#and some lad or lass will take up the offer and be blessed

[tinyshe]

whaaaaat? in Russell Brand's video, his promo is Hallow app (at mark 11.03) and how it helps him pray the rosary ....

[renee-writer]

The Changeling Chapter 11

AO3

His sister ‘s eyes narrow at the wagon pulling under the arches, until she sees himself and Murtagh.

 

“Jamie Fraser! Why didn’t you send word you were coming?” A sudden stop at the sight of Claire and the wee bundle in her arms, “Who be this then?”

 

“Jenny, allow me to introduce my wife, Claire and our son, William.”

 

“The hell you say!” Ian arrives just then. He looks from his wife to the wagon, taking in Murtagh, Jamie, the strange lass and child, the goats. His eyebrows go up.

 

“Jamie, my lad, you always knew how to make an entrance. Murtagh.” He nods politely.

 

“Ian, Jenny.” He dismounts. Jamie climbs out of the wagon, helping Claire out.

 

“Ian Murray, allow me to introduce…”

 

“His wife and son.” Jenny can’t keep still, “years with barely a word and now you arrive with a wife and son?”

 

“Claire and William.” He says to Ian, “It is a long story. Let us see to the animals and we will tell it.”

 

“It be a good one.” Murtagh was told all of Claire ‘s tale on the way. He accepted it because that is what Jamie has done and because it explains the queerness surrounding her.

 

“I will get someone to see to them. You look exhausted. Let’s get you sat down.” Ian says. He soon has lads taken care of the animals and seeing to their luggage.

 

They sit in the great room, drinks in hand.

 

“All or nothing.” They decided. Either the Murray ‘s will know everything or Claire will just be someone he meet and married, with William their birth son. The truth, being easier and trust being necessary, they decided to tell all. Starting with Murtagh ‘s rescue of her.

 

“The lass has herself in a fine state. That bastard, Randall, had her pinned to a tree about to violate her. I knocked him out and then her when she was fixing to yell out. Took her to Dougal.”

 

“I had injured my shoulder. We were bidding our time in an old cabin, waiting on the Redcoats to clear away and debating what to do about my shoulder. Murtagh dragged her in and sat her in the middle of us…

 

I told her all. How I got my stripes, about dad, everything. There was an immediate trust between us.

 

Marriage was Nae sacrifice. I kicked up some, to put on a show,” Ian laughs, “but she was exactly who I wanted.”

 

“I heard him crying. The sound was haunting. I knew he needed a healer’s touch so I ran up to him. He was near death. His lungs full of inflammation. I knew what to do. Jamie found us, tried to warn me.  I couldn’t  just leave him to die. “

 

“When we knew he was going to live, I told Colum he was ours, that she had hidden her state. He wanted to believe me, so he did.” They explain Laoghaire and their fears. The flight away from Castle Leoch, the hurries journey home.

 

“He is a changeling?” it is the first thing Jenny has said. She listened to their story without interrupting.

 

“He was. Now he is our son, your nephew, William Henry Fraser.”

 

If they accept him, then they will tell them where Claire came from. Everyone seems to hold their breathes.

 

“A great many lasses that find themselves in trouble place their babies out for the fairies. It be easier than facing their family. He may have been such. It is good you took him in. A blessing. You will be in need of a wet nurse?”

 

A relieved Claire nods. “Yes. We have been giving him goat’s milk but…”

 

“Aye. Give him over,” She raises and hands her son to his auntie, “Maggie, your niece, has just been weaned. I still have milk.” She works her laces loose and places him at her breast. He eagerly takes the offered nipple.

 

“Welcome to the family, Claire.” Ian says. She grins.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You are the lass Jamie was meant to marry. Sassanach or no,” A shake of her head, “Sometimes there is no denying the heart,” She meets her eyes, “Do you love him? I ask because the marriage was one of necessity to you.”

 

“I understand. Yes, I love him. I didn’t mean too but, as you said, the heart wants what it wants. I wouldn’t  change anything, if I could,” a grin, “well maybe meeting Randall.”

 

Her sister-in-law smiles. “Aye. No one the dastardly lad has meet feels different.”

[ickaimp]

[HTTYD] Break your heart, steal your crown

Sometimes ya just gotta write angst. Lotta people liked Coming Down is the Hardest Thing, my version of the ‘Hiccup runs away and becomes the “Dragon Master”, Astrid’s offered up as a Sacrifice years later’ tropes without Hiccup being a dick, and there were requests for sequels, which I didn’t do because this was all I had. Two years post Coming Down is the Hardest Thing, 4220 words, angst and some fluff.

"Berk is dying."

The words sat heavily in the air of the smithy, lingering like a spectre between Stoick and Gobber.

Stoick almost wished he could take the words back, but that wouldn't change the accuracy of his words. Berk was dying.

Gobber closed his eyes and sighed, giving him a weary nod of agreement. So he had seen it too. Or more likely, he had seen it in Gothi's last roll of the bones, before she had gone to bed and passed away in her sleep, leaving the fortune out for Gobber to read when he found her body this morning.

He hadn't actually told Stoick what the bones had said, giving him the same world-weary look he was currently wearing instead.

Even without the soothsayer's predictions, Stoick could see it. The twins had left years ago, declaring that the isle was too boring for their pranks, setting sail with only a chicken as their companion. It had seemed like a blessing at the time, less things exploding in their wake, leaving Berk a much quieter place than it had been.

Then came Spitelout's stupidity with Astrid, offering her to the savage Dragon Master. They'd gotten her back, only for her to disappear a week later. She'd left a note that this time was by her choice, but it'd been little comfort.

This left Berk's next generation without any women old enough to be wives. To become mothers to bear future generations. 

With the Jorgenson clan name soiled by Spitelout's actions, Snotlout was no longer able to be Stoick's heir. The other clans would never treaty with someone whose family had literally brought the Dragon Master down on their heads during a meeting of the chiefs. Except for maybe Dagur, and that was not a glowing recommendation, given the Berserker's... instability.

Which left Fishlegs as the only remaining of Berk's next generation to lead. The lad was smart, there was no doubt about it, and he would be fantastic as a second in command, the next Chief's Gobber, he was too quiet and soft to be a leader. The politics would eat him alive. And worse, Fishlegs was aware of this.

There were other children, Gustav and his ilk, but they were too young to start training as the next Chief of Berk. Stoick ran a hand down his beard, more grey than red from the stress and sorrow. He didn't have long enough to train one of them up.

And Berk's numbers were dwindling in other ways. Many had not been able to adapt to life without dragons to fight, finding a peaceful life did not sit well with their warrior blood. They'd left, being adopted into other clans. They'd just lost another family that way today. Stoick wished them no ill will, but if this continued, then they'd find their numbers too small to maintain the community.

Even Gobber was growing bored, not having enough work to keep the blacksmith busy. Without the dragons, there was no need for weapons, and the simple farming tools they had didn't need as much maintenance.  Stoick looked around the smithy, his eyes falling on the curtain leading to a small room that Gobber wouldn't allow anyone into, his own private shrine to his missing godson.

And then there was the loss of Hiccup, the first of Berk's children to leave. The Dragon Master's words, that Hiccup was happy and healthy where he was, was little comfort without being able to verify this. There was little Stoick wouldn't do in order to be able to see his boy again, for even just a moment. Sometimes he wondered if this wasn’t his fault. The path had seemed clear when they were constantly being raided by dragons. But without the raids, he was floundering. His people were looking to him for direction, and he had no experience with peace to know what to do. More and more they seemed to realise this, and left. Seven generations of vikings had lived on this isle, going all the way back to the first chieftain, his many times great-grandfather, and it was starting to look like he’d be Berk’s last chief.

"I wish I had some words of wisdom for ye, my friend." Gobber said softly. "I-"

Stoick jumped as something flew in through the window and landed on Gobber's face.

It was a green and brown Terrible Terror, who was making a high pitched growling sound as he crawled all over Gobber's head. "Don't move." Stoick rumbled, reaching for his sword.

"Ach." Gobber made a sound of annoyance, reaching up and grabbing the Terrible Terror by the scruff of its neck, pulling it off his head. "What're you-"

He trailed off, eyes drifting upwards and Stoick realised that it was the sound of a larger dragon's wings flapping. A Deadly Nadder, unless he missed his guess. Stoick gritted his teeth, feeling fire in his veins again, eager to have something to fight again, to take this rage and frustration out on.

"Oh no." Gobber said, a look of horror crossing his face as he glanced at Stoick. That was all the warning Stoick found himself being spun, his arms being bound behind his back with a pair of iron manacles, and he was flung through the curtain into Hiccup's old room. He landed against something softer than he expected, falling to the ground.

"GRUMP!" Gobber commanded, sticking his head through the curtain and pointing to Stoick. "Sit."

With a complaining groan, something large and heavy pressed down on Stoick. He grunted, trying to push himself up with his shoulders, but the weight was too much for him to get leverage.

"I didnae want you to find out like this." Gobber said, sounding apologetic, the Terrible Terror riding on his shoulder as if this was a common occurrence. "But if you value yer son's life at all, do not make a sound."

Stoick opened his mouth to bellow, only to find a rag shoved unceremoniously into his mouth. He growled, ire filling his veins as Gobber turned away, pulling the curtain shut. The torn fabric didn't go all the way to the ground, leaving Stoick with a clear view of the smithy.

When he got free, and got his hands on Gobber...

A blue and gold Deadly Nadder head stuck it's head into the doorway of the smithy, then carefully stepped in, taking care not to bump into anything in the small building. A crowned pale spectre rode on it's back, white and grey wisps obscuring the figure.

"Gobber!" The spectre greeted the smith with a cheerful voice. The spectre raised an arm, throwing what looked like a bridal veil over their crown, revealing inhuman features covered in glittering blue scales.

"Is good to see you, lassie." Gobber returned the greeting, his voice rolling with affection. The spectre laughed, reaching up for their head and pulling it off-

-Revealing Astrid's smiling face.

Stoick stopped fighting, going lax in surprise. It had been almost two years since he'd last seen Astrid, grim faced and bitter before she disappeared. She seemed to practically glow with happiness now, as she slid off the Deadly Nadder's back, giving a little hop before leaping into Gobber's outstretched arms, giving him a tight hug.

"Good to see you too." Astrid declared, holding him out at arm's length. Stoick could see that she was wearing armour now, covered in scales that matched the Nadder she rode. She wore a skirt, cape, and veil made out of ragged strips of a thin sheer white fabric that seemed to dance in the air when she moved.

The Undead Bride of the Demon was Astrid. Stoick recognised the Nadder now, it was the same one that she'd flown when the Dragon Master had kidnapped Stoick from the Althing.

"What brings ye here?" Gobber asked jovially, the merriment sounding slightly forced. "Not that I'm complaining, but was nae expecting t’see you for another week or two."

A stab of betrayal felt like a knife between his ribs.

"We have news." Astrid bounced and gave a little hip wiggle of delight. It was a gleeful carefree movement that Stoick didn't think he'd ever seen from the usually tacturn lass.

"Hey, wait. No fair." A shadow at the doorway protested, and Stoick found himself growling as he recognized the outline of the Dragon Master and his demonic Night Fury. The Dragon Master swung a leg over his so-called brother's neck, standing upright on his cloven foot and moving towards them. "I wanted to see Gobber's face when you tell."

"Not my fault that you're being slow, my sweet husband." Astrid grinned, giving another skip-hop to give a little kiss to the side of the Dragon Master's scaled helm and Stoick growled, wiggling as he trying to get free, but the weight on top of him didn’t budge.

"Wait a moment." Gobber breathed. "Astrid... Your belly... You cannot mean..." He trailed off, too choked up to speak.

Looking at her in silhouette, he could see what Gobber meant. Astrid's previously flat stomach was curved out in a very distinctive solid roundness.

Astrid was pregnant. And from the casual arm around her shoulders that the Dragon master had around her waist, the babe in her belly was that demon's.

Stoick would kill him. He'd kill him for touching Astrid. He'd rip the foul creature limb from limb, and then he'd get rid of that Night Fury who was sniffing around the room-

All thoughts faded from his mind as the Dragon Master took off his helmet, revealing his face for the first time, and Stoick's breath caught in his throat.

It couldn't be.

The messy brown hair, almost reddish in the candlelight. Green eyes. The fond crooked grin on his narrow face, having finally grown into his ears.

"Hiccup." Gobber said, his voice thick with tears. "Astrid. You've got a wee bairn on the way."

His son. That was his son standing there with an arm around Astrid, the two of them shining with happiness.

His son, the Dragon Master.

"I'm about five months along." Astrid beamed at Gobber, resting comfortably against Hiccup, the two fitting together like matching puzzle pieces.

"We were hoping you'd agree to be the Godfather." Hiccup said, and Stoick didn't know how he hadn't heard it before, in the Dragon Master's dry sarcasm. It was his son's voice, a little deeper than as a teenager, but the nasally tones could only be him. 

"Godfather-?" Gobber echoed in awe.

"It's not dependent on if you take up our offer to live with us." Astrid was quick to assure him. "But we'd like you to be. We wouldn't be having a kid if it wasn't for you."

"You got Astrid out of Berk, and you saved my life by taking me under your wing here." Hiccup said sincerely. "We're also open to them calling you 'Grandpa', if that's okay with you."

Grandpa.

Stoick was a Grandfather.

He felt tears prickle the corners of his eyes. He'd never thought he'd have that chance, not after his son went missing. And here his son was, was, healthy, happy, and with a wee one on the way.

"Och." Gobber shook his head. "I couldn't."

"You can." Astrid grinned, reaching out and taking Gobber's hand in hers, scales and claws curling delicately around calloused scarred skin. "We talked to Valka about it. She laughed and said she's fine with it. Someone else to share the responsibility of dirty diapers."

The tears spilled over his cheeks. Valka, his dear sweet Valka was alive as well.

He remembered now, the Dragon Master saying that he had his mother's eyes, and he did. Skies above, he did. Hiccup had always had Valka's clear eyes that seemed to penetrate and see more than anyone else.

"I mean, you did more to raise me than my own father did. It's only fair." Hiccup added without any trace of bitterness as he gestured around the smithy. "All of my fondest memories of Berk are here."

Stoick's breath caught, feeling as if a sword had just been thrust through his chest.

"Someone had to keep an eye on you." Gobber shook his head dismissively. "Otherwise some dragon would have flown away with your toothpick self."

The Night Fury, who had been circling around in the background, stuck it's muzzle under the curtain. The beast sniffed the air for a moment before poking its head all the way into the small room, it's acid green eyes narrowed into slits as it stared at him, a low warning rumble coming from its throat, lips curling back to show a giant maw full of razor sharp teeth.

Stoick stared back, uncomfortably aware of how vulnerable he currently was. The creature could bite off his head in one bite, and there was no way for Stoick to protect himself.

"Oh nooooo. How terrible." Hiccup deadpanned in the background as Astrid laughed. "Carried away by draaagons."

