#Outlander Prompt Exchange

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

The Countdown to Happiness - Day 14

Picture: Panorama Helsinki / Finland - Dom und Parlamentsplatz (by   tap5a)

From November 24th on, I will post one chapter of

“We only do this for Fergus!”

[From @outlanderpromptexchange - Prompt 3: Fake Relationship AU: Jamie Fraser wants to formally adopt his foster son Fergus, but his application will probably not be approved… unless he is married and/or in a committed relationship. Enter one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp (Randall?) to this story]

every day until it’s “Happy End”. Yes, you might not believe it but there is a Happy End coming around New Year’s Eve / New Year :) I hope you enjoy reading this little story (again).

[sixosix]

ALL EYES ON YOU, MY MAGICIAN | LYNEY

please note that lyney and mc are 20+ in this series !! genshin hasn’t explicitly stated lyney’s age but there are a couple scenes where lyney talks about drinking— and i’m stating this now because lyney and mc drink alcohol for this chapter.

warnings drinking, kissing (kinda), hopeless pining, dialogue heavy orz, wc 3.8k

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

You and Aether once again find yourselves in an inconspicuous meeting spot, which was just a shadowy corner of Cafe Lutece, your exchanges veiled by the guise of three friends casually eating dinner. Paimon is, of course, stuffing her mouth with the array of desserts; Aether is sipping on a drink she ordered for him, brows furrowed in deep thought, and you’re still wondering why Lyney lied to your face.

After your spar with Lyney, you realized a few things. 1) He knows more than he lets on. 2) He knows that you’re onto him. 3) He could have easily called you out on it, but he didn’t. What was his goal here? Is he playing along?

Or is he hiding something bigger than what you’re trying to go after? Magicians tend to play little tricks to hide a grander one.

Aether hums thoughtfully. “Do you believe him?”

“Definitely not,” you reply swiftly—bitterly, too, because you don’t know what you’re looking for. “I feel like I’m walking straight into a trap.”

You’re a hypocrite, but you’re essentially doing this for them, so you’re better than a hypocrite, at least.

Aether frowns, contemplating. Paimon speaks up on his behalf, fork in hand, “That's strange. Paimon thought you were close! With what it looked like when we found you talking to him.”

“Why?” you demand. It was Lyney who was getting close—literally. “What does it look like to you? I mean, to me, it's as if saying the wrong thing would prompt him to kill me himself. If he wanted to."

Aether suggests, "You should check your eyes."

You huff, stubbornly taking a huge sip of your Fonta. These things taste great. Their sweetness always left you craving it even when you don’t like drinking. Paimon, because she’s an expert, sensed your newly acquired favorite and insisted that Aether buy you one. 

“I feel kind of bad now. It seems that my blackmail is just getting in the way of your drama with Lyney,” Aether admits.

“We don't have drama,” you dismiss, which is instinctual by this point, “We just hated each other. He used to get on my nerves a lot—and turns out he doesn’t plan on stopping.”

Under the muted glow of the street lamps, your words trail off. Your gaze lingers on your palms. It is not obvious—you’d have to look closely, but there were scars on your palms. Most of them were from tending to plants and sharp tools, while the others were marks of burns. You wonder how Lyney noticed.

Aether calls for your name. You’re dragged back to reality when Paimon waves her tiny hands in front of your face.

“Right, sorry,” you laugh humorlessly, turning your hands back around. “Um, what should we do about Lord Tartaglia?"

Aether and Paimon share a confused glance. “Childe? What's up with Childe?”

“I told them that I'm under his faction as a cover.”

“Oh, that's no problem,” Aether assures, snorting dismissively. “Childe still owes me a lot—I'll tell him to keep his mouth shut.”

You glance around the area. There were only a few customers. A Melusine kicks her feet by the entrance as she digs in on her cake, a young man whose face is buried in his palms, and a little girl and her mother share a plate of Conch Madeleine. How sweet.

“Will that work?” you whisper, “I am trying to extract Fatui information. People usually get killed over this.”

Aether, with a sly grin, says, “Again, Childe owes me a lot. My magic word is Teucer.”

Feeling a little hopeful, you decide to look on the brighter side of things. A Harbinger and an Outlander by your side against Lyney and The Knave sounds more promising than years' worth of memorizing Fontaine Flowers’ textbook definitions and a rusty polearm.

“Is there anything you want to find out in particular?” you ask.

"Anything about my sister, really,” Aether says dejectedly. “I've traveled from Mondstadt to Fontaine, and only one Archon gave me a sliver of info. If you find anything, that’s all I ask for.”

Getting blackmailed by such an earnest brother is possibly the most troublesome way of getting blackmailed. Seeing such a longing expression on his face— archons, these idiot brothers caring too much and using it against your family-oriented soft spot.

“And you’ll leave Rosalie alone, right?”

“That’s our deal,” Aether says. “Though, I think Rosalie loves Paimon. You wouldn’t be able to get rid of us that easily.”

You separate ways after Paimon finishes her food. She politely and sweetly asks you to question Rosalie when she will make her next batch of dinner so they can come over. You tell her sure, but you hope not because Paimon, as cute as she is, would end up spilling a secret or two when her stomach is happy and satisfied.

Rosalie is probably waiting for you to get home. You hurry your steps.

Before you can reach the door, a tall, hooded figure swings it open and shoulders past you, not allowing you even a glimpse of the stranger’s face. When you turn, the figure has stopped and looked at you over their shoulder. You can't tell if you've made eye contact; the shadows dancing on their face make it too dark to discern their features.

Feeling uncomfortable, you turn back and shoulder the door open. You feel uneasy knowing that they had been inside Rosalie’s shop. Rosalie has a lot of lovesick admirers, ones that you didn’t hesitate presenting lousy customer service to to scare them away. 

Rosalie is humming happily as you enter, moving pots of plants around to display by the window. She brightens when you wave at her. “Y/N! Just in time—would you mind helping me replace these with the newer batch?”

She doesn’t seem to be creeped out.

You can’t help but ask, “Was that a customer earlier?”

“Mhm,” Rosalie says absentmindedly, fixing the pot in a perfect angle that would show the blooming flowers to the streets. “Bought one of our imports from Snezhnaya—you know the ones that would have died in the next two weeks or so? Our rain is no match for Snezhnaya’s snow, but they were beautiful petals. I’m glad they could be of use, somehow.”

You hum, heaving up a heavy pot of Calla Lilies onto a vacant space. “They were.”

“I didn’t make her pay because I felt terrible knowing it wouldn’t last long, but she insisted!” Rosalie wipes sweat off her brow.

You gesture at the little Lumidouce Bell by the counter, growing taller by the day. “Are we not going to display that, too?”

“We’re displaying it there—it is not for sale,” Rosalie says. “We can’t let them think I’m selling it.”

“It’s just a flower.”

Rosalie wipes off the dirt from her fingers on her apron and pokes at your nose with her pinky. “Yes, but it’s your flower.”

You feel your face warm, flattered, and endlessly endeared. “Right.”

Rosalie smiles knowingly, rising from her knees. “Before I forget—check behind the counter, will you? A package of yours arrived today.”

“A package?” You don’t remember ordering anything. You don’t think you’ve ordered anything at all your entire life.

Everything you owned was either hand-me-downs (courtesy of the House’s previous members and now Rosalie’s collection of dresses) or little things here and there with the money you earned from working in the flower shop. They were all bought and chosen, with Rosalie doing so on your behalf, with your unwillingness to step outside when unnecessary.

“It’s tall,” Rosalie says conspiratorially, “twice the size of a guitar case! Are you practicing the double bass in secret?”

“No…?” You walk behind the counter and find the package beside the door. Rosalie wasn’t exaggerating—it’s taller than you. “Does it say who’s it from?”

“I tried looking, but it only has a cute little cat drawn on it,” Rosalie says, walking past you in a flurry of ruffled skirts.

You frown at it. A cat? You inspect the bottom of the package; sure enough, it has a little cat drawn on it, winking up at you. What the hell?

“The cat is wearing a top hat, did you see?” Rosalie asks loudly to overpower the running water.

Nevermind. You know exactly who sent you this package. The double bass in question is a spear, hence its height. It’s here already? Lyney sure works fast. To think that you never escaped the ever-generous donations of the House—even now, when you aren’t an orphan there.

You sigh. You just told him you didn’t want to owe anything.

Still, you tear open the carton. It rips in a clean line, unraveling itself. You gasp at the sight of the most beautiful spear you’ve ever laid your eyes on. It’s far from elegant, the tip resembling the sharpened spine of a dragon, as if a hunter’s trophy. The shaft, fading from blood red to black on its tip as scales, feels sleek to the touch when you run your fingers through it.

A piece of paper is taped onto it, folded in half, and has the words READ ME printed in bold ink. You cast a glance at Rosalie, who’s still out of sight, then swiftly read the contents of the letter.

Come with me to the banquet tomorrow morning, with an address attached.

Your first thought is to rip it to shreds. Your second one—which happens to be the louder one—is curious about the event. Why invite you? Is this a trap? Did he want to show you something?

A banquet… You catch a reflection of yourself on the shop’s window, seeing a muddy apron, a loose blouse, and pants that most probably belonged to a man before you got your hands on it. A banquet invitation by the famous Great Magician Lyney is like a challenge to your wealth and fame, but Lyney’s not like that. Curiosity ends up winning.

“Rosalie?” you call out.

She emerges from the door. Her dress, even for gardening—unlike yours—is gorgeous and grand and definitely meant for banquets. She unties her apron. “Yes, darling?”

And that’s how you ended up getting all dolled up. Having learned your lesson from last time, you asked Rosalie to loosen your corset. This gown is larger than your previous one, fluffing around your waist and pooling by your feet in a graceful heap of velvet fabric.

You can’t help but notice the wine-red shade of Rosalie’s lips matched the skirt of the gown.

“Can I borrow the lip color you use?” you ask quietly, feeling like you’re already asking too much from her. 

You cast your gaze to the floor, too nervous to behold Rosalie’s expression. You didn’t get to see how she smiles fondly or how her eyes crinkle as you fidget on your feet. When she returns from fetching her box of cosmetics, she holds your chin and grins.

“Thanks, maman,” you try to say, with your mouth wide open and all as she paints your lips.

The brush pauses. Rosalie’s face softens. “Of course, Mon bébé. Always.”

As you enter the main hall, a man in a suit greets you with a tray of glasses in hand. He waits patiently and doesn’t leave until you reluctantly take one with a muttered thanks.

Where is Lyney?

You scan the place. The chandelier twinkles with diamonds, raining on everyone’s heads with a colorful reflection that illuminated their jewelry. Although Rosalie’s gowns were far more expensive than anything you’ve ever worn, it almost seems like it’s nothing compared to the over-the-top dresses and suits excuse of a wealth showcase.

They’re all talking and laughing with each other, sipping idly on their half-empty champagne. Feeling out of place, you tip the glass back and swallow quietly.

Its acidity makes you wince, but the taste bursts with a rich flavor. The last time you consumed anything alcoholic, it was your 18th birthday, and Rosalie slid over a glass of wine. The day ended in you throwing up on the sidewalk, but the memory is sweet. It has you going for one more sip.

The banquet-goers pay you no mind as you walk further inside. They chatter, eat, and tip their heads back to drink, but they don’t spare you even a glance. Perhaps they can smell the money off of you—which was none.

Meow, you hear by your feet.

“Oh!” you say, pleasantly surprised. You bend down to offer your hand out. “Hello, kitty. That’s a dashing hat you have there.”

The cat purrs and rubs itself on the back of your palm. Its dark fur is soft, a telltale sign of a well-groomed cat.

“Are you here with someone?” you ask politely, expecting no response, but the cat starts moving its paws and saunters off with a destination.

With nothing else to do, you obediently follow.

The cat strolls off. It brushes past leather shoes and ruffles and layers of skirts. It walks like it knows exactly where it’s going in the grand room. Maybe the little guy actually does. Its hat bounces as it trots, which reminds you of a particular lilac-eyed individual.

But you stopped following, eventually, because your eyes caught on— speak of the devil.

Lyney grins as cards fly across from one hand to another in a smooth movement. There aren't any stage props or spotlights flashing down on him, yet everyone watches with rapt gazes. That's always been his real talent: a magnet for attention by simply waving his hands. By batting his eyes, he's got everyone enamored.

For all his talk about keeping a fair distance with his admirers, you can’t blame any of them for believing Lyney’s comfort in their presence, his ease in the way they crowd him. He’s a splendid actor.

For some reason, this brings out an unpleasant feeling in your chest. It makes you want to reach out and show them what he’s truly like without a mask—but that doesn’t sound right to you, either. They don’t have to know what Lyney’s like when he wraps his arms around your personal space.

Maybe the alcohol is getting to you.

Before you can turn away, fingers clasp around your forearm and pull you against a body.

Lyney’s smiling wide, a jarring contrast to the fake one seconds ago. “You’re here!”

You get flustered, aware of his audience directing their attention to both of you. “I told you I didn’t like owing anyone anything.”

Lyney laughs melodically, kissing the back of your palm. Is he aware of all these eyes? He has to be—that’s his life’s work. Perhaps he doesn’t care. Perhaps he wants to show off as much as you do.

The air was thick the moment you entered the banquet, scents of all perfumes and roasted meats clashing and clinging to your nose, but suddenly it felt a lot more charged. Like you could faintly register the hair on your arms standing up in attention as you hold Lyney’s gaze.

“Forgive me; I missed you and had to come up with an excuse, somehow,” he says, winking up at you.

“We just saw each other two days ago,” you say.

When the tray of wine passes by once more, you eagerly draw out another glass. The faint buzz in the back of your head is not strong enough to drown out your stupid thoughts about Lyney, of all people.

The man of the hour—Lyney, because he always is—does the same. He murmurs, “You look breathtaking.”

“You should’ve warned me that the banquet would be ten times fancier than what I had in mind,” you say in return.

“And yet, even unprepared, no soul can take their eyes off you.”

