing himself between the two women, a hand extended to each.

“Then we bid ye a good Lammas and may your harvest be blessed.”

Jamie said softly and offered the woman a small, kind smile.

“Thank ye.”

As she took the bag from him, Laoghaire allowed her fingertips to linger a fraction of a second longer the necessary against the warm skin of Jamie’s hand before pulling away and ducking her head once more in thanks as Claire slipped her palm into Jamie’s hand and drew him to her.

They watched Laoghaire walk slowly back towards her house and Claire waited until she could be sure Laoghaire was out of earshot before turning to Jamie, her brow wrinkled in the same confused frown Brianna had given him minutes before.

“Why didn’t you persuade her to let me take a look?”

“It’s just a nosebleed Claire. Her pride would have taken longer to heal had I insisted she let ye tend her.”

Claire snorted and leant her head lightly against Jamie’s shoulder

“Laoghaire’s pride! This is the second time that you have stepped into the fray for the sake of her pride.”

Jamie looked down his nose at Claire from the corner of his eye and resisted the urge to shrug.

“Ye get a bit swept up in medical matters, aye? It’s why Brianna comes to me wi’ scraped knees and bumps.”

Startled, Claire returned his look with interest.

“Once. She went to you once.”

“Aye, but I expect she will again for I dinna insist on poking at her…”

Sensing an argument brewing Jamie let the matter drop and turned to face Claire properly, placing his hands gently on her arms, smoothing the fabric of her dress.

“Ye have no reason to be jealous on Laoghaire’s account, Sassenach. If ye are, which I am no’ saying is the case.”

Jamie continued quickly, seeing a flash of annoyance in his wife’s whisky eyes.

“I’m not jealous, but … well you seem to have a similar understanding of pride and maybe it’s a Scottish thing…”

Claire stopped, taking a deep breath.

“I sound like a jealous school girl with a crush.”

She smiled ruefully and Jamie grinned

“Aye, maybe a little but I understand it for all it is a daft notion. Ye are as prideful as any lass I have ever known, except maybe Jenny, and ye ken well enough that I pay heed to it.”

“I know, but sometimes I do wonder if … well if your life would have been simpler with someone of … your kind and kin.”

Claire finished limply. She half expected the hands on her arms to tighten, for Jamie to protest and assure her that she was the breath in his soul but when she looked up at him he was still grinning and did not look at all concerned by her words.

“What?”

She demanded smiling back despite herself

“Do ye remember when we were riding to Leoch, after the business with Randall and such and I said to ye that I dinna understand ye, but I like ye well enough?”

“We were walking as I was not able to ride, and you actually told me I don’t make a lot of sense.”

Claire said thinly, her memory of that particular night was not one of the most pleasant she had but Jamie brushed off her displeasure with a wave of his hand and nodded

“Aye, weel it still stands. Ye dinna always make a lot of sense, but I still like ye well enough, ken?”

“I like you too, bloody Scot!”

Claire laughed and slapped his arm lightly. Jamie caught her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing her knuckle and then turning her wrist to gently kiss her palm.

“You are my heart and soul, Claire. Please never doubt it, for I never have and I never shall.”

“Da?”

Bree called and both her parents startled slightly.

“She won’t be happy you gave the last greeting.”

Claire murmured and Jamie laughed, a rich sound that soothed away the last of Claire’s misgivings.

“Aye, she’ll likely scold me for it but I’m used to such things from my warrior queens.”

JAMMF the Knight - If Your Heels Are Nimble and Light, You Can Get There by Candlelight

Alright you lovely people. This is the third chapter of the JAMMF the Knight story which is a collaborative work with the ever amazing @thescarlettpeacock. This lovely chapter is like 99% her work, so go ahead and give her the kudos for it. I mainly edited and poked her until she wrote it. But it’s a wonderful chapter and I’m only posting it here so it stays with the other chapters. It was meant to go out earlier today and I forgot, so I’m sorry. Here it is, I hope you enjoy it!