The great weight on top of Stoick shifted and grunted, and he realised that it was a giant heavy dragon that was currently sitting on his back. The Night Fury crooned what sounded like a question to the creature pinning him down, getting a snore-like rumble in return.

The Night Fury glanced back down at Stoick, giving him a look that could only be described as 'scornful' before turning away with a smug expression and trotting back over to his son. Stoick watched as the beast gave an amused warbling at his son, casually headbutting Hiccup, sending him into Astrid, who took a half step to keep them all upright.

"Oh!" She gasped, then took Gobber's hand that she was still holding and pressing it against her belly.

"They're moving!" Gobber gasped. "Oh, they're a fighter, just like their parents."

Stoick's breath caught again. His grandchild. His grandchild was moving.

"The only thing that really settles them down is when the dragons sing to them." Astrid looked amused. "Even if the dragons are confused as to why I haven't laid an egg yet."

The Night Fury gave Stoick a pointed look, then nudged Astrid's belly with it's broad flat nose, giving a soft affection croon, as if to point out that the creature could touch the babe in Astrid’s belly, but Stoick could not. Stoick choked on the gag in his mouth, silently swearing vengeance.

"Which is part of the reason why we stopped by early." Astrid said gravely, and Stoick wondered how much more news he could take tonight. 

"Valka says I'm probably fine for flying up until I give birth." Astrid said, wrapping a protective arm around her belly. "But we decided that fighting is out until afterwards. So it may be awhile before I'm back in the area."

"Trapper tried to kick her in the stomach." Hiccup growled, and all three dragons in the room echoed the sound, even the Terrible Terror on Gobber's shoulder. The sound covered up Stoick's own noise of outrage at such an act. "Stormfly stopped them, but it gave us all a bit of a scare."

Astrid nodded, leaning against Hiccup, who looked a little anxious, rubbing his hand up and down the blue scales of her arm. "I can still do air support, but the pregnancy is making me exhausted lately. Which is probably only going to get worse." Astrid looked annoyed. "So we're all going to be staying with Valka at least until I give birth."

"It's not like the Hidden World really needs Toothless and I to guard it." Hiccup said with wiry humour. Stoick blinked, finding he had no more room for shock. Of course Hiccup found the home of the dragons. Of course he had. "But if you did decide to accept our offer to live with us, we didn't want you looking in the wrong place and thinking the worst."

"And Valka promises not to cook in your honour when you do show up." Astrid smirked. And Stoick nearly choked on muffled laughter, aware he was crying again. Valka had never been the best cook, but she tried. And it'd been worth every burnt and raw bite he'd choked down.

"Thank you." Gobber's voice was thick. "But I cannae leave just yet. Your Father needs..."

"I know." Hiccup hastened to assure. He stepped forward, wrapping a clawed hand around the back of Gobber's head, resting his forehead against the blacksmith's. "When you're ready, we'll be there. Even if you're never ready, we just want to make sure you know that there is a place for you."

"You just don't want to be the only one with experience making protestetics." Gobber grumbled, and Hiccup laughed, tapping his cloven foot on the ground, making a ringing sound.

Hiccup's prosthetic foot, Stoick realised, watching the spring inside the metal contraption flex. His son was missing a foot.

And Stoick had no idea when or how it happened.

"You caught me." Hiccup didn't sound angry about it as he released Gobber, more jovial than anything. "But it doesn't make it less true."

"I'll think about it." Gobber promised with the air of having said the same thing many times before, taking the Terrible Terror off his shoulder and transferring it to Hiccup's.

"And I'll teach you how to make Dragon Iron when you do." Hiccup said with a grin, his voice both teasing and cajoling.

Dragon Iron, which the Dragon Master was the only one who knew how to make. Because Hiccup had been a smith since he was six years old, put under Gobber's eye to keep him out of trouble.

"Stop trying to bribe me, you brat." Gobber cuffed him upside the back of his head with a grin. Both Hiccup and Astrid laughed, even if the Night Fury gave Gobber a glare. "Now g'wan. Get out of here before you're seen."

"Yeah, yeah." Astrid rolled her eyes and stood up on her toes to give Gobber a quick fond kiss on the cheek. "We'll see you later, one way or another." She informed him matter of factly before putting her helmet back on and climbing on top of her dragon, settling the veil around her shoulders.

"Take care of yourself." Hiccup clasped Gobber's hand, then pulled the larger smith in for a back thumping hug before releasing him. "And say ‘hi’ to Grump for me, wherever he's snoozing at."

"Will do." Gobber agreed blithely. "Stay safe, all of you."

The Night Fury let out a warble as if to say that it was his job to keep them all safe as Hiccup fastened the helmet back on his head, transforming back to the Dragon Master. The beast gave Stoick one last pointed look as Hiccup climbed in it's back, before turning and heading out of the smithy, both the dragons and their riders losing their relaxed easy going postures.

Astrid followed a few heartbeats later, following Hiccup's soft whistle. There was the sound of wingbeats, and then they were gone.

Leaving the smithy empty aside from Gobber and Stoick. It was with a sinking realisation that he realised he probably wouldn’t get another chance to ever see Hiccup again.

The Dragon Master was essentially Chieftain to the dragons, a role that clearly kept him busy and constantly travelling all over the archipelago and beyond. Stoick knew first hand how busy having a newborn kept one as well. It would be months, if not another year before Hiccup would free to visit Berk. And there would be no way for Stoick to know where or when.

Gobber gave a great big heaving sigh before turning back towards Stoick, his peg leg sounding loud against the ground. Gobber moved the curtain aside, and then knelt down, removing the gag from Stoick's mouth.

"I'm sorry y'had to find out this way." Gobber said softly, and the thing that hurt the most is that he could feel how sincerely his oldest friend meant it.

"How long?" Stoick asked, ignoring the way his voice broke.

Gobber gave a thoughtful hum, reaching up and petting the dragon on top of him. "Almost two years now." He finally said. "I recognized Hiccup's work on the blade the Dragon Master gave Astrid when he returned ya both here. Astrid had suspected as much, it just confirmed it for her."

He'd travelled with his son for an entire day, and Stoick hadn't a clue it was him.

Stoick, who had sworn that he'd be able to recognize his son anywhere, any time, in any place.

Horror went down his spine as he remembered the accusations he'd hurled at the Dragon Master after the dragon had crashed into their camp. Threatening to kill the Dragon Master in order to find his son.

His son, who had been right there. Who had told him while hidden behind a mask, that Hiccup was alive, healthy and happy where he was, far away from Berk.

Away from Stoick.

"About a month after Astrid left, she stopped by for a visit, ta let me know she was fine." Gobber continued, nudging the dragon off of Stoick. The giant creature grumbled as it slowly obeyed, leaving Stoick still shackled and on the ground. "The next visit, she brought Hiccup, and we cried together for nearly an hour."

Gobber paused, checking his pockets for his keys, then started to work on the manacles around Stoick's arms. Stoick had broken through stronger bonds before, but he didn't have the energy in him now.

"They stop by every every other month or so to check in on me, let me know how they're doing, or send a Terrible Terror with a letter." Gobber continued quietly. "Valka's been by once as well, weren't real comfortable here and left just as quick. Too many memories of blood shed."

The manacles released with a click, and Stoick slowly moved his arms, his shoulders protesting having been twisted in such a position. He carefully sat up, turning to face the monster that had been on his back.

And found himself looking at the least dangerous dragon he'd ever set eyes upon, for all its enormous size. It was large enough that it had probably only been it's head that had been resting on Stoick's back, and looked like it was already asleep with its eyes half open.

And it looked like a giant turd. Large, brown, and lumpy.

"This magnificent fellow is Grump." Gobber motioned to the sleepy dragon, with a fond expression. "They left him with me for back up, and so I have a way to meet up with them some time. He's been running the forge fires for me. Never realised how helpful having a dragon in the smithy could be before Hiccup mentioned it, even if the great lump sleeps most of the time."

Grump slowly turned an eye in Gobber's direction, thick club of a tail bouncing a few times as if realising that they were talking about him. He briefly wondered how many months the dragon had been sleeping here and no one had even suspected.

Stoick felt as if everything he had believed in had suddenly been turned upside down and shaken about. Dragons possibly weren't evil. His son was alive. He had a grandchild on the way. Hiccup was the Dragon Master.

"Is he happy?" Stoick asked, mindful of the tears still on his cheeks. "Hiccup?"

Gobber thought it over. "Aye." He finally said, stroking his moustache thoughtfully. "The lad weren't never made for being a Viking. Living amongst the dragons brings him not only comfort, but joy. Astrid and Valka too. Once you've earned a dragon's loyalty, there ain't much that can break it. And the three of them fit among them like they were born for it."

Stoick nodded. "And you?"

"Me?" Gobber looked surprised at the question.

"Will you be joining them?" He had the invitation and the dragon.

Gobber hesitated, looking at the slumbering dragon. "I'd like to." He finally admitted. "Some day. But not any time soon."

Because he was staying here, for Stoick's sake. He'd told Hiccup that clearly enough.

Gobber was his oldest and dearest friend, loyal to a fault, and Stoick couldn't blame him for keeping HIccup's secrets. Not when Stoick's reaction to meeting the Dragon Master hadn’t been nearly so generous, even as he realised that the Dragon Master was only trying to help in his own way.

"You should join them." Stoick said, rising to his feet. Gobber looked like he wanted to protest, and Stoick stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "When you're ready."

Gobber closed his mouth and nodded. Stoick nodded back, then walked out of the smithy. The cold air hit the tear tracks on his cheeks, and he ignored it, trudging up the hill to his cold empty hut.

He had gotten his wish, to know that his son was not only alive, but thriving. Astrid too. And Valka as well, his wife living amongst dragons for nearly two decades now. He was so elated to know that they weren’t dead. 

Stoick wouldn't trade that knowledge for anything, not even with the understanding that the reason for their happiness was that they were living their lives far away from him.

-fin- (no, there are no plans for anything further in this au, but if it sparks something in you, feel free to play.)

[captain-emmajones]

everything is icy and blue (you would be here too)

Dearest @klynn-stormz​, Merry Christmas! It has been so lovely to get to know you during this past month. I hope you’ll enjoy this gift I wrote for you, and here’s to hoping we’ll get to know each other more during this new year! 

A big thank you to @cssecretsanta2020 for organizing this event, to @therealstartraveller776 for being the loveliest beta and to @carpedzem for screaming at me -- always. 

Summary: Canon divergence in which season 3B happens during Christmas time. Set after 3x16 and before 3x17 (let’s pretend more time passed between Neal’s death and Hook’s curse).  

When Hook has to adjust to Storybrooke’s Christmas traditions and learns about mistletoe, he starts carrying it around with him, all the time -- just in case Emma decides to join in the fun that was promised and kiss him. Except it doesn’t exactly go according to his plans.

 6OOO words - Fluff - Angst - Ao3

The sun is long gone when Hook and Henry finally sail back home. The stars and the moon have invaded the night sky, twinkling peacefully above their heads. 

Hook exhales a sigh of contentment, twirls of white smoke dancing out of his lips. 

“Quite chilly, isn’t it, lad?” 

Henry stands before him, spyglass firmly pressed against his right eye. It seems to take him a few seconds to register that Hook has been talking to him. 

“What?...No! I’m not even cold!” 

A quiet laughter jolts out of Hook’s mouth. Of course he isn’t cold. The lad has been looking mesmerized ever since they left port. It is a miracle he still knows his name. 

A mechanical swing of the wheel, cold fingers against cold metal -- and not warm wood, not like the Jolly -- and the small boat Hook has ‘burrowed’ slides gracefully into port. 

“Almost there, lad.” 

If Henry hears him speak, nothing in his demeanor gives it away. Hook’s heart smiles as something warm swells inside his chest. 

The sailor has to admit that Storybrooke’s docks in this late winter afternoon have proven to be a sight for sore eyes. They seem forever entrapped in shimmering clouds of misty darkness, the pavement glistening under unusually bright street lights. 

Hook frowns. 

“Tell me something lad, why are those street lights this colorful?” 

His question causes Henry to finally give up on the spyglass. He clicks it shut, and abandons the front of the boat to reach him. 

“Christmas lights. Why do you ask?” 

Although Hook has very little idea what this Christmas thing is, he gathers from Henry’s matter-of-fact tone that it is on the list of things he shouldn’t be talking about with the boy if he doesn’t want Emma to kill him. 

“Oh, just like that, lad. My vision must not be what it used to, because I couldn’t make them out properly.” 

. 

Emma’s cheeks are flushed and her nose stained with red when Hook and Henry finally reach her. Her slim body appears tense under the quivering lights of the docks, and there is not an inch of her skin showing. 

“Everything alright?” she asks, voice hoarse from the cold. 

Her head is buried beneath what she calls “a beanie”. It is also red, and it is positively the most wonderful vision Hook’s had the pleasure of gazing at in weeks. 

“I think so, Swan. The lad is quite fond of the sea. Isn’t that right, Henry?” 

Henry is polite enough to look up from the video game he was already engrossed in to nod vigorously. 

“Yeah, it was so much fun. Thank you for taking me, Killian.” Henry dedicates a smile to Hook, to which the pirate answers back: “T’was my pleasure, lad.” 

The boy then shifts his attention to his mother. “Can I go wait in the car?” he asks. 

Hook watches as Emma pretends to think, for one minute -- eyes rolling and underlip tucked between her teeth -- before she drops the car keys into his hand. 

“Thanks, Mom. Bye, Killian!” Four words and the boy disappears as a gust of cold wind curls around the two warm bodies still outside. 

Emma scoffs a little as her eyes linger on her son settling himself comfortably in the yellow bug parked a few feet away and raises her eyes to gaze at Hook. 

The immediate effect it has on his heart rate is truly ridiculous, and Hook cannot hold back his smile. 

“Thank you for taking him,” she mutters quickly, scrunching her nose -- and her words seem to burn her lips.

Hook sees himself lean into her space, smirking. 

“Why, you’re most welcome, Swan.” 

He watches as her eyes widen and scrutinize him before a slow, timid smile curls up her lips. 

Behind her back, the waves crash tenderly against the harbour, claiming it as home. 

It’s always a sight for sore eyes, Emma Swan smiling at him, and Hook counts his blessings. 

“Oh, by the way, tell me something, Swan,” and as he speaks he leans into her space even more, bending forward as if Henry might hear them. 

Emma’s eyes grow wider, but she does not back away. 

It isn’t necessary, of course, and it isn’t like Henry is paying any attention to two of them anyway but neither Hook nor Emma seem willing to take that into account. 

“Yeah?” 

Her breathy tone and bright eyes cause Hook’s heart to leap inside his chest. As he squeezes his belt between his fingers to gain some composure, Hook gathers enough courage to incline his body towards hers even more, lips dangerously close to Emma’s face. 

“The lad mentioned a Christmas celebration, and I’m afraid I haven’t been updated on this subject.” 