You hope Lyney’s just saying that as a compliment, and it’s not what’s actually happening. You crane your neck and notice a whispering crowd as they stare at you. It wasn’t the whole truth. Even when pressed against Lyney, all eyes are on him. You face Lyney, suddenly conscious.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you, even once when his fingers reached out to fish out a champagne flute. Lyney still has that stupid smile on his face, the rim of his glass against his lips. You’re hit with the startling realization that you want to kiss him.

Fuck, what?

Your face burns, breath hitching in a way that has you choking on your drink. What the hell are you thinking? Are you out of your mind?

“I need another drink,” you say after downing your current one in half.

Lyney frowns, patting your back. His warmth sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. “I think what you need is water. How many glasses have you had already?”

You don’t want to be sober when you’re faced with Lyney. You don’t want to be sober when Lyney’s so close. “Not enough,” you say, because you don’t want to be sober right now.

The rest of the signs of intoxication start to settle as the laughter that rings somewhere from afar softens into an echo. The warm lights that showered the room seemed to glow when they rested on Lyney’s face. Though, you can’t quite tell if it’s intoxication or if it’s Lyney’s magic.

“What’s this banquet for?”

Lyney hums, taking one long sip. His lips press against the glass. “We’re celebrating father’s return.”

You think of The Knave instead, tall and intimidating when you stand across her, and wince. “She’s back?”

“Mhm,” Lyney says, his eyes tracing over your face, “has been for a while now, but the orphans decided to throw a little something for her. Can’t you tell? Half of the people in this room are Fatui.”

Oh.

You couldn’t tell, but you should’ve known. The Orphans were raised and trained to be masters of deception, blending seamlessly.

“But… why?” You’re starting to feel some weight on your tongue. 

“We needed sponsors for a party this grand,” Lyney leans in to whisper, eyes gleaming, “and a party this grand would surely attract important people who know a lot.”

You want to ask why he’s telling you all of this freely, but you catch the flush dancing on his cheeks, and it faintly registers that Lyney must be a little drunk as well.

“Lyney, I—”

“Don't worry.” He’s still whispering. You have to draw closer to hear him. “I wouldn't have invited you if ‘Father’ personally came here. It’s just us, and no one will bother you if you’re with me.”

“Then why invite me here?”

Lyney smiles playfully, posture elegant with practice yet shoulders loose with the champagne. “I thought you would have been eager to learn more about the House’s current state.”

Was this a jab to his suspicions? Or was this him trying to reach out and employ a sense of nostalgia? You’re not drunk enough for this.

“Most of the ones we grew up with were sent off to other regions. But the one hosting—do you remember Cecilia?

You remember Cecilia. You have scars that remind you of Cecilia. “How has she been? Good, I hope? No grudges against me?”

“She never held any grudges,” Lyney laughs, and he tells you all about how they’ve all been since you left.

Without meaning to, you and Lyney end up recalling memories back in the House. And without thinking hard about it, you pluck another glass, then another, emboldened by the taste and fruits of alcohol—emboldened by how each sip has you feeling light. You don’t realize it, but you and Lyney end up pressed against each other, fondly remembering memories you thought you left behind. You could never run too far.

Maybe it’s your inhibitions dissipating along with the fizz of the champagne. Maybe it’s the atmosphere. Maybe it’s when Lyney’s tongue darted out to wet his lip, the words died in your mouth, and your head is heavy and very much feeling like it wants to be caught by Lyney. With his face.

“Hey,” Lyney says, his hand trailing across your jaw. As if he’s stopping you. “We’re pretty out of it right now. Don’t kiss me.”

You scowl. “Why? you hate me that much?”

Lyney’s eyes widen. “No. Don’t—don’t pout at me like that.” He covers your mouth. “That’s not fair.”

You haven’t even realized you were pouting. You wave his hand off and slump against him, curling against his comforting warmth. You like the view of the flush on Lyney’s neck crawling all the way up to his ears.

Lyney sighs, his back leaning against the wall as he holds you. You haven’t even noticed that you and Lyney were huddled together in a dark corner. “It would’ve been easier if we hated each other, huh?” He traces his thumb over your lip, looking forlorn. “I wouldn’t have hesitated to protect my status as a Fatuus the moment you came back out of thin air.”

You want to shut him up. “You’re talking too much. Just kiss me.”

“No,” Lyney says, but he doesn’t push you off of him either. “Let’s get you water.”

Ugh. The thought of water makes you sick. You resist the urge to vomit and nuzzle your nose on his collarbone, visibly relaxing when he steadies you with hands on both sides of your hips. This is better than water.

“Did you like my gift?” Lyney whispers to your ear.

You nod against his neck. “It was cool. I didn't know how to repay you, but now… now I regret coming here.”

“Why’s that?”

You run your fingers through his hair, messing up the braid on the side of his head. “Because I want to kiss you, and you’re being annoying. The nerve you have when you’re looking at me like that.”

Lyney slumps against the wall, defeated. “Don’t just say that, Y/N. You can’t go around saying that.”

“I’m not. Why else am I all over you instead of someone else?”

You watch in fascination as Lyney’s pupils dilate. Lyney’s skin feels so soft to the touch and inexplicably warm. Why is he denying you? Surely he feels it, too. Surely he wants it, too.

“Hey,” you whisper, and Lyney trembles. “What’s—what… What are you and Lynette up to? There has to be a reason you’re here, right? Tell me.”

Lyney frowns, pulling away to face you. “What?”

But then light rolls into view, stinging your eyes at the abrupt radiance. Someone has turned the lights on, possibly the culprit of this assault and rude interruption.

“Oh, shit,” a voice says.

Lyney stiffens, hands moving protectively around your torso, shielding you from the light that floods in when the door opens.

“M-Master Childe!” Lyney exclaims, looking torn between standing up and keeping you shielded, still. He has lipstick on his jaw; you want to point at it and laugh.

“Lord Tartaglia’s here?” you ask, stumbling over his name.

“Um,” Lord Tartaglia stands frozen by the doorway, “I’ll be leaving you two to it.”

ive never gotten drunk before so idk how off i am from the real deal, but i did consult my friend who has gotten drunk so hopefully i was at least not too inaccurate LMFAOO

NO WAY NEW CHAPTER. and theyre being stupid. now ay..... TYSM FOR READIN!!!!!! and sorry if this took a while i was being stupid too and decided to rewrite a big chunk last minute. LMK WHAT U THINK

TAGLIST.

@thenyxsky @aeferkssr @1mewo1 @lacrimae-lotos @meigalaxy @hyacinth-daze @miwafei @popochakku @svasilios @heyhazelnut101 @kruinka @waveto-earth @superstar-ethereal @mxplesyrvp @achilleas-dream @episodecete @jellifizz @auranny @motherscrustytoenailclippings @lovelyevil @iawaaaaaaa @rionah @esmetrees @cherryig @kzhwaif @mystiquemare @unknownlololol @sanluvssu @blvdmrcnry @kascar-chronicle @idontevenknow129 @tarathecogsci @lunavixia @beaniedoodz @wendolrea @avalordream @egoistars @rains-mae @magnificentfireball @poemzcheng @fiannee @ask-kurayami-akura @sc4rlett-letter @xxxion

[pharaohbean]

the eighth nightland ring trial

original upload: november 23rd 2024 on ao3

summary: "'The moon stared at him out of the corner of his eye, then turned back around and offered Akito his hand. Akito stared at it for a moment, then looked back at the moon's visage. "Enter a pact and you will live." Akito took a deep breath.'

after half a decade of bloodshed, shinonome akito is ready to return home. in his way stands the moon and his eighth and final trial."

tags: Aoyagi Touya/Shinonome Akito | Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Illusions, Knight Shinonome Akito, Mentions of Blood (a little more than what can be considered briefly), Shinonome Akito has Heterochromia, God Aoyagi Touya, Pre-Relationship

warnings: blood, illusions

author's note: "inspired by this prompt by @deepwaterwritingprompts on tumblr"

Akito wiped off the blood smeared on the side of his face that had splattered onto him in the previous fight. His sword had long been permanently stained blood ruby red from countless battles fought over his half a decade stuck in this place. He'd become feared across all lands as the Blood Swordsman, rumored to use the blood of his enemies against them and defeat entire armies.

Of course, Akito had no such magic at his fingertips nor to his name. In fact, Akito had no magic whatsoever to speak of - he was an Outlander, not someone of this fantasy land full of magic and dragons. But to not have magic was to be cursed and called an abomination, so Akito let the rumors circle.

He had to survive to return home. Sacrificing a few things and a few thousand people was simply a means to an end for him now.

With a ragged breath, Akito raised his dual-colored eyes - one olive-green, the other amber-orange - to the divine being that had been watching him passively through the last seven trials. Silver eyes stared down at him, reflecting the shimmer of the invisible moon that he bore, and yet no words were exchanged between the two of them.

"One more door." Akito demanded, staring at the eighth and final impossible door. A full moon was inscribed into its upper half, similar yet different to the other moon phases carved into the other seven doors.

"You will not survive." The being replied without a missed beat. He switched his crossed legs, the black leggings he wore tight to his skin moving fluidly with his legs. His moon-white top reached down his back like a trenchcoat, and black sleeves covered where the white top was lacking. The small silver crown on top of his head - barely anything of a crown - demanded power from whoever found themselves before the being.

"I want to go home." Akito raised his sword and pointed it at the being. "You cannot stop me."

"I could kill you right here." A raised eyebrow.

"You wouldn't." Akito had been the only one to make it past the third door since the Nightland Ring Trials had first appeared thousands of years ago. Why would the being slaughter a perfectly good challenger?

The being glanced away for a moment, a flash of worry on his face. "...You should not go through the full moon door."

Akito mirrored the being's prior movement, taunting him for an explanation. With a sigh--- "You will not survive mentally. "

"Is it possible to survive?"

"Not on your own."

"Then who do I need to find? Who do I need to kill, who do I need to bury---"

Akito couldn't speak anymore. The being - no, the moon himself - his glimmer was too bright for Akito to continue to defy and harass the overseer of the Nightland Ring Trials. He could only stare in terrified awe as the moon floated down from his high pedestal and stepped to stand in front of his sword. With a single hand, the sword came out of his frozen grip and into the moon's hands. The moon held the sword behind his back as he approached closer and closer to Akito until his eyes were the only thing Akito could make out.

"You need to live. Enter a pact with me and I will help you through the final trial. In return, you will be connected to me and we will return to... your home."

"You paused there for a moment." Akito's voice spoke before he could even process the moon's words. The moon narrowed his eyes, then sighed. He turned on his heel away from Akito, letting the swordsman out of his divine grasp.

The moon stared at him out of the corner of his eye, then turned back around and offered Akito his hand. Akito stared at it for a moment, then looked back at the moon's visage.

"Enter a pact and you will live."

Akito took a deep breath.

One beat, two beats, three beats, four beats.

The moon was unwavering in his offer.

Akito took a deep breath and took the offer.

The moon's shimmer flowed through Akito, and for a moment he could feel all living things that were under the careful watch of the moon before it faded into a dull hum in the background. The moon let go of his hand and Akito checked to see if anything had changed.

"Your eyes are a little brighter, and the orange one has a moon symbol in it." The moon said, as if reading his mind. For a moment, Akito frantically wondered if he could read his mind--- "I can't, it's just written all over your face."

"Oh."

The moon faced the eighth door and presented his palm to it; the door glowed and disappeared into the silver abyss of the final ring of the Nightlands. The moon turned to Akito and nodded to the door. Akito nodded back, but then paused for a moment.

"It's not very fair that you know my name and I don't know yours. We're partners now, right?"

The moon looked at him, shock written all over his face. "...Partners?"

"Yeah?" Akito stared back at him, reflecting confusion.

"...I see." The moon turned back to the portal. "Aoyagi Toya."

Akito blinked, then took his sword from Toya's hand. "Shinonome Akito. Let's go."

"Okay."

The two of them walked through the silver portal; Akito raised his arm to avoid the blinding light he knew would follow, but upon lowering his arm he was befuddled at the sight before him.

"...This is my house." He looked around - the pitch black street was just as he remembered when he ran away from home that fateful night, the night he fell into the fantasy hellscape he'd been trapped in for the last five years. Until now.

"Is it as you remember it?" Toya asked, a curious expression on his face (actually, now that Akito was seeing it, he seemed more... free, for lack of a better word. Did their pact do something, he wondered idly). 

"Perfectly."

"Then look closer." Toya pointed at the lamppost that stood in front of his house; Akito dimly remembered always complaining about the bright light shining into his window as a kid until his parents finally gave him some curtains.

(Were his parents still alive, and his sister too? Had time passed over the five years Akito had been missing, or was it distorted in some way? Would they even remember him? Was everything still the same as Akito remembered it five years ago? Had nothing changed, or had everything changed?)

Akito approached the lamppost and stared at it. The black metal stared back with no eyes to be seen. Akito turned back to his new partner and pointed at the lamppost.

"It's a lamppost."

Toya gave him a look that could only be described as "I'm aware of that, you motherfucker." "Look closer."

Akito squinted at Toya, then squinted at the lamppost. All he saw was metal, perfect smooth black metal---

He recoiled, watching the lamppost shimmer with a rainbow crystalline shimmer that was entirely foreign for a lamppost. "What the f---?!"

"Everything in this ring is an illusion. Everything you see... and everyone you meet." Toya's face had shifted into something very grave. "The people you meet will only try to keep you within this illusion. Succeeding on a mere mortal would've been very easy... but the partner of a god?"

"This isn't going to be easy." The horror and weight of the situation dawned on the swordsman as he looked around at the fake world around him.

"We need to find the way out. The only problem is... I have no idea where the way out is. Our pact only strengthens your mental defenses, and, well." Toya gestured to the lamppost. Akito looked back to see the luminary device had lost its crystalline shimmer, returning to an ordinary lamppost. But looking too hard at it brought the illusion's true form back.

"No wonder you said the doors were impossible."

"The first seven are perfectly possible. But this one... it's disgusting, even for my standards."

