wee ficlet

Gluttony: A Vampire Story (from a dream)


–blood, (!!!) like far more than your common or garden variety fangbanger porn
–possible gross out amounts for real, just sayin’
–vague worship-like D/s dynamics 
–excessive, cliche gothiness

A/N: Taken directly from a dream I had and unchanged. Blame my therapists and Anne Rice I guess;) 

For @lisams20​ who sent me Adam sex goodness. Yeah, I should be writing poetry for a workshop tonight but fuck it: Let’s make a goddamn mess & call it a warm-up exercise! (I feel like @angelsseb​ might like this too but I’m not sure.)


It’s long past midnight when He comes. I stir only enough to register His form in the half-dark. The room is all candle-glow on white surfaces: the bedsheets are cool and pristine satin and the room is marble and gleaming, floor to ceiling.

His profile is sharp but soft–the hard lines of His nose and jaw contrast with soft dark curls. He comes toward me and I’m in a trance, ready to slake His thirst.

He’s not tasted me before but He is so familiar. Longing builds to an ache inside me. I feel my pulse thrum at my neck and heat pool in my core. And He is vibrating with hunger.

When he comes I rise eagerly into His arms and he cups my head as he traces a long, silken finger along my pulse. His touch is barely restrained strength and need. It’s a highly cultivated artifice, the elegance and care with which He moves and touches.

He dips His face toward me at last, the length of His nose and the plane of His cheek resting against me.

I incline my neck further in offering.

He clamps down and it’s snakebite pain–too sharp and quick to hurt beyond a sting. I’m open for Him and it’s a delicious surrender.

He takes long, hard gulps from my veins and I can feel the relief in Him as it fills His throat. Hunger sates, he pulls back. But His eyes are wild and the veneer of culture seems to be falling away. I realize for the first time that He is power and base need and I would retreat but I can’t move.

He growls and moves back in, though I can feel that he’s not longer hungry. He is just chasing the taste.

He takes a long, rough pull from my neck again but He’s sloppy and beastlike now. My blood floods his mouth.

He hums around it, then spits it carelessly to the side.

He throws Himself into the feed and he drains and discards the claret fluid in a careless, obscene stain on the white of the bed.

He’s a frenzy of drinking and I float–I’m safe and well, but dazed. Almost out of body, I watch the scene. I find it terrible but unbearably beautiful, this painterly cascade of scarlet on white.

The image fades, and I think of the gluttony of Romans feasting until their bellies spilled over as He sucks and sucks like Bacchus quaffing from a wineskin.

Through It All

This ficlet is part of the Claire returns early with Bree AU which begins with A Ringing Phone and a Folder.

This ficlet is a direct continuation from Strength for What Lies Ahead

My Fanfiction Master List

Available on AO3 as The Nature of Choice.

This is an Outlander canon divergence AU.

As always, let me know what you think.

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bonnie-wee-swordsman  asked:

How about a sweet moment between Jamie and one of the grandkids? Biological or otherwise, your choice!

Don’t Poke the Bear

It was just after sunrise when Mandy came shuffling into the main room of the cabin clinging to Esmerelda. She yawned as she walked towards the chair Jamie was sitting in. He heard the floor creak and looked up from the ledger he was focused on. She gave him a little wave with one hand while she popped the thumb of the other into her mouth.  Her precious ragdoll bounced gently against her chin then came to a stop.

“And good morning to you a nighean! I trust you slept well?” he asked.

Her head bobbed up and down in affirmation. She pointed at him with her unladen hand, eyebrows raised, and eyes wide to ask the same question of him. When he didn’t answer she daintily cleared her throat.

He looked at her, looked over his shoulder, then back to her. Pausing for a moment to suppose the meaning of her request, it finally hit him. When it was apparent he had figured out her meaning she grinned but kept her thumb entrenched between her teeth.

Jamie leaned forward to pretend he was talking to his granddaughter as well as her companion. “Och, aye! I did indeed. Thank you for asking. I slept like a bear in winter with your Grannie next to me. Did you know she snores like one as well?”

Mandy shook her head slowly in disbelief. She looked thoughtful before she shook her head more adamantly with a scowl on her face. It was apparent she was most displeased at this potential besmirching of her grandmother when she stomped her feet loudly.

“You don’t believe your Granddad, do you?” he whispered. “It’s true we’ve only been acquainted for a trio of years so I agree it’s wise to be wary of an old man.”

She nodded her head adamantly. She looked into his eyes and took his hand to make the shape of the letter x over his breastbone. It was apparent what she requested of him to confirm his earlier claim.

He nodded solemnly as he knelt before his granddaughter. “I give you my oath as an honourable man that I am telling the God’s honest truth.”

A small hand tugged on his shirttail in the direction of her sleeping grandmother. Like her own mother, she needed hard evidence to prove or disprove a theory despite potential danger.

“So it’s into the bear cave we go, aye cub?”

Mandy growled quietly to show she wasn’t afraid of what lay before her. He echoed her when they crossed the bedroom’s threshold. The room was silent with only their rhythmic breathing for noise until..

A loud snort came abruptly from the bed in front of them followed by guttural snoring. The sound startled the little girl causing her to leap into her grandfather’s arms. He swiftly carried her out of the cabin as she ducked her head to hide.

“Do you believe me now when I say your Grannie sounds like a beast when she sleeps?” he inquired.

“Yesh,” she replied around her thumb. “yesh I do.”

yesfangirl  asked:

Could you do a small story or an extended prompt about Bree and Roger telling Jamie and Claire Mandy's full name after she was born. The books never extended on that although I'm pretty sure it was Amanda Claire FAITH McKenzie. You are so good writing the emotional stuff and I'd give anything to read about that conversation! Thanks Kathleen :)

So apparently Mandy’s name is actually Amanda Claire Hope MacKenzie. But I wanted to give you something, so I tweaked it a bit and came up with this wee thing. Hope you like it @yesfangirl! <3

Worthy of Love

“She ought to have another name.” Bree told me one afternoon, while nursing Mandy. We were peacefully sitting in my surgery, after I had made my daily evaluation of her baby’s welfare with my Pinard stethoscope. A week had passed since my shattering diagnosis of patent ductus arteriosus and the daunting realization that Amanda’s life was in danger since the moment she had left the safety of Brianna’s womb.

“Is Amanda Claire MacKenzie not enough, do you think?” I asked her, my hands occupied with the construction of a pleasant habitat for my newest friends, a couple of plump and precious leeches. “The more names you give her, the harder it will be for her to learn them; not to mention writing them.”

“Yes.” She rocked slightly on the chair, her eyes inevitably drawn to Mandy’s blue fingernails, a tell-tale sign that betrayed her oxygen deprivation. It was a permanent competition between the need to feed and the need to breathe – one that seemed only unfair, robbing every happiness of that moment of bonding between mother and child. “But I’m not happy with it. It’s missing something.”

“Maybe you can pay homage to someone important to Roger?” I suggested amiably. “Since she already has the burden of my name.”

Brianna clicked her tongue; it never seized to amaze me how much she sounded like Jamie doing so. How two people could be so similar in the simple things that made me love them so irrevocably.

“It’s not a burden and we both agreed on it.” She changed the baby’s position on her arms, ready to put her to burp after another excruciating session of sucking and sleeping from her heart’s tiredness. “Besides, Roger chose her first name. Amanda.” Bree smiled a little, but her voice was husky and I could see the sadness and the constant concern behind her eyes. “He said he loved her so much since the moment he first laid eyes on her that Marjorie wouldn’t measure up. It had to be Amanda – Lovable. Worthy of love.”

“What were you thinking, then?” I asked, trying to distract her from the pit of despair she was about to plunge herself in. The same hole from which Jamie and myself managed to escape each morning since that unforgettable day, only with the help of each other’s arms.

“Faith.” Bree said softly. “I was thinking, maybe…Amanda Claire Faith MacKenzie.”

“Sweetheart…” I whispered, coming closer in order to put my arm around her. “Amanda is not your sister.” I swallowed hard. “Faith she - was so small and had such a hazardous delivery into this world – she never stood a chance.” My voice trembled, but just a little – I was trying very hard to be strong for us both.

“I know that.” She sighed. “You keep saying that she has a fighting chance if – when – we go back. But…” Bree turned her face away from me, but not fast enough to hide a traitorous tear. “I wished my sister was here with me, Mama. I wanted so badly to have an older sister, someone to look up to, to tell me everything was going to be alright.” Her voice almost broke this time. “To stay here, with you….when I’m gone.”

“Bree.” I caressed her beautiful red hair, a deep contrast with her own daughter’s dark tufts. “I’ve said goodbye to you once in the past, thinking that probably I would never see you again – everyday wishing for a sign that you were happy in your time and knowing I wouldn’t get one.” I kissed her temple. “But you came to us and we’ve had more together than I ever dreamt of.”

“How did you do it?” She cleaned a tear with the back of her big fair hand. “Survive the…the loss of your child? Of the dreams you had for her the moment you knew she was there, inside you? The dreams you shared along with your own blood inside your belly?”