Hook catches a whiff of Emma’s fragrance as he backs away to gaze into her eyes, cinnamon and vanilla invading his lungs, and he has the pleasure of seeing her face crease into a wider smile. 

“Christmas, uh? Don’t worry, I’ll make you flashcards.” 

“I don't know what that is but sure.” 

By the time he finishes his sentence, Emma’s grin is dazzling and Hook begins considering freezing this moment forever in time and possibly angling his face just right so that he might meet her lips, perhaps, just perhaps -- 

“It’s a holiday from our world. It’s supposed to be religious, but for most people it’s mostly an occasion to exchange gifts and kiss under the mistletoe--”

“-- kiss under the what?” 

And Hook sees the bubble burst, just like that. A veil falls over her gaze and her smile dies away in a frown.

“Nothing. It’s stupid.” Even as she talks, her legs take a step backward, and Hook can only watch as this invisible tether between them seems to stretch and stretch. 

He wonders if she feels it too, this suffocating feeling as she pulls away. The answer is cruel: surely not, or she wouldn’t be pulling that way. 

“I see. Well, goodnight, Swan.” 

Although she’s just begun walking away, Hook knows Emma is long gone when she whispers back: “‘Night, Hook.”

.

Since Emma doesn’t seem willing to share anything with him these days, Hook settles his mind on learning more about this world’s tradition on his own -- which ends up being quite easy, as he fumbles through Storybrooke’s library. 

The Wicked Witch hasn’t shown up in two weeks now — since Neal died — which allows Hook to take some liberties with his time schedule. 

“Do you need any help?” 

Hook startles and turns around to face two, big blue eyes. 

“Belle,” he says, but it sounds a lot like a reproach. Belle’s clearly understood it because she is frowning now. 

“I saw you all alone with your books in the Christmas section and I figured you might need help to understand this world’s traditions,” she explains but any warmth has definitely escaped her tone. 

Guilt immediately circles Hook’s throat, and he is gentler when he says: “No, I’m fine lass but... thank you for offering.” 

Belle simply nods as a faint smile flickers across her face. And Hook thinks guilt is quite a vile thing because it pushes him to give up on the book in his hand Christmas Traditions to Brighten your Holidays-- silly, silly title -- and press his palm across the brunette’s shoulder. 

“Actually, you might be able to enlighten me on something…” 

A wink, and the right corner of Belle’s lip raises slightly.

“Sure, what do you want to know?” 

“Swan mentioned a kissing tradition that involved toes of some sort?” 

She’s frowning now, and it cannot possibly be good. 

“What?” Her hands meet her hips as she furrows her brows harder. “Oh you mean mistletoe!”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I said.” 

Hook watches as Belle’s grin becomes impish. “I’m not sure Emma would like me telling you this,” she begins, coy. 

“Which is exactly why I want you to tell me.” 

Belle shrugs, glances down for a bit. “Well, I guess there’s no harm…” 

.

“So you mean to tell me if this plant hangs over two people, they have to kiss?” 

Hook’s startled blue eyes are quite a comic sight, Belle must confess. Surprised glimmers glisten amidst tender blue; he looks younger. 

“Yes, that's what I mean.” 

But Belle knows Hook’s cheerful smile is merely a facade. A few minutes ago, he seemed so...lonely, when she entered the library, nose buried in his book, and Belle figures it isn’t quite fair that he ends up having to learn it all -- on his own.

No one deserves to be left alone. Especially not during the holidays. 

“And what does it look like?” 

Belle gives a little chuckle. “Why? You want to use it?” 

Hook’s answer comes out as a matter of fact. “Aye.” 

And he looks so boyish, with this Christmas book in his hand and this hope hovering his eyes that Belle cannot help but smile frankly. 

“I’m not sure Emma will fall for that.” 

“Never try never know, lass.” 

Belle sighs, scanning the shelves of books. Her eyes settle on one that she flips through rapidly. 

“There,” she points with her finger, “this plant with the green leaves and red berries? It’s mistletoe.” 

Hook peers above her shoulder. “Thank you, lady Belle.”

In a wink, the pirate has disappeared out of the library and Belle scoffs— amused, in spite of herself. He won’t be stopped, will he?  

.

Hook and Henry are playing dice at Granny’s when he figures he might as well just ask the boy for more information. 

“I’ve got a question, mate,” he begins, uncertain as to how to address the subject without sounding suspicious to those teenage ears. 

Thankfully, Henry’s little concerned about Hook as he shoves French fries into his mouth. 

“Yeah?” 

Hook tries not to look horrified as one French fry tries to escape and Henry tucks it in expertly with one greasy finger. 

“Where do you think I could find mistletoe in this town?” 

That does make Henry stop for one tiny second, eyes open wide and eyebrows raised. 

“Mistletoe? Why?” 

Hook clears his throat, looks down at his fingers stretched on the table and lies: “Mary Margaret sent me.” 

From the look on Henry’s face, he isn’t convinced. Smart boy. 

“I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve been living in this town very long. You should ask my mom about it.” 

Hook frowns. “Nah, let’s not bother her with this when she’s already busy with her...how does she say it…?” 

Henry’s eyebrows reach unprecedented height. “...Case?” 

“Aye. That.” Why would Swan bother with cases, that Hook doesn’t bloody know -- but it’s part of the things he doesn’t question. 

.

If there’s one thing Hook’s learnt over the years, it is that if one wants something badly enough, it always ends up in one’s lap. However, the tricky thing is it rarely lands softly or in an expected way. 

As Emma and he investigate the west side of the forest looking for the Wicked Witch, he quite literally stumbles onto mistletoe. 

As things turn out, it is quite a painful venture and it involves gazing for a bit too long at Emma who is a little far behind and not long enough at the vicious root right under his feet -- not that Hook truly thinks he is to blame -- and plummeting to the floor, head first, leading up to Emma falling on top of him in a colorful “HOOK”.  

Hook groans at the impact but he isn’t about to complain -- Emma falling on top of him might be the only way she’ll fall for him these days. 

Emma, on the other hand, isn’t so pleased. 

“What the hell? Can’t you look where you’re going?” she hisses as fiery green eyes pierce through his soul from under golden strands of hair. 

“I didn’t bloody mean to do that!”

Hook wishes he didn’t sound like a ten-year-old boy, but that’s what it’s come to these days with Emma. 

Emma grunts some more before rolling onto her side and kneeling to spring to her feet. 

“You’re impossible”, she mumbles, and it sounds a lot like she might just kill him as she taps snow off her knees. “Tripping in the snow as if the Wicked Witch couldn’t kill us both on sight…” 

Hook keeps his lips resolutely closed. When Swan starts rambling about him, he knows better than to interfere and possibly worsen the situation. 

She’s still dusting snow off her jeans when suddenly, she stops. And stares at him. 

Hook’s toes curl in his boots. “What?” 

Emma scowls and he thinks she’s hesitating. “You’ve got...” she starts and then seems to catch herself up and stops. 

Hook is about to ask what he’s got, but then Emma’s walking towards him, her hand raised up, and before he knows it her fingers have landed into his hair.

“Don’t move…” she whispers. Hook stands very still, feeling a blush creep up his skin, eyes lowering slowly not to stare. 

From his height, he is able to see the slight freckles dusted over her small nose, and her pink lips and, -- perhaps he ought to look at the ground. 

Emma’s face remains blank as she rummages through his hair, gentle fingers sieving through it, but a hint of red does stain her cheeks. When she retreats, the glimmer of a smile lingers on her lips. 

“You had mistletoe in your hair,” she finally explains, with that quiet, abashed tone that’s only too rare. 

Hook swallows down, heart drumming. “Thank you for the assistance, Swan.” 

But then she’s quick to avert her gaze and Hook knows the spell has been broken as the small sprig of mistletoe lands onto the snow-coated ground in a faint whisper, 

“Come on, let’s go. We’ve already wasted enough time.” 

Hook lets her stride forward, making sure she isn’t looking at him before stooping down and picking up the small plant to slide it into his coat. He promises himself to come back for more. We’re not about to waist treasures, now, are we...

. 

Hook is a subtle man, but he is aware that he cannot rightly expect Granny to be okay with him sticking mistletoe onto the window above Emma’s booth without asking first. 

So he does.  

“Why isn’t there mistletoe here? Isn’t it a Christmas tradition?” He begins, the picture of innocence, as he twirls a spoon into his cup of tea. 

Granny sees right through him. “Very cute of you to be concerned about our traditions, Hook,” she mumbles, piling up plates onto a drying rack.  

He nods, smiles even. “Fortunate are we that I’ve already stocked up on it.” 

Granny’s eyes pierce through his soul. “How fortunate indeed.” 

She lets him, of course. Not that Hook had any doubt. 

.

When Emma strolls down the B&B’s stairs to go claim her daily hot cocoa and bear claw, Henry still caught up in a teenage coma, she does think Hook looks especially weird -- staring at her with a glint in his eyes that she can only coin as mischief. 

“What are you up to?” she mumbles on sliding into her booth. 

Hook says nothing but leaves his spot next to Granny at the bar to come and sit down in front of her. Emma doesn’t have it in herself to complain -- it’s too early for that and it’s not like it would make him go away anyway. 

“Nothing, Swan. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he asks, pointing towards the window pane. 

Emma tilts her face to gaze through the window. She distinguishes a sky heavy with grey clouds of snow and looks back at him with a puzzled frown in her eyes. He is being suspicious. She squints. 

“Is that grey sky the reason you’re so cheery?” she asks, and then dives into the hot cocoa Granny just dropped in front of her. 

At least, hot cocoa is still sweet and perfect and doesn’t disappoint her. 

“Can you blame me for being happy to see you?” 

Emma nearly chokes on her beverage but she catches herself soon enough. Instead, she furrows her brows and proceeds to ignore as well as she can the stubborn leap of her heart. 

“You’re never that happy to see me,” she retorts, smothering a smile, and then drinks up another mouthful of hot cocoa. 

Why is she encouraging him? 

“Allow me to disagree, Swan. Plus, look up: there is a wonderful opportunity to make me happier.” 

“Why would I want to make you hap-?” she begins, but then she discovers what he’s pointed at with his hook and the end of her sentence vanishes from her mind. 

It takes a lot of willpower not to burst into laughter or stab him in the face with her little spoon -- which one she hasn’t made up her mind on just yet -- and instead plaster the blankest expression she can conjure on her face....

...which is in that case a silly, silly smile. 

“You’re really desperate if you think mistletoe is what it’s going to take for me to kiss you,” she retorts, and she really hopes the heat she feels blooming on her face isn’t showing up. 

From the look on Hook’s face, however, it is definitely showing. Emma wants to rip that stupid, smug smirk off his face. 

“Can you blame me for trying?” 

This time she cannot hold back the chuckle that’s bubbling inside her throat as she shakes her head. Idiot. Her cheeks hurt. 

“No, of course not, if you don’t expect to succeed.” 

And he smiles that smile, that “that’s when the fun begins” smile and stands up. 

“We’ll see to that, Swan.” 

And when Granny asks her “So, mistletoe, uh?” Emma figures the grin spreading across her face isn’t her best poker face and she pretends to be exceptionally thirsty for hot cocoa -- mostly to distract Granny’s from the flush on her cheeks. 

.

Hook is meticulous in his endeavours, and has the sense of details, Emma will give him that. 

She slowly finds out that the whole town suddenly is brimming with mistletoe. Mistletoe in the B&B’s corridor, mistletoe in the laundromat room, mistletoe in the library, mistletoe everywhere. 

Mistletoe even in the leather satchel Hook carries around everywhere with him. “You never know when the occasion might be right, Swan. You have to be prepared.” 

Although she hates him for it, she does not hate him nearly as much as she hates herself for not hating it completely. 

After all, it’s not necessarily a bad thing. 

For instance, when Mary Margaret and David notice it above their head at Granny’s, they smile and meet halfway in a kiss. The other day, Granny’s lips also found Ruby’s forehead and left a sonorous smack there -- a rare display of affection between the two women -- and Ruby then proceeded to stain Emma’s left cheek with a lovely burgundy color. 

No one knows Hook is the one hanging them there -- except for Granny -- and Emma wishes she would find it more ridiculous. (Even a little bit, that’ll do to make her feel better about herself.) 

. 

They are only a few days from Christmas Eve when, after another endless afternoon spent patrolling, Mary Margaret starts musing over the Christmas spirit in the sheriff station. 

“I just love Christmas and I am so glad we are spending it together, this year -- Wicked Witch or not.” 

Mary Margaret’s right hand brushes over her round belly while the other rests above David’s shoulder. 

Emma sits in a corner; exhaustion is weighing down her limbs, coloring her world blue. The snow seems to have sunk into her skin, crystalizing over her muscles. 

She can hardly share their enthusiasm. With the Wicked Witch on the run, she’s had little time to think about the holidays -- if not for mistletoe because of a certain someone -- and what it means to spend Christmas with her parents and her son. Henry still hasn’t recovered his memories and all she can think about is avenging Neal’s death and the life she gave up on, back in New York.

“Should we invite Regina?” Emma asks in a breath. This all starting to sound a lot like a complicated masquerade. 

She stares at the bright, yellow neon lights above her head. She’s stared at them so many, lonely times, but now their sight is almost comforting... and then, slowly, slowly, flutters her eyes shut… 

It would all be so simple, if they went back to New York. No more villains, no more happy endings to bring, no more sacrifices to make -- just Emma, a mother, and her son in a normal, quiet life. It was enough. She would be enough.

Silence. Emma cannot see her parents’ faces but she thinks she guesses quite well their expression anyway. 

And then her mother’s voice, a bit blurry, as if erupting from another reality: “I mean, yes, we probably should or she’ll be alone for Christmas Eve. We’ll just have to tell Henry this family is really close to the mayor.” 

“I still don’t know why you guys celebrate Christmas. It’s not even from your world,” Emma mumbles and yawns. 

She is tired, so very tired. And celebrating Christmas always did feel like staring at an open wound that will not heal. 

“Then we should also invite Belle…”

Emma hears her mother sigh. “In that case, maybe we should just all gather at Granny’s.” 

Emma opens her eyes. The bright neon lights above her head are no longer soothing; they glare and burn. There will be no happy ending for the Savior. 

“That makes sense,” she whispers and stands up before she can sink into another lethargy 

Emma rubs her eyes and stretches her sore muscles. 

“I gotta pick up Henry. Hook and he went sailing this afternoon,” she says as she slips one arm back into her jacket and another yawn quivers out of her.  

“You should tell Hook, Emma,” adds her mother while Emma sieves impatient fingers through her hair. 

Emma stops in her steps, arches one eyebrow. There is still so much exhaustion clinging to her bones and clouding her mind. “Why should I be the one telling him?” 

Emma’s mother isn’t impressed by her petulant tone. “Because you’ll see him tonight, Emma.” 

Emma winces. “Right.”

Christmas always sucked for Emma. She doesn’t know why this year should be any different.

. 