Akito turned back to his partner with a determined fire in his eyes and a hand on his sword hilt. "We need to find the exit."

"The way out can be found where one's mirror self can be found... or so it's said. Any idea where to start?" Toya raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms.

Akito thought for a moment, then began speed-walking.

"We need to get as much done now before people start waking up. Come on, we're going to Vivid Street."

[marauders-omegaverse-fest]

Fic Name: Over the sea to Skye

Writer Name: @soliloquy-dawn

Rating: Explicit

Content warnings: Major Character Death, Dubious Consent

Pairing or Gen: James/Regulus

Prompt: 147

A is a prince/heir of nobility. While being tutored, and in fact on every other occasion, he is always at the window looking down on the grounds, watching the stable boys/gardeners, especially two Alphas, doing their hard work and yet seeming to enjoy their lives.

(heartfelt pining and longing, A sneaking out to see them up close while, later to meet them for real and shenanigans?)

Summary:

“Did you know I am to be married?”

“Yes, I’m aware, my lord. I wish you all the best on this new path in life.”

James might have exchanged one prison for another, but the open skies and green meadows of North England are a pleasant change of pace after a damp, Scottish dungeon. He serves as a groom at the Black estate and lives a peaceful existence, until he attracts the unwanted attention of Lord Regulus Black, the family's youngest omega.

Or, Outlander inspired omegaverse.

[flowersdaggersviolasandblood]

Flower Girl

Name: Pero Ophiin (She/Her)

Race: Wood Half-Elf

Class: Druid (Circle of the Land)

Background: Outlander

WARNING SPOILERS AHEAD!

So to officially start our Out-of-ACT-1 phase, we'll go into Pero first. Technically, I did Admaer first, but that was mostly me just exploring mindlessly and seeing what it looked like. Once again, Pero decided to go above to reach Moonrise Towers. Because I unequipped Lae'zel from my party, I didn't get the prompt where she discovers the trail the Githyanki left behind to the monastery. Now, whether or not Lae'zel will stay in the party, who knows. But for now, she's still here.

After fighting some undead, we found a note referencing Wyll's father and his kidnapping to Moonrise Tower. On our way there, we met fucking Eliminster Aumar, a world famous Wizard who is apparently 3 centuries old!

Now, I'm no Forgotten Realm lore whore, but I have seen his name before when I was still playing D&D with friends. So seeing him in the game still got me giddy. The way he talks too is exceptionally great. I love that Larian really committed to him have an even older way of speaking compared to other characters in game. It made it so fun to watch him as he expressed his large appetite. Despite this, Eliminster is not here to serve as a cute cameo for the lore-knowers. Eliminster came to this neck of the woods to tell Gale that Mystra has a mission for him. In exchange for silencing the netherese void within him, she asks that he blows himself up when he reached the heart of the Absolutes' cult. Pero, and pretty much the majority of the camp, are appalled by this sudden suggestion by the literal goddess of magic.

Pero I would say recognizes the gods and their role in the world, only really paying much reverence to Silvanus and Chauntea, goddess of agriculture and plant cultivation. And knowing Mystra's involvement in Gale's situation, although she didn't at all ask him to do the actions he did in the past, is shocks Pero to her core that Mystra's only solution to not only Gale's condition but to the whole Absolute issue is to have him blow up. It left a sour taste in her mouth and it breaks her heart that Gale has solemnly accepted his fate.

Upon entering the Cursed Lands (that's what we'll call this area going forward. No I will not take a second of my time to find the proper name), we were greeted with a Goblin who asked if we were True Souls. Having learned her lesson the first time she was asked this, Pero goes along with the act of being a True Soul. Picking up a torch in one hand and following the little bugger, she was able to meet a small group of Absolute cultist who were looking for Minthara who would come with a particular lyre that would summon the guide. Fortunately, I was able to catch the Lyre because I didn't let her fall in the chasm lol.

Before we continue with this, I wanted to mention the companions for a moment. While lurking around in this shadowed land, Wyll and Karlach get another visit from Mizora. She returned back demanding that Wyll goes and rescue a captive fiend for her, something that wasn't part of the deal. However, Pero was able to sus out that Mizora is currently in a tight spot as she can't afford for Wyll to fail this mission. Because of this, Pero made a proposition in exchange of going forward with this plan. IF they were to get this Devil release, she too would release her hold of Wyll. Though Mizora agreed, with the fact that she's asking Wyll to perform something that was SUPPOSED to not be part of his contract, there might still be hope for an alternative way to get him out of the deal while also maybe not releasing the captive fiend. Especially if this ends up being another Karlach moment.

Shadowheart also expresses wonderment as she's not greatly affected by the shadow curse that plagues the Cursed Lands. This makes her believe that she's been blessed by Shar and that there must be more to the Dark Justiciars trip to Moonrise Towers.

Finally, Pero asked Halsin further about the shadow curse.

Halsin explains that the lands of the Cursed Lands was under the protection of a fey creature by the name of Thaniel and that Halsin hasn't felt their presence since the curse began. He begged that if Pero learned anything about the boy in the forest or even anything about the Shadowfell that she come find him immediately. Pero also asked Halsin if he was comfortable in her camp, and while he did have his opinions, he felt homey with the party. Even "HINTING" that there's a chance for him to relax and wind down once he has dealt with this shadow curse guilt, he's start to feel like himself again.

Pero also got another visit from her Dream Guardian, a visit that has gotten her worried. This time around, they're dressed down, looking a lot more like their appearance in the EA release, but they're starting to show weakness in their current state and starting to express some mild doubt. This causes Pero to even doubt her decision to not consume any parasite they found along the way, mostly giving them to Astarion since he's currently the only eager one in the party. We'll get back to this later.

Back to the Curse Lands, after playing the lyre, we meet the spiderman!

The party was able to travel a short distance with the guide, especially since he currently holds a magical source of light that keeps the darkness at a greater bay. However, the are ambushed by the Harpers who came to take that magical light from them. Pero opted to betray the Absolute cultist and help the Harper, gaining her respect and learning of the inn that they currently reside in.

While getting to the Last Light Inn, we encountered a horrible sight. Like, deadass it nearly made me cry. We found the corpses of the Tieflings we saved back at Emerald Grove. It wasn't every single Tiefling, but it was enough of them where, if you paid attention to who was who at the grove, you'd recognize at least one of them. Reaching the Last Light Inn, we finally meet Jaheira, a legendary Druid/Fighter character whom, if you played the previous Baldur's Gate games, she once looked like this :D

Now she's, reasonably, a much older Half-Elf now. As shown a long time ago in one of the Panels from Hell showings, Jaheira entangles Pero and was close to starting a fight since, regardless if Pero herself ate a tadpole, the parasite still recognize one of its own. Thanks to Pero's honesty and her knowing that Jaheira would be a great ally to have by her side, she truthfully came forward about her condition along with the artifact that's been protecting her and her friends. This along with one of the Tiefling kids, Mol, coming to her aid and the other Harpers expressing how she assisted them, Pero was able to gain the Harpers trust.

Jaheira explains her and the Harpers reason for coming out to the Cursed Lands, even explaining that they currently have a powerful spellcaster that has protected the area. She too is familiar with the figure, Ketheric, though this time around, it sounds like he's an undead as no matter what damage they dealt him, he would just get back up. Because we're not fully influenced by the parasite and have the artifact that protects them from the Absolute, Jaheira asks that Pero and the gang sneak into the Absolute's ranks, posing at a True Soul and deal a killing blow from the inside.

Before ending this, let's do some mild side stuff! So that strange cow you meet back at the Emerald Grove is here as well. Initially, I discovered that this cow was actually a slime-like creature who posed as a animal, wanting to live a life as a farm beast. While I was able to kill it...Dammon got killed after the fact because the MOTHERFUCKER DECIDED TO RUN INTO THE SHADOW CURSED LANDS AND CAME BACK AS AN UNDEAD THE STUPID FU-

Speaking of Dammon! Because we found him again, I immediately had him provide an upgrade to Karlach's infernal machine. Not only that, but he also provided a flaw Infernal Armor (heavy armor so I can't wear it) and said that they could provide more like it in the future. Pero was also able to speak with a few Tieflings who survived the attack and learned that not every Tiefling refugee was slaughtered, as some of them were kidnapped and sent to Moonrise Towers. Although Pero promises to go find these missing individuals, Pero is filled with mild guilt, Especially when Rolan starts placing blame of Pero for the reason why his friends/family got killed or kidnapped.

Pero also met Raphael again! Before going forward, Astarion asked Pero that if they happen to run into Raphael that he be there to speak with him. Pero was at first worried that Astarion has made his decision to take up Raphael on his deal, but this is actually the part that Pero learns about his scar since she didn't start a romance with him. Little side rant, but goddamn Larian really utilizing the fact that Astarion is one of the favored companion in BG3, because they didn't need to strip him down like that lmao. Now in all honesty, this half nudity isn't necessarily for fan service reasons since it relates to the scars on his back, and HOW ELSE are they gonna show it without taking his shirt off...BUT GODDAM-

Pero also finally got her dance with Wyll as she initially watched him perform alone before joining him. Pero rolled a Nat 1 on her performance, which sounds very on par for Pero lmao. This is also the part where Pero could establish a relationship with Wyll, but I decided for Pero to face away from him. Gotta keep the harem strong bby!

Before we end this chapter in Pero's story. We gotta get on Astarions ass again. Pero and Astarion have a brief conversation together about the parasite. Astarion believes that Pero has potential and that embracing the powers of the tadpole could further this. Astarion continues to bring back in the possibility that they could control the tadpole, which is something Pero discouraged...But then this man had to say this!

Now, from what Pero has seen and experienced: The dream Guardians' powers are seemingly wanning, probably due to the fact that she herself hasn't consumed a single parasite. The Tieflings were killed and some of them were kidnapped, and while that was out of her control, the guilt is getting to her. Then there's Pero's desire to just save her friends, not so much from the parasite itself, but from their own personal fuck ups. Wyll and his pact with Mizora, Gale and this netherese shard within him, Astarion and his relationship with Cazador, Karlach and this infernal machine that might even burn her to a crisp. All of this that has happened practically all at once for Pero is starting to weigh on her and her desire to simply help people is making things worse.

Then Astarion decided to, intentionally or not, play with this fact and use it against her by suggesting that these Mindflayer powers could potentially help her not only destroy the evil it's causing, but also help her friends and those around her. Now, she has no one else to look to for why this is a possible bad idea than Wyll. Wyll got himself into a pact all because HE wanted to help people so badly and didn't know where to start and how to be powerful enough to do it. And he never regretted ever getting into the pact. And while Pero should be able to ascertain that based on the experiences of her peers, she is a emotional person and has a bleeding heart.

The next time we find a parasite...She might be tempted to eat one.

[queen-scribbles]

For the fanfic ask game: F, M and and Y?

F: Share a snippet from one of your favourite dialogue scenes you've written and explain why you're proud of it.

Ooooooh, that's hard. I have a lot. Jaaide's breakdown in Cracks, Trinne has a couple with Alistair and/or Harvey I'm really proud of in OWaP, almost every Ryn/Red interaction in tLBT... I think I'm gonna give this one to Minefield (Exile/Bao-Dur). I really love the whole conversation Evony(Exile) and Mira have, as well as Evony and Bao-Dur's conversation about he label she'd put on their relationship, but I'll single out this

When she looked up, Mira was glancing between her and Bao-Dur with a slowly growing smirk. “What?” “Just piecing together that I was wrong,” Mira said, the storage locker forgotten as she studied Evony. “About…?” Evony prompted cautiously. Despite the brevity of their acquaintance, it wasn’t hard to figure out that Mira smirking was dangerous. “When I thought you and Atton, y’know, hooked up a power coupling.” She settled her weight on one leg and sent a significant look across the cache.  “Shoulda pegged you as someone to go more for the quiet type.”

bc this exchange is what made me write the fic in the first place. I'm proud of it bc it was my first serious attempt at writing Mira and she plays off Evony really well. I feel like I got a good handle on her voice, made her sarcasm and her wit and her care all come through in the conversation, and she managed to trip up Evony about her feelings, which was just fun. :P

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you'd care to share?

There's two, one I have the first half written and the muses abandoned me(Pillars of Eternity), the other it's an outline and some scraps of writing for a "someday, maybe" longfic(SWtOR).

The Pillars one is my Watcher, Adi, and Heodan(NPC she has a crush on, I saved him from early-game death and made him a party member for an AU XD) getting snowed in alone pre-feelings confession and just navigating conversation etc until they can rejoin the rest of the party.

The SWtOR one is what one of my Troopers(Bry) gets up to during the five year gap the "Outlander"--in this case her older sister Vica--is in carbonite during KotFE. It involves fleshing out a Trooper-specific sidequest and then rescuing her fiancé from imprisonment by the Eternal Empire. IT'll be very fun if I ever get the chance to write it.

Y: A character you want to protect.

Pffft. Several, how do I pick? Aloth. Jowan. Aya and Bash. I'm sure there's more I'm forgetting.

Fanfic Asks

[saving-word-crawls]

World of Warcraft Crawl

By: Nikata_Richtofen

Before we begin:

Get a dice set ready - Online dice set is allowed

A notepad or sticky note to keep tabs on the words you need to write or log your tasks for stacking is also recommended.

There are prompts if you are playing, but this should also work if you are not (And you’ll write less if you’re not playing to reward those who are focused) There will also be prompts if you wish to exchange words for irl task/events to allow a better place of sitting at the computer and getting up. I also suggest a stretch and a glass of water per hour on the computer.

I recommend writing this crawl in a separate document so that you can “collect” rewards by copy pasting to your main document. If you are not writing on the computer, feel free to ignore this recommendation and suggest your own in the replies!

This will also focus on pve content for a max level character. Currently this will not include DF content, but will be updated accordingly (as this is part of my word count). It’s also my first word crawl so please let me know how it goes!

Let’s begin!

First, pick your character! - A ooc head start!