“I don’t know.” I answered honestly. “I thought I wouldn’t, but – I had your father and the gift Mother Hildegard gave me.”

“Gift?” She looked at me, her blue eyes surrounded by red streaks and greyish blots from the crying and the lack of sleep. “What gift?”

“Well,” I said slowly, playing with Mandy’s little toes and watching her yawn. “Mother Hildegard named her. She christened her and gave her a name while I was too sick to do anything really. Faith. Once I knew, I thought Mother had the oddest and most inappropriate sense of humour.”

“It was a weird choice.” She agreed, patting Mandy’s bottom. “What do you mean by a gift, then?”

“She gave me what I needed.” I answered serenely. “For faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” I quoted the Bible’s verse. “I had my daughter, even if for the briefest of times. But what I came to realize, you see, is that even though she was gone I was still her mother. She still…was is.”

Brianna nodded, trapped inside my words.

“I needed faith to heal of everything that happened in France. Each day I woke up; went through the motions, like I was sleepwalking when the pain was too much; I slept and started it all over again. I craved repentance and salvation. And it eventually came and I was able to smile and live again.”

“So it is a good name?” She insisted.

“I think what you need is something else entirely – just as powerful and sometimes just as hard to find.” I said softly, already storing in my memory the image of my two girls together as they were now, peacefully and happily close to my heart.

“And what is that?” Bree asked, her hand searching my own, our fingers entwining like we used to do when she was a little girl, afraid of how high the swing would go. But she had always been brave; she used to laugh and ask to go even higher, conquering her fears.

This time I wouldn’t be there to help her be brave; but she had a little hand of her own to hold now.

Hope.” I whispered and kissed her ever so softly.

onceuponaprincessworld  asked:

Hi Rose, your cs au high school one-shot was so so sweet!! Do you think you might add to it? Because I would love to see a happy ending. Just wondering, no pressure. :)

Hi darling~

Ask and you shall receive. A part of me is so angry with myself right now because I have made no progress on my current story and have been ignoring it in favor of AU week, but because I still have a bug for it, I’m willing to give 1500 words of continuation of my High School AU 

Emma spends Friday and Saturday in her room, feigning illness so the Nolans won’t bother her. She doesn’t put much effort into the performance, allowing her miserable expression to do all the work. Ruth doesn’t question Emma, only gives her a look of sympathy and offers to make soup, which Emma quietly declines.

It’s Sunday afternoon when there’s a knock on her bedroom door. Emma looks up from her worn copy of The Hobbit.

“Emma,” Ruth calls out. “There’s a boy here to see you. If you’re feeling better, I can let him in.”

Emma closes her eyes. Apparently Killian Jones doesn’t know how to take a hint. She had been ignoring his texts and calls for the past two days.

“No,” Emma says. And then after a beat, “It’s fine, Ruth, I’ll talk to him outside. It will be quick.”

Keep reading

The Shimada Bros at a Boring Meeting

Next to him his brother - green hair standing out and posture slack - began yawning and Hanzo nearly rolled his eyes before nudging the teen with his elbow. He knew the meeting was boring, but they needed to act out the part of heirs in situations like this. Genji simply gave him an apologetic grin before straightening and pressing his shoulder against his brother’s own, giving the slightest bit of pressure and increasing it as the seconds rolled by until Hanzo pressed back, realizing that if he didn’t he’d suddenly be leaning.

This made Genji’s eyes light up and he pressed on, making this a game. Hanzo, in turn, pressed on even further, lips in a tight smile to try and hide the fact that he was enjoying the small ‘game’ Genji had started, and decided he would give just a bit more of a push to make Genji teeter where he stood. The teen caught himself well enough that he didn’t make any noise but both of them let out a quick breath through their nostrils in order to not suddenly start laughing, giving each other the side-eye with wide smiles plastered to their faces.

anonymous asked:

Are you still taking prompts? How about Sherlock admitting to John that when he faked his death, he took something of John's with him? (Your ficlets are the best!)

It’s nothing at all, really. But John still notices it.

He’s typing at the table when he spots it- just a paperweight, barely holding down a precarious pile of Sherlock’s papers.

The thing is, it was John’s. It wasn’t anything he’s particularly cared about, especially after- all that. When he was clearing out his things, he’d vaguely noticed it wasn’t there, the tiniest of niggles in the back of his mind that had been drowned out by everything else.

Now, though… John turns his head. Sherlock is sitting in his arm chair, typical prayer like thinking pose, but John can tell he’s only daydreaming.


Sherlock opens one eye. “Hmm?”

Just for fun, just because he can, John throws him the paperweight. Sherlock catches it deftly, both eyes open now, wide awake.

“Where’d you find this?” John asks. “Thought I’d lost it…”

He trails off at Sherlock’s expression: mouth closed, lips pressed tightly, eyes wide and suddenly…sad.

Sherlock clears his throat. “I’m going to bed.

And oh, how John knows avoidance when he sees it. He leans back and glances at the time displayed on the laptop. “It’s not that late,” he says quietly , but Sherlock is already off down the hall.

“I’m tired,” is all he replies.

Ah, John thinks. He gives Sherlock a few minutes breathing space, and then he follows him. Sherlock is in bed, back to the door, back tense. John carefully slides under the covers and presses a light kiss to Sherlock’s back, just so he knows he’s there.

“Hey,” John says, keeping his voice soft. “You don’t have to… We can leave it if…”

He’s still none the wiser as to what’s really wrong, so he keeps his sentences unfinished. But Sherlock saves him from doing anymore, his hand reaches out to John’s and presses the paperweight into his palm. It’s warm.

“I- I took it,” Sherlock says, voice almost a whisper.

John puts the paperweight on his bedside cabinet. “Okay? That’s fine-”

But Sherlock is shaking his head. “No, John. I took it when-”

His breathing catches just the tiniest bit and John places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. Thankfully, Sherlock turns to face him, taking a deep breath.

“I took it when… when we were checking the flat for cameras. When-”

His voice dies but John doesn’t need to hear anymore, he knows exactly when Sherlock means. His stomach lurches but he tries not to let it show, focussing on wrapping his arms around Sherlock.


A shaky exhale. “Because I…I knew that- no, no, John, not like that, not everything. I just…” A swallow. “I knew Lestrade was coming. God, I felt sick, I- I knew…Well, the thing was, I didn’t know when I’d be back in the flat.”

“Oh,” John says. He doesn’t think he can trust his voice to say anything else, but Sherlock’s still going, a dam broken:

“Knew I couldn’t risk taking something obvious, like a photo or-or-you’d notice. I just knew I needed a-a-something… I slipped it in my coat pocket just before Lestrade-

He breaks off again, and John sees Sherlock’s hands clutched together, as if he can still feel the handcuffs on his wrists.


Sherlock looks at him, and John pulls him closer. He can feel Sherlock’s back jump just a little under his fingertips.

“Thank you, Sherlock. For- for letting me know.”

Sherlock breathes out, finally long and smooth and steady. And John knows that while it was a lie before, Sherlock is truly tired now. He stays with him, slowly stroking his back until, little by little, he feels Sherlock’s whole body relaxing in sleep. He waits, then kisses him goodnight, going to set up the table for breakfast the next day.

The paperweight stays on the cabinet.



anonymous asked:

Can you do a story where Jamie is a really horrible driver (apparently, Sam's not that great at it) and Claire has to ride in the passenger's seat holding on for dear life?

It was an unavoidable fact that Jamie needed to learn how to drive if he was going to get a job. It just wasn’t financially feasible for him to take taxis every time the destination was too far to walk. When he had stressed it was essential he provide for his family she knew it was another noteworthy task he needed to take on.

Thankfully for Claire’s older car, one of the trucks at the farm had been offered up as a practice vehicle. She had seen him conquer so many modern machines in the last few weeks she was guardedly optimistic. Of course the kitchen appliances weren’t hurtling down a public road at forty miles an hour while he used them.

“Thank you for this, Claire.” he said sheepishly. “I ken it’s no’ easy for either of us. I detest asking ye for aide even when it’s needed.”

“You need to learn to drive this contraption,” she affirmed. “And that is what you shall do!”

The afternoon was spent driving country roads, up hills, stopping,and practicing parallel parking. It was also spent getting out of a ditch, Claire learning more Scots expletives and Jamie apologizing to his wife. In summation - a total disaster. Both the Frasers looked the worse for wear as did the poor truck, down one passenger side handle.

That night as they lay in bed, Jamie broke the silence.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such a patient wife but I plan on being thankful the rest of our days.” he whispered.

Claire brought their clasped hands up to kiss his knuckles. “If you could find me and Bree on this massive planet then I believe you can do anything you set your mind to.” she affirmed.

Fanfiction - Promise

It has been a long time, so forgive me for the rustiness. This wee ficlet was born from the amazing Ben Howard song, Promise (thank you anon!), as well as from @bonnie-wee-swordsman‘s suggestion, The Luckiest, which guided me to the movie About Time. Thank you sweets, for the inspiration - here and always. Now on to the angst fic.