Emma nearly hates Hook on sight when she sees him reach the B&B alongside Henry, his arm swang around his shoulder and this stupid gust of wind playing with his thick, black hair. She rubs her hands together to warm them up. At least the cold breeze is enough to sharpen her senses and wake her up. 

It does warm her heart, to see Henry and he get along just fine, not that she’d admit it under torture or something. 

Henry greets her with a hug and Hook with a tilt of his face and an intolerable smile. As they enter the B&B together in silence, warmth curls around their bodies, hugging them tightly, and Emma unzips her jacket on the way up the stairs. 

“Go take a shower, Henry. I’ll be here in a sec,” she tells her son, palms on his shoulders to guide him inside their room. 

From the corner of her eyes, she sees Hook peer at her but she ignores him. “‘kay, Mom.” 

The door bangs close behind her back and Emma shifts to face Hook staring at her with his insufferable blue eyes and a quiet smile and that silly, silly mistletoe hanging between them -- teasing her, it seems. 

Smells of food and the faint rustle of conversations surround them as they stand in the corridor -- as if isolated in a liminal space. 

Emma blinks, breathes in, inhaling some courage, and exhales: “We’re going to celebrate Christmas all together at Granny’s.”

She can tell he isn’t following because he looks taken aback for a moment and she hates seeing him like this -- when the mask cracks and light spills in and illuminates this earnest look on his face. It’s really hard then to convince herself that she does not care -- not at all, not one bit. 

“Are you inviting me, Swan?” he asks, and Emma knows he means to sound impish but something else is rearing its head behind the sly smile and Emma feels a weird pang, down in her stomach. 

“I’m not inviting you,” she retorts but she doesn’t have it in herself to keep her armor on tonight and she feels herself smile a sluggish smile. “Everyone is invited.” 

He’s tilting his head then, in that manner that has a terrible effect on Emma’s heartbeat, and slowly bends down towards her -- his fragrance filling her lungs. 

Emma thinks then that her eyelids are definitely far too heavy, that she should sleep, and she watches herself lean into him. 

“So,” she begins again, voice hoarse and it isn’t quite because of the cold, “are you coming or not?” 

But then, somehow, something seems to shatter between them and Hook takes a step back. Emma’s stomach gives another lurch and she has to fight the instinctive spring of her hand towards his arm. 

“I’m sorry, Swan, but I don’t think I’ll be able to attend.” 

“Why?” The word comes out of her mouth before she can think about it. 

From the colored windows, Emma can make out the sun setting behind Hook’s back -- purple and pink clouds softly floating away -- and that sadness everywhere -- on his face, in her open palms with nothing to hold, in that distance between them. 

Emma clenches her jaw as she watches him, as she watches him pulling away from her. 

“I don’t think it is my place to be,” he simply answers.

Emma’s stomach twists. 

This same urge to touch him burns her fingertips, owls that she should take a step forward. She doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand why he won’t, why she feels that -- 

Instead she remains very firm on her legs and smiles a faint smile and says: “I understand. Just know that if you want to drop by, you’re welcome to.” 

A grin flickers across his face, but the glimmer dies before it reaches its eyes. “I appreciate that, Swan.” 

And then she says: “Goodnight, Hook.” 

And feels something bitter tug, tug, inside of her when he bows his head and disappears without a word. 

. 

As Emma expected, this Christmas Eve dinner in Storybrooke is...something. 

Granny’s diner is bursting with people and clatters of heels and a silly, silly jingle bell rattles the walls. For the occasion, everyone brought a dish of their own while Granny arranged the bar to turn it into some kind of buffet where the guests get to pick and choose what they want to eat. 

Emma stands on the side, an empty glass of champagne clasped between her fingers, as she watches her son queue near the buffet. 

Emma isn’t hungry. In fact, it feels like her stomach is full to the brim with heavy bricks and she cannot swallow anything else down. 

As her gaze wanders and lingers on the Christmas tree, near the stairs, Emma isn’t so sure she wants to be here at all. 

She wants to blame the Wicked Witch for her lack of enthusiasm, but the truth is this scene of profusion and happiness is quite painful to watch. 

There are so many people, and so much noise, and Emma feels like the light garlands are mere colorful spots dancing before her eyes, twirling and twirling, and they will not stop and she wishes they would. 

Hook isn’t there. In fact, since their last conversation in the corridor, he has seemed quite inclined on avoiding her -- which is fair, considering it’s exactly what she’s been doing since she got back from New York. 

Emma sighs, lowering her gaze to watch the Champagne bubbles fizzing inside her glass. Perhaps if he were here, it would be a bit more bearable. Emma frowns, fingers clutching around her glass. Nonsense. 

A warm hand closes over Emma’s shoulder. 

Emma startles, but when she looks up, she only meets Mary Margaret’s gentle green eyes.

“Emma, your plate is still empty. Are you sure you don’t want anything?” 

Emma brushes off the attention. “I’m okay for now, thank you. I’ll go get something later.” 

Dammit. She doesn’t mean to sound this cold, doesn’t mean to push her away like this, but thankfully for her Mary Margaret knows best. 

The next thing she knows her mother is sitting down on a chair next to her. 

“Is everything alright, Emma?” 

Emma hates the concern she hears in her voice, or rather she hates that it is somehow enough to tighten her throat and burn her eyes, and that there is a part of her that is desperate to feed on it. Maybe, just maybe, her mother can help her lift the bricks down in her stomach.

“I’m okay, I’m just --” 

But then Emma glances down again, and she stares at mother’s hand, brushing over this round, loved belly and Emma’s breath catches in her throat. 

Run. 

“Emma, you are…?” 

Something clatters down to the floor, and suddenly everything is too much. Emma’s eyes widen and before she knows it she’s moved up from her chair, heart pounding. 

“I need to get some air,” she says very quickly, putting her coat on with trembling fingers. 

The siren keeps blaring in her mind. Run. Run. Run. 

“Please, will you make sure Henry eats something? I won’t be long.” 

Emma does not wait for her mother’s answer to flee from the dinner, bursting through the front door. 

The icy winter air leaps onto her skin just like she expected it to and Emma sighs in relief, closing her eyes. Her legs are still trembling beneath her weight, and her blood is still pulsating at her temples, but at least she is outside now. Her lungs quickly fill in with December smells — burnt wood, misty dead leaves and something almost magical that crackles as she breathes. 

Outside, beyond the quiet chirping of insects, there is no noise. And it is incredibly peaceful. 

Emma breathes in, and out, envisioning her anxiety slowly flowing out of her body like trails of electricity. 

“Swan, are you alright?” 

Her eyes shoot open as her heart skips a beat. There he is. Hook is sitting alone, his flask of rum in hand and his legs crossed under the table. 

“What are you doing here?” she asks, voice still stammering. 

Shit. She didn’t mean it to sound like that. Too late, Hook’s smile has already faded into a mirthless expression. Emma curses herself inward. 

“It is always a pleasure to see you too, Swan.” 

Oh she hates the tone of his voice, this distant, cold tone that sounds so sad, so sad. She cannot bear it. 

“I’m sorry,” she exhales rapidly and she sees his eyebrow raise up under the surprise as she heaves short breathes. “I didn’t mean it like that.” A pause to stretch her hands, to feel the cold seize them gently. And then she tries again: “What I meant is.... why are you not inside?” 

He’s quick to strike back but his tone is tender: “Why aren’t you?” 

Although her heart still beats uncomfortably fast, he makes her smile. 

“Don’t change the subject.” 

She wonders if he can tell, if he can tell that she is still shaking, if he can tell that it is helping to simply be there and talk about something else. 

Unfortunately for her, her legs are still frozen and she stands on the stairs leading up to Granny’s as he ponders his words. 

Of course he can tell. Open book. 

“I’m not sure people really want me there,” he says. 

Emma’s stomach lurches forward just as her legs begin moving against her will. “That’s not true,” she begins, still walking towards him. 

She does not understand the wave of relief that washes over her as she strides his way, and suddenly the Champagnes bubbles are fizzing gently inside her empty belly. 

“Is that so?” He asks, his tone polite and distant. 

“Yes,” she asserts. She fists her cold palms. “People want you around. Look at Henry, he really likes you. And I --” she begins and then stops in her tracks. 

She’s standing before him now, and he’s staring at her with his bold blue eyes, his expression blank. 

He isn’t making this easier for her, but when did she make things easy for him? 

“And you…?” He’s challenging her, taunting her to jump the one step she will not take with him. 

She breathes in the cold air. 

“And I could use you around, in case something bad happens--” 

His mask finally drops, his eyebrow raising. “-- in case something bad happens?” he repeats, frankly grinning now. 

Emma’s lips quiver with a smile. “In case something bad happens,” she confirms, nodding. 

All anxiety has now departed from her body and Emma feels light for the first time in...in a very long time.   

And then Hook’s standing up in front of her, and Emma’s surprised to see how close they’ve gotten. 

There is this terrible moment during which they both stare at each other, and Emma glances down at his lips and fancies herself leaning in and -- 

“It’s a shame you’re not carrying that stupid leather satchel, tonight,” she says. 

She does not leave him time to ponder over her words before she crosses Granny’s door again. 

As things turn out, Hook fills the chair next to hers quite nicely. And by his side, the dinner isn’t that noisy and overwhelming anymore -- not that Emma would tell him. 

“Killian showed up! That’s great!” Henry looks up from his game when the pirate has gone to get one more serving of turkey. 

Emma smiles down at him. “Yeah. I’m glad, too.” Hook definitely seems at ease, twirling among the rest of the guests, one eyebrow raised as he examines the food on display. 

Clearly, he was wrong. He fits in just fine. And Emma starts thinking perhaps she was wrong, too. 

“It’s good for him, you know,” her son continues and Emma blinks to see Henry, head down, focused on his game as he speaks, “I don’t think he has that many friends here, but he definitely likes you.” 

Emma is glad Henry isn’t looking at her then, because it saves her the embarrassment of having to justify the blush on her cheeks. 

When Henry’s climbed back up to the B&B to get some sleep, and everyone’s helped to clean the dinner, and Hook proposes one last drink outside, Emma may or may not ask him to go ahead in order to retrieve a bush of mistletoe from the window above her booth. 

She may or may not slide it into her pocket and join the pirate outside. 

She lets him tell his ravishing tales of pirating and freedom, as they exchange his flask of rum. The starry sky is their only quiet companion as they sit outside until eventually the tingle of her lips cannot be ignored anymore, and Emma gets the small sprig out of her coat. 

The bewildered look on Hook’s face is a sight for the ages. 

“Pirate,” he says then, and he probably means to say more, but Emma is holding the mistletoe above their heads resolutely. 

“Tradition is tradition” she says, even as her free hand already closes over the lapel of his coat. 

“As you wish…”

Later, much later, Emma will blame the mix of rum and champagne for the way their lips met in an icy, starry kiss and Emma lingered above his lips, just a little bit, unable to get enough of him, until they were both panting outside of Granny’s -- forehead against forehead, twirls of white smoke escaping their mouths. 

And Hook will definitely tease her about her definition of “one time things” but surely that matters little when she can just grab the lapel of his coat to make him shut up once and for all. 

[wincestisasincest]

Bob Your Head (The Fellowship x Reader)

I HAD A DUMB IDEA BON APPETIT BITCHES.

Summary: You get stopped by a woodland spirit that inhibits you from continuing, before noticing your silky smooth hair. 

Words: 1616 (soz it got way longer than i intended)

Things literally just kept getting weirder and weirder for you. First, you’d fallen into this strange land. Then, you’d joined their crackhead quest. THEN you’d found all of these nerds oddly endearing. AND NOW you were to face to face with this mischievous tree motherfucker. Great.

“Please, I beg your pardon, but our quest is of the utmost sensitivity.” Aragorn communicated with the slender, brown-skinned sprite just as he would a political ally. Big mistake. 

“I am not some king to be courted by you greasy-haired hobo.” As the sprite convulsed, the rest of the trees began to grow around you, and you realized that you were completely trapped in the glenn. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that magic exists in this world, and then it comes back and smacks you in the head like that. 

“Are not the sprites kings of the forest?” Gandalf muttered under his breath. 

“It’s not up for you humans to decide what we are at all, actually.” 

“Okay, well that’s like half of the group, nice.” You said it sarcastically, out of instinct, but the sprite turned to look directly at you. You could feel the leaves begin to touch our arms and legs. Boromir, protector of literally everything he was, put his hand to his sword as the hobbits took a step back. 

“What was that?” His eyes flared with anger. Legolas coughed, looking at Aragorn, Gimli, and Gandalf like he was expecting them to do something, but the just stood watching you in fear. That’s enough fear for one group, though, and you took it on yourself to act at least a little brave.

“I said that’s half of the group, bro. Like, him,” you pointed to Boromir, “and him,” you pointed to Aragorn, “and me are human. Gandalf, I don’t know what he is, but it’s not human, Gimli, well, he’s a dwarf, that long haired guy is Legolas, an elf, and all of these peeps,” you gestured to the hobbits at your side, “are hobbits. So, uh, you got some of it right, I guess?” 

Aragorn facepalmed. Pippin seemed more intrigued by what you were doing, and almost opened his mouth to add something on to it before Merry nudged him aggressively. 

“Is that so?” the sprite raised an eyebrow. You nodded. 

“You’re not from here, are you?” You nodded yet again, suddenly aware of everything on your body that was modern, from your t-shirt under your tunic to your undergarments to your sneakers. 

“What gave it away?” You made eye contact with Frodo, who looked like he was about to cry. You recall that one night at the campfire he had shared stories of sprites that he’d learned back in the shire. He was shoulder to shoulder with Sam, looking utterly terrified. 

“Everything, human. What’s your name?” 

“Y/n” You flipped your hair back sassily. At this point, Boromir had put his sword away, but he still appeared very much on guard. 

“Where does one get a name like that?” You could swear that this man was writing a Wikipedia article on you.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Mr., uh-” 

“Elmwood. Call me Elmwood.” You swallowed the urge to call his name redundant. 

“Well, Mr. Elmwood, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you where I come from, and everything about me, if you let our lovely party pass.” You smiled, pleased with your own cleverness. Thus far, you felt as though you had been more of a burden to the group than anything, but now you were actually contributing. 

“Hm. No.” He put a finger to his chin, looking displeased. Even Gandalf was somewhat surprised, leaning in front of Legolas to get a better view of your conversation, almost as if he was expecting something. 

“Look, all we wanna do is-” You were not about to take his bullshit.

“I know what I want from you, human. You, you woman.” Ah yes. We have a real observant one here. Though some members managed to remain contained, the hobbits, especially Merry and Sam, visibly cringed. They were far more familiar with having unchangeable qualities about themselves being used as insults.

“Well spotted. Well, what is it? I haven’t got all day.” You wondered to yourself if they could smell fear, like dogs. Behind him, you noticed Aragorn reach for his sword and rest his hand on the hilt, while Legolas and Gimli exchanged a glance before getting into a stance that would easily allow them to grab their weapons at any time. Boromir whispered something in Gandalf’s ear, but Gandalf just shushed him. 