Part One 

Part Two

Previously

“Claire - lass…” He paused, gasping for a breath in a room suddenly deprived of oxygen.

“Yer a star.”


Claire moved quite suddenly away from Jamie, her body reacting in flight at his revelation.

“No, I’m not.” Her voice was flat against the accusation, “You’re mistaken. I’m just plain old Claire Beauchamp.”

“I saw ye! I saw… Oh God you’re a star! That’s why you’re here!” Jamie stared at Claire, dumbfounded by his realisation, eyes wide and jaw slack.

“No! No you don’t know what you saw!” Claire’s throat caught, her voice levels rising to an almost shout.

“I saw you glowing in the shadow and-” He couldn’t stop, his mind and mouth working without cohesion as he babbled out his reaction.

Claire shook her head with rigour, her chest rising and falling, heaving out breaths as she tried to explain the falsity of his claim. “A trick of the light! It wasn’t what you thought it was -”

“It makes sense now! Why he’s kept ye here! And why-”

“Stop! Stop talking! I’m not a star!”

Jamie went quiet for a moment as the gravity of his next sentence settled in. “The beast, he came for you didn’t he? He came to cut –“

“Shut up!” Claire darted to the far wall, covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut, trying desperately to drown out Jamie as he spelled out her worst fear.

“God he would’ve… Your entire life just…” The severity of the situation was setting into his mind, a thousand thoughts whirring together and making no sense. A woman - who so happened to be a star - taken by the beast in the same way his sister had been.

“He stole me away to kill me! Yes! He came to cut out my heart like all of my sisters that fell before me! What do you think they do to fallen stars, Jamie?!” Violent tears fell down Claire’s face in absolute terror as she shouted at Jamie, her bodying shaking with vigour. “I will be dead before the week is through! There’s nothing you or I can do about it!” Her fury burned with a dangerous intensity.

“I’ll find a way out, Claire! I promised you I wouldn’t let any harm come to you, I’m no’ about to let a mad man cut your heart out!”

“You closed the door, Jamie!”

“Oh will you let that go! I didn’t do it on purpose and I already apologised for that earlier!”

“Do you think that makes it all better!? Face it! It’s your fault we can’t leave and it’s your fault I’m going to die! Just get out, Jamie!” The words flew from her mouth, and she knew instantly that they had hit their mark.

Her words cut through Jamie like a blow from a sword, heavy and violent. He stood astonished, his chest heaving, shaking against the cold. The weight of truth that hung over them both, a spectre lingering in the darkness of the night. He was to blame, he had closed the door. And if Claire died, her blood would be left on his hands.

Jamie took one last look at her, spun on his heels and left the room, slamming the door behind him with the echo ricocheting down the tower.   

———-

Some time had passed since they had last spoken, both furious with the other, with minds whirring with new and dangerous information. The moon had reached its peak in the sky, deep into the night it began lowering, revealing a new morning. The stars flickered behind them, the narrow window providing only a small view of their vast expanse. During his time away from her, Jamie had realised that Claire knew those stars, that they must have been the smallest comfort for her during her time in this wretched tower. Her time on the earth, in fact. Had she been lonely, he wondered. Did she cry for her lost family? The view of the world below and its people, the beautiful and the damned lot of them, did she long for it? He hadn’t thought about that when he’d announced her status and argued with her. Guilt was setting into him, his gut aching. Jamie knew he should go back to her - just to make sure she hadn’t done anything stupid in her blatant fury toward him and the situation at hand.

Once he had finally decided to force himself upstairs, he found her staring into the fireplace, framed by a beautiful white halo that illuminating her from head to toe. Claire didn’t move her body as he approached, nor made real any acknowledgement of his presence. Jamie stood by the door, watching in and waiting to be invited back into her chamber. His hopes were interrupted when Claire began speaking again, voice wistful.

“If I could have one wish, just a small insignificant wish -” She paused only for a moment, but long enough for Jamie to assume the wish would be to have never had him appear at the door. “I would ask that a Babylon candle could fall from the heavens.”