Low pop / New player servers - 15 words! Medium pop servers - 20 words! High pop / Full servers - 25 words!

Base Race or Allied Race? - Base Races get 10 words, Allied Races get 20 words Class? - Base Class get 10 words, Dks get 15, Monks get 20, DHs get 50

So the adventure begins!

Your faction leader is calling your character to return! Head to your faction city!

Out of game: Round up to your next 100th In game: 150 if you take your hearthstone, 100 if you take a portal, or 50 if you take a flight path, +5 if this also includes the boat IRL Task: Pick up around your desk.

They are asking for them to show their loyalty, to do so you must complete a set series of tasks! To start, they ask for vocal agreement.

Out of game: Write a d10 roll In game: /roll for your words! IRL Task: Stretch out your fingers

Once you have agreed they send your character to speak to Chromie. “She will send you back in time, where you must complete 3 challenges.” They say.

Challenges could be: recovering a rare item. (Ingame Mog run) …or Saving a rare creature. (Ingame Mount / Pet run) …or Speaking to a special person. (Ingame Questing) …or You have your own reason. (Personal Choice)

Depending on what timeline you choose, the challenge will be weighted more favorably. Asking for help is not frowned upon on greater challenges. In fact, friends bring great power. Share your fellows some attention and respect.

Out of Game: Find a “last three numbers is your word goal” forum post! In game: Write your friendlist amount! 10 per online friend, 20 per offline friend. IRL Task: Message a loved one that you love them or a friend that you care for them! Pet a pet if you have one!

Now you know the goal and met up with Chromie, ask her to send your character to the right timeline. (You may select all three timelines for now, and mark them down for later use)

If you are going to the “Classic” timeline, write a word goal of a d100 roll. Easy goals to help the world of Azeroth are always needed, even if not always participated.

If you are going to the “BC” timeline, write 200 words! There’s some challenge in Outland. It’s called traveling.

If you are going to the “WotLK” timeline, write 150 words! There’s honor in fighting the Lich King. Except there’s a hitch! Add 50 words if your character isn’t dressed for the weather!

If you are going to the “Cataclysm” timeline, write a d20 X 10 roll! Deathwing’s shadow no longer lingers, but his chaos still remains! Your words are a chaotic fate!

If you are going to the “Pandaria” timeline, write a 10 minute sprint! Finding your challenge in the peaceful mists? It’s going to take you time to make it through the looming clouds.

If you are going to the “Warlords” timeline, roll a d100 twice for your word goal! Running through crossing timelines is a struggle even for a bronze drake! And no one wants another “other Guldan”

If you are going to the “Legion” timeline, roll a d10 for a sprint time! You were prepared this time you’re sure of it! But there are a lot of demons to face, maybe you should get a quick practice in. Roll to see just how ready you actually were!

If you are going to the “BFA” timeline, write 200 words! While not as far in the past, the foes you may face will be better at countering you! Chromie will also have to adjust the sands to avoid you meeting yourself at a bad time.

If you are going to the “Shadowlands” timeline, write for 10 minutes! Chromie’s magic can’t quite reach that far. Give her time to find the way to go about it!

Upon reaching the first timeline, they take the time to enjoy your small amount of peace in your selected timeline. Afterall, with time altering magic, they don’t need to worry about a time limit right? So what do you do first?

Do they go see an old friend or fellow? (A NPC from that timeline, try to go find them before starting your journey)

Or….

Do they go visit an old place? (Find a location in the timeline you like the music or look of!)

Spend some time here, write for 5 minutes without a word count goal. Take your time.

Work must still be done however. You did sign up them to complete a challenge, and unsure if how long you take would be held against them, your character finally begins their journey to the challenge.

Out of Game: To head to a close location, write 50 words. To a far location, write 100 words. If you need to cross a sea, write 150 words. Mark your journey!

In Game: For every area you have to cross, write 10 words. If you have to use a portal or boat, write 100 words.

IRL Task: Walk in place or go for a short walk? This can be altered to personal preference.

They finally made it to the actual location! What is it?

Questline start? Write 15 words to greet the quest giver.

Dungeon? Write 20 to act as a map!

Raid? Write 30 to journal your journey so far!

Enemies are about! Mostly small fry! Get at them!

Out of Game: Roll d10 for 3 times. That’s the amount of enemies you must fight. Write that many words! In game: For quests, 1 word per enemy slain or item collected. For Raids or Dungeons, count how many groups of trash you have to get through to the first boss. IRL Task: Roll d20, pick up that many pieces of trash, or clothes, or etc!

Uh oh! The battling has attracted the boss! Aoe go too far? Butt pull? Doesn’t matter! They need to fight right here, right now!

Out of Game: Roll a d10 twice! Sprint for that much to pull through the fight! In game: Questing: How many quests can you complete in a time period? (roll a d6 for time!) Dungeons/Raids:How many attacks does it take to kill? If current content, half your number for D/R, for Quests Double. If not current content, X expansion: Classic/BC/WotLK/Cata - 100 Panda/WoD/Lg/Bfa - 10 SL - 2 IRL Task: Clean a whole object like all the countertops! Complete a home/work assignment! Complete a work out cycle! Get something (however small) done today!

That boss was tough! But it only made your character better at fighting! Your experience is rewarding!

Roll a d20 + 10, take a break for that long! Relax some!

Can’t stay around for much longer! It’s time to continue!

For those not in game or running something with only one boss: Roll a d4 to see how many times you need to loop the previous steps with your own flavor text! In Game: Loop for however many bosses or questlines you wish! Normally recommend one per boss if you need a lot of writing, every two bosses if you need some, or one per wing of bosses on low content!

Your first challenge is complete! Take inventory as fast as you can! Sprint to your word count!

Out of game: Roll a d100 two times! In game: Sell all your extra loot! How ever much gold you get is your word goal! You can either move a decimal point or half or such if it seems too high!

For Mount runs: Roll a d100, if you get a 1 or 100 you got the mount! Write an extra 20 words! For Mog runs: Roll a d20, a 1-5 is how many mogs you got! Write an extra 10 words per! For Questing: Roll a d6, this is how many questlines/loremaster progress you got, write an extra 15 words per!

Your character is back to the current time before you know it! Your faction is proud! Time to cheer a task done! Here’s your reward from your faction!

“Subtract” from your total: However many you want/have! (Feel free to use other rewards you’ve set up forself, here’s my suggestions) Small snack or a piece of candy per 200 words! A free run of anything in the game for 500 words! Youtube/Netflix break! Watch a video/show/movie for 1000! (ot 100 per 10 minutes)

Now that you’ve been justly rewarded, it’s time to run again! Return to the top to flow the charts again!

After completing the third task, all of the faction leaders of your faction are impressed with your character’s dedication and skill! Time to hold a feast in your character’s honor!

Is the mog ready? Write for 15 minutes while you wait for everyone else to get ready! Need to change mog? Write for 5 minutes while everyone gets the table ready!

After this, take a screenshot of your character near your favorite faction leader! (Or the closest you can get to them, Chromie can help if you need her too!) ((Or skip if you can’t!))

Write 100 words for your character telling them the story! Then round up to the nearest 100 for them to respond to your character!

From there, write 10 words for all the dishes your character would eat at the feast!

Wrap up for the evening! Stretch out your wrists and legs as your character sets up for the night. Drink some water and let yourself also have a break!

Congratulations! You completed the word crawl!

[bad-bitch-beauchamp]

Songs About Me - Chapter Three

After karaoke night and Claire's impromptu performance, both Claire and Jamie spend the next day reconciling with their choices from the night before.

Read on AO3

“Stay, Sassenach! One more drink!” 

“One more drink might be the death of me, Mr. Fraser, and if you’d like to watch me embarrass myself again next week, I can’t be on my deathbed tonight!” 

He had tried to convince her to let him walk her home, but she waved him off and pulled the sweater that had fallen off her shoulder back up to its rightful place at the junction of neck and shoulder -- a place Jamie couldn’t tear himself away from until that moment. She wrangled a loose curl behind her ear, tugged on her coat, and caught Jamie watching her every move, drink at his lips, eyes just over the rim of the glass. She could’ve stayed, could’ve responded, could’ve reacted to what she was feeling right then… no. A couple of hours together in a bar and a poor excuse for a solo at closing time did not change the fact she didn’t know this man. This very handsome man, she reminded herself. No. You came out here for yourself. Leave by yourself.

She met his eyes one last time, gave a nervous laugh, declared “Hope to see you next weekend!” all too loudly, and spun on her heel. She had stepped over the threshold when she thought she heard her name from inside, but she didn’t turn to find out. 

———

Claire realized exactly three things when she awoke the next morning: The sun was shining too brightly, the street musician playing on the corner directly below her bedroom window was playing too loudly, and the memories of the last night with the redhead who loved music and books were coming on too fast. Somehow, in the span of a few hours, he had literally become her waking thoughts. She sat up in bed, still cocooned in a cloud of white cotton sheets and linen comforters. What do you even know about him? Probably not even anything. She pulled herself from the warmth of the bed, her feet landing on a soft oriental rug in shades of blues and greens. His eyes were the colors in this rug. Just like the ocean itself. Okay, she remembered one thing about him. The woven textile gave way to worn hardwood floors, on to cool hexagon tiles lining her bathroom floor as she passed through glass french doors between bookshelves on the wall. 

When Claire inherited her Uncle Lamb’s brownstone, she could remember only one thing about the place from her visits: the upstairs was magical. Quentin Lambert Beauchamp was an archaeologist, and although it rarely happened, he had decided he needed a home base to work from. In the historic brownstone, he neglected to update much besides the upper level. As the brownstone was on a corner lot, Lamb declared it must have every window possible to let in the light. Days were too gloomy and cloudy in England, and he would soak up all the light he could while teaching here at Harvard, thank you very much. The most magical room in the entire home (according to both Beauchamps) was lined from front to back with alternating windows and storage -- wide bookshelves on the top, long cabinets on the bottom. The opposite side was almost entirely made of the same bookshelves, save for two sets of french doors leading to a large closet and a larger master bathroom, respectively. The bookshelves traveled up to a curved ceiling, rails and ladders lined the walls to reach the highest and most precious of his belongs (now hers as well). Claire had painted the walls and trim shades of white and cream and ivory. The shelves were stripped and stained with a neutral-tone light wood with white filler. The brass fixtures and ladder rails sparkled in the warm morning light. Claire placed plants wherever she could fit them, and donned the shelves with memories to mingle with the ones Lamb left behind. This room, this place, was her favorite in the whole world. 

Back in the bathroom and walking to the walk-in shower, Claire bent down to reach the sweater she tossed aside the night before. The underside of his hair is this color. Right at the base of his neck, with the extra curls. She shook her head and started the tap. Maybe all his curls would turn that color when he got wet. She turned the faucet as hot as she could stand it, reached an arm for her phone, and set Spotify to only play Blink-182. We’re done with those feelings! No feelings, only the angst possible with punk rock! 

Cold tile brought her down to earth again when she stepped out of the shower, the trails of water dripping down her back and breasts a refreshing break from the onslaught of pounding heat. He felt like a breath of fresh air. Just like this. 

With a towel wrapped around head and a t-shirt tossed on, she made her way back to the bedroom and took a seat on her bed. She desperately wished she had stayed for that last drink. Or at least got his number? Why didn’t I get his number?! Now, she’d have to wait another six days before seeing him again. Maybe her attraction to him was nothing more than lust, but if she could text with him, get to know him better, maybe she could find out. With no way of reaching him, she opted to get dressed and head out to clear her head. Maybe find a place to write? Since her decision to put herself first, she’d put letting off steam by writing and singing. It fell in live with the general creativity that fueled her life, while still being different enough from the greenhouse to give her a bit of rest and peace. As she contemplated where to adventure off that morning and pondered the correct way to lace her Doc Marten boots, her phone rang. A photo of three fresh faces graced her screen, a woman with wild dark curls with her mouth gaping with laughter, another woman with a waterfall of red hair and piercing green eyes made less intimidating by the crinkles at the edges, and a man with deep dimples surrounding his smile and an eyebrow raised in surprise at the camera taking their picture. Claire hit the accept button on the call, and thus the inquisition arrived. 

“We need to talk about last night!” The screen was split in two, with Geillis’ video on top and Joe’s on the bottom with Claire’s in the corner. 

“What about last night? I honestly thought our song was pretty good! I was thinking next week we could do--”

“That’s obviously not what we’re talking about, LJ! But agreed, we did a damn good job.”

“Will you two quit it?” Geillis cut them off and brought her face closer to her screen. “We need to talk about Claire, that viking, and the unreal chemistry. Spill it ALL, Claire.”

———

Jamie had woke nursing a headache, but alas, today would not be the day for rest. He flipped the sign in the window of Fraser Literature from closed to open, and began to check off the list of opening duties. On the list was to water the plants. Set on a table in a small alcove, on top of side table next to an worn leather chair for patrons to sit and peruse a story in, hanging from simple planters in the window that stretched from edge to edge in front of the shop, guarding the aisles of books ready to be enjoyed by people who hadn’t read them yet. Jamie often visited a greenhouse just outside town for the shop’s plants. While a small place, it was teeming with love, peacefulness, and a sense of adventure with green as far as the eye could see, boarding the windows with giant leaves and trailing vines. The feeling inside was something he wanted to emulate in his own place, and so he started adding a wee bit of flora here and there. Rupert and Angus initially laughed off his efforts, claiming Jamie was “destroying the manly vibe” they were aiming for. With every bit of decoration, every little bit of effort however, the shop grew in reputation and success. Jamie was immensely proud of the shop he built, and even more grateful he was able to spend his days surrounded by the words of great men and women, constantly inspired and in awe of the endless stories at his fingertips. 

The boys -- Angus and Rupert, that is -- had brought up the idea of expanding into a few other fine art ideas within the shop. Jamie had been reluctant to agree to anything that wasn’t directly related to literature. As they stood around the front counter, Rupert led the charge: 

“Jamie, man. The people who like books are also the ones who like art and music and such. Why not try to bring them all together?” 