“That hair of yours. I want it.” Now everyone, including yourself, simply looked confused. Your hair had grown long and soft since you had come to Middle Earth, as your general lack of upkeep had allowed it to return to its natural state. To be honest, for a while, it was the least of your problems.

“My hair?” You reached up and touched your tendrils. They had dried well in the sun. 

“Stop this nonsense. Y/n, you don’t have to-” Boromir stepped forward. Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Calm down, Boromir. Though, he is correct y/n. We can always take the long way round if you would rather not.” The hobbits nodded affirmatively. 

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s not that big a’ deal. Just sorta weird.” You fingered around on your belt before landing on a dagger, a gift from Elrond, that you had yet to use. You slid your finger across the blade. It was mighty sharp. 

“Y/n, are you sure?” Legolas stepped forward, deeply rooted with some sort of concern. 

“Lass, I wouldn’t mind takin’ the long way round.” Gimli nodded. 

“Yeah, we’re durable!” Pippin called from the hobbit group, to which Merry and Frodo affirmatively nodded, while Sam continued to look on.

“I would hate for you to lose your lovely hair, Miss Y/n.” Sam said softly.

Gandalf stayed silent, calmly waiting for you to make your decision. 

“Uh, guys, it’s not that big a deal. My hair is not that important to me, like, it’s fine.” Before any more protests, you pulled your hair back, lifted the dagger slightly under your chin, and sliced, feeling the weight vanish from the back of your head. 

Your hands clutched a fistful of your locks, leaving you a very blunt bob cut. Though there were no mirrors to look at, you ran a hand through your hair, only to feel a wave of adrenaline run through you as you felt the emptiness behind your back. You shook your hair a little bit before making eye contact with the sprite again, who seemed awfully pleased with himself. 

“Well, here ya go,” You offered the fistful of locks to him, which he approached cautiously before snatching from you, “Now can we pass?”

“Sure, just mind where you step.” The sprite didn’t look you in the eye, but was too busy playing with the hair that was once yours. And just like that, he disappeared into who knows where, leaving a vacancy. 

You peered around. All eyes were on you, some with concern, others with pity, and only one, Gandalf, with understanding. You sheathed the dagger and put in back on your belt, before running your hand through your hair once more. 

“Are you alright, Miss Y/n?” Merry, bless him, looked at you with wide eyes. You awkwardly smiled. 

“Yeah, y’all, I’m fine, it’s really not that big of a deal. It saved us a lot of walking, that’s for sure.” You tried to ease the awkwardness as you looked forward.

“Y/n, if you require us to explain to people the situation with your hair, we would be more than glad too-” 

“Situation?” You cut Aragorn off. You didn’t mean to sound angry, but this sort of confusion was frustrating you. 

“There is no need to get angry, Y/n.” Gandalf sagely said. 

“What? No, I’m not angry, I’m just confused. Is there some hair stuff I don’t know about?” 

“I think what they mean to say,” Gimly stepped forward, “is that your hair is far more befitting of a young lad than it is a proper lady.” Everyone else nodded with agreement.

“Wait,” you paused, “Is short hair not a thing here?” Everyone looked amongst themselves awkwardly, but thankfully your own memories were there to ask you questions. Now, pretty much every man in this world, save for the hobbits, had longer hair than you, and the women all had hair down to the middle of their backs, at the very least.

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” you said understandingly, “though like I said, I don’t really care. You don’t need to explain it to anyone, it doesn’t bother me, short hair is very common where I come from. Besides, now it can stop getting in my face when I’m trying to do things.” You giggled, and you could see Aragorn and Gandalf adopt small traces of smiles. 

“It’s common where you come from?” Frodo inquired.

“Yeah, like we would call this a bob cut. Cause it bobs.” You shook your head to demonstrate the bobbing effect, and the small crowd of hobbits laughed. 

Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir still didn’t appear to be convinced, but Gandalf didn’t have time for their shenanigans. 

“Well, now that that’s settled, on we go!” He lead with his staff, to which the hobbits quickly trotted behind, followed by you, then a tentative Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir, and finally a patient Aragorn, holding up the back. 

Wherever you went after, you could feel eyes on your short hair, though you didn’t mind. It was the least strange thing that had happened to you so far. 

[chibsytelford]

Gender Reveal

*** GIF CREDIT TO @angels-reyes ***

@rebel-without-cause-x requested -  Can I get Chibs request please - reader is heavily pregnant and throughout the whole pregnancy Chibs has not felt his child move or kick and he finally feels the baby kick in the middle of the club house just something cute and fully please and maybe throw in a bit of fluff for Jax and old lady when they ask them to be god parents.

Taglist - @agirllovespasta @everyhowlmarksthedead @naytraydr @rebel-without-cause-x

Word Count - 1458.

Authors Comment - This is just pure fluff and kinda made me a bit broody lmao.

You were awoken by a fierce kick to the belly. The sun was streaming in through the blinds, and you had no idea what time it was. You didn’t go to bed until late as your husband had just gotten back from a 2 week run, and he wanted to know everything about your last 2 weeks, and how the baby was, and if there was any more movement. He has yet to feel the baby kick, as he was doing more and more runs to earn some money for the baby coming. You were nearly 6 months along. 

You knew it broke Chibs’ heart every time you told him that he missed yet another baby kick or punch. But yet he insisted that you tell him. He didn’t know that tonight, you had planned a gender reveal party at the club house. With the help from the rest of the Sons, especially Jax, who was just as invested in this pregnancy as you and your husband.  When Chibs wasn’t there, Jax was. He has been a blessing to you, and you and Chibs owe him a lot. You had everything you needed, and you couldn’t wait to see the look on your old man’s face when he arrived at the party.

The slight pain in your tummy when the baby kicked was worth it because you had a mini you growing in your stomach. You turned around to wake your husband up so he could feel the kicks but he wasn’t there. There was a note on his pillow. “Darling, I needed to nip out to the club house for a last minute meeting, I’ll be back as soon as I can – Chibs x”.

With a sigh you pushed yourself out of bed with some struggle. You were only 5 and a bit months along, but boy this pregnancy was hard. You looked like you were about to pop at any second, and everyone who saw you told you it would be twins. You knew it was just 1 child, and the doctors said it would be a very big baby.

When you revealed to Chibs he was going to be a dad, he was ecstatic. You took him some lunch over to the clubhouse in a box. Underneath his haggis sandwiches, you had put another little box. Inside the box was a mini kutte, with the words “baby” on the back. You had also bought Chibs a patch that said “daddy” for him to wear on his kutte too. His reaction was full of pure love and adoration that you melted on the spot. You went on to celebrate the pregnancy with him, and the rest of the Sons family.

You got dressed and looked at the time. 11am. The party was at 6pm. You told Chibs you were both going to the club house tonight for a dinner with everyone, and Jax was going to get Chibs out your house at 3pm so you could go to the club house and make sure everything was ready for 6. You had the help of Lyla, Gemma, and Hannah, Jax’s old lady who has been around for a few years now. When you first met her, you instantly clicked and have been pretty inseparable since.

Chibs came home at 1pm. You had some lunch that he brought back for you, but not before he kissed and rubbed your belly for a few minutes first, talking to your  not so little peanut. Your pregnancy cravings were hard to keep up with, but he managed it. Your weird combination of food recently was a hummus and coleslaw sandwich, which Chibs couldn’t stand, but he loved you unconditionally which meant he put up with the disgusting choice of sandwich. You watched some TV and you dosed off together.

An annoying buzz woke you up from your nap. Chibs was lying on your lap, with his mouth hanging open snoring away. You knew the extra runs had taken it out of him, but he was reluctant to show it. Carefully you nudged him awake and asked him to get the door. It was Jax. “Brother, I need a bit of help, can I borrow you for a couple of hours?”

Chibs turned around to look at you. You nodded at him and gave him a kiss to his lips. “I’ll be back soon lass” and gave you and your belly a final kiss before leaving. You waited until you heard their bikes take off before getting into your car and driving the short drive to Teller Morrow.

Everyone was already there and waiting for your instructions. You had asked Hannah to keep all the balloons, cakes and other resources at her and Jax’s house so Chibs wouldn’t see. You all started putting the food on the tables, setting up the bar with alcohol and of course blackcurrant juice for you. You ordered white balloons, to stay gender neutral, but inside was either pink or blue confetti. You knew the sex of the baby, but of course you hadn’t told your husband. It was so hard keeping it a secret, and you felt horrible for lying to him when he asked if you could both find out, but you always told him you wanted it to be a surprise.

You ordered food from all the local food shops, there was a mix of Indian, Chinese, Italian and Thai. There was something for everyone attending.  Your phone gave off a loud PING. It was a text from Jax saying he and Chibs were 5 minutes away. “Everyone, get to your places, they’re nearly here!”.

The club house doors opened 5 minutes later and you jumped out from behind the bar shouting “SURPRISE!!”. Chibs’ face was priceless, and you could tell you had truly surprised him. You wandered over to him to give him a kiss. “I know how hard you’ve been pushing yourself these last couple of months, to earn more money for us and the baby, and I wanted to throw you a surprise party, well actually it’s a gender reveal party”.

Chibs’ face lit up even more if that was possible. “A cannot wait to find out what gender this baby is gonne be love”.

You both headed over towards the balloons, and you handed Chibs the nerf gun you especially bought for him to shoot the balloon with. All the Sons family gathered round you both and gave you a countdown. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1!” Chibs shot the balloon and blue confetti fluttered all around the clubhouse. Your husband turned to you and scooped you up into his arms planting a big kiss on your cheek. “It’s a lad, It’s a bloody lad Y/N”.

He put you down and bent down to talk to your tummy. Just as he put his hand on it, your son kicked. Chibs looked up at you with tears in his big brown eyes. He turned around to his brothers and shouted “Ma son just kicked ma hand!”.

The rest of the party went smoothly, you were happy with your blackcurrant juice, and Chibs decided to drink it too and not have any of his beloved whisky. “A want to have a fresh and clear mind when a get ye hame later Darlin” was his excuse.

You and Chibs had spoken about who you want to be god parents to your baby. He of course wanted Jax to be god father. The bond him and Jax have could never be broken, and sometimes you thought Chibs loved that man more than you. But you also loved Jax, and he was always there for you when Chibs couldn’t be for any reason. And you wanted Hannah to be god mother. You had only known her a couple of years, but she really was your best friend, and her and Jax were perfect for each other, and perfect to be godparents.

“Should we go and ask Jax and Hannah to be the godparents then?” you whispered to Chibs who was talking to Tig and Opie.

“Aye love”. Chibs walked over to the bar and jumped up onto it. He then offered you his hand and pulled you up, and held you tightly against him. “Attention lads and lassies, we have an announcement ti make” he shouted.

“Jackie boy, Hannah, we wid be honoured if you would be the godparents to baby Telford”. You looked over at Jax who was crying, and Hannah was hugging him crying too.

“Of course we will brother”. Jax and Chibs engulfed each other in a man hug, and you and Hannah had a hug too.

“Right enough bloody tears for one day, let’s get on wi the party!” your husband addressed everyone.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

April Contest Submission #12: The Seal-Wife

Words: ca. 1,500 Setting: Scottish myth AU Lemon: no CW: coerced marriage

Long ago, when the world was younger and smaller, a township stood atop the great cliffs of Clo Mor. It was home to many, and one of those was a young woman named Anna. Anna was the apothecary’s apprentice, and a forester’s daughter besides, and so full well knew she the lore of the wild lands beyond the steadings, of the rivers and lakes, and of the great and endless Sea. She was a happy girl, or so folks would say, with a ready laugh and rosy cheeks, and her flame-kissed hair and emerald cloak left aught but smiles in their wake.

On the day her life would change forever, Anna walked the paths that led down the great cliffs, gathering golden samphire for her mistress. She stepped without a care down narrow ledges scarcely a hand’s-span across, for the heights held no fear for one who had walked their length since she could put one foot before another. Above her the sea birds squawked in their endless debate, and below her the waves beat the endless rhythm that every child learned in their cradle, and all things were as they should have been.

All things, save one.

On the rocks, far below, a patch of white seemed to glow against the umber cliffs. Anna climbed down, flower basket in hand, to see what had washed ashore. And when she had gotten a little closer, Anna was shocked to find it was not an old sailcloth, or a goodwife’s bedsheet blown far astray, but a woman. Naked she lay upon the sand, and for a horrible moment Anna thought her drowned. But her paleness was no corpse-pallor – her flawless skin was like cream on ewe’s milk, and her silver hair shone like moonlight. Anna could not help but drink down the sight of her from her stony perch. But then she spotted the tawny mass of fur piled next to the woman, like an old fireplace rug, and her breath caught. For the fur was no fur, but a sealskin, and the woman was no woman, but a maighdeann-ròin, or a selkie, as most folk named them, come to sun herself upon the shore.

Anna crept down the path as quickly as she dared, staying silent with all the craft she could muster. Two things she saw, as she came close. First was delightful confirmation that the selkie in her human form was the most breathtaking, exquisite creature Anna had ever laid eyes on, and so intent was she on her pale lips and the rise and fall of her breasts that Anna nearly stumbled from the ledge.

The second thing she saw was her brother, Kristoff, creeping down the rocky beach, one hand outstretched towards the sealskin.

Anna screamed, and half-ran, half-fell down the remainder of the cliff-side path, but it was too late. The selkie stood tall, and Kristoff was on his knees before her. In one fist she clutched fast his sandy hair. In the other, a knife of knapped flint pressed tight to his neck.

“Please!” Anna begged. She stumbled to a stop a respectful distance away. “Please, my brother wished no harm upon you. Please, do not hurt him!”

“No harm?” The selkie turned, and even through her terror the creature’s beauty struck Anna like a blow. She dragged Kristoff forward by his hair. He was a strapping lad, but she swung him forward with the same ease that Anna had swung her now-forgotten flower basket. “Tell your sister why you came upon me like a thief, man-o’-the-cliffs.”

Kristoff’s fearful eyes met Anna’s, and she prayed that he spoke true, even if his words damned him, for she’d been taught that selkies hated lies with a fury.

“It-it is said that if you can steal a selkie’s sealskin, she’ll not be able to return to the sea, and that for it’s safe return she’ll… she’ll have to… barter with you…” Kristoff’s voice trailed off, laden heavy with shame.

“Do you hear him, lass?” spat the selkie. “He intended not only to take from me what is mine, but to use it to compel me into some filthy act that he hasn’t even the gall to name.”

Kristoff’s eyes would not meet hers, and Anna knew that the selkie had the right of it. She felt disgust curdle in her stomach. “It’s just a story. A-a foolish lie boys tell each other when they’ve had too much drink and their blood is up,” Anna pleaded quietly. “Like pissing on wild oats or leaving mistletoe under the bed of a boy you like. It’s plain as day that he couldn’t have done you harm. Please, let him go.”