A gift. A curse.

It was meant to be both.

My mother had said as much in her letter, the one she wrote hoping I’d never read. “Time is a delicate thing, my darling.” She had penned. “Don’t use your ability with the ones you love the most, or risk finding them gone in the end, everything changed. They will forget you, even if you’ll still remember every second of what could have been.”

When I was old enough – the letter dutifully delivered by my uncle on my eighteenth birthday – I realized she didn’t follow her own advice. Grief is blinding – I would learn that too, at great personal cost.

My father was hit by a runaway car while crossing the road next to our house. It was one of those meaningless accidents, that claim our lives with the surety and brevity of a tired smile. My mother, unhinged by loss and love (too much, too deep), went back to try and prevent it from happening.

I know this because us, the ones kissed – slapped, really – by the gift of bending time, cannot be touched by its alterations. Our lives become forked, and even as we cheerfully go on living in a pathway, we still recall the alternative, the before. We have the sorrow of things lost embedded in the joy of things gained. We live endless lives inside our damned minds.

So I recalled my mother crying, the very life of her streaming down her eyes – and then the scariest part, once she stopped crying and only looked through the window. Deciding.

“The gift of traveling back in time has been in our family for generations.” She wrote, her handwriting fluid and graceful. “Only women, woken when they come of age. If you possess it, my dear Claire, you will be faced with some of the toughest choices possible. You will see evil and crave change. You will be tempted to correct every wrong done to you. You will know despair and joy and hope. I pray that you find plenty of happiness, using it as seldom as possible. Help strangers and see the world become better by your touch.”

She kissed me before she went, pale but decided. Her hair smelt of rosemary, warm hugs and mother.

In this timeline in which I grew up, my mother stopped my father from dying that evening. Instead, they died together the next day – Death waiting for them at the bottom of a ravine, their car overturned by ice and old tires. I lost my father twice, my mother once – I brutally learned you can’t fool time, when it comes for you.

The first time I travelled, I was nineteen. I stopped a girl from college, a freckled and gentle-eyed brunette, from crossing the park at night and getting assaulted. I remembered all too well the alternative, the shell she would become if I did nothing. Only when I didn’t have a choice – I only did it when I couldn’t change it in any other way and the outcome would be too dire. I prevented accidents, crimes and a few heartbreaks. But I never used my gift – my curse – with Jamie.

I never used it to relive our first night together, when I thought I was shattered by happiness, and everybody would see the breaks and the sun pouring out, miles and miles away; I never used it to avoid an argument, even when he walked away and there was the risk that he might never come back to me; I never used it to take back the “No” I said to him, the first time he asked me to marry him – because I had yet to tell him of my ability and could not deceive him in such a manner. I felt everything my mother wished me to experience – I cherished it all, the good and the bad, the sweet coated with the sour, the life we humans are meant to live as we’re slowly breaking apart.

But time robbed me. And I grieved.

I woke up screaming in the middle of the night, as I so often did those days. Or at least I thought I did, as my mouth was open, every tendon and vessel on my neck tensed into the point of snapping, gasping for air that had vanished. My heart raced towards a destiny forever lost, trying to escape me - the withering host. I rolled in bed, searching with the tips of my fingers. The sheets beside me were empty and cold – that, too, occurred all too often those days. He was gone.

I knew where he was – countless times I had cowardly peeked through the living room’s door, only to see him staring into the flames, bewitched. Like he could see omens there, the crackling of the logs reminiscent of a laughter he would never hear, but loved so dearly. My reaction was always to retreat, to hide away from his pain, because I felt I couldn’t bear it when I already had my own.

I padded to the door and saw him there, his broad naked chest covered by a soft plaid quilt, cream and blue. I could wail just from the sight of it.

Guilt wrecked me, consuming me bit by bit until there was nothing left. And in that torment I finally found words to speak, a kind of courage that wasn’t bravery at all.

“Jamie.” I rasped out. He startled slightly and looked at me, his blue eyes hooded in the firelight. “What are you doing here?”

“Ye should go back to bed, lass.” He seemed concerned by whatever he saw on my face. “I dinna mean to disturb yer sleep.”

“I will.” I hesitated but at last fully entered the room, watching my shadow dance on the wall. “Jamie,” I gulped, decided to push on. “Do you need me to go?”

“Ye need yer rest, Sassenach.” Jamie smiled a little, but his eyes didn’t catch the light. “Go on and I’ll be with ye presently.”

“No.” I looked away, my voice already trembling. “I mean – do you want me gone?” He straightened his shoulders, his head tilting to absorb my words. “You can’t bear looking at me, can you?”

“Don’t say that!” He snapped, his voice harsher than it would have been, months ago. Broken. “Why would ye say such a thing, Claire?”

“Every other night I wake up and find you gone from my side.” I swallowed hard, moistening my chapped lips. “You spend the night here and I don’t know what to say to you.” My eyes welled up, tears starting to stream down my face. “We barely talk or touch…and I- I…”

Jamie looked at me – really looked, like only he could – and curled a bit on the armchair he had been sitting on, sighing deeply. Resigned.

“It’s my shift.” He said softly, almost inaudibly.

“What?” I blurted, impatiently wiping away tears, as I moved to sit on the couch across from him.

“We agreed that we’d alternate on parent duties at night, so you could rest a little.” He looked away from me, pain enough in his eyes to tear me apart in a clean cut. “It was my night to be with Faith. I know she is…” Jamie closed his eyes, gripping his fists. “Gone. But I couldna leave her alone, ye ken? I thought I’d keep her company, wherever she is.”

“Jamie…” I reached for his hand, entwining his fingers with mine. He was cold as a marble statue, beautiful as one. He examined my fingers and his, as if searching for something that was supposed to be there, hidden inside our joined hands.

“I don’t know what to do with my hands anymore, Claire.” He confessed in a broken voice. “I was supposed to be holding her and I don’t know what to do with myself if I’m not.”

“I could go.” I proposed tentatively, nervously rubbing his knuckles with my fingertips. “I could travel back and save her, Jamie, I know I could…Our girl. I could save her. I could bring her back to us.”

“No!” He said with such intensity and fierceness that he almost scared me. His hands – big, loving, reassuring – came to rest on the sides of my arms. Holding me together. “Ye told me yerself years ago, mo ghraidh. There’s no controlling what could happen – ye might die in childbirth this time around, Claire. Ye almost did. Or ye could go further back than ye intended and we might never find each other. I canna risk losing ye.”

“It would be alright.” I babbled, desperately trying to convince him – to convince myself – that I could, indeed, take away the terror that had been offered to us, such a cruel replacement for the joy we had been promised. Faith, our stillborn daughter. The only reason I truly wished to go back in time and could not.

“Ye are my life, Claire.” Jamie said ardently, sliding from the chair to kneel in front of me. “I grieve because the loss is so great. Aye, my heart is tormented and sometimes I canna sleep – I dread dreaming of her, our bonny lass, redheaded and whole and alive. Those are the dreams I fear the most, because I’ll never see her so.” He bent his head, his forehead pressing against my knuckles. “You asked me if I couldna bear looking at you –,” I felt his tears against my skin, fresh and tingling. “That is the only thing I can bear. Ye give me hope, Sassenach – even when it’s just a wee flame, barely there. I wouldna risk ye, ever.”

I was sobbing in earnest by then, all things so clumsily contained finally finding a crack to escape control. Guilt. Sorrow. Love, for them both.

“Why should I have this – this thing,” I almost spat, as he held me in his arms and rocked me back and forth, attempting to comfort me. “If I can’t even save my own daughter?”

“Ye are meant to save lives, Sassenach.” He assured me, his voice husky, his hands gentle on my back and cheek. “Just not that one. Not that one. We are meant to live and lose, Claire. And know it was worth it.”

We stood there, spilling our sorrow into each other for what seemed like hours, finding relief in being so earnest, so raw.

“Promise me ye won’t go, mo ghraidh.” Jamie eventually pleaded, his lips brushing my hair again and again. “For there is an entire life ahead that only has meaning with ye in it. I love ye.”

“Yes.” I whispered, as he slowly carried me in his arms towards our bedroom. “Promise me we’ll talk of her whenever we need to. That you will wake me up to come and watch over her with you. And when you don’t know what to do with your hands – perhaps… you could hold me?”

“Aye.” He kissed my lips, soft and tender.

We laid down, facing each other, our eyes refusing to let go – we wouldn’t risk drifting away that night, parted even by sleep. And in his eyes I saw the first light of dawn, balmy and golden and pure, seeming to have come earlier than all the nights before, when darkness lingered in the curtains of our bedroom.

And we promised.

Tell Her That I Love Her

What if, the deleted scene entitled ‘Tell her that I love her’ was about Brianna? Be sure to check out @londonerbecky and @bonnie-wee-swordsman’s amazing companion drabbles  ;)

 The sound of cannon fire reverberated through them as powerful as their release had been. Claire looked up at him, feeling the tremor run through him, unable to bring herself to believe this was it. The last she’d hold him. The last she’d feel him. The last. She shook her head, pulling him down to kiss her once more.