“A what?” He stepped into the room, silently relieved that while they had fought, there was a chance she might let him stay in her company for a while longer and warm himself by the fire beside her.

Claire did not look up as she spoke, maintaining her gaze toward the fireplace. “A Babylon candle. They are incredibly rare now, there used to be hundreds of them. A dull emerald green with a solid black wick running right through the middle. All you have to do is think of exactly where you wanted to be, light the candle and off you go. You had freedom at your fingertips. I remember watching people travel across the lands, having adventures, visiting their families…” Her voice fell soft with the weight of nostalgia.

Jamie took a seat beside her, his legs straddling the bench. He watched on as her body hung stiff under the weight of a heavy heart, the logs of the fire crackling and spitting loudly as he waited for her to continue with her tale.

“Someone stole them all, started using them for dark magic. That’s how they started finding us so quickly - when my sisters fell. They would think of the location of the star and try to find them before someone else did. It was like a cruel sport sometimes… The hunt for a star heart.” Claire sniffed back tears, throat tightening with each word. She turned herself to him, her eyes filled with tears, her lip wobbling.  “I didn’t mean to fall you know? Curiosity caught me. I just wanted to watch you all, to see the wonderful things I had watched you all do. Now I’m beginning to wonder if I ignored what humanity is really like.” She spoke to him as though her were her priest at the confessional, hoping for an absolution from such a human trait as curiosity and desire.

“We’re a despicable lot at the best of times.” He muttered, feeling hopeless for Claire and for himself.

“I’m not ready, Jamie.” She choked out, “I don’t want to die.” With the last word, Claire began to heart-wrenchingly sob, ferocious tears falling down her face and dripping off her quivering chin. Misery and hopelessness came in waves, moments of sobbing broken apart by pauses for a breath. Jamie wondered how long it had been since she had cried - had she at all? Twice in the hours he had been in her company she had broken into sobs, and twice he felt the weight of the world fall onto his shoulders, hoping with all of his might that he could ease her anguish.

When her cries had calmed, she had fallen eerily silent. She was a picture of devastation. Instinct had Jamie reaching into his pocket, searching for a handkerchief to wipe the tears from her bleary eyes. Cursing his habit of stuffing everything into whatever pocket was nearby, he began to fumble through various trinkets and knick knacks, dropping them onto his lap; a silver coin for emergencies, a nail from a horseshoe, the green candle Quentin had given him, a small fishing line and –

“What - Jamie, what is that?” Claire’s bruised voice cut through a short silence.

“What?” he asked, looking down at the objects in his lap. She leant over to him and plucked the candle from the pile of objects, staring at it intently. “Your uncle gave it to me. I dinna ken what it is.”

Claire’s expression changed quite rapidly in the following moments. She paled, her eyebrows arched with disbelief, then her skin began to flush. “It’s a -” Claire paused for a moment before she commenced yelling rather loudly at her fellow prisoner. “You’ve had a Babylon candle this entire time and you just neglected to mention the fact?!” She moved forward with swift agility, hitting Jamie rather hard in the arm repeatedly.  “You’ve had me thinking we were going to die in here the whole time! And you’ve had that in your bloody pocket!”

What Jamie had in fact not realised was that during his meeting with Quentin Lambert, he had been gifted a Babylon candle. A candle that provided the perfect method for their escape from the tower. Quentin had entirely neglected to explain the use of the candle to Jamie, knowing that if he found Claire, she would explain its properties and he and his ward would be reunited sooner rather than later.

“Ouch! Claire! For God’s sake stop hitting me will ye! I thought it was just a candle!””

“‘I thought it was just a candle!’” She mimicked sarcastically, “We could have been gone from this bloody place the moment after the door closed!”

“I didna ken what it was! But we can go now. I can take you back to your uncle.”

Her glare turned from rage and frustration into wariness and caution. “How do I know you’ll take me back to him? What if you’ve got your own plans for me now that you know what I am.”

Jamie threw his hands up in frustration, “We’ve been o’er this, damn it! If ye dinna trust me, I canna help ye!”