“Intention counts for naught, then, does it?” The selkie was still for so long that Anna was certain that her words had swayed her heart, but then she brought the flint again to Kristoff’s neck. “Nay, `twas my skin he sought to steal. And it’s his skin I’ll take in restitution.”

With a cry, Anna hurled herself at the selkie, and vainly she tried to pull the blade from her brother’s throat. But, however delicate her frame, the selkie’s arm was as iron forged, and Anna dropped to the ground at the creature’s feet, sobbing.

“Please,” she cried. “you have the right, but if it’s a skin you must have, take mine, I beg you!”

Kristoff cried out at this, but as hard as he thrashed in the selkie’s grip, he could not free himself. The selkie bent down and lifted Anna’s chin with the hand that still bore the knife. Her smile made Anna’s race. “And a far prettier skin it is, lass.” She sighed. “But… a man should pay his own debts.”

Anna clutched at her hand desperately. “If not my life you’ll take, then name your price. Anything I have, any service I can render, it is yours. Please, there must be something.”

At this, the selkie seemed to hesitate. “A… considerable offer, lass,” she muttered. She rose to her feet and offered her hand to Anna, who took it.

“My name is Anna,” said she.

“Well, Anna, tell me true: are there any oaths that bind you to the people of the cliffs? Any claims upon your person? Any debts you must repay?”

Anna did not hesitate. “No,” she lied.

The selkie pursed her lovely lips. “Say it out loud, Anna. Swear to it, on your brother’s life and fortune.”

“There are no oaths that bind me.” Kristoff sputtered at the lie, but Anna silenced him with a furious glance. “No man has claim upon me. I have no debts. So I swear, on my brother’s life and fortune. And my own.”

Her brother fell back onto the rocks as the selkie released her grip, and he gaped up at both of them.

“You are fortunate, little man, that your sister’s love speaks to your character better than your actions,” she said. “Now, go. Return to your homestead, and tell your kith and kin everything that transpired here today.”

Kristoff staggered to his feet. “I’m not going anywhere until someone tells me-“

“Kristoff!” Anna shouted. “Kristoff, please. Do as she says. And tell mother and father that I love them.”

He made as if to protest again, but finally he nodded in grim acceptance, and Anna and the selkie watched him scrabble up the cliff path until he was out of sight.

“That’s that, then.” The selkie turned to Anna, and she was somehow even more beautiful with the righteous anger gone from her face. She stepped closer still, and all at once Anna remembered that she was naked. Color leapt into her cheeks, and she had to struggle not to retreat from the selkie’s advance.

The selkie laughed softly. “Why do you blush, dear Anna? Could it be you’ve guessed what boon I intend to ask of you?”

“I have,” Anna said. And know full well she did, for if it wasn’t her life the selkie wanted, then only one thing would balance the scales against her brother’s insult.

“Lovely and canny. How lucky I am.” The selkie leaned forward, and Anna shivered as her lips brushed against her neck. Her hair smelled of salt and something wild. Anna yelped as teeth sank into her flesh, but in a moment the pain was replaced by a breathless, luscious feeling that rolled from her scalp to her toes and back again. She would have sagged to the ground if the selkie hadn’t held her fast.

“Elsa,” she mumbled to the air, though she knew not why.

The selkie held her tight as she caught her breath. “My mark will let you live in comfort `neath the waves for so long as you bear it,” she whispered into Anna’s ear. “And you read my name from it, just like that! Truly, the moon smiles down on me, to bless me with such a fine wife this day.”

And from the cliffs of Clo Mor, far above, Anna’s brother watched as the selkie led his sister by the hand into the great and endless Sea, until the red of her hair was lost in the churning foam.

[mo-nighean-rouge]

Gone - Epilogue

Jamie Fraser prepares to send Claire and Faith through the stones. A last-minute interference changes everything.

A/N: This is it, folks. Again, thanks to @ianmuyrray for betaing, and to all of you who have read along, or might just be starting now.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | AO3

November 20, 1748 | Paris, France

“Seas, a bhailach,” Jamie whispered to the beast as he brushed its shining coat. He’d taken quickly to the horses in Mary Hawkins Randall’s stables, but the black sorrel pony had stolen his heart for its similarity in appearance and character to his own Donas.

The horse was still riled after his afternoon jaunt with Faith. The lass had more confidence than experience on horseback, and had led the horse into mischief with a puddle, even under her father’s close supervision.

Jamie had sent Murtagh upstairs to deliver a squirming and filthy Faith to Claire. In fact, it had been quite a while since, and he hoped the man was not dallying his time flirting with Suzette, who had recently come into the Randall estate’s employ.

Dubh, aptly named by Faith, huffed impatiently as Jamie recalled Grey’s promise to release Donas, Brimstone, Thistle, and Blanc within ten miles of Lallybroch.

A week after their arrival in Paris, Jenny had written of Ian’s surprise to open the front door one morn and find all four beasts grazing in the kailyard.

It warmed Jamie’s heart to imagine the sight, and made him long for home all the more.

He hadn’t long to wait, as their parole was nearly complete and they would soon see the shores of Scotland once again. Much as he was willing to sacrifice the sight to see to his family’s safety, he was looking forward to leaving the confines of the city.

Jamie figured it couldn’t come at a better time. While Mistress Randall had welcomed their company in the lonesome and overwhelming time she had found herself, she had recently made a good match. According to Claire’s account, Robert Isaacs made Mary very happy, and the engaged couple were looking forward to staffing their well-established estate.

So long as the bairn arrived safely within the next few weeks, the Fraser family would stay whole and make it back to their homeland. Jamie couldn’t wait to re-introduce his children to Lallybroch, and most of all, watch the years touch Claire…

Jamie’s thoughts were interrupted by the swift re-entry of Murtagh, balancing Faith on his shoulders. While the lass wore a fresh dress, her face had only been wiped quickly, still smudged with streaks of dirt.

Murtagh grinned. “Ye’re needed upstairs, a charaid. The bairn seems to be comin’ quick, and Claire’s asking fer ye.” He bounced Faith once, and she broke into giggles.

Jamie dropped the brush and let it clatter to the stable floor. He wasn’t sure he could keep his jaw from doing the same. “Ah dhia, she’s laboring now?”

“Aye lad, get tae it. Ye don’ want to miss the birth of your son.”

Jamie nodded, clapping his godfather on the shoulder. He felt his eyes mist over as he studied the man that has served his family since before he was born.

“Ye have the bairns? The others?” he asked, stammering, his mind rushing to catch up.

“O’ course, just fetch us when ye’re ready.”

“Thank you, a ghostidh… for everything.”

“Och,” Murtagh exclaimed. “Dinna get soft on me now. Go see yer lady.”

Jamie raced out of the barn, heart hammering. That she be safe, she and the bairn...

“Da!” Fergus called in the corridor, the lad balancing a stack of clean rags from the kitchen. Jamie stopped short to gasp for breath.

The lad had called him such by a slip of the tongue during their first weeks back in Paris – so used to hearing Faith use the precious word – then had immediately blushed scarlet.

Jamie had simply clasped his shoulder and returned with a simple “Aye, mon fils?” as he had called the boy for more than a year.

Fergus had cautiously tested the word ‘Mama’ out on Claire not long after, bringing her to tears as her heart soared.

“You heard about Mama?” Fergus exclaimed, rocking back on his heels in his excitement.

“Aye,” Jamie cracked a smile. “Gi’ those here, I’ll take them on my way. I’d like ye to bide in the barn with Murtagh.”

The lad’s face fell. “But if Mama needs me –”

“Dinna fash about yer mam. Faith needs ye.”

Fergus brightened. “You can count on me, Da.”

Jamie concentrated on the soft weave of the old towels in his hands as he mounted the stairs two at a time, eager to reach his wife. In his hurry, he tripped over the blonde porcelain doll that had been cast aside and forgotten earlier. He shuddered. Annalise had once gifted the toy to his daughter, and its resemblance to the woman herself was that bit frightening.

He burst through their bedroom door, nearly plowing over Mary, who was setting water to boil as if she were lady’s maid to Claire, rather than the other way around.

“Apologies, Mistress,” he murmured, grasping her elbows to keep her upright.

“Jamie!” she exclaimed, squeezing his arm. “You’re just in time.”

He was careful as he squeezed back, unsure of the strength of his grip, especially as his eyes landed on Claire with her face red and scrunched in pain, breathing rhythmically at the gentle direction of Mother Hildegard. Her eyes popped open to meet his, relief swelling in their whisky depths.

Jamie crossed the room in four steps, his hand finding Claire’s naturally as he knelt to kiss the old woman’s wrinkled cheek. “Good afternoon to ye, Mother.” Mary had housed the nun in one of her many guestrooms for the past week, well aware that Claire’s time was quickly approaching.

He brought Claire’s warm, sweaty hand to his lips as he kneeled behind her stool, content for her to use him in any way she wished. He’d missed the birth of their first child, and had since sworn she’d never go through the experience alone again.

Just then, Claire braced her back against Jamie as she wailed in pain. Her short fingernails scored Jamie’s palms as the contraction crested and she breathed out deeply.

“That’s a braw lass, a ghraidh,” Jamie whispered, placing a kiss on her shoulder and caressing the swell of her belly.

Several sharp contractions later, Mother Hildegard continued softly coaching at Claire’s knee. “Keep breathing, my child. I can almost see the head.”

“Jamie,” Claire croaked, short of breath. “If anything happens…” she whispered, just as the powerful force overtook her body once again and she screamed.

“I willna hear that talk, Claire,” he answered sternly, massaging her lower back.

“Push, Claire.” Mother Hildegard’s voice rose above the noise of the room.

Jamie felt Claire inhale deeply once more, then gather her strength from him for the task ahead.

 ________________________________________

 Claire smiled through her tears, admiring the little one cradled in her arms. Mary had bathed the baby as Claire delivered the afterbirth, then passed their blessing swiftly to Jamie, who had admired the sight with flooded eyes until tiny lips had begun rooting around for sustenance.

Their newest child had latched on with impressive speed and skill, inspiring jokes about Jamie’s own appetite.

The man himself eased carefully to Claire’s side, placing a steady arm around her and pressing his face into her neck, just watching her sustain the new life.

Little brown eyes popped open as the meal ended, searching for something familiar in their new surroundings.

“Hello, baby boy,” she cooed. While the lad’s red fuzz stood out starkly from the moment he appeared, she was thrilled to find something of herself in him.

Jamie reached over her shoulder to brush the boy’s diminutive cheek with his broad thumb. “He’s a braw lad, Sassenach.” He kissed her hair. “Thank ye for our son.”

Claire grasped the hand he had left on her shoulder, swaying gently with the baby. “He’s just as much a gift from you to me. We’re so lucky to have him, all of them.”

A gentle knock sounded from the door, followed by Mary peering around the corner, her own wee Denys at her heels. “Ready for some introductions?” she asked softly.

Claire sniffled and wiped her eyes. “Please, bring them in.”

“Mama!” Faith scrambled in, dragging Murtagh behind her. She approached the bedside slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of the bundle in Claire’s lap.

Jamie stood to give her a boost upward, settling their daughter between them easily. “What do ye think, a chuisle?”

“So bonny!” Faith whispered, reaching to grasp Claire’s free hand. “Ye did it all by yerself, Mama?”

Jamie chuckled. “She did, lass. Wasn’t that canny of your mam?”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Da cheered me on.” She squeezed Faith’s hand. “I’m glad you like him, Lovey.”

Murtagh slapped Jamie’s shoulder before leaning over to pat Claire’s. “A wee lad, then?”

“Mmmph,” Jamie replied, grinning widely. 

Fergus appeared in the open doorway. “Look who is up from her nap!” Holding tight to his hand was a toddler with red hair already trailing halfway down her back, rubbing her eye with her free hand.

She perked up at the sight of her parents, dashing to the bedside and slamming into Murtagh’s knees. He scooped her up swiftly, depositing her on the mattress knees first. She scrambled closer to Claire’s knee, looming over little brother.

“It’s the bairn?!” she squealed, bouncing in place.

“Gentle, Bree.” Faith scolded. “He’s still wee, see?”

“Sae wee,” Brianna whispered reverently.

Jamie chuckled. “You were this size once too, a nighean ruaidh.”

“And you were even smaller,” Claire added, tickling Faith’s chin.

The girls exchanged dubious looks.

“Nah.”

“Canna be!”

Fergus stopped next to Claire. “How do you feel, Mama?”

Claire’s heart warmed for the son of her heart. He’d offered to wait on her hand and foot these last few weeks, to the point that she’d laughed and told him to take a rest for himself.

Claire leaned her head against him as his arms folded carefully around her neck. “Just fine, my love. Would you like to hold him?”

Fergus nodded, his eyes wide.

Claire eased the baby into his arms, reminding him to be gentle of his head and neck. She welcomed Bree into her arms not a moment later, smoothing hair out of her blue eyes.

Murtagh cleared his throat, ineffectively covering his emotions. “So who do we have here?

Claire met Jamie’s twinkling eye, nodding her approval.

“This is Robert Franklin Murtagh William Fraser.” He swallowed deeply. “Our second son.”

Murtagh’s bushy eyebrow had creased at the second of the boy’s names, but he stood visibly straighter at the third. “’Tis a fine name.”

“That’s so many,” Bree stage-whispered, to the amusement of everyone else.

Faith rolled her eyes dramatically. “No more than you, Brianna Ellen Claire Jan-dit Fraser,” she taunted.

“Alright,” Claire sighed. “The lot of you all have as many names as the others. It’s certainly not a competition.”

Jamie chuckled. “That’s enough o’ that. Stop bouncing. We should let your mam get some rest.”

The children each kissed their mother’s cheek, then let their father herd them out the door as he cradled wee Rob to his chest.

Claire watched them file out the door one by one, each stopping for one more glimpse of her and the baby. She waved at them fondly, blowing kisses. Before Jamie could follow them into the corridor, she caught his hand.

“Stay?” she asked him.

“Aye.” A smile tickled his lips. “I willna go far.”

Claire patted the empty space next to her. “Here.”

He turned, then folded her into his side carefully.

She rested her chin on his shoulder, watching their son sleep until her own eyes drifted shut, a promise of their life together, and their family’s to come.

April 17, 1967 | Oxford, England

Professor Roger MacKenzie Wakefield shuffled through the ever-growing piles of paper crowding his office desk. Amid his lesson plans, papers still to grade, and disorganized files, he’d be surprised if he set off for home in time for supper.

Even still, his curiosity overwhelmed him as he broke the seal on an envelope of research left for him by his colleague. Ever since he was a boy, fascinated by the solemn disappearance of Claire Randall, he had pieced together clues about her whereabouts with the help of his beloved uncle. Her husband’s death last year had only energized his search. Perhaps if he could find answers at long last, it would bring meaning to the most discouraging period of Frank’s life.