The air filled with the sound of buzzing stones and warfare. Jamie sat up and glanced toward Culloden - towards inevitability. Then Claire’d taken his hand in hers and urgently pressed their wedding gift into his palm. Everything seemed surreal, as if he’d suddenly - mercifully - wake up and find himself back home, in Lallybroch once more, with Claire in his arms.

He got to his feet scarcely feeling the motion for the weight that bore excruciatingly on his heart. Fumbling, Jamie gave all he had into her keeping; His soul and his father’s ring.

“Give it to the bairn. When he’s old enough,” he said. A piece of me, to carry wi’ ye, he thought.

“I will name him Brian. After your father,” Claire promised.

“And… If it is a wee lass,” he said, clearing his throat. “Tell her that I love her, Sassenach. Always.”

He took hold of her then, before he lost all his self-will, bringing her body flush with his, and danced her back toward the stone. Toward her destiny. Toward her future empty of him. She hadn’t, he realized, taken her eyes off of him. Nor had he taken them from her. Their eyes saying all that they couldn’t with words.

“I love you,’ she desperately whispered through tears and a pain that went right through him. “I love you!”

It is all that had mattered. All that had meaning.

“And I, you.”

And in a heartbeat… She was gone.

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.”

you can’t go home again; thomas/jimmy, downton abbey, warnings for nightmares, language, and wwi typical violence

comments/con-crit welcome & loved <3

The sound, when Thomas hears it, is like the dull slide of a wardrobe door opening and closing over and over, wood catching against wood. It takes him a moment to realize he’s hearing anything at all, so easily does it fade into the background murmur of an enormous house settling in for the long stretch of night. 

Thomas pauses with his last cigarette of the day against his lip, listening. A frisson of alertness wraps around his spine, yet he feels suddenly exhausted. He considers his palm with its clean circumference of scar tissue, the creaking, painful sound still pulling at the edges of his awareness. 

The servant’s bathroom is cold and lit only by a sliver of grey moonlight from the high, narrow window in the corner. The light falls on Jimmy’s blonde hair like water on stone, and Thomas feels his fingers jump reflexively next to his thigh.

“Again, Jimmy?” Thomas calls softly from the doorway. The hair on the back of his neck rises, and he wishes he hadn’t already removed his jacket and vest. His braces hang loosely around his waist.

“Go away.” Jimmy’s voice is raked over, the skin around his eyes red and blotchy. Knees pulled up to his chin, he looks small and impossibly youthful.

“Alright,” Thomas says, and takes a step closer, watching the tense line of Jimmy’s hunched shoulders.

“I mean it this time,” Jimmy rasps. His knuckles are white, fingers tight on his knees. He doesn’t look at Thomas.

Thomas drops into a crouch a few steps away. He estimates, without really noticing, that it’s about the same span of distance that would exist if you were to press a Lee-Enfield rifle nuzzle against the small of someone’s back. “Let me put you back to bed, love.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” The cant of his voice is dangerous. Thomas wonders if it’s the same nightmare he had last night, a distorted memory of a day in France when one minute he’d been talking with his friend about the deplorable state of the trench rations, and the next had looked over to find a hole in his friend’s face, just under his left eye. The bullet had shattered on impact, and Jimmy had spent the next day pulling slivers of white bone from his hair. The first time he’d told Thomas about that, he’d shuddered so violently that his teeth had jarred and clattered, the sound reminding Thomas of the click of rat’s nails against dirt as they fled flooded trenches.

“I’m sorry, love,” Thomas says, because he’s never been able to stop himself.

“I’m not your love,” Jimmy snarls, knuckling hard into the soft meat of his thighs. “I’m nobody’s love.” Thomas can see now that his eyes are swollen already, and red-rimmed.

“Well, I love you, Jimmy,” he says. When Jimmy makes a wrenched, despairing sound, Thomas says more softly, “I can’t help it.”

Jimmy says nothing, his chest rising and falling. Thomas watches, waiting, until the movement of his breath is slow and even again, by which time his knees have gone numb from the icy floor. He shifts, seeking some relief, and Jimmy’s hand jumps out.

“Don’t go,” he says, barely audible with his mouth pressed into his shoulder, as if he wished he’d muffled the words before they’d been released.

“I won’t.”

Jimmy drops his hand onto the floor, palm up, and Thomas curls his own fingers around it, holding him loosely and with extraordinary care.


Another wee Jem and Jamie ficlet - not sure why I’ve suddenly got a bee in my bonnet about these but I have! haha! Thank you as always for your encouragement and support :) xxx

Jamie cocked his head to the side and drummed the fingers of his left hand on the table top.

He was thinking, Jem realised with a small thrill and glanced excitedly at Germaine but his cousin was staring intently at their grandfather and spared no attention for Jem. The seconds ticked by, marked by the slender bronze hand of the mantelpiece clock. A single bead of sweat ran from Germaine’s blonde temple and dripped onto the pale linen of his shirt. Jem squared his shoulders and straightened his back. He wasn’t scared of his Grandda, not ever, but when he was concentrating as fiercely as he was, Jem could see why people might be. He looked so stern!

“Ye ken that’s no a verra honourable thing, considering I was so courteous with your earlier error.”

Jamie said evenly, his eyes flicking between both boys but settling on Germaine who stuck out his chin defiantly.

“We all make our own choices, Grand-pere.”

He shrugged and Jamie snorted, though his gaze didn’t soften and Jem swallowed nervously.

“Aye, but are ye sure your partner feels the same? Ye look a wee bit peaky Jeremiah.”

Jem licked his lips and shook his head. In truth he didn’t really understand what it was Germaine had done. It couldn’t be too awful or Grandda wouldn’t be discussing it and anyway, whatever it was he and Germaine were a team and he would stand by his teammate no matter what.

“I think its fair Grandda. Ye didna ask us to owe ye one so I dinna think ye can claim foul-play.”

Jamie’s stern countenance broke and he smiled, jiggling Mandy who was on his knee, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Your brother is going to be a lawyer mo maise … and ye cousin will be a highwayman.”

Both boys looked fairly pleased with their future career predictions but Mandy’s scowl intensified and she glared across the table at them both.

“Dinna be mean to Grandda! Horrid boys!”

She scolded, patting Jamie’s arm consolingly before looking up at him, blue eyes wide with concern.

“Are you OK Grandda?”

“Och aye, dinna fash a leannan. I just need to teach these two young men a lesson, ken?”

Mandy nodded and Jem and Germaine exchanged anxious glances.

“Will ye help me?”

Jamie asked, eyes still trained on his granddaughter who nodded, only too happy to help her beloved Grandda sort out her brother and cousin.

“Aye Grandda.”


Jamie leant forward, huge frame hunching over the table as he pointed for Mandy to follow

“ye see the horsey? Aye that’s the one - put him here and take that piece away.”

“Wait …”

Germain’s eyes flew wide as Mandy picked up his Queen and replaced it with Jamie’s knight.

“The King!”

Jem yelped and Germaine turned sharply, digging his cousin in the ribs. The game had been going on for nearly an hour and in that time he had to shut Jem up countless times.

“Shh. Let me think…”

“No you need to protect the King …”

Jem leant across Germaine in a panic and seized the crowned piece of wood, dragging it back in the path of Jamie’s bishop. Germaine tried to slam his hand down but Jem had already let go, relinquishing their turn.

“Ah… I think perhaps Jem did not mean to let go so soon, Grand-pere, if I may just …”

“You may not!”

Jamie said tartly, placing Mandy’s hand on the bishop.

“We all make our own choices, ken? Capture the King for us, lass. Let’s finish them.”

Mandy slapped the bishop down viciously and seized the pale King with a roar of victory.


“Grandda got us! You just sat there!”

Jem snapped petulantly but Mandy was too wrapped up in her victory to much care. Germaine shook his head and slumped back in his seat, utterly spent.

“Mon Dieu.”

He murmured gesturing weakly to the board, the elegant turn of his wrist the very echo of his father and Jamie felt a small flutter in his heart at the memory of Fergus as a destitute waif, sat in the parlour of their house in Paris, charming Claire with his wit and his sweet nature and, not for the first time, Jamie marvelled at the chance of fate.  

“You saw it all along, didn’t you Grand-pere?”


Jamie smiled but with more than a trace of sympathy in his voice

“Ye have the makings of a fine player laddie, but ye are too eager to make the kill. Ye must remember to survey the whole board not just focus on your own plans.”

Jamie held out his hand and Germaine shook it good naturedly, accepting his grandfather’s assessment of his strategy gracefully.

Jamie offered his hand to Jem next, and grinned

“And you need to learn to pay attention to the game at hand, ye didna wait nor listen to your captain and it cost ye the King. But ye are getting better.”

Jem blushed but shook his grandfather’s hand firmly and nodded. He could hardly argue with that assessment given that he had just done exactly as his grandfather described.