“What if they don’t care about the books? What if they don’t even look at them, and don’t care? What’s the point in having the shop, then?”

It was Angus’ turn to reply with, “Well the point is getting people in the door, and letting your “wee shop” as ye always call it speak for itself, aye?” 

Jamie had to agree with that point. He settled for telling the lads that if they could come up with a suitable idea, he’d agree to it. Twenty minutes later, Angus and Rupert stood in his office doorway saying they would be asking for local musicians to come and perform. 

“Doesn’t seem like yer asking for approval.” 

Jamie didn’t look up from his computer, but could hear the grin in Rupert’s voice as he replied, “‘Tis because ye know it’s a good idea, and ye wouldn’t refuse a good idea.” 

Jamie sat back in the rolling leather chair behind his antique desk and sighed, then laughed. “Why do I even try to control what ye two do? Yer jes’ going to do it anyway.” The lads grinned at each other and shrugged. “Go on then, see if ye can have some posters made up to put in the window.” 

He stood as Rupert saluted him and Angus muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Aye aye, captain,” and stretched his long, lean, muscles. He needed to get a few errands completed, so opted to spend the next few hours outside both to complete his tasks and to get out in the fresh air. He told his friends he’d be back soon, and to let them know if he needed anything. 

With one step out into the sunlight, he immediately regretted the amount he had drunk the night before. Two in the morning was not a suitable time to be out, but for the lass with the dark curls and the whisky eyes, he’d give every moment of his time. From the moment he woke, he thought of her. Thought of how she made him laugh. Thought of how bonny she felt under his fingers, her hips on the barstool as she wiggled back into place, her thigh touching his under the booth table. He thought of how she’d gone up on stage as an act of defiance against him for the insult to her friend’s song, but how instead she ended up showing a piece of her soul to him, and him alone. He thought of how her eyes matched the swirling liquid in his glass. He thought of her abrupt departure after he had asked her to stay, and how he almost ran out after. He thought of how he was so incredibly stupid as to not have asked for her number before she ran. Look what ye did -- now ye have to wait to see her, and yer barely functional as it is. While Angus and Rupert had been gauging his interest for the musical talent in his office earlier, he had been searching the Facebook page for the 21st Amendment, combing it for references to her. To Claire. Maybe she had performed there? Perhaps she and her friends had tagged the place in one of their pictures? There was no sign of her, and she hadn’t told him her last name. Six days to go, mate. Ye can do this. She’s just a lass. Ye don’t know her. 

After a few hours of tedious tasks (could the post office ever be efficient, just this once?), he made his way back to Fraser Literature. It was a warm day for autumn, and the shop would have a cart with discount books out on the sidewalk and the door propped open for fresh air. He would never tire of seeing his name on something he built, something he was so proud of. As he neared the shop however, it wasn’t the name on the window that drew his attention -- it was the many people standing inside, facing the window, looking outside. Jamie stopped and looked around, but not finding anything out of place around him. He took a few steps closer. They weren’t looking outside, but rather at the inside corner of the shop, the corner where the window meets the wall. He was only a few steps away when he saw it, when he heard it. A woman with bouncy curls and a round arse, sitting with her back to the window at a keyboard bench. He didn’t have to see her face to know. Her voice was enough. It was enough at two in the morning to imprint on him forever. 

She was there, in his shop. His place. Claire. God, his Claire. 

With one shaky step and an attempt at a steadying breath, he moved inside his sanctuary.

[outlanderpromptexchange]

OUTLANDER PROMPT EXCHANGE: PRIDE MONTH

Welcome to the Outlander Prompt Exchange: Pride Month Challenge, a fandom event designed to be quick, simple and something new(ish) to help get us through another month of Droughtlander. The rules are simple: be kind and patient with both yourself and others… and get creative! ♥

1 MAY 2021: PROMPT EXCHANGE OPENS

SUBMIT A CLAIM: From the 1st of May readers and writers alike are invited to submit a prompt via the blog’s inbox. This month’s theme is ‘Pride Month’ and you can choose to submit a general prompt with LGBTQIA+ themes or something more specific. This can include any Outlander-related character, relationship, scenario, location, etc.

CLAIM A PROMPT: Prompts are available to be claimed from the Prompt Masterlist below at any time. Simply send a message via the blog’s inbox with the prompt # and it’s yours! Note: each prompt can only be claimed once and will be allocated on a ‘first in first served’ basis.

1 - 30 JUNE 2021: PUBLICATION

PUBLISH YOUR FIC: From the 1st of June through to the end of the month writers can publish their work at any time and in any space. Just remember to use #OutlanderPromptExchange where possible, tag @outlanderpromptexchange and/or send through a link so that we may also share your work. We can’t wait to see what you come up with!

Do you still have questions? FAQ available here!

PROMPT MASTERLIST

1. Fergus might be a little (or a lot!) older than Young Ian but he’s young at heart. That’s all that matters, right? -- Age-gap Fergus/Young Ian (preferably both 18yo+) 

2. Claire is surprised when Jamie reveals he was assigned female at birth.

3. Jamie doesn’t understand why out of all the people at Fraser’s Ridge the grandchild/ren chose to come to him to ask their questions regarding sex and gender identities... yet here he is answering them. For the love of all that is holy, where is Claire? [spoiler alert: she’s around the corner listening in]

4. Young Ian is nervous about coming out to his parents. Luckily he has an abundance of siblings and/or cousins to stand by side as he does so.

5. Brianna runs into Roger at an LGBT Rights rally at or near the university.

6... 

[renee-writer]

The Contract Chapter 18 Thinking it Over

She ponders what Jamie had asked the rest of the day and into the next. It makes sense. Co-parenting is easier with the parents in the same house. But, was there more? That is what has her hesitating.

If it was just about the bairn, she would actually be more comfortable. There is safety in boundaries, in clear lines, in well established roles. Her as the child's mum, Jamie as daddy, and they both responsible equally for the well being of the child. But, having him say that he wants to wake up beside her each morning.

“What is that about?” she says to herself. She is sitting on her love seat, her hands resting on her abdomen. “What did your daddy mean?” The problem is, deep inside she feels the same. That scares her. She isn’t good with love, with relationships. Finding herself in one, with the father of her child, it should be a joyful time. It is, to an extent. But, for the fear.

“It was to be a fling, at the most. How in hell did this happen?” she muses as she rubs her stomach. “How did I end up falling In love?” Her hand flies to her mouth like she had shouted that aloud instead of just thinking it.

“Bloody hell, I love him.” She says. ‘”I love your daddy. That is good for you but freaks your mum out a bit. I don't do love well. Now, I will love you. I already do, little lima bean. It is just other relationships. They are the problem.” She gets up and starts to pace. “Do I tell him? What if, despite what he says, it is just about sex and you? Will I be setting myself up for heartbreak?” She walks through her small flat before realizing it isn’t enough. She gathers up her jacket and heads outside. She starts walking the streets of her neighborhood. “And what of Murtagh. Your daddy's Godfather already hates me. When he finds out about you and then if we move in together? Christ, little one. What am I to do.”

She walks until she must rest. Until she has determined that she must, at least tell him. So, she slips into a coffee shop and calls him.

“I need to talk to you.”

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

The Countdown to Happiness - Day 10

Picture: Panorama Helsinki / Finland - Dom und Parlamentsplatz (by   tap5a)

From November 24th on, I will post one chapter of

“We only do this for Fergus!”

[From @outlanderpromptexchange - Prompt 3: Fake Relationship AU: Jamie Fraser wants to formally adopt his foster son Fergus, but his application will probably not be approved… unless he is married and/or in a committed relationship. Enter one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp (Randall?) to this story]

every day until it’s “Happy End”. Yes, you might not believe it but there is a Happy End coming around New Year’s Eve / New Year :) I hope you enjoy reading this little story (again).

[owlish-peacock36]

Scatter the Night: Chapter 1

This is the first chapter for my fic for the Outlander Prompt Exchange—brought to you by @thelallybrochlibrary. My prompt:

Jamie meets Claire in a New York City night club in the 1920s. Both have started getting tired of the superficial world they live in, until they meet each other! (submitted by @whiskynottea)

This is my first adventure into this time period, so I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

The room was too small, thick with the humidity of body heat and human sweat. They were beasts—all of them—with their eyes glazed with illicit liquor and barely-contained lust. Embers burned on the ends of suggestively pursed lips and lit the cell-like room with a sunset glow.

Jamie didn’t belong here. There was no place for a Scottish farm boy within the smoky speakeasies of New York. And yet, here he was. Hoping for a new beginning, hoping for a different ending.

No, he shouldn’t be here. But, he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

It was intoxicating, the swarm of bodies and drink, swirling about him to expand his own edged mind. Drifting lazily amongst the tables, Jamie found himself on the fringe of the club. His first night here, and he was already a wallflower.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” The voice that pierced his mind held a recognizable timbre, a lilting contrast to the harsh New York rasp. It reminded him of home.

The woman was a stranger, though, a barely visible presence that seemed to haunt the corners of the club.

“From the sound of it, neither are ye.”

“I’ve been here long enough. But you… you’re green. Poor little bunny.” She took a drag of her cigarette, casting a dim, red glow upon her face. She might have been pretty, but the shadows were too strong, and left her a mere silhouette against the carnal earth. “What’s a nice Scottish boy like you doing here? Is it the liquor? The women? I’m sure all the lassies would lose their minds for that accent.”

“That’s none of yer business, Ma’am.”

“Ma’am?!” She screeched, teeth flashing against the darkness. “You’re definitely not from around here!”

Embarrassment colored his face. Was he really so obvious? And who was this woman to call him out on it? He was just trying to start fresh, and it seemed like he already failed.

“I’ll take my leave now. Good evening to ye.”

“Oh! Don’t get so twisted up about it!” The woman had taken a step out of the shadows, illuminating half of her face. Jamie saw a glimpse of champagne eyes and a mischievous mouth. “I’d just thought I’d come to the aid of a fellow expat. Can I give you a word of advice? This isn’t Scotland. It’s New York, and it isn’t very pretty. Trust no one, because nothing here is free. Nothing.”

“Nothing? So, what’ll yer advice cost me?”

She laughed, a genuine sound that crinkled her eyes. “I’ll have to take a rain check on that. You shouldn’t be hard to find. But, if you’ll excuse me, I need to see a man about a dog.”

Then, she was gone, off to swim away in bootleg. And Jamie was left standing in the veil of her smoke.

[veryfaintveryhuman]

For @thelallybrochlibrary‘s Holiday Exchange and prompted by @holdhertightandsayhername: 

Prompt 23: A “Hogmanay on the Ridge” mood board.

Jen, my apologies that I’m posting this after the deadline, but I hope I did your prompt some justice! May the Frasers celebrate many more Hogmanays together on the Ridge. AS THEY DESERVE. 

Thank you to the Librarians for hosting this exchange, for all of the writers and creators who gave us so much beautiful Outlander content this holiday season, and to Jen for the wonderful prompt (and for all of the diverse prompts that she submitted!). 

I hope everyone’s holidays were gentle. <3 

[phaedrecameron]

House of Fraser, Chpt 2, An Unpolished Diamond

“He’s here, but the fiancée is running late,” John Grey stated as he poked his head into Jamie’s office.

“Ah, ok, I’ll go back to the studio until she arrives,” Jamie replied.

“No, Randall said he wanted to start. I’ll show her back when she gets here.”

“Oh.” Jamie pulled off his glasses, grabbed his sketchbook and Randall’s proposal. He brushed his hair behind his ear. He wore his hair slightly long; the deep red locks curling slightly at his nape. Jamie usually wore old jeans and T shirts around the studio, but for the Randall meeting he chose a pair of fitted gray trousers, a crisp pale blue Oxford shirt, his Fraser tartan socks, and brown leather lace up boots.

Jamie followed John into the conference room where Frank Randall awaited.

“Mr. Randall,” Jamie smiled as he extended his hand.

“Mr. Fraser, good afternoon.” Randall’s handshake was firm. Jamie observed his wardrobe was that of a man 15 years older than his apparent age. Jamie motioned for him to sit.

Randall wasted no time, “Mr Fraser, this wedding is very important for me, my fiancée, and my company. I’m sure you understand the importance of image and branding? My fiancée’s dress needs to be remarkable in every way. Understated, but bold. Classic, but forward thinking. Traditional, but modern. Timeless, but trend setting.”

Jamie didn’t dare glance at John for fear of loosing it on the spot. He cleared his throat. “I see. Well, I’ve brought some exemplars..”

“I’ll get tea,” John exited faster than was necessary.

Jamie had laid out several of his sketches by the time John returned with the tea and a woman. Jamie squinted in confusion.

“Darling, Claire, come sit.” Randall directed at this woman.

She came forward. It took a second for Jamie to realize this was Randall’s fiancée. She was wearing medical scrubs and trainers. Her head was adorned with an obscene mass of unruly brown curls barely contained in an off center bun. She held her mobile in her right hand and the strap of a well worn leather cross body purse slashed between her bosom.

John coughed.

Jamie immediately stood and introduced himself. When she shook his hand he caught sight of her eyes. He couldn’t even name their color. They were like the autumn turning of the leaves; brown and yellow, crisp and fragile. There was a quiet strength in her carriage.

“Look at these, Claire.” Randall began to show her the sketches Jamie had prepared.

Jamie cursed himself for his preconceptions. He’d subconsciously assumed Randall’s fiancée would be of the trophy wife variety – barely legal and full of silicone.

“Hmm. This one’s nice.” Claire turned the sketch toward Jamie.

“Aye.”

It was the embroidered satin column dress. The one Jamie was partial to as well.

“Nah darling. It’s too old Hollywood wannabe starlet.” Randall frowned and gently pulled the sketch from her hand.

Claire simply smiled and sat back in her chair. Randall pushed three of the sketches toward Jamie, “these are promising.”

Two were sleeveless halters and one heart shaped strapless. Jamie couldn’t see much of her figure, but he knew none of those would suit her.