More and more, the evidence had begun to point toward something not of this world, much as Mrs. Graham had insisted over the years. He retrieved the file that he had been accumulating for decades, thumbing through what he already knew. The marriage certificate for one James Fraser and Claire Beauchamp, the Deed of Sassine willing the Lallybroch Estate to a James Murray, and a curious pamphlet of medical advice attributed to a C.E.B.R. Fraser.

Roger dumped the new stack of documents on top of the current chaos. The top sheet caught his eye, heart skipping a beat as he read the photocopied print dated from the 1770s, with only the last digit smudged:

"It is with grief that the news is received of the deaths by fire of JAMES MACKENZIE FRASER and his wife, MISTRESS CLAIRE BEAUCHAMP FRASER, in a conflagaration that destroyed several crofts on the estate of Broch Tuarach. Their five children: FERGUS CLAUDEL, FAITH GLENNA, BRIANNA ELLEN, ROBERT FRANKLIN, AND JULIA ELIZABETH, also perished and now lay at rest with them."

Roger shook his head and blinked. Once. Twice. All the hope and warm imaginings he held for the kind woman that he was almost sure he remembered, all for them to be dashed with one headline bearing tragedy.

If there was something, anything, he could do for her and her family, he would in a heartbeat.

He stilled, skin tingling. Christ, but who was to say there wasn’t…

FIN

*Note: The obit is adapted from a screenshot of the news clipping from Outlander Season 4, all credit due.

[dopescotlandwarrior]

The Dancer-Chapter Ten

                        A special thanks to @statell​ for your help and wisdom

Previous chapters on AO3

Chapter Ten

Jamie’s image swam before Claire’s eyes. He was breathtakingly handsome even six years later. She wanted to speak but couldn’t and suddenly felt strong arms pick her up. She heard him try to wake her and kept her eyes closed wanting the closeness for another moment.

“I’m alright Jamie, please put me down.”

Ye fainted lass. Let me help ye home.” He walked her to the curb and whistled for a taxi keeping hold of her hand.

“I’ll see ye home Sassenach.”

“No, no. Not important, I’m sure you have people waiting for you.”

Claire looked around for a wife to come and take him away from her. Jamie looked around following her eyes.

“Are ye runnin from someone Claire? You keep looking for somethin. Are ye in danger lass?”

“Yes. I don’t want the memory of seeing you with your wife Jamie.” Her tears fell again and she gave up her attempt at bravado. It looked like she crumbled in front of him and he whistled again for a taxi.

“I havena a wife Sassenach. It’s true I tried to fill the whole ye left in me, but it didn’t work. I never married and left the relationship.”

He spoke softly to her, not wanting to cause her any more pain. She was just as beautiful, but her face told a different story. He could see the pain she had endured but there was a new light that came from within. He desperately wanted to know what that was. He chose his words carefully.

“Will ye have coffee with me so we can talk? Just for a bit.”

He seemed so desperate to keep her there and she felt her tears come again. Maybe if they could start fresh, strangers that just met, but there was a traumatic history between them.

“No Jamie, I can’t. I will get into a taxi and let you get on with your day.”

He held her arm like she was a lifeline, “I’m not strong enough to do that Sassenach.”

Claire’s mind was like a tornado standing so close to him. She felt love pulling her to him like six years had vanished from her memory. But it hadn’t, and she couldn’t face going through all that again with him.

She looked into Jamie’s blue eyes and thought about eyes that very color waiting for her at the daycare. Her heart was closed to him but her son’s wasn’t, they had a right to know each other and forge their own relationship. She pulled a notepad from her purse and wrote her address.

“Would you come to dinner tonight Jamie?”

Jamie pulled against the curb in the late afternoon and looked at the address on the mailbox. The small house seemed to suit her, he thought. He wouldn’t care if they were meeting in a cardboard box, he was just happy to spend more time with her.

His heart pounded after he rang the doorbell and his ears strained to hear footsteps coming toward him. The door opened and he smiled at air until he noticed movement below him. Dropping his eyes he saw copper-colored hair, soft and curly, and blue eyes peer at him like he was a giant.

“Mommy! Da is here to eat with us!”

Jamie felt his world tilt as the boy opened the door another three feet and smiled up at him. Jamie looked around for Claire feeling like he was dreaming of this child that now took his hand and pulled him inside before running to find his mother.

Claire came around the corner wiping her hands on an apron.

She smiled at Jamie with a look he could not read. Dropping to her knees next to her son she held him and smiled excitedly.

“Are you happy to finally meet your da, sweetheart?”

The boy shook his head and his curls tumbled against his face. He broke away from his mother and ran down the hall. Before Jamie could think of something to say the boy came running back with a large photo album and placed it on the couch. He scrambled up and pressed his back against the cushions asking Jamie to look at the pictures with him.

Claire was not offering to run interference for them, her son had things well in hand and this was for him, for them, so she went back to preparing dinner. She washed her pans and set them to dry hearing the conversation continue in the living room. She pushed back hard on her tears, wishing it was she who sat closely and talked with excitement. So many feelings, love, fear, abandonment, desire, hope, and hopelessness were swirling in her heart. She pulled her shoulders back and closed them out of her mind. Tonight was for Brian and his father.

Jamie looked into this beautiful boy’s face and saw his own eyes and jaw, his mother’s cheeks and forehead. He was a picture of both of them, and each time the child smiled he felt more of his heart melt.

“What is yer name, how old are ye?”

“Brian James Beauchamp, I’m five.”

Little Brian pointed to pictures saying the names of the people in his life. Page after page was filled with pictures of Jamie and Jamie with Claire. Brian knew the back story for every picture, the puppies attacking Claire with the baby goats in the background. Jamie looked at her face, the way the sunlight seemed to light up the joy in her eyes and smile.

“This is when you and mommy climbed up a mountain and saw your house way far down there. This is a room on the top of your house where you kept all your toys. This is mommy in her fancy clothes and a big car to drive her to a party. That’s you da, laughing with mommy.”

“This is Geillis, my Godmother. She comes to stay with us and makes Mommy laugh. I can stay home all day when Geillis is here.”

Jamie could not hold his tears back any longer. He was overwhelmed with meeting his son for the first time, a braw lad with an infectious joy like his mother. He pulled the boy closer and asked him to continue.

Claire held dinner back a bit to give them some time. Brian was over the moon at meeting his father and Jamie was understandably shell shocked, but they seemed to be getting on.

“This is Jadda, and this is Jaddati.”

Brian seemed to linger on their pictures and Jamie could feel how much he loved them. He didn’t want this pictorial of Claire’s life to end so he asked about the other pictures as it became clear she had lived in Egypt for some time. Someone had captured Claire kissing the nose of a reclining camel in front of the great pyramid and another of her holding Brian near the Sphinx. Brian got quiet and ran his finger over the picture of a man. Tall, dark curly hair, kind eyes.

“This is Madu. He went to heaven without us. He is Habbi.”

Jamie could feel the boy going inside to his grief and turned the page asking about other pictures. Brian looked up and smiled at his mother running her fingers through his hair.

“Da likes our pictures, Mommy.”

“That is most wonderful sweetheart will you two come and eat please?”

Jamie tried to catch Claire’s eye, but she averted them and kept him from seeing her all through dinner. He wanted so desperately to talk to her about all that happened in the last six years. It stole his appetite and made him feel weak.

“Get to your bath young man and then come and say goodnight to da.”

Brian was very reluctant to leave and took Jamie’s huge hand. When he looked up at his father Jamie felt his heart jump and wanted to pull him into his arms. Brian did it for him, he lunged at Jamie’s waist and clutched his father with all the strength he had. Jamie looked down at this beautiful boy hold him and he sucked air to the blinding tears. The innocence of that moment, a boy clutching the father he always wanted was Claire’s undoing. She jumped up to start clearing the table and running water into the sink, looking every few minutes as Jamie spoke Gaelic in his soft voice and Brian held on.

Claire tried to think fast. She knew that Jamie wanted to talk, and she was afraid of the emotion and love she still had for him. She had lived a completely different life in Egypt, accepted into a family of parents, cousins, sisters, and brothers. They pulled her into the only family she had ever known and prayed she would stay in their household after Madu died. They helped her heal from a devastating betrayal of someone she loved. Now, here he was wanting to talk to her and leave his footprints all over her heart again.

Claire found Egypt to be as foreign as living on the moon. She loved Madu’s family but decided it was time to go back to an English-speaking country. London was her choice because she would never return to Scotland.

Jadda, Madu’s father held her close and promised to send support once she was settled. Jaddati, Madu’s mother cried and held onto her saying blessings and kissing her cheeks. Jadda sent one thousand pounds every month and lavished Brian with gifts on his birthday. Claire was ever grateful for their support but had started sending any funds back she didn’t require.

Claire thought back to her first six months in London when all she could afford was a studio apartment. She worked as a cashier at the hospital cafeteria, but Brian’s daycare costs were more than she made working full time. It was a dark time for her. Jadda called to give her an address where she could live. He told her little about how he knew of this place and she always suspected he bought it so they would have a decent place to live. Especially since the rent was eighty dollars per month. It was like moving into a mansion on a quiet street where Brian would later walk to school from each day. That was three years ago, although it seemed like so much longer.

Brian still held Jamie’s hand and looked at his mother with tears streaming down his face. His look was breaking her heart because he didn’t want to leave Jamie.

“Sweetheart you will see him again. Your Da and I will talk about it tonight so don’t worry, okay? Now, little man, to the bath.”

Brian seemed to feel much better about letting go of Jamie after his mother’s promise and he ran out of the kitchen leaving two shattered hearts alone with each other.

“I’m sorry for the shock of it Jamie. I couldn’t find the words to tell you this afternoon, so I just had you come over. I’ve wanted to find you since we’ve been back but there were things I couldn’t face. I always thought one more year and I’ll be strong enough. I’m sorry.”

Jamie just stared at her letting his love and compassion for her show in his eyes. He knew they had to talk about what happened to them before they could move forward but Claire was unwilling, too afraid.

“He is a braw lad Sassenach. You have done a spectacular job raising him. Ye made a decision this afternoon that will forever change all of our lives, and I thank ye for being brave enough to do it. I’ll no ask for more than ye want to give. if I can be in his life, I will be forever grateful.”

“I have told him stories about you since he was too young to understand speech. He took to you like I’ve never seen him do to anyone. Do you want to come for dinner once a week and see how it goes?”

“Thank ye Sassenach. Can I help ye clean up?”

“No thank you, this is the easy part.”

She remained on her feet and suggested the same night next week. Jamie stood and said goodnight, feeling his heart hurt as he drove home. Claire had drawn a line between them and made it clear that her life was closed to him.

The next week Brian gave him a painting he made in school and Jamie’s heart nearly burst. He and Brian would spend the hour before dinner, talking and laughing until they were called to eat. Claire was always cordial but remained closed off to him. As the months went by he managed to come extra days when there was something to fix in the home, and he was rewarded with a second dinner. Brian would erupt with joy on these nights because he was his father’s assistant. Sometimes Jamie would coax him to do the repair himself, always under the watchful eye of his da.

Jamie would steal long glances at Claire when her back was turned. All attempts at seeing her as just the mother of his child went straight to the trash because he would never see her as anything but his love and soulmate.

Claire ran for her train pulling her phone out and panting hello to Geillis. They talked through the train ride and Claire’s walk home. Geillis listened to the incredible story of Jamie’s re-emergence and meeting his son. She was incredulous at Claire’s cold heart.

“Yer forgettin that I know yer heart lass. Why don’t ye talk to him, tell him how ye feel. Maybe he has a story of his own. Maybe he will win yer trust back. It sounds like he’s tryin Claire. I did hear that he was arrested twice at the hospital tryin to see ye. They had to tase him in the neck because he was a raging bull.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t know. Did you ever hear what happened to Jenny?”

“Still in prison. Abandoned by her girls and Jamie I guess. He didn’t show up for her trial.”

They talked another fifteen minutes and clicked off. Claire sat down hard on the couch and thought about the new information. Jamie had tried to see her and abandoned his sister. That is not what she had led herself to believe but it changed nothing.

The next time Jamie showed up for dinner Brian let him in and his eyes got huge at the triple bouquet Jamie handed him. He pointed to the kitchen and Brian barely got them to his mother due to their size.

“Mommy! Take these because they’re heavy!”

“Oh! Aren’t they beautiful!” Claire looked at the card that said, “Happy Birthday to the best girl.” She smiled at Jamie because he remembered.

Jamie came back into the kitchen after saying goodnight to Brian. He watched her back while she finished dishes.

“I have lived a life of bein right, always. I have taken it for granted that I’m always right and never question my actions. But there was one night I was dead wrong, my thoughts, my decisions, my actions, and what I allowed to happen, they were all wrong. Every single minute of this night I was wrong, and I haven’t found my way to the other side yet. I’m stuck there, watchin each minute unfold, like a torturous nightmare night after night. Jamie’s eyes were lost in his memories and his voice grew quiet.

“I loved a girl once; she was pure as the driven snow. She made me see the stars at night and hear birds in the morning. Before long I was looking up each evening to watch the sunset.”

“She made me feel whole and brought my heart back to me. I wanted her with me all the time because she took the sunshine with her when she left. I still see her in my dreams, lookin at me bursting with love. I fear I will never be the same without her. I have tried and failed because she is my soulmate. If I could just tell her what an ass I was, how wrong I was to judge her and turn her away I might find some peace. I fear she thinks I didn’t love her. I did. I was hurt and jealous and handled her confession in the worst possible way. I will bear the loss of the purest heart because of what I did. I cannot bear her thinkin she wasn’t loved and cherished. She was and is.”

Jamie had inched closer to her as he talked. This was his big gamble, so he threw caution to the wind and put his heart within her striking distance. For months she had kept to her own space, and he was dying inside so he took this chance.

If ye hear nothin else lass, please know you were loved for who ye are and I was wrong about everything. And I…

Claire dropped the dish she was washing and yelled “enough!” Jamie looked at the ground and started to turn around until he felt her arms come around him and hold him close. She hugged him as hard as she could and cried.

The impact of her body made him gasp as his arms went around her in a lifeline hug.

“Jesus Sassenach, ye feel so good, I’ve missed ye so much. I meant every word lass; I was wrong on the tallest order and so much heartache followed. Don’t let go love, please, don’t let go.”

He acted purely on what his heart told him to do in the next minute. He picked her up and laid on the couch with her so she could feel his strength and warmth, come what may.

Claire could not let go. The six years of heartache and loneliness for him locked her arms around her lost love and she felt frozen there. Jamie spoke to her in Gaelic. Softly, he told her the story of true love, loss, and finding love again. She pressed her head to his chest and listened to his voice resonate and vibrate deep inside him. She fell asleep and he still held her, to keep her warm, and give him as many minutes as possible to touch her.

“I love ye Claire, yer the best person I’ve ever known and I am sorry, truly.”

Claire had woken up in time to hear every word of that sentence. She was crying again but that didn’t stop her from pulling herself to his face where she kissed him over and over. She didn’t care about the consequences; she didn’t care about anything except feeling his lips on her and his body pressed to hers. She knew the truth of what he said, they completed each other, they would live half a life without the other and he would bring the light back to her wasteland existence.