“You’d just leave me here?” Claire asked, hurt by the idea that Jamie would simply leave her behind.

“Perhaps.” He shrugged, his demeanour appearing indifferent. “If ye willna come, I canna force you.”

“I…” she looked longingly at the candle. If she could do what she wanted, would she return to the sky? Was that even possible? “I just want to go home.”

“Then will ye trust me far enough to do that?”

She hesitated, chewing on her lip. After her pause, she finally spoke with certainty.

“Yes, I will.”

———–

They had decided to wait until morning before making a move, knowing it would be easier for them to find their way to their destination by the light of day than lit by moonlight. They would light the candle, a location fixed in their minds and with luck, be transported there. Jamie would take Claire directly to her Uncle, he would collect his payment and he would leave, never to see or hear from her again. Hasten to admit, the latter had stuck in Jamie’s throat as they had agreed on a plan.

“We have to get this right, Jamie.”

“I know - I’m just trying to think of where exactly we should go…”

“Why can’t I decide?!” She challenged indignantly.

“Bloody woman will ye no’ -” Jamie was interrupted by the sound of the door opening at the bottom of the stairs. The distinct sound of footsteps echoed off the walls, heavy and foreboding.

Claire’s body began to shake as Jamie gathered her to his side, his blood running cold through his veins in growing unease.

“Claire, think of home.” He whispered.

The footsteps grew louder.

“Jamie -”

And heavier.

“Claire -”

Coming closer.

Jamie grabbed her hand, linking their icy fingers tightly together, entirely awash with panic.

The door handle of the chamber turned down and the door swung open, revealing a shadow in its frame.

“Think of home!” He demanded, thrusting his hand into the blazing fireplace. Jamie screamed from the pain, white hot and searing before a flash erupted before them.

They vanished.

anonymous asked:

I'm gonna need more of that When Jamie Met Claire AU

Dear Anon - I’m so glad you’re enjoying the When Claire Met Jamie AU! Unfortunately, that was originally meant as a one-shot, so I don’t have many ideas for future installments just yet…Until I can whip something up, here is the first chapter of a fic that has been bumbling around my brain for a while now. It’s kind of similar - more angsty, yes - but it does follow Jamie and Claire’s entire relationship throughout modern day. Hope you still like! :) - Liv

Our Story

[December 24th, 1989]

It is the beginning of their story, the first time Jamie sees her. The dividing line between what was and what would be. The setting is a Christmas party: an Edinburgh flat, roaring on the cusp of a new decade. Champagne bubbles in flutes and greetings. The players: just two university students, dancing across a stage of shaggy green carpet, garlands of tinsel. 

And the opening scene? Well. It goes something like this:

She is wearing a holiday sweater, a confection of silver bells and sequined penguins. It is the hard-won earnings of an hour’s wade through mothballs, she says, of a knee-deep dive in the Goodwill bargain bin. All of this she relays to Jamie with a smirk, a precocious, all-knowing smile that he will come to know so well.

The lights dim, and her eyes flicker. Lit coals in the flat’s half-dark. She smells of fresh rain, of flowers just beginning to open, and the scent forms a sweet, perceptible weight in the air. It settles on him, around him, when she leans forwards, straining to hear his stuttered -

“Hello,” Jamie says, or tries to. He forgets his vowels and it comes as, “Hlllll?” 

“Sorry – what was that?” 

Claire starts when his hand takes hers, crunches it firmly inside his palm. For Claire, this moment will never lose its clarity, and in the years that follow she will argue that this is where their story begins: nestled in the slight curl of Jamie’s lips.  His voice, as smooth as the whisky he offers to pour her. Another ugly sweater, this one boasting a lager-stained Santa and a hem of unraveling wool. The red string hangs there for her to tug, to close the gulf between them, and she does. Twenty one (him) and twenty two (her) years of strangerhood reduced to nothing - and then, so suddenly, transformed into knowing. 