“Well, these are just common styles. I wasna sure of Ms. Beauchamp’s measurements or…” Jaime glanced quickly to Claire, “…body type. Different styles generally work with different shapes. I’ll have an assistant take measurements…and perhaps a few photographs?”

“Oh, god.” Claire smiled at Jamie as she tried smooth her hair. “This was not the best idea after spending the night in the PICU.”

Jamie’s curiosity piqued, “what is it ye do, Ms. Beauchamp?”

“I’m a pediatric oncologist. And please, call me Claire.”

“I’ll have to start sending her prepackaged meals to the hospital. She has a tendency to miss meals when she gets over involved with a patient,” Randall patted Claire’s hand. “We can’t have you losing weight once these measurements are taken.” Jamie saw her wince at his words, but then turned to smile at Randall.

“Any theme or specific preference, Claire?” Jamie asked.

“Our professions are very important to us,” Claire said to Jamie, “and the ceremony can help Frank, so however you two think the dress should be, it will be fine by me.”

Once again, Jamie cursed himself. He didn’t know much about brides. His sister’s wedding had been a low key affair. He just assumed the woman would be more interested in the dress.

“Alright, well with the measurements, I’ll prepare more detailed sketches. Ye’ll have to come back for fittings. The dress will be tailored specifically for ye.”

Jamie noticed a pink tinge to her cheeks, but assumed it was the tea. He stepped out and found John in the hallway. “Get Marsali to take Claire’s measurements and bring me the camera, aye?”

John raised a brow at his boss, “Marsali can take the photos.”

“No, no. I’d prefer to do it myself.” Noticing John’s look, “this account is important. I wanna make sure I got everything.”

Jamie and Randall stood off to the side while Claire’s measurements were taken. “I’ve got a good feeling about you, Mr. Fraser.” Jamie tried to keep his smile pleasant. “Here,” Randall pulled cards from his inside jacket pocket, “these are our business cards. Claire’s schedule is erratic so best email her directly about the fittings and cc me any designs or photos.” Jamie noticed a third card. “Oh, that’s our wedding planner, Mary Hawkins, in case that’s of any use to you.”

Jamie nodded. He knew it was none of his business, but couldn’t help himself. “How’d ye meet?”

“Pharmaceutical conference. She was excoriating a rep regarding a faulty drug efficacy study.” Randall smiled. “I knew she was an unpolished diamond.”

Jamie tried to puzzle out his meaning, but Claire was walking toward him. “Are you taking the photos?” Claire pointed to the camera Jamie was holding.

“Aye. Just stand over by that window.” She did as directed. Jamie raised the camera and heard Randall near his ear, “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Bye, darling,” Randall shouted to Claire.

At that moment the camera clicked. Jamie would keep that photo for the rest of his life. He’d keep it in his phone, on his desk, on their bedroom dresser, he’d show it to their son at his wedding, and he would pull it out when he held his first grandchild.

[quietcatastrophe]

To Begin Again- Chapter 7

Big shout outs to @mo-nighean-rouge for being the bomb beta, and @sassy-sassenach for the beautiful moodboard 

previously: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 

     The crackle of the intercom rouses Jamie back to awareness, blinking slowly as he reorients to his surroundings. He didn’t expect to fall asleep, but the surge of emotion and adrenaline from recounting his past left him as drained as if he’d run a marathon. And with Claire’s warm body nestled against his, it didn’t take long for him to be pulled under. But now his arm is dead at his side, stinging with pins and needles, his circulation impeded by the curly head still tucked against his shoulder. He’s loathe to wake her, but their stop is approaching, and the urge to shake the sensation back into his arm grows more pressing by the second. He raises his unpinned arm, brings it around to gently tuck her hair behind her ear. He speaks to her softly, not wanting her to wake startled. 

“Claire, a nighean, we’re almost at our stop.” She shifts slightly, pressing further into the curve of his shoulder. He can’t help but chuckle at her sleepy reaction. It makes him wonder what it would be like to wake up next to her every morning—wonder if she hits the snooze on her alarm several times, or if she springs up awake and alert. He runs his fingers gently up and down her arm, hoping the sensation brings her closer to consciousness.

The train lurches as the breaks engage, slowing for arrival at the station. She makes a noise that is somewhere between a grunt and a moan, lifting her head from his chest. Her motions are slow, still partially held in the grasp of slumber. Her hands come up to cup her face, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and the drool from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes flash to his suddenly, and then quickly down to his shirt.

“Oh, Jamie. I’m so sorry! I’m afraid I’ve drooled all over you.” She brushes her fingers over the damp spot on his shoulder, her cheeks flushing red like strawberries. It reminds him of the first time they met—when she was nothing more than a clumsy stranger, and he was just a man who happened to be in the right place at the right time. Was it really only a month ago? He struggles to remember what his life was like before he met Claire. Doesn’t want to go back to the way things were before she became part of his life.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. Ye can drool on me anytime ye like.” He smiles brightly at her, and she crinkles her nose in return.

“So what’s our plan?” she asks, rising slowly from her seat, bending to stretch the muscles in her lower back. He rises to stand beside her, lets his hand come to rest on the small of her back, applying gentle pressure to help further ease her tension.  

“Well, we’re expected at Jenny and Ian’s this evening, so from the station we’ll grab a taxi. It’s only about a fifteen minute ride from the city. Knowing my sister, I’m sure she’s prepared quite a dinner spread for us.”

Her stomach gurgles audibly at the mention of food, and she rests a hand upon her belly. “Well that’s very fortunate, since it seems the baby is rather famished.”

“Oh, aye, the baby” he gives her his best approximation of a wink, and she sticks her tongue out at him in return.

They disembark from the train, Jamie grabbing both of their bags, despite Claire’s protests of being perfectly capable of handling her small rolling luggage.

“Will ye no’ just let me be a gentleman?” he asks, eyes dancing with mirth. She raises a stern eyebrow at him, letting out a frustrated huff, but she doesn’t move to reclaim her bag.

The train pulls away, leaving them standing on the platform. He’s about to lead her toward the stairs for the exit when a small force suddenly collides into him. He hardly has time to process what’s happened before he hears the excited shout of “Uncle Jamie!”, and he looks down to see the curly brown hair of the boy wrapped around his legs.

“And who is this wee scoundrel?” he asks loudly, ducking down to pick the boy up, then swinging him up in the air.

“It’s me, Uncle Jamie!” the boy excitedly squeals.

“No, it can’t be. Ye mean to tell me that this…” he holds his nephew straight out in front of him, his legs dangling as Jamie pretends to examine him, “this long, gangly lad before me, ye mean to tell me that ye are wee Jamie? I dinna ken if I believe it.”

He sets the boy down, and crosses his arms,  as if he’s still assessing. He can see Ian’s head above the crowd now, eyes scanning frantically through the clusters of travelers on the platform, until they finally land on his, and the tension drops from his shoulders. He approaches them quickly, his relief and his anger tangling in equal measure across his face.

“Jamie! Just what did I tell ye about running off!” His tone is firm, but he drops to his knees in front of his son, sets a hand upon his shoulder. “Do ye ken how sad I’d be if I lost ye, a chuilein? Not to mention what yer mother would do to me!” He exclaims dramatically, his eyes opened wide in mock horror. “That doesna bear thinking about!” He stands again, reassured of his son’s safety.

“But Da, I came straight to Uncle Jamie!” He scuffs the toe of his shoe against the concrete of the platform, his small hands twisting behind his back, eyes cast down.

“Even so, ye must stay with a grown-up when we’re out in the city, aye?”

“I’m sorry Da. I was too excited. I dinna mean to run off.” Ian pulls the boy into his side, ruffling his fingers through his hair.

“Well, I canna blame ye for being excited, my boy. It has been quite a while since we’ve seen yer Uncle Jamie.”

Jamie freezes for a moment, flooded with guilt for slacking off on his visits. The look Ian gives him, while not quite as harsh as Jenny’s, is certainly one he’s learned from her—pursed lips, arms crossed, brows raised in consternation. Before he can form a reply, make an excuse, he hears Claire clearing her voice behind him.  

“That’s a bit my fault, I’m afraid.” She demurs, stepping around him to extend her hand toward Ian.  “Claire Beauchamp. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She smiles as their hands clasp, and Ian does the same.

“Aye, the pleasure is mine. The lad hasna stopped talking about ye, I feel as if we’re already friends.” Jamie observes the way her eyes flick to his, the hint of a blush painted on her cheeks, as he swats at Ian for teasing him. He’s flubbed this introduction already, too distracted by the sudden appearance of his nephew to remember his manners.

Claire stoops down to the best of her ability, bringing herself nearly to eye-level with wee Jamie. “Your uncle has been helping me an awful lot this month, and I’m very sorry if that’s kept him from seeing you.” She smiles warmly at the boy, and his cheeks pink up in her proximity. It seems as if his nephew is under her spell already, not that Jamie can blame him. He knows what it’s like to be the object of her attention.

“Are ye having a bairn?” he asks, gesturing to her prominent belly.

“Yes, I am, in fact.” Her face lights in the sweetest smile, making Jamie’s heart lift in his chest.

Wee Jamie’s eyes widen, his excitement practically bursts out of him, as he exclaims “My mam is…” but the statement is cut short by Ian’s hand quickly covering the boy’s mouth, playfully sweeping him up and tossing him over his shoulder.

“Yer mam has supper ready for us all, and will be verra cross if we keep her waiting. He tickles the boy’s sides before planting him back on the ground. As they start to walk toward the exit of the platform, Jamie notices Ian’s not-so subtle reminder to shush, his index finger pressed to his lips. From the bright smile on his brother-in-law’s face, he’s sure that whatever they’re hiding is a happy secret.

They make their way to Ian’s car, serenaded by the animated chatter of wee Jamie, excitedly recounting all of his latest adventures to his uncle. Jamie wants so badly to tangle his fingers with Claire’s, wants to walk right beside her, rather than trailing slightly behind. But she’s conversing amiably with Ian, and wee Jamie is demanding his full attention.

“Ye’ll have to take me to this fort of yers, so I can see it for myself.” He looks down to the boy, anticipating his excited reply, but he’s met with an indignant huff instead.

“Uncle Jamieee, the fort is on Minecraft! We canna actually go to it.” The boy rolls his eyes in a frightening approximation of his mother, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it would have been, had he been paying attention.

Jamie shakes his head, reaches down to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Someday, laddie, I’ll show ye how to build a real and proper fort.”

They arrive at the car, and after another brief argument over the duties of a gentleman, Jamie crams himself into the back seat, angling his knees toward the middle to have more room. It’s certainly not the most pleasant way to travel, and if the ride were longer he’d be worried about getting sick, but he’s more than happy to sacrifice his comfort for hers.  

They’re hardly on the road for five minutes before wee Jamie is asleep, head slumped forward in a way that seems to only be achieved comfortably by young children. Ian makes eye contact with Jamie in the rearview mirror, smirking at his sleeping son.

“We couldna get him to settle down last night. It was his idea that we surprised ye at the station.”

Jamie smiles fondly at the boy, proud that his presence in their lives is so important. His heart still feels a bit raw from rehashing his past, but it swells with gratitude for the way things have turned out. “He’s a braw laddie. I’ll do better to come round more often, make sure he’s getting a proper Highlander education.” Jamie attempts to wink as he catches Ian’s glance in the mirror again, baiting him as effectively as when they were kids.

“And just what is that supposed to mean, Fraser?” The bickering banter is familiar territory between them, a natural camaraderie between life-long friends, and a smile sparks across Jamie’s face at the clear challenge in his brother-in-law’s voice.

“Well, I can tell ye, a charaid, that if it were up to me, he’d be building his forts in the forest and not on the Mind craft.”

“It’s MINEcraft, ye dolt. And I can guarantee that I am still a much better fort maker than ye will ever be.”

“Oh, ye think so, do ye? I dinna suppose ye’d care to wager on it? I happen to know a very fair, impartial woman who could act as judge.” He sees the smirk that crosses Claire’s face at the comment, even if she is shaking her head at them.

Ian looks to Claire beside him, before glancing at Jamie in the mirror again, as if he’s weighing the option. “No, I’m afraid that willna do. If she’s half as sweet on ye as ye are on her, there’s no way I’ll receive fair judging.”

Jamie feels the heat of a blush rising on his own cheeks this time, with no way to deflect, and no desire to refute his brother-in-law’s claims. He’s afraid to look at Claire, afraid that if he sees her now, he won’t be able to hold his feelings back. But he can’t let Ian’s barb go unanswered, won’t give him the satisfaction of the easy win.

“Sounds like the talk of someone who’s scared to face a more worthy opponent, a bhràthair.” He does his best to imitate Jenny’s stern eyebrow raise, but he can’t quite hold it. It breaks the tension, has them both laughing out loud, which wakes wee Jamie in short order.

“What time’s it?” He mutters sleepily, just as Ian’s car turns down the long drive.

Ian briefly peeks over his shoulder, smiling at the boy as he rubs his still tired eyes. “It’s dinner time, a bhalaich, we’re just getting home.”

It’s never been his home, but there’s still something about turning down the lane that ignites a warmth in Jamie’s chest. It doesn’t have the same shadows as Lallybroch, the same memories waiting to be triggered. And as much as he loves his home, the Murray residence has become his preferred retreat.

Ian parks the car, and the cutting of the engine causes a cascade of Murray family chaos around them. Both girls come barreling out of the house, bouncing up and down as soon as they see them. Wee Jamie scrambles to unbuckle himself, no doubt in a rush to return to his fictional fort. The old Border Collie, Fergus, lifts his head to see what all the fuss is about, ultimately deciding their presence isn’t worth any alarm. And lastly, summoned by the commotion of her children,Jamie’s sister appears in the doorway. He smiles warmly at her, and she returns an appraising smile of her own.

He’s determined to make a proper introduction this time, focuses all of his attention on Claire rather than their luggage. It’s become a habit now, to place his hand on the small of her back, to walk with her in the cove of his arm, and he doesn’t think about the fact that he’s done it in front of his sister until he sees the furrow in her brow, notes the way her eyes focus on the position of his hand. They travel the short distance from Ian’s car to the front step, where suddenly both girls have gone shy, tucked against their mother, one on each side.