She clung to him and cried and kissed like her life was coming back online after a long hibernation.

Jamie picked her up and walked her to the bedroom where he laid down with her and took over the kissing. He held her face and kissed her so softly she nearly cried again. He felt Claire unbutton his shirt and she pushed it off his shoulders before pulling her own off with her bra so she could feel the skin that she had missed. Jamie held himself back and let her lead, not wanting to make a single mistake. It was getting harder as her nipples pressed against his chest as she gasped for air between kisses.

“Please love me Jamie.”

From her lips to his heart he touched her softly, hesitantly, as if she would change her mind any minute. He was so gentle with her, so giving of his warm hands and mouth and when he pushed into her, he was focused on her eyes the entire time. It was the sweetest moment when two hearts surrender to each other.

Jamie slipped out of her bed as the sun was rising. He pulled the quilt up to her chin and watched her for several minutes. He left a note on her side table asking her to bring Brian to his office as soon as she could. He had something to show her.

Two days later, Claire moved slowly down the road looking for the address of Jamie’s office. She parked close by and when she got out of the car, she almost fainted. The address was a used bookstore and the sign above said, “The Sassenach’s Books.”

Brian was in no mood to walk at his mother’s slow pace and he pulled her along by the hand, anxious to see his da. Once inside, Claire’s eyes went wide at the two stories lined with bookshelves, music, artwork, a wall full of announcements, schedules of free classes, and book clubs. A man approached carrying a stack of hardbacks that blocked his view and he crashed into a display table as the books toppled.

“Dear God.”

Claire spun around at the sound of his voice, one she remembered from long ago. John looked like he was seeing a ghost, a very missed ghost. He hugged her for a full minute and noticed a small person with copper coils looking up sternly at him touch his mother.

John stuck his hand out and formally announced he was John Grey.

Brian shook his hand but was very shy toward him allowing time for John to fill his eyes with his good friend Claire. They talked for several minutes before John leaned closer.

“Jamie is here Claire.”

“Yes, I know that is why we’re here.”

“I really don’t know why I feel you two even like me since you never shared anything before, and he doesn’t share anything now. It’s okay. I am so happy to see you, fit as a fiddle. And the wee man behind you is Jamie’s son, is he not?”

Claire smiled at John and nodded her head.

“Da!” Brian broke away from his mother and ran to Jamie when he saw him. Jamie tousled his hair and looked up for Claire. When he found her, his stomach flipped over and his heart rate shot up. She was more beautiful than he remembered with her long graceful body and special eyes. His mind video relived her taking a leap of faith the other night, acting on her desire to hug and kiss him, thank Christ he thought. He replayed feeling stunned when she pushed his shirt off and then her own. The exquisite feel of her skin was intoxicating, and he was drunk with the feel of her. When she fell asleep in his arms she jerked herself awake, twice, and scrambled to hold onto him, like he might escape. He cried both times because it was just like the first night with the dancer. They were the same woman, with the same needs, and the same love for him.

Claire smiled shyly at Jamie and he at her. Brian looked from one parent to the other a bit confused because they seemed to be talking without using any words. This was weird but he was pretty sure his mother liked what they were saying.

“I have a special room Sassenach, I want to show ye.” He led them to the other side of the store and pointed to an arched doorway. Above the door it said, “Classic collections” and below that, “My Sassenach’s Heart.” When Claire walked into the room she smiled and touched the volumes of Tolstoy, Dickens, Hemingway, Wolfe, and many others. She felt the presence of the great writers and somehow felt them say welcome back. She looked up at Jamie with tears in her eyes and shook her head because she couldn’t believe how he had kept her with him all these years.

Brian was not happy with this turn of events and moved between his parents with a warning look at Jamie to stop making his mother cry. Jamie took a step back from them to show little Brian he meant no harm.

“Yer mam is the most important person in my life lad. This room, this store, and the work I do is a tribute to her ever-present spirit in my life. You were both lost to me for many years, and this is how I kept the joy in my life. I see her name every day, I bargain for her favorite authors, just in case she walks in here, or the other six stores, she will find her peace and loved literature in the store that bears her name.”

Claire was overcome by Jamie’s words and the way he kept her alive in the special name he gave her long ago. She flew into his arms and held him so closely, sniffling back the tears that came pouring out with his admission to his son. With both arms around his middle she looked up at the eyes she loved, and they kissed like it was the very breath that kept them alive.

Brian was confused until he felt Jamie’s hand in his hair, then on his shoulder, pulling him into his father’s side, letting him know he had one arm for this mother and another arm for him.

The End

[thetravelerwrites]

Wrykas (Minotaur) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Female Human/Male Minotaur Additional Tags: Exophilia, Minotaur, Sex, Oral Sex, Princess, Mercenaries, Light Dom/Sub Relationship, Chubby Reader, Reader-Insert Content Warnings: Kidnapping, Abusive Parents, Neglectful Parents, Words: 6349

A submission for @hufflesmonsters​! A princess is kidnapped fairly regularly by an opposing kingdom's monarchy to spite her parents, but she comes to regard the time away from her neglectful parents as vacations. One day, a single mercenary comes to retrieve her, but a sudden snowstorm forces them to spend time alone together. Please leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Being a princess came with perks and pitfalls. On the plus side, you got whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted it. On the down side, your country had been in a petty feud with the neighboring kingdom since before you were born, and they seemed to think you were an excellent bargaining chip to get their demands met.

The abductions started when you were young; men hired by the crown took you from your room and held you in a secure location until your parents paid the ransom. Back then they were pretty terrifying, with blindfolds and ropes. Your captors were kind, however, and treated you well.

As you aged, though, your capture turned into something of a spontaneous vacation a couple of times a year. Your abductors would come in the dead of night, wake you and let you pack a bag, lead you to a waiting carriage, complete with wine and snacks, and you’d all tease each other as they carted you off to a chalet on the border of your two kingdoms. Both you and they thought this feud was stupid and that the abductions were a joke, but they had a job to do and you understood: got to pay the bills somehow.

The hostage situation usually ended one of two ways: either your parents paid the ransom, or they sent bonehead mercenaries who weren’t aware that this was mostly a picnic for you and came in all valiant and foolhardy, and your captors had to knock them all out, dump them back over the border, and pretend you escaped in the chaos to avoid bloodshed. You’d all struck a deal early on: no blood, no tears, no widows, no orphans. A couple of bumps on the head and some bruised egos, sure, but no one died. That was the rule. If your captors ever broke that rule, you’d become a lot less cooperative.

One night, very late into autumn, you woke to hear someone tip-toe into your room. Ah, yes. It was about time.

“Ethan?” You called.

“Yes, My Lady. It’s time,” You heard his voice call. Ethan was an older gentleman and was your first captor, gentle and accommodating, and he always oversaw your care during the abductions. He was the closest thing you had to a best friend. It was a shame you only saw him a few times a year.

“Finally,” You said, leaping out of bed and throwing on a dressing gown. “I’ve had a bag packed for weeks. You’re terribly late this season. I’ve been dying to get out of here.”

He chuckled. “My apologies, Lady, the opposing crown has been unusually reasonable this year. But it always comes back around, doesn’t it?”

“Thank the gods,” You replied, grabbing a few things from your vanity table. “I don’t know what I’d do without these trips abroad. Another day of my mother fussing about my ‘healthy appetite’ and I’ll go batty. I hate this place. Any time I can get away is a blessing.”

Ethan nodded knowingly. You’d complained to him many a time about your parents haughty nature and constant criticism of everything about you, from your weight to how you dress to your relaxed and casual attitude toward the servants.

Your parents were the worst sort of nobility, the kind people fawned over when in their presence but mocked scathingly behind their back. They were proud and arrogant and hard to please, and you were a prime example of everything they disliked. You took it as a compliment, but you did have to admit that their relentless judgment was wearing, and any break from the ferocious nagging was a welcome relief.

“Ready, Lady?” Ethan asked.

“Yes,” You said, taking his proffered hand. “And what did I tell you? You can call me by my name.”

“Nope,” He said, grinning. “You may not care about the propriety of your station, but I’d rather not have my tongue cut out, if you please.”

You sighed. “Fine, fine. Let’s just get out of here.”

There was a tunnel under the castle that a previous monarch had used to escape during a coup, and it was little known by anyone besides you. This tunnel had been discovered during your first abduction when your kidnappers hid from guards, and now it was your favorite means of escaping the castle. It led out to the woods a safe distance from the walls, where guards patrolled, and made it easy to get away.

It had taken you much effort to keep the entrance and exit hidden over the years, since your parents kept trying to discover how the kidnappers kept getting in and out so easily, but you had managed to keep it secret.

When you both were safely inside and the entrance was sealed, Ethan lit a torch and the two of you made your way out into the woods. Once there, he led you to the waiting carriage and ushered you inside. He jumped up into the driver’s box with Ira, another regular who you were friendly with, and snapped the reins, jolting the carriage forward and toward your secret hideaway.

It was nearly mid-day by the time you arrived there, and you had fallen asleep on the way. Ethan gently shook you awake and took your bag, offering you a hand as you stepped down. Ah… if only he weren’t married.

“How long do you think I’ve got?” You asked him as he opened the door to the perfectly kept chalet.

“Oh, likely a week. I mean, they know where the chalet is, but at this point, finding mercenaries that we haven’t beaten up will be difficult.”

“Wonderful,” I said, clapping my hands and opening my luggage. “I can’t wait to get settled and relax for a while.”

“We’ve got guards patrolling the perimeter. If there’s any trouble, we’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, Ethan,” You said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You and your men are my best boys. If I ever become queen, you lads are definitely hired as my Queen’s Guard.”

He grinned and bowed, leaving you to get comfortable.

That evening, most of the boys who weren’t out guarding the perimeter sat with you for a full dinner and a card game. You took Tebin for every coin he was worth, and Jos won it all back with a smug grin on his wide face. Ruik got drunk and tried wearing your dressing gown, but being a goblin, it trailed several feet behind him as he moved and he tripped over it constantly, making the chalet shake with laughter. The boys may have been hardened mercenaries, but they always had the best booze and sure knew how to show a lady a good time.

Around midnight, when things were winding down, there was some commotion outside in the distance. All the men got grim looks on their faces, except for Ruik, who was passed out on a footstool, and pulled out their weapons. You pulled your own short sword from under the mattress and leveled it at the door. The sword had been a gift on your thirteenth birthday from the lads, and each one had taken it upon themselves to show you a trick or two with it.

“Ethan!” Gern called. He was the only orc on the team. “You better get out here! We’ve got a spot of trouble!”

“What’s going on?” Ethan called through the door.

“Big fella took out the perimeter guard. They ain’t dead, but their gonna be limpin’ tomorrow. Big bastard says he won’t hurt nobody else if you come out and have a chat with him. Says he knows you.”

“Ask him his name!” Ethan responded.

There was a few seconds of muffled conversation, and Gern called back, “Wrykas!”

Ethan’s eyes widened and he sheathed his sword. “Wrykas?” He said in an undertone. “Holy shit, I thought he was dead.” He turned to you. “Stay here, lass, I’ll sort this out.” He looked at the other lads. “Keep her safe.”

The others nodded sternly and tightened the grip on their various weapons. The lot of you waited tersely as Ethan talked to the newcomer, unable to hear what they were saying. After a moment, Ethan came back in and instructed everyone to lower their weapons. The boys did so reluctantly. You lowered your own sword, but kept it in hand.

Ethan came back into the cottage, followed by an absolutely massive minotaur that had to duck in order to get his horns in the door. You were taken aback by his size and coloration. You’d seen minotaurs before, but this one was striking. He had white fur from the tip of his nose to the top of his head, and also down his chest, but his ears and eyes were brown, and his neck, back, and shoulders were covered in black fur. There were white and brown speckles, like freckles, on his shoulders.

Oh no… he’s cute.

Ethan slapped Wrykas on the shoulder. “This is an old army buddy of mine, Wrykas.” Ethan then introduced all of the gang.

“And I assume this little lady is the princess I’ve been hired to retrieve?” The minotaur asked.

“No! Already?” You whined, tutting. “Damn it. I was hoping for at least a few days of peace and quiet.”

Wrykas snorted, seemingly confused. “You don’t… want to go back?”

“Hell no! I hate it there. These ‘abductions’ are the only time I get to be myself and not have to worry about my parents bullshit. You’re ruining my vacation, you dick!”

Wrykas’s head rocked back in surprise. Whatever he expected you to say to him, that wasn’t it.

You groaned and began packing your things. “Did you bring the ransom?”

“I… no, their Majesties hired me to retrieve you. My skill is apparently something to be commended because they sought me out specifically.”

“Well, considering you took out four of Ethan’s men, there must be some truth to it.” You took out a sack of gold from your bag that was enough to both cover the ransom and buy the boys a few shiny new toys as well, and tossed it to Ethan. He snatched it from the air with a wink.

“You have the ransom?” Wrykas asked.

“Of course,” You scoffed. “These guys have mouths to feed. I’m not going to let their babies go hungry because my parents and the neighboring monarchy are having a twenty-five-year temper tantrum.”

“You’re… not what I expected from speaking with the crown,” Wrykas said.

“That’s not surprising,” You replied dryly as you help Ethan and the men get their gear together. “My parents don’t know anything about me. They haven’t bothered to know me since I was a small child.”

“Well,” Wrykas said, turning to Ethan and putting his hand on his old friend shoulders. “It’s the middle of the night. There’s no reason for your gang to move out now. You can get a fresh start in the morning.” He turned back to you. “We can, too.”

You sighed. “Well, I guess one full day of freedom is better than nothing.” You fluffed out your bed, preparing to get in it. “Ethan will show you where the men sleep. Be civil while you’re in there.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him, lass, no worries,” Ethan said, and you nodded. Ethan led the lads out behind Wrykas, though they were all still glaring at him tersely.

The rest of the night followed without incident, beyond Ruik climbing onto the foot of your bed, still wearing the dressing gown, and falling asleep at your feet like a puppy

The next morning, just after breakfast, the boys got their gear packed and ready to go. You’d miss them, like always, but they had other jobs to do and families to look after. They couldn’t be your boys all the time. They were other people’s boys, too.

As they were getting ready to head out, you leaned in close to Ethan and whisper, “Is this guy alright?” You jerked your head back at Wrykas. “Tell me the truth.”

“He’s a decent sort,” Ethan whispered back. “At least, he was in the army.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Fifteen years? Something like that. Before I left to become a sell sword.”

You fixed him with a wry expression. “Fifteen years is plenty of time for a person to change.”

Ethan wasn’t paying attention. He was looking down at you with a fond expression. “You were the first job I took, you know?”

You cocked your head and smiled. “Really? I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” He said. “I didn’t know you were a child, though. They just told me to take the neighboring kingdom’s princess and hold her in a secure location. When I realized you were a child, I almost quit.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