“Now my teammate,”

Jamie looked down at Mandy and offered her his hand to shake as he had with the boys.

“I think ye need to work on being a gracious winner, it’s no’ verra polite to scream ye victory at the top o’ your lungs.”

Mandy ignored his hand and threw her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly

“We still won though, didn’t we Grandda?”

She beamed and Jamie laughed despite himself

“Aye, mo chridhe, we did.”

Jamie began to pack the pieces carefully away whilst Mandy scurried off to find Claire and tell her of the victory that she had, in her mind, been an integral part of.


Jem murmured quietly but Germaine waved his apology off

“It doesn’t matter, I had not seen the black knight’s potential move and without the queen all was lost anyway.”

He sighed dramatically before grinning at his cousin


He cried, mimicking Jem’s Scottish accent and throwing himself back in his chair, one hand draped across his eyes.

Jem kicked him in the shin lightly

“Shut up! I didna say it like that!”

“Ye did a bit, Jem. It was verra impassioned.”

Jamie teased and received a long look down the bridge of his grandson’s nose before Jem gave in and laughed.

“Chess is harder than I thought it would be.”

“When ye play wi’ the best it is.”

Jamie grinned, his smile widening as Jem and Germaine rolled their eyes simultaneously.

“Dad beat you last week!”

Jem pointed out smugly and Jamie nodded thoughtfully

“Aye and I dinna ken who was more shocked.”

He laughed, placing the lid on the box of pieces and returning it to the mantel piece.


Dean knew something was up. His six-year-old brother wasn’t a big eater on a good day, so he looked a little sideways at the extra food piled on Sam’s plate at dinner. He didn’t say a word, but when the kid offered to clear the table and wash dishes two nights in row? That set off his big brother radar.

A few minutes later, the back door to their rundown rental house slammed shut. Dean pulled aside the curtain above the kitchen sink, and watched as Sam balanced the heaping plate of leftovers in his small hands while picking his way through the knee-high weeds to a dilapidated garage at the back of the property.

The door to the garage was left open a crack, and Dean snuck in. As he hid behind a rusty old tractor, he could hear his little brother’s voice prattling to someone else.

“There you go. Hope you like mac and cheese. It’s always my favorite. Dean makes the best mac and cheese.”

Dean was calculating how fast he could get back to the house to grab his gun when he heard Sam’s giggles and a small woof.

“Shhhhh. You have to be quiet, Dodger, or they’ll find you.”

As he peeked around the corner, he saw Sam’s arms thrown around the scrappiest looking mutt this side of a junkyard. The dog was devouring the food in front of him, and every few bites it would stop and lick the little boy’s face in gratitude. Sam never pushed the slobbery kisses away and the dog never tried to escape the loving stranglehold around its furry neck. Sam’s ratty sleeping bag was laid out on the floor nearby, and once the dog polished off his meal, the two curled around each other with Sam whispering about a book he read at school with a dragon who rescues a little boy.

No way they could keep the dog, Dean thought as he snuck back out the door unnoticed. Not with their lifestyle and not when they were hunting. But one more night wasn’t gonna hurt anyone.

thanks @samshinechester for looking at this!

A Port in the Storm. Epilogue.

This could become quite an epic in itself, if I’m honest. But here goes. I have a million and one thank you messages to deliver, to anyone who’s been so lovely through this and left uber comments…and if I miss you out, I’M SORRY. Truly.

Here’s to @outlanderedandoverhere who always sends me the most amazing messages and makes the most wonderful outfits. Long live DDP Jamie, Sindy Claire and Action Murtagh!

To @tara-58 @kalendraashtar @dingbatland @sapphiresassenach @shortiemcbealle and @thatwetwomaybeone who always leave such soul warming comments.

To @londonerbecky who always indulges my inner need to debate ANYTHING, this that and the other, and who did my master post for me. 

To @iwanttodriveyouthroughthenight and @suhailauniverse who are the best twitterati a girl could hope for, you ladies are like beacons of shining light and ILY always. 

To @lenny9987and @outlandishchridhe who I bother time and again for many things and always give me such great feedback, you ladies ROCK! If I could buy you all the drinks, I would. I couldn’t have done half of this without you helping me.

To @writtenthroughtime …girl, there are NO WORDS for you, just epic fangirl screaming that never ends. You took my to NY with you for the tartan parade via the immense-ness that is Snapchat, you are my whatsapp nerd and ILY. I would never have got half of what I have done without you. You’re my art must and my author muse and I have massive heart eyes.

…and lastly, but only because I cannot say enough about her… @gotham-ruaidh who always goes above and beyond. There are so many of us that would never have published without your unerring support and friendship. Gah. I don’t even know how to thank you for always being my fabulous Beta, even when you’re snowed under at work and knee deep in your own GLORIOUS writing. I will forever be eternally grateful, you are a true legend and 100% the nicest. Mwah.

Lastly, if anyone wishes, you can ask for anything for the outtakes section. I already have the three month gap on the go, but anything else. Send away!

I also have something new up my sleeve, but I’m waiting for the show to finish before I post, that way I can get it finished and queued.

Many thanks, and HAPPY WEEKEND! 


Master post –> http://mybeautifuldecay.tumblr.com/post/140744309242/a-port-in-the-storm-master-post


Faith wandered through the big house looking for her mother, she could hear Brian and her da talking in the study and she could hear Bree buzzing through the gardens, not a care in the world. But her mam, she was nowhere to be found.

Her thick brown curls bounced as she swept through each room, sticking her head around each door in turn. Granda and grandma had left early for a trip to Cranesmuir so it was fairly quiet. Having failed to find Claire, Faith slumped down in the window seat overlooking the vast gardens. Murtagh had made it for her personally, as a wee bairn she used to drag the large chair over to window and watch her mam harvest her garden. In the end Uncle Murtagh had taken pity on her and made her a proper seat.

“Where can ye be, woman!” She mumbled, her frustration palpable. Her Scottish brogue becoming thicker, just like her father. She huffed and leaned forward, her chin coming to rest on her clenched fist.

Claire smiled as she peered around the doorframe. She’d heard her daughter plodding around and had come to investigate. Out of her three children, Faith was the most like her. She had her fathers eyes, but she had Claire’s hair and Claire’s aptitude for healing. Brian and Bree both loved being outdoors with Jamie, working the land. Whereas Faith, she much preferred hovering around her mothers’ new surgery. She could sit for hours watching her work.

“Faith, darling, what’s the matter?” She broke the silence, walking slowly across the room to her eldest daughter.

“Ah! Where have ye been, mam? I’ve looked all over for ye!” She chastised, in that way that daughters do. Her eyes were serious and she crossed her arms as she swivelled to face Claire.

“Well, since you ask, I was just in the cellar rooting out some of the potatoes for Jenny. She’s teaching Maggie how to cook.”

“Oh. Well, da was telling Bree stories again last night, and I was wondering…” She plucked at the loose threads on the base of her dress. Claire held her breath, she knew where this conversation was going. “Why does he never talk about my birth, mam? Always Brian and Bree, but no’ really me?”

Claire sighed and wrapped her arm around Faith, at twelve years old she was just starting to notice the little bits of information the adults left out. It wasn’t that Jamie didn’t want to tell the bairns the story, it’s just that it wasn’t an easy one for him to recount. He certainly wouldn’t want to tell them when they were still young. But since she’d actually asked the question now, Claire wasn’t about to deny her the answer.

“I’ll tell you, but I have to warn you in advance. It’s a terribly difficult memory for your father, he doesn’t often like to think about it. He very nearly lost us both.”

Faith gasped, she hadn’t even contemplated that it could have been for such a reason. But she nodded. She wanted to hear it.

“Alright then, carrying you wasn’t an issue. You were just as easy as Brian. It all got more complicated though a month or so before you were born, I’d started to bleed and that wasn’t normal. So Jamie put me on bedrest, and after Brian’s shocking entrance to the world I didn’t dare argue…”

Her mama’s eyes had gotten this far off look, Faith noted, and her face was wistful. She could sense the fear even now as Claire held her close, like she was trying to remind herself that they were both here and alive.

The pains had started late into the night, it was too early. Four and a half weeks too early and Claire was in a mild panic. Jamie was sleeping beside her, she knew she’d have to wake him soon but she wanted to let him rest for as long as possible. Her stomach clenched and she gritted her teeth to stop from calling out in pain. Her waters had broken a moment before, coating her legs and the mattress beneath.

“Mo Sorcha, what are ye…” Jamie began, shifting towards her as her movements woke him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he sat up and noticed her posture. “Is it the bairn? Claire?”

“Y-yes…Jamie! I’m sorry…it’s too soon!” She moaned as another contraction hit her, she reached up and gripped his hand. She didn’t dare look up at him, she knew she’d see the fear there. She’d started bleeding only a few weeks before and now this, her heart was beating painfully in her chest.