“Hello, Janet.” He greets his sister, pulling her into a brief but strong embrace. “Hello, James.” She replies, a cheeky smile illuminating her blue eyes. He bends down to include the girls hiding behind her legs. “And hello to my favorite wee lassies as well.” He straightens back up, his hand finding its place on the small of Claire’s back once again.

“I’d like for ye to meet my very good friend, Claire.”  His eyes shine with pride as they drift from his family back to her. “Dr. Claire Beauchamp, this is my sister, Jenny, and the wee lasses are Maggie and Katie, my nieces.” He takes a small step back, giving her space to make her own introduction.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jenny. Jamie speaks so highly of you and your family.” Their hands meet in a firm grasp, and Jamie raises an eyebrow at his sister, a warning to be friendly.

“Aye, it’s a pleasure to meet ye as well, Claire. My brother has hardly mentioned anything else these past few weeks.” He wonders if his family conspired ahead of their visit to embarrass him as much as possible. Fortunately, Claire takes it in stride, only the tips of her ears tinging pink at his sister’s remark. She turns her attention to his nieces, once again crouching down as far as her belly will allow.  

“Hello ladies. I’m very glad to make your acquaintance.” She smiles warmly at the girls, eliciting shy grins from them in return. Maggie is the first to find her voice, uttering a quiet but polite “hello” before huddling against her mother once more. Not one to be outdone by her big sister, Katie takes a step away from her mother, her tiny hand reaching toward Claire. Jamie briefly thinks that she’s going to go for a handshake, imitating her mother, but instead her palm lands gingerly on the swell of Claire’s belly.

“Is this yer baby?” she asks sweetly, her little nose scrunching in contemplation.

“It is my baby!” Claire beams back at the girl, bringing her hand to rest atop her tiny fingers.

“Mama has a baby in her belly too!” The little girl shrieks with excitement, as if it’s the most magnificent coincidence in the entire world. Jamie’s eyes flash to his sister’s, and he finds her smiling back at him, shaking her head at her daughter for ruining the surprise.

“Truly, Janet?” he asks, his voice full of wonder.

“Aye, it’s true. We were going to tell ye over dinner, but someone simply canna wait to not be the youngest anymore!”

As if to prove her mother’s point, Katie excitedly screeches “Not the baby! Not the baby!” forgetting all about her shyness as she dances away from her mother’s side, spinning in circles.  

Ian walks up behind them, both of their bags in tow. Jenny smirks at her husband, who dodges out of the way of his whirling child. “Well, yer daughter has let the cat out of the bag.”

He leaves their luggage behind them, maneuvering around them to join his wife on the step. “Aye, yer son nearly did the same at the station, would’a succeeded too, if I werena master of distraction.” He waggles his eyebrows at his wife, his goofiness still able to make her laugh, even after so many years together.  

“Well, we’re already outnumbered. What’s one more, right?” She asks playfully, leaning into Ian’s side. His eyes widen, and he pretends to wipe the sweat from his brow, earning a swat to the shoulder.

“Ye had just as much hand in this as I did, and don’t ye imply otherwise, Mr. Murray.”

“I wouldna dream of it, mo ghraidh. I love ye and all of the bairns we have now, and any that are yet to come.” he smiles proudly, thinking he’s found the right answer.

“Ohh, so ye think ye’ll be touching me again, do ye?” Jamie laughs as he sees the color drain from his brother in-law’s face. Jenny turns to head into the house, indicating with a tip of her head for them to follow.  

Jamie grabs both of the bags from where Ian set them, and they shuffle inside the house. The fragrance of a home-cooked meal immediately greets them, and he finds that his mouth is watering. The aroma is one he’s quite familiar with— the recipe passed down for generations on his mother’s side— and he feels the familiar tug of melancholy that comes from remembering her. The happy memories are always viewed through the shadows of her absence now, but he can still recall the warmth of her presence, still remembers helping her to peel and chop the vegetables to add to the hearty stew.

“Why don’t ye leave the bags for now, we’ll save the tour for after supper?” Jamie has no argument, and happily places their things on the landing of the staircase.

Ian calls for the children to come to the dining room, and the scamper of their rushing feet echoes down the hallway. “Like a herd of wee elephants, they are” Ian remarks, and Claire chuckles at his side.

“Come on, Sassenach, best get out of the way of the stampede.” Jamie guides her through the entry hallway, his hand tucked lightly between her arm and her ribs.

The table is already set before them, adorned with the rich linen tablecloth and the fine porcelain he knows his sister usually reserves for holidays and special occasions. It fills him with warmth to know that she’s trying to impress his guest. He helps Claire to her seat, making a show of gallantly pulling her chair out for her, then waiting to push it back in. She rolls her eyes at him, but he can tell from the small smile she’s trying to conceal that she appreciated the gesture. The children rush in, settling on the long bench on the other side of the table, leaving the opposite heads for Ian and Jenny.

Ian enters the dining room a moment later, the steam still rising from the basket of freshly baked bread he’s carrying. Jenny trails closely behind him, a large pot of the famous MacKenzie lamb stew gripped tightly in her oven mitted-hands. They set the food in the center of the table, taking care to ladle the stew into the childrens’ bowls first. Jamie takes the bowl set in front of Claire and fills it generously. As he serves himself, he watches from the corner of his eye as she takes her first bite. This meal is so symbolic for him, he hadn’t considered that it would matter to him were she not to like it. His momentary fears are allayed by the small moan she emits as she finishes the first spoonful.

“Jenny, this is absolutely magnificent!” The compliment spills forth as she reaches for a roll from the basket.

“Thank ye, Claire. I’d take more of the credit, but the recipe is older than Lallybroch, so it’s had a long time to become rather perfect.” It’s a true, if not unusually modest answer from his sister, who is not one to typically deflect praise. He thinks that it’s a good sign— she not trying to show off, not trying to prove anything— and he feels a surge of affection for her.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook myself, so I always treasure a truly home-cooked meal.” She smiles warmly at Jenny, who seems to almost blush at the praise. He lets his hand fall below the table, rests it briefly atop her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. She turns her eyes to his, and he tries to communicate how very much he appreciates having her here with him through his smile and his gaze alone.

The meal passes with comfortable chatter, and bowls refilled with seconds and thirds of the hearty stew. He watches as Claire engages with the children, able to draw them out of their shells until they’re all giggling at tales of her childhood, particularly the time when she scared her uncle by hiding in his tent wearing a headdress uncovered at one of his dig sites.

“He thought I was the ghost of a priestess, come back to reclaim her belongings. He confessed to me, many years later of course, that he nearly wet himself on that particular occasion.”

Wee Jamie shrieks with particular delight at the idea of making a grown-up have an accident, and Jamie can already see the wheels turning in his nephew’s brain. He’ll have to be on guard this visit, lest the wee scamp get the best of him.

With bowls emptied and bellies full, they begin to clear the table. Jamie is inclined to do the washing up, but Ian shoos him away from the kitchen. “Why don’t ye show Claire to the guest room, so she can settle in. Wee Jamie has generously offered to share his bunk bed with ye, so ye can take yer things up as well.”

He hadn’t necessarily thought of the logistic of their sleeping arrangements, but the bottom bunk with a single bed certainly isn’t ideal. For one night though, he knows he’ll make do. Tomorrow they’ll leave for Lallybroch, and the thought alone has his heart lifting in his chest. She already fits so comfortably with his family, and he couldn’t be happier that she agreed to make this journey with him. They exit the dining room side by side, trailing behind Jenny as she ushers the children upstairs to get ready for bed. Jamie grabs her bag once more, lets her start up the stairs before him. Once up top, he leads her to the second door on the left, into a modest sized room with pale yellow walls and plush double bed. It’s usually where he sleeps when he stays over, but he’s more than happy to forfeit the space to her. His mind wanders into potentially dangerous territory, when he imagines a return visit where they’ll share this room together.

“I’ll leave ye to get comfortable, Sassenach. I’ll just go settle my things with the lad before he goes to sleep, make sure he’s no’ hiding any headdresses or the like anywhere in the room.” He sends her his customary attempt at a wink, and she laughs as he departs.

He leaves his bag at the foot of the bunk, taking care to remove his sleep clothes and setting them on the bed for later. He’d rather not have the drag of the zipper wake the boy from his slumber. He turns down the sheets—Power Rangers themed, and not particularly soft — and moves to exit the room. He finds his sister in the hallway just outside the bathroom, supervising the children as they all brush their teeth. He wishes them all goodnight, and meets his sister’s sternly raised eyebrow when all three of them rush away from the sink to all but tackle him with hugs. She’s able to promptly restore order with only the clearing of her throat, and all of the wee Murrays return to the sink to complete their nightly routine. He moves to the next door, finding it partially open. He knocks gently, not wanting to startle her by just pushing in. He hears Claire’s soft “come in”, and nudges the door open further. She’s changed into her night clothes, a satiny looking set of long pants and a button-up top, and he feels a nearly magnetic pull to run his fingers over the material.

“I hope you don’t mind that I changed. I know it’s not very late, but I’m afraid I’m rather exhausted.” She looks up at him shyly, still not totally accustomed to this sort of intimacy, and he steps further into the room so that he can reach for her hand.

“I dinna mind at all, Mo Nighean Donn. I want for ye to be comfortable.” He gives her fingers a reassuring squeeze, and she leans slightly closer to his side. “How about we head down for a cup of tea, and then ye can call it a night?” She nods in the affirmative at his suggestion, lacing their fingers together rather than dropping his hand as they head back toward the stairs.

He leads her to the family room, and the large recliner near the hearth. It’s sinfully comfortable, and he knows it’ll support her back where it tends to give her trouble. Fergus rises from his pillow in the corner, finally deigning to examine their visitor. He rests his snout on her knee, and Claire runs her fingers over the long, silky fur of his ears. Jamie turns to head for the kitchen, chuckling as she asks the dog if he’s a very good boy.

Ian is just finishing up the washing as Jamie sets up the kettle, and he pulls down four mugs from the cupboard. From the glance his brother in law sends him, he knows he’s trying to gain information without actually having to ask. Jamie doesn’t bite, simply smiles in return, content to let him stew until he verbalizes a question.

Ian shakes his head at him, wiping his hands on the dish towel before hanging it back over the sink. “Well, I guess I’d better go kiss the bairns goodnight then.” He hesitates for just a moment.

“Aye, that’s a fine idea, they canna go to sleep without a kiss from Da.” Jamie smiles obnoxiously at him, refusing to reveal anything more.

The kettle reaches a boil, and he prepares their cups, knowing now just how she likes her tea. He finds her resting with her eyes closed, the dog now curled up protectively near her feet. It seems that no one, man or beast, is immune to her charms.

He clears his throat gently, and she opens her eyes, smiling at him as she reaches out for her mug. She holds it close to her chest, breathing in the steam and the aroma, relaxing further into the plush chair. He perches himself on the hearth, and they sit in comfortable silence, taking small, slow sips from their steaming mugs. He’s never shared his family with anyone before, never brought a girl home—friend or otherwise— and he’s still so pleased with how she just seems to fit so seamlessly.

They’re each lost in their own thoughts when Jenny comes into the room, clutching a mug of her own. “The wee beasts have finally settled. I swear, some nights I feel more like a zookeeper than a parent.” She lets out a long sigh as she flops onto the couch, her eyes falling shut as she takes a long sip from her mug.

“They’re remarkable children. I don’t know how you manage three… well, soon to be four now. I’m terrified of having just the one.” Claire quietly confesses, her free hand coming to rest on her belly. She’s voiced her doubts to him before, her fears about not being a good enough mother, but he’s never had any doubt. Seeing her tonight, interacting with his nieces and nephew only served to further solidify his feelings.

“Well, I canna pretend that it’s easy. They challenge me and push me every day, sometimes to the point where I’d like to tear my hair out. But to see them grow, to nurture them and care for them… it’s the greatest work and the greatest joy.” Jenny’s hand seems to also migrate to the just barely-there swell of her belly, reaffirming her connection to the life growing within.

They fall quiet once more, content to sit and drink in contemplation. Claire finishes her cup first, and Jamie takes it from her, setting it beside his own on the hearth so that he can help her up from the chair. Her mouth opens wide in a yawn, and he slides a little closer, supporting her with his arm gently around her waist. “Goodnight, Sassenach. I hope you have a pleasant slumber.”

She hugs him briefly, forgetting for a moment that his sister is in the room, and she steps back with the faintest hint of a blush on her cheeks. “Goodnight, Jamie. And goodnight, Jenny. It’s been so lovely to meet you and your family. I can’t thank you enough for hosting me.” Her exhaustion makes her soft, almost timid even, in a way he wouldn’t ordinarily associate with her.

Jenny simply smiles back in return, offering thanks of her own. “It’s my pleasure, Claire. I dinna think I can recall ever seeing my brother happier than he’s been this visit, and I thank ye for that. I hope ye’ll sleep well.”

Claire’s fully blushing now, but he also sees the way the corners of her lips turn up in the hint of a smile. He lets her head up the stairs alone, however much he may wish to follow.

Alone now with his sister, Ian suspiciously never having reappeared, he can feel her assessing gaze, waiting for him to crack. He sighs deeply, knowing there’s no avoiding Jenny when she’s on a mission.

“Out with is Janet, say whatever it is ye mean to say.” He’s not quite put out, but he doesn’t know how much he’s comfortable revealing to his sister, especially before he’s sorted his feelings for himself.

“Jamie, ye told me ye were coming with a friend. And Claire is lovely, dinna get me wrong, but if Ian treated his friends in the manner you treat her, I’d hang him by his bollocks in the yard.” She raises her eyebrow pointedly.