They make small talk in the corner, mentioning the weather (“seasonably cold”) and her biology exam (“after break”). Eventually Claire asks, “Do you know anyone here?”, and bracketed inside this question is her secret hope that he does not. She wants to believe that Jamie is on her side, that it is only the two of them (that it’s only ever been the two of them) against the world. She is so used to feeling alone in crowds – but here! Oh, but here in the rainbow glow of tree lights, she feels a part of Something. She holds onto it, wishing her hand was as big as his so that his curling lips and his whisky voice would never seep through her fingers.

“Dinna ken anyone,” Jamie confirms, “though I’m no’ sure that’s a bad thing.”

He inclines his head towards the mass of bodies, all gyrating in a singular, chaotic wave. Music plays in the background, oppressive and electronic, as a third year belts Bowie between tokes. Jamie lets it fade away, forgets it all – the noise, how to blink, how to breathe. Forgets everything except her. 

Claire wrinkles her nose.

“The problem with these people is that they think they’re interesting.” She is yelling into his ear but even so, it seems strangely intimate. Every word exchanged is a secret between them, one they tuck inside their pockets, will place under their pillows when they lay their heads to sleep. “But they aren’t – not even remotely!”

“Weel, fortunately you’ve met me now.” 

“Mmm. But are you truly interesting or only remotely?”

“That’s for you to decide, lass. You being the expert on such things.”

Claire grins at the floor. “You haven’t even told me your name, y’know.”

“James Fraser,” he says, all too quickly, and he’s unreasonably embarrassed. James, he thinks – what an unremarkable, commonplace name! How many ‘James’ were in this very room, wearing equally hideous and soiled sweaters? How many ‘James’ had she met in Scotland? Would she even remember him, one of 337 (to be precise), after this night? (She would, of course. During her biology exam, she will think of James Fraser and leave fifteen questions blank. She will get a C – a grade as average as his name.)

“But you can call me Jamie,” he adds over the roar.

“I’m Claire Beauchamp. Just plain Claire Beauchamp!” 

Jamie laughs – a beautiful laugh, the best laugh, a laugh Claire will spend the rest of her life wanting to hear (she will have to work harder on certain days). 

“If I call ye anything, it’ll be ‘Sassenach’. Whereabouts in England are ye from?” 

And Claire smiles – a beautiful smile, the best smile, a smile Jamie will spend the rest of his life trying to earn (finding success and failure in turns). 

“Oxford by birth,” Claire says. “But from nowhere, really.”

She pauses, hearing the third-year shout – “Bowie, man! Greatest artist of all time!” – and swears the kid is wrong. It’s God who was the greatest artist, and this six-foot deity with his lager-stained knit was His chef d’ouevre.

“Do you want to make this night interesting, Jamie?”

“Remotely interesting?” 

“More than remotely.”

“That depends…What d’ye have in mind?”

Claire reaches for his hand, and he gives it to her. Jamie squeezes, she squeezes back. She leads him through the throng. He follows, licking his lips and at her heels.

(Who knew it could ever be this easy? Falling in love.)

Ease My Mind - Part 10 (FINAL!)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes is your best friend and, of course, you’re in love with him. But apparently Bucky is just fine with your platonic relationship - you’re going to have to do something about that.

Warnings: luke cage spoilers

A/N: WE’RE HERE! the end!!! i thought this was gonna be long but it ended up being kinda short?? idk how that happened. but anyway i really like it, i hope you do too, and thank you so much for being on this journey with me! your feedback and messages and enthusiasm has made this story so much fun to write so i really owe it all to you guys :) 

Masterlist

Luke and his ‘girlfriend’ Claire Temple were highly confused but also thrilled about Tony’s jail-bust and the reappearance of Dr Burstein. Tony wanted to celebrate by getting everyone drunk and ordering enough takeout to feed a small country, so even though every single person protested, that’s what happened. Steve and Luke bonded over their love of breaking stuff and, for the first time, Steve lost an armwrestling contest.

Which is why he’s a pouty, broody cloud of sadness at the briefing table while everyone else is just extremely hungover.

Keep reading