Her pregnancy had been a complete shock to both of them, wee Brian was nearly six. They’d both assumed that more children wasn’t on the cards, but they’d been pleasantly surprised at the discovery. Now she was worried, especially if this didn’t end well. No. She couldn’t allow herself to think like that, she had to banish those thoughts to the back of her mind and continue with the birth as normal. She’d seen women give birth early and it didn’t mean she wouldn’t have a healthy baby.

Jamie had rushed from their bed to fetch his mam and the midwife, he’d returned as promptly as he was able and helped Claire to sit in a more comfortable position. She was panting more now, holding her distended belly as she cried out. He could do nothing but wipe the sweat from her brow and pray.

Soon the room was a flurry of activity, women buzzing around collecting hot water and towels. Claire held tight to Jamie, he’d been allowed to stay during wee Brian’s birth, she wouldn’t allow him to leave now when it was so vital that he was by her side.

“Dinna fash, a ghraidh, I’m no’ going anywhere. Just concentrate on yerself and the bairn.” He soothed her, his fingers sweeping the damp hair from her forehead. “It’s going to be alright, yer doing so well.”

He managed to keep his tone even, but inside he was a mess. He could see the looks on everyone’s faces. The midwife was shaking her head and whispering to his mam with a very grave look on her face. He had to keep Claire’s attention solely on him lest she see the stricken looks on the others. She was scared enough as it was. He gave his mam a quick look, she immediately twisted the midwife around and steered her to the window.

“J-Jamie…” She mouthed, barely making a sound, “…I need some water, please.” He nodded, kissing both her cheeks before slowly pushing himself out of the room. Every step he took away from her felt like a lifetime, he felt as though he was having an out of body experience.

Claire hoisted herself up the bed higher as she watched him through bloodshot eyes, his shoulders were slumped. He looked like a man being led to the gallows, but she had to know what was going on and she knew he’d never allow them to be truthful with her. She groaned, her legs trembling. Her insides felt like they were on fire, that was the first sign that something was amiss.

“What’s…s-somethings wrong! Wh-what is it? P…please, Ellen.” She forced through her clenched teeth, hopefully she’d been loud enough to get their attention. Both ladies turned at the sound of her voice, their eyes held such sorrow that she already knew how precarious it was.

“Mistress, if I may be so bold, yer bleeding quite a lot. The bairn, firstly, isna coming heid first…” Claire gasped and pushed as her second wee visitor pressed heavily down on her, joined with the bad news she’d just been delivered she couldn’t help but cry out.

“Ye have to try and stay calm though, Claire. We’ll be here as will Jamie, just stay wi’ us, please?” Ellen’s voice held as much worry as her eyes did. Claire nodded and shimmied herself a little way down the bed, unable to face the idea of loosing her baby any longer. She shut off all thought and just focused inwards. If she could keep a hold on herself she could stay present, she was sure of it.

The blanket covered her middle, Jamie noticed as he came back into the room with a jug of water and a glass. That hadn’t been there when he’d left, he shook himself out of his thoughts unable to deal with the prospect of Claire being in pain and helped her to a small drink.

“I love you, Jamie. Don’t let me go.” She mumbled in her half conscious state. She could feel the thick rivulets of blood creeping down the insides of her thighs, the viscous liquid clinging to skin and bedsheets. The very thing that kept her alive, seeping out of her. The water had helped but she still felt lightheaded, her palms were caked in sweat and she was finding it difficult to stay attached to Jamie but she wasn’t willing to give up just yet. If she could get her baby into the world she could relax, then and only then would she even consider sleep.

The tingling began in her toes, as the hour progressed she could no longer feel the women poking and prodding her and the child. It was totally numb. At the back of her mind she knew this wasn’t a good thing, but she was so focused on Jamie and the baby that she had no time to worry for herself.

“Keep pushing, mo Sorcha, nearly there.” He’d say to her, his eyes wide and filled with tears. She’d already begun to cry a while back, his fresh wave of sorrow was enough to jar her.

All at once there was a massive release and she flopped back against the pillows with a large sigh. Her legs fell against the mattress like lead weights. She watched as Jamie peered over to see, his hands shaking in hers. She wanted to ask what it was, boy or girl, but she couldn’t seem to muster the energy to use words. Her eyes closed as she waited to hear the cries which never came. She could hear everyone rushing around and felt a small push against her centre as the midwife covered her with fresh towels. To stop the blood flood, she thought idly.

“Go…see…” She finally managed to say, lifting Jamie’s hand as if to guide him away. He took one look at her, pale and blue lipped and swallowed back his anguish. The bairn had been born bottom first with the chord wrapped around its neck. The women were massaging the wee weans back to try and get breath into it, but they were all awaiting the first cry. The room was deadly silent.

“We just need a wee bit o’ faith…” Came Ellen’s voice, echoing through the haunting quiet of the main bedchamber. Jamie gasped in a lungful of air and prayed. Claire sat shivering under the blankets, she hadn’t heard what Ellen had said but she was praying nonetheless. Her heart had slowed to a dull thud, only beating out because she was forcing it to. Just one cry.

All of a sudden, with a gargantuan surge of energy the wee thing cried out, screaming calls rang through the halls and everyone in the room crossed themselves simultaneously. Jamie rushed over to the midwife whose face was a mixture of shock and awe.

“Ye’ve a wee daughter, my laird!” She spoke proudly, handing the bundle over to her father. Her pinched nose snuffled as she took in the new worlds around her, the blue tint she’d had when born slowly ebbing with every strong breath she took. Jamie couldn’t quite believe it.

Everyone had been so focused on the child that nobody had thought to check on Claire. Jamie turned, a massive smile on his face, to see his wife lying unmoving on their bed. She was too still. The blankets didn’t appear to be rising as they should. His face lost all colour as he rushed to her side, the bairn clenched tight to his chest.

“Claire!” He whispered, using one free hand to touch her cold, clammy cheek.

“Claire, ye’ve to wake now, we have a daughter. Ye have t’ meet her!” He forced out, his voice all but begging her to obey.

“I’m sorry, my laird, but wi’ the amount of blood she’s lost…I’ve never seen a lassie recover. M-maybe ye should prepare yerself.” She stopped, swallowed and licked her lips before she continued to allow him some time to process her news. “Have ye a name for the child? Ye can tell the mistress…”

Jamie looked down at the little girl in his arms, his vision blurred through the tears. She had eyes just like wee Brian’s when he’d been born but a mop of curly dark locks on her bonnie head, just like Claire’s. Her face was scrunched and red as she snuffled against the bare skin of his upper chest, her wee fists reaching up to tangle in his long hair. He couldn’t think straight. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind.

“Faith. She’s to be named Faith, ye said we had to have it, and now we do.” His voice rang out loud and clear, the midwife nodded and curtsied before backing away. His mam watched as he climbed into the bed beside Claire, her hand on her heart as she mouthed the words to the Lord’s Prayer in the hopes that someone would hear her.

Using the last of his strength, Jamie placed Faith at her mothers breast. Claire jumped and shifted at the ghostly presence she felt surround her, her arms lifting up to wrap around her little gift. A girl, she could see her in the back of her mind, skipping and running through the tall grass of the pastures surrounding Lallybroch. Her deep brown curls bobbing to and fro in the wind. Her lips curled into a weak smile as she gasped in as much air as possible. Her whole body felt as light as a feather.

Her movement shocked Jamie, he hadn’t expected half as much and his eyes watched as she took hold of their daughter and cradled her close. He’d begun to whisper prayers in Gaelic now, no longer having the English to communicate. His shoulders shook and he was so preoccupied with Claire that he failed to notice wee Brian clamber over him, his face covered in honey, his eyes wide.

“A bhalaich! What are ye…ye canna…” Jamie plucked his son from Claire’s legs and cuddled him close.

“Why’s mama so still, da?” His wee voice broke, as if he already knew the answer. Jamie kissed his forehead before wiping some of the mess from his eldest’s cheeks.

“She’s just sleeping, a chuisle, dinna fash. Ye ken how hard it is to have a bairn, she’s just napping.” At this Ellen came and took wee Brian from him, seeing his tears and sensing his anguish, she didn’t want Brian to see anymore should the worst happen.

“I’ll take him to yer da, Jamie lad. Just stay wi’ Claire. We’ll all leave ye be.” With that the room cleared. Leaving Jamie alone with Faith and Claire.

They sat in complete silence for the longest time. Claire still holding Faith. Jamie still glued to her side. He spoke to her for hours, just relaying his hopes and dreams to her. Telling her the reasons she needed to pull through, praying that she could hear him. The sun rose, the dim light speckling against the curtains as it passed by the window. He felt so hopeless.

“Claire, ye had my heart from the very beginning. Ye have to live. I canna do this alone, please, mo Sorcha. Dinna leave us. Faith, she needs ye too. Can ye feel her? Please…” He sobbed, curling himself around his girls as his shoulders shook with the force of his grief.