“It’s no’ like that Jenny. Claire and I...we are friends. It may not be conventional, but it works for us.” It’s not entirely true. They are friends, and their relationship is unconventional, but what he feels for her is so much more. It may not be “like that” now, but he’d give anything for it to be so. He’s sure Claire feels something for him, something more than simple friendship, but he’s hesitant to be the one to push. She’s given him enough signs to know that there is something worth waiting for, and he’ll wait as long as it takes for her to be ready.

“Aye, for now. But how long do ye expect to stay just friends with someone ye’re in love with?”

Her faces softens, arched brows coming to rest, and he realizes they’ve never had a conversation like this before. She’s never seen him in love, never had the opportunity to play the protective big sister role, making sure her baby brother’s heart remains safe.

“I intend to be friends with Claire for the rest of my life, if she’ll have me.” He pauses for a moment, watches her faces as she prepares to scold him, “If and when she decides that she’d like for me to be more than just her friend, I intend for that to be for the rest of my life as well.” His tone is unambiguous— this is it for him, Claire is it— and he hopes that the moment he finally gets to tell her isn’t too far off. Jenny nods at him, her eyes swimming with unfamiliar emotion, a mix of pride and something else he can’t quite describe.

Jamie smiles at his sister as he rises from his seat at the hearth, crossing the room to bid her goodnight. He leans down, laying one hand on her shoulder as he places a kiss to her forehead. She meets his eyes as he pulls back, her expression so very like their mother’s—always sharp, always thinking, but still so very full of love.

“Are ye sure ye ken what yer doing, brother?” He can’t stop the smile that springs to his face.

“No. I can’t say that I really do. But I am ready.”

Jamie turns from the room, heads toward the staircase, practically drowning in his own thoughts. His fingers drag up the banister slowly, his feet feeling heavier with each step. And then, he nearly stumbles backward down all of them, as he practically trips into Claire seated on the top step.

[notameeksassenach]

VIP

Yes, I’m aware this is a little late. But better late then never right?!

Here is my second submission for @thelallybrochlibrary ‘s Queerlander Prompt Exchange.

PROMPT #8: “Wait, you’re not gay!? My bad….”

I don’t know where I would be without @theministerskat and her AMAZING beta skills. She takes my word vomit and makes it better.

“Come now, Jaime. It’s not that bad,” John said grabbing him by the hand and nearly dragging him into Madame Jeanne’s, the hottest strip club in Edinburgh. “I had to pull some strings to get us a VIP table for tonight.”

“I told ye, ye didna need to go all out for my birthday!”

“Nonsense. Just do me a favor and try to enjoy yourself.”

Bypassing the line of patrons waiting to get in, John flashed a smile at the bouncer. Nodding in acknowledgment, the bouncer unclasped the velvet rope and pulled it aside to allow the two men past. John Grey was well known at Madame Jeanne’s. In an effort to piss off his father, who had not been pleased with the news of his son’s attraction to other men, John liked to use his inheritance to support LGBTQ business and charities.

John was definitely in his element as they made their way to the VIP section. Jamie, his hand still in John’s, had no choice but to follow him. For one, he had no idea where they were going, this being his first time at this particular establishment, let alone in a strip club. For another, the lights, sounds, and throngs of people were enough to drive anyone’s sense wild. Multiple stages featuring various acts, dancers in cages, a row of private rooms that lined the back wall would disorientate anyone Trying to regain his bearings, Jamie noticed a spiral staircase leading up to the second floor. That must be the VIP section, he thought. With one more glance around the club, Jamie felt John pull forcefully on his arm, and they ascended the stairs two at a time.

“Here we are!” John was clearly proud of the lounge he secured for the evening. Jamie offered him a weak smile. “Cheer up! It’s your birthday! Order whatever you want to drink and go take in a performance. Let me know if you see anything you like,” John said with a sly wink at Jamie.

Jamie ordered a double whisky, downing them in record time. If he was going to spend the night in a strip club with his gay best friend, he was going to need all the liquid courage he could get. John knew this wasn’t his scene; the two of them had been like brothers since university. Jamie enjoyed things at a slower pace. But John had insisted they spend the night out for Jamie’s birthday. And who was he to deny his best friend the chance to spoil him?

“Three minutes till show time!” Geillis announced as she made her way to the vanity, checking her makeup one last time.

“What stage did they assign us tonight?”

“We’ve the main stage tonight, Claire. Ye ken what that means? Likely to see triple the tips tonight. And if we’re lucky private dances!”

Claire couldn’t help but laugh at her best friend and dancing partner. The redhead always got so excited when they were assigned to the main stage, her eyes would light up like a bairn on Christmas morning. Claire didn’t nearly share the same excitement that Geillis did at being the center of attention, but she would welcome the guaranteed increase in pay. Money was tight this month and anything would help to lessen the burden.

With one final check of her outfit, Claire was ready.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Please give a hearty Madame Jeanne’s welcome to our next pair of lovely lasses,” Rupert, the MC for the night,, announced.

The sound of a heavy metal guitar came pumping through the speakers, filling the club. Just before the first verse kicked in, Jamie spotted the silhouettes of two women appear on the stage. Wrapped in contrasting outfits, they gracefully took their respective places.

The redhead had her hair pulled back into a slick ponytail and wore black leather. The brown haired dancer, whose dark curls fell in a cascade around her face, was clad in red leather. Both outfits featured corsets, expertly fitted to enhance their figures and cleavage. Matching panties left nothing to the imagination, allowing the patrons to see just how round the bonnie brown-haired lass’ arse truly was. Knee-high stiletto boots completed both their looks.

For someone who was less than interested in being at the club that night, Jamie had a hard time keeping his eyes off the entertainment. More specifically, the lioness with the curly hair. There was just something about her.

John couldn’t help but laugh when he realized the reason why Jamie failed to answer his question. Watching his friend mesmerized by the girls was a sight he never thought he’d witness. He knew right away what he was going to get Jamie as his gift tonight. Leaning closer to him, John touched Jamie’s arm in order to gather his attention. Needing no words, he merely cocked his head in the direction of the stage. A sly smirk formed on Jamie’s face as a reddening crept up his face.

Claire was never the type of performer that spent much of her time looking into the crowd. Focused on the routine and the job she was doing, she lost herself in the music. Given the fact that there was almost always strobe lights, spotlights, and fog machines running, it was a miracle if she was even able to make out the crowd.

But tonight was different. She could make out one particular patron above all the rest. It didn’t hurt that his build was much bigger than most of the men she saw at the club. And with his messy mop of red hair, whose copper tones had the tendency to catch the spotlight, he was easy to pick out in the dark club.

Continuing with her routine, Claire pushed the man from her thoughts. Grabbing the pole, she leaped into the air, allowing gravity to do its job as she spun her way down to the stage. Once her feet were back on the ground, she dropped to her knees. Keeping in time with the chorus of the song, she ran her hands down the length of her body. Paying close attention to graze her breasts, she licked her lips. As her hands came to rest on her hips, she whipped her hair into a cascade of curls around her face.

Getting back on her feet, Claire turned to Geillis. Biting her lip, Geillis, reached out to touch Claire’s face. With her hand on Claire’s cheek, she turned it towards her, capturing her mouth in a sensual kiss. This sultry show of affection was greeted by hoots and catcalls of the audience.

As the last notes of the song filtered through the speakers, the girls returned to their starting positions. In the split second that the house lights went out, they exited the stage.

Jamie was beside himself. That brown haired lass on the stage was breathtaking. He never expected to find someone that beautiful working in a place like this. But after watching her performance, he was convinced that he stood no chance with her. Clearly, she and her partner were just that, partners. There was no way a girl like that would ever be interested in a guy like him.

“Jamie! Earth to Jamie!” John yelled. “Where has your mind wandered off to?”

“Mmph. Sorry, John. Got a little caught up in the show,” he confessed, a slight blush creeping along the neckline of his shirt.

“Like what you saw? Well, you are in for a treat then. I’ve gotten you a special surprise for your birthday.”

“Oh aye?”

“Yes. A private dance with the girl of your choosing. So, Jamie, which lady makes the cut?”

Seated in one of the private rooms, Jamie wiped his sweaty hands on the thighs of his pants. Normally full of confidence, he wasn’t sure what to expect from a lap dance. With this being the first time he had ever been to a strip club, he never had the opportunity to receive one. He didn’t want to disappoint John by turning down his offer. John was after all his best friend, and he had gone out of his way to show Jamie a good time for his birthday.

It was times like these when Claire was thankful that she had the option to chose her clients. It was one of the reasons she came to work at this establishment in the first place. No one forced the performers and dancers into doing anything they were not comfortable with. Early on Claire had relied on her uncanny ability to spot bullshit a mile away. She could tell when some of the clients who requested her were only looking for an in. Looking for a way to get her into a position where they felt they had the upper hand.

Taking a deep breath, her hand resting on the handle of the door, Claire prepared herself for the task at hand. Geillis had been right, dancing on the main stage did result in them getting multiple offers for private engagements. Having several suitors to evaluate, and not wanting to deal with much more than getting paid, Claire had opted for the safest option.

Little was sure to happen with the club’s benefactor’s boyfriend. She would give him VIP treatment and would not have to worry about wandering hands. Not wanting to delay the inevitable any longer, she opened the door.

Jamie’s breath caught in the back of his throat when she entered the room. She was stunning when she performed clad in leather on the stage, but this was completely different. Wearing a soft outfit of white silk organza, she looked ethereal. An angel that had just stepped down from a cloud.

Play it cool Fraser. Dinna get too excited, lad.

Wiping his palms on his pants once more, he noticed the dim lighting and soft music playing in the background. Without saying a word, she flashed him a smile and strode purposefully towards him.

“Any requests, love?”

“I…” he swallowed audibly. “I’ve no had a lap dance before lass.”

Taking care not to scare him off, Claire stood in front of him. Placing her legs on either side of him, his knees between hers. Gently she placed her hands on his shoulders.

“Then we’ll take is slow, shall we?”

Jamie’s eye never left Claire’s as she lowered herself onto his lap. He could just barely feel the contact when she rose again. He was no fool, he knew that the name of the game was to tease him. What he wasn’t sure of was whether or not he was allowed to touch. Ever the gentleman, he sat still and let her work her magic, all the while wondering if he needed to keep his hands off of the vixen in front of him.

Captivated by Claire’s movements, Jamie soon realized it was becoming more difficult to concentrate. It wasn’t long before he was unable to deny what was happening, his body clearly displaying the evidence that he was enjoying her dance.

“I wondered how long it was going to take me to get a rise out of you,” Claire said jokingly. “I usually have to pull out all the stops for John’s friends.”

“John’s friends?” Jamie questioned. “Do ye think because I’m here with him that it means I’m gay? Yer mistaken lass.”

“Wait, you’re not gay!?” Jamie registered the slightly shocked look on her face. “My bad…”

“Well as we are being honest with one another, what about ye, lass. Ye’ve clearly got a liking for the fairer sex given yer performance a while ago.”

“What?” Her English accent thick with want. It was as if knowing he was no longer of limits, her body was responding to his in a way she hadn’t experienced in quite a while. Taking care to show him just how straight she truly was, she ground her hips into his erection again.

“I’m not gay. And this isn’t something I normally do,” she said as she let her lips brush his. “But there is something unusual about you.”

Dropping her guard, she crushed her lips to his, taking his bottom lip playfully between her lips. She wasn’t lying, this was a line she never crossed with her clients. Unable to put her finger on just what spurred her actions on, she decided to just go with it.

It’s about time you had some fun, Beauchamp.

Jamie kissed her back eagerly and his hands traveled the length of her back, looking for access beneath the silky fabric. He was burning with the need to touch her, all of her. A jolt of energy transferred between the pair when his hand made contact with the flesh just above her hip. Slipping a finger under the string that held her panties on, he adjusted slightly beneath her to assist with ridding her of the garment.

Now that she was partially undressed, Claire turned her attention to Jamie, focused on getting him into the same state. Without taking her lips from his, her hands made quick work of unclasping his belt. She let it fall to the floor with a soft thud, hands returning to the button and zipper.

Jamie sighed as the strain of his excitement was released from its prison, his pants pooling at his feet. He ached to feel her warmth. Reaching to grab ahold of her hips, he caught nothing but air as she sank to her knees in one swift motion.

Looking up to make eye contact with him, Claire took him into her mouth. Focusing on the tip, she swirled her tongue around his member. It didn’t take her long to receive a moan of satisfaction from Jamie. She smiled in triumph and continued her work. Taking him in a far as she could, she quickly released him again, letting him feel the absence of her mouth. She repeated her movements several times before she abandoned his cockstand and turned her attention back to his mouth.

Not wanting Claire to have the upper hand any longer, he grabbed her by the waist, pulling her towards him. Holding her close to his chest, he reached his free hand to touch the warmth between her legs. Lazily he traced her folds, enjoying the small noises that he was pulling from her. As he began to explore further, she began to squirm in his embrace. Gripping her tighter, he wasn’t about to let her go.

He continued his search until his calloused thumb found what it was looking for. Grazing lightly across her clit, she bucked her hips in automatic response. Jamie smirked, knowing full well what he was doing to her. When he was satisfied with her reactions, he slid a digit into her wetness.

She rode his hand, pushing herself closer to her peak when he suddenly stopped and removed his finger.

“What are you doing?” Claire questioned him.

“I dinna want ye to…no yet. Christ, I want ye Sassenach,” he murmured into her neck.

She settled herself on his lap, his tip positioned just at her entrance.

“Then take me,” she moaned as she slid herself over him, wrapping around him.

“Claire,” he said cautiously, searching for his discarded clothing. “Can I see ye again?”

With a wink, she grabbed his pants, reached in his pocket to pull out his phone. She quickly punched her number into the device before replacing it.

As she handed the garment back to him she replied, “Of course. And maybe next time you won’t have to pay for my services.”

Returning to the VIP section, John eyed Jamie curiously. He had the look about him of someone who was a very satisfied customer. He was thrilled to know that his birthday surprise had been appreciated.

“Enjoying yourself then, Jamie?”

“Aye. ‘Tis a Happy Birthday after all.”