Damp splashes fell against her breastbone, she felt the cold tears sink into her skin and she knew without seeing where they were coming from. The large patch of warmth against her must be Jamie, he was the only one to fill her with such a desperate need to live. A tiny hand came to rest on her neck. She shook as it clenched and released, the small sharp nails just catching her sensitive skin. Her girl, it must be. Faith. Yes, she had a name. She clung to it with such a fervour that she was sure she almost willed her heart to pick up the pace. Her whole body trembled with the force of it and she opened her eyes.  

There he was. Her angel, the one who stayed with her through it all. His bright blue eyes were rimmed with sorrow. She frowned. He shouldn’t be sad, he should be happy. She pulled in a breath, preparing herself.

“J-Jamie…” She stopped abruptly, shocked that she’d actually spoken. “I love you, Jamie. I’m sorry.”

“Dinna ye say that, Claire! No’ sorry, no’ yet.” He pulled her close, his voice low and raspy from his sobbing. She laughed against him and he pulled back to look at her.

“I won’t g-go…I promise. S…stay with me, yes?” She closed her eyes now, all but worn out from the sheer exhaustion of staying alive, but decided. She couldn’t leave them alone. She had to fight.

Hours turned into days, days into weeks and weeks into months. It was slow progress, but progress all the same. Jamie didn’t leave Claire’s side through the agony of her waking. The doctor rode in only days later and couldn’t believe what he’d seen, he reiterated what the midwife had told them, that he’d never seen anyone survive after losing so much blood. Claire simply smiled, nodded and curled back up with wee Faith.

She was the most utterly tiny thing, Claire couldn’t quite grasp how she’d managed to do it, but she had. Wee Brian came and went, he held his sister like she was precious treasure. Her head sat perfectly on his lap as Jamie showed him how to change her clout successfully. Brian giggled and held his nose away the entire time, calling out ‘stinky pants’ as Jamie chastised him before sending him off to his uncle Murtagh for supper.

The house finally began to go back to normal, for which Jamie was glad. He watched quietly as Claire regained her strength. She behaved herself, always doing as he asked. She ate as much has she was able and fed Faith, even though she’d been advised against it in her weakened state. She was determined.

Faith hadn’t moved for the entire story, even when Brian and Jamie had come to join them and later even Murtagh and Bree.

“Of course we said we’d have no more after you, I was incredibly worried and Jamie was petrified. You can’t stop fate though, and during the uprising of '76 I fell pregnant with Bree.” Claire chuckled and ran her finger down Faith’s tear stained cheek. “We were in the midst of war, starving and trying to avoid getting caught up really. Your grandfather went to meet with the Bonnie Prince, just in case it seemed the Scots might win, but he came home disenchanted. He told us the state of the poor farmers he’d dragged into his cause and we all knew there was more chance of failure than of success. So with some fortune we managed to stay away.”

Jamie had made his way over now and laid his hand against Claire’s shoulder. Faith looked up at him in awe.

“Ye saved mama, da! Yer a hero!” She mouthed, her eyes filled with wonder.

“I should think ye saved her, mo nighean donn. Twas ye at her breast when she decided no’ to leave us.” His voice held some humour, but all the weans could tell it was covered with a veil of a fear still very much alive.

“So that’s why ye never talk of it?”

“Aye, Faith. I’m sorry for it. I dinna mean to make ye feel less special. It’s just a hard tale to tell, even now. Ken? Wi’ Bree we were scared the whole time, but yer mam didna bleed like she did wi’ you and then all at once the wee bairn was here and we had no time for worry.”

Bree laughed and ran to her da, gripping him tightly around the knees.

“So Faith is special then, da? As she saved mamma?”

He smiled down at his youngest, ever the bright wee thing, only two years behind her sister.

“Aye. That she is.”

Murtagh had stood quiet as a mouse the entire time. He smiled as he watched his godson collect his family up, even wee Brian who was now a strapping lad of eighteen. He hadn’t been in the big house when Faith had entered the world, but he’d seen wee Brian and Ellen as they came to him. He’d seen the pain and horror on her face and later the sheer relief as Claire regained her strength.

“Right! Ye wee fiends! I think yer mam and da need a moment, come wi’ me! I’ll find ye all some parritch, and maybe even some honey if yer lucky! Brian, you too, aye?”

The Frasers all kissed Claire and Jamie as they toddled off after Murtagh and his treats, Faith took one look back at her parents and blew them a kiss before turning on her heel and rushing after her uncle.

Claire breathed out a huge sigh of relief as Jamie gathered her up in his arms and sat them both down in the window seat. They watched the children fan out across the field as they followed Murtagh to his cottage.

“They’re all miracles, in their own way and I’m so grateful for them. Every day.” She sighed, her hands massaging Jamie’s as they clung together.

“Aye, yer right about that, mo Sorcha. As are ye, my little fighter. I’m fair happy that we’ve managed to get them this far. Brian will make an excellent laird, he’s already taking charge of the breeding and planting.”

“You’ve taught him well, does that mean I get to have you all to myself?” Claire was surprised at his statement. She’d known he was passing the reins over, but so soon?

“I think ye should certainly get used to having me around more, Claire. Do ye…is that what ye want?” He was all of a sudden nervous, he’d been planning this for a long while certain that it was the right time. Claire laughed as she turned and saw the fear in his eyes.

“Oh, Jamie. I’m so happy! Yes, of course I want you around more. Silly!”

She twisted and took his lips against hers, the sun on the horizon covering Broch Tuarach in a blaze of gold which coated them like a blanket. The years hadn’t dulled their need for each other and as the light faded and darkness set in they shed their clothes and came together in the cooling air of the lounge. Older and wiser but still as one flesh.

its-a-goddamn-heartbreak  asked:

'We'll get through this, I promise' for Aleks/Murray

A/N: Here’s another wee ficlet, I hope you like! 😊


Aaah!” Murray winced at the harsh retch that preceded a thick splattering sound. He clutched his head with both hands as he lay on he bed, and each strain of Aleks’ heaving clanged around in Murray’s skull like a gigantic bell.

M – sorry…” Aleks’ mouth sounded wet, and even with his eyes closed Murray knew the saliva would be dripping from his lips as he tried to control another wave from coming up.

Nnnnnggg…” Murray wanted to say ‘no problem’, but even the groan aggravated his head and his whole body felt shaky from the pain.

He knew Aleks couldn’t help it, he’d been looking after Murray when his episode had come on so suddenly it was all he could do to lunge for the bin. Murray knew it wasn’t his fault – there was nothing he could do to stop it, but that really didn’t help with the migraine ravaging through his body.

Hibbbbbuuuurrrrrlll…” Aleks heaved again, bringing up another mouthful of vomit. The sound struck a point right between Murray’s eyes and it felt like a nail had been driven forcibly through his skull.

Instantly Murray’s own mouth filled with sour liquid and he shot upright; blinded by the pain, his hand fumbled out and grabbed the rim of the bin which was in Aleks’ lap.

Buuuaaaarrrrrllllfff!” Sharp pain stabbed through his head as vomit poured from his mouth into the bin, already coated with Aleks’ stomach contents.

“Oh baby…” Aleks’ voice was hoarse, but the touch of his hand onto Murray’s shoulder was gentle.

“ t’s… awful…” Murray slurred, spitting into the bin; bright lights were spotting in front of his eyes despite them still being tight shut.

“I know… I know honey,” Aleks whispered, rubbing his hand across Murray’s back. “We’ll get through this, I promise…”

Happy Valentine’s Day!

By special request for @iwanttodriveyouthroughthenight - a wee romantic Modern Glasgow ficlet to help you celebrate today.

This one starts on the afternoon after Jamie and Claire marry…

Claire nuzzled into Jamie’s neck and burrowed closer into his chest under their shared blanket.

“Cold, are ye?” he asked gently, stroking her back.

She shook her head. “Just hold me?”

He sighed, so happy. “Aye, I can do that.”

Jamie settled deeper into the kitchen chair, just enjoying the feeling of Claire against him. He’d surprised her with a quick but hearty breakfast – late lunch, really – which she had eaten, perched in his lap, not willing to stop touching him. Not the most comfortable position – but he wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

“Do you want to check in on Murtagh?” she asked after a long while.

His thumb traced the bumps of her spine. “Why? He’s a grown man, Claire – I dinna need to mind him. I’m sure he’s having a grand time watching football in a fluffy bathrobe in his hotel room.”

She wrinkled her nose against him. “I did not need that mental image, thank you very much. Seeing him without his shirt that one time was quite enough.”

He smiled against her forehead. “Weel, if it would make you feel better – we can send him a picture of us when we’re all dressed up tonight?”

She nodded against his neck, then sighed. “What time is it? I suppose we need to start getting ready.”

He craned his neck to see the microwave. “Ten to five. Do ye truly want to go, Claire? I dinna care one way or the other.”

She raised her head and met his eyes. Her left hand cradled his cheek. He turned his head to kiss her wedding ring.

“Let’s make an appearance. If you wear your kilt again, I’ll let you help me into my dress.” She pulled him down for a long kiss. He hummed against her lips and stroked her calf as one leg wound tightly around his middle.

“I’m coming home with you no matter what, James Fraser,” she whispered after a long while.

He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m verra glad ye are, Claire Fraser.”

Claire kicked Jamie’s bare shin under the table, but it didn’t dislodge his hand from the top of her thigh.

The idiot didn’t bat an eyelash and continued his apparently riveting conversation with the sports medicine physician to his left.

She kicked again, this time aiming with her pointy heel rather than her shoe’s rounded toe. Jamie quickly removed his hand to rub gingerly over his lower leg, and he turned to Claire, eyes narrow.

Not that she didn’t want to feel his touch, of course – but she was surrounded by her colleagues, for God’s sake!

“Soon,” she mouthed. “We’ll go home soon.”

His lips quirked into a smile, and he bent to kiss her cheek.

“I love you, Claire.”

She blushed despite herself. “Hush, you,” she whispered, and reached for his hand under the table. She settled their twined fingers on his thigh, enjoying the scratchy wool against her palm.

Claire had expected to be ravenous at the dinner, given that she and Jamie had barely eaten anything all day. But his touch at the small of her back as she introduced him to her colleagues as her husband – the feel of his arm around the back of her chair as they listened to the hospital president thank the donors for sponsoring the evening – the feel of his thumb on her thigh during the main course – all caused the food to lose much of its flavor. And all she could think of now was getting him home, feeling his skin all along hers, and -

“I canna believe ye’re here tonight, Claire.” Mrs. Fitz, seated at her right, nudged her elbow as she ate another bite of fruit tart. “I’m surprised the lad let ye out of the flat.”

Claire bit back a smile as she sipped her glass of white wine. “I think we both needed some separation,” she replied softly. Jamie was still engrossed in his conversation, thumb tracing the back of her hand – but Claire certainly didn’t want him overhearing this. “Mrs. Fitz, with him it’s so – ” She licked her lips, hesitating. “Intense. And – and we’re both surprised by that.”

Mrs. Fitz finished her dessert and laid a kind hand on Claire’s forearm, chewing thoughtfully. “It never felt this way with – with the Englishman, did it?”

Claire shook her head. “No. Never. And – it scares me a bit.” She turned as Jamie raised their joined hands above the table and kissed her fingers, still engrossed in his conversation with the doctor. Claire turned back to Mrs. Fitz and saw the older woman’s eyes crease in a smile. “Dinna fash yerself, Claire,” she said gently, helping herself to her husband’s untouched slice of pie. “Speak about it wi’ him, if ye like. I guarantee ye he feels the same way.”

As if on cue, Jamie slid his chair right up to Claire’s and tugged her closer to his side. “Is she saying mean things about me, Mrs. Fitz?” he teased, resting his chin on Claire’s shoulder.

“Only that she thinks ye’ve gotten more attention in yer skirt tonight than she has, laddie.” Mrs. Fitz pointed her spoon at Jamie. “Ye’re a brave lad to wear a kilt here – most of the donors have verra deep pockets, and they were all of the same mind when the vote happened last year.”

“Ach.” Jamie kissed Claire’s neck, delighting in her shiver. “It’s different up where I’m from – in the Highlands. We’ve got longer memories there. In the house where I grew up, there’s a section of wall in the parlor where ye can still see the saber marks left by the redcoats after the ’45. My family has always kept it to remind us of where we’ve come from, and how hard we had to work to get what we have.”

“So how has the family reacted to ye marrying an Englishwoman, then?”

Jamie shrugged. “It’s just my sister and me now, and my godfather, who we’re living with. She hasna met my sister yet, though we’ll go up in a few weeks time. And to quote my godfather, ‘She’ll do.’”

Mrs. Fitz laughed – a deep, well-felt laugh. “A compliment, then?”

Claire blushed. Jamie held her closer and kissed her cheek.

“Aye, Mrs. Fitz – the highest possible compliment.”

Jamie’s hands were all over her in the back seat of the taxi on the way back to the flat. It took almost every ounce of Claire’s willpower to push him away until they could get some time alone. But once they had arrived and bounded up the steps to the landing, the mood between them changed.

Jamie quietly unlocked the door and held it open for Claire. She immediately stepped out of her shoes and crossed the threshold, setting down her purse on the side table. Her back remained facing Jamie, and she expected him to pick her up and throw her over his shoulder.

But he didn’t. After a long moment she turned to see him leaning against the door, completely still.


He blinked, startled. “Hmm?”

“What are you doing all the way over there?”

He smiled slowly, widely. “Watching you, mo nighean donn.”

She tilted her head. “Watching me do what?”

“Just - you. The way you rummage through your purse, check your phone, stretch your shoulders. Flex your toes. God, I canna understand why women wear shoes like that.”

Claire softly crossed the floor to stand right in front of him. “Because that way I’m at least a little taller, and don’t look so small compared to you.”

He grabbed her left hand and held it to his chest. “But I like seeing how small ye are, Claire. Because you fit, right here, against me.” He gathered her close and tucked her head under his chin. She sighed happily.

For a long moment they just stood there, holding each other, breathing each other in.

“Claire?” he finally said, thumb tracing a hipbone through her dress.

“Hmm?” She butted her nose against the pulse in his neck, delighting in feeling him swallow.

“Does it ever stop? The wanting you?”

She kissed his pulse. “I don’t know, Jamie,” she said softly. “Do you want me right now?”

“Aye,” he whispered. “I want – I want to take ye, hard. And make ye cry out.” He swallowed. “But at the same time, I want to go verra, verra slowly, and hold ye close to me, and watch yer face.” He pulled back and cupped her face. “Do ye – do ye feel the same?”

She nodded. “Fast is good – but Jamie, I need slow right now. Can you – can we do that?”

Without warning he effortlessly picked her up and slowly stepped toward their bedroom. He gently set her down and turned her around, zipping her out of her dress.

“The pearls look bonny on ye,” he rasped, holding out one arm so she could brace herself as she stepped out of the dress.

She turned to face him. He shrugged out of his shirt and unbuckled his kilt, naked before her. She smiled, undid her bra, and slid out of her panties.

Clad only in the pearls, Claire reclined on the bed and extended a long arm to her husband. Jamie quickly shut the door and lit the remaining candle on the bedside table, admiring how his wife’s skin glowed in the soft light. He settled atop her and kissed her for a very long time.

Gasping, he pulled back. “Claire, I – it’s almost too much.”

She bit his lower lip. “I know, Jamie.”

He reached down to guide himself into her. They gasped at the sensation, overcome.

“I love you so much,” she whispered, tears pricking her eyes.

He kissed each tear away and then pecked her lips. She tasted salt.

“I love you, Claire. So much that I canna breathe unless I’m inside of ye.”

He pushed home, swallowing her gasp.


She walked quickly, trying not to think about the itching.

“Every single bloody time,” she grumbled. “You’d think Poppy would keep a ready supply of the stuff handy.”

The matron, however, had been out of the balm that soothed the hot tightness in her skin. Again. But never mind; Hagrid would be sure to have plenty. Someone of his size would need it, and he was the only other member of staff she knew of who shared her allergy.

She made her way across the darkened grounds, scratching absently at her arm. Rapping on the door of the gamekeeper’s hut, she shifted from foot to foot impatiently, listening to Fang’s booming barks.

“Good evening, Hagrid,” she said shortly, when he opened the door.

“Evenin’, Minerva.” He caught sight of her face, red and swollen. “Allergies bad again? Well, come in.”

He stood aside to let her enter, and took down a large jar from a shelf.

“Ironic, isn’ it? You bein’ allergic ter cats?”

“Quite,” she replied grimly, shrugging out of her robes.

- Allergies, a ficlet by picascribit

Every few months, Sam would approach Dean and declare, “I’m almost as tall as you!”

Dean would reply by straightening his spine and holding his head as high as he could, revealing that despite Sam’s claims, he was still several inches taller. “Not quite yet, Sammy,” he would always say. It never dawned on him that Sam might actually catch up to him. He was the older brother, he would always be bigger. Wasn’t that kind of how it worked?

Then, Dean turned twenty. He stood at a final height of 6'2’’, same height as his dad. Sam however, was 16, and in his growing-prime.

“I’m almost as tall as you,” he said smugly. 

Dean straightened out. “No you’re not.”

John glanced up from the newspaper he was reading and chuckled. They were between hunts, and he was in a generally better mood than normal. “Nah, Dean. I think Sammy’s finally catching up.”

Sam grinned broadly, stretching out his neck. “In fact, I think I may be taller.”

“No way!” Dean exclaimed defensively. 

“Go back to back,” Sam challenged. 

Dean accepted with a small huff. The two boys stood with their shoulders touching, each trying his hardest to pull their heads up just a little more. John came over and observed them. “Hmm … Yep, just about the same.”

“Ha,” Dean said, turning back to face his brother. When had he stopped having to look down to meet Sam’s eyes?

“Ha yourself,” Sam said back. “I’m not done growin’ yet." 

Dean rolled his eyes. "We’ll see about that.”

The truth was, Dean had entered a mild state of shock. Sam -Sammy, his baby brother - was going to be taller than him, and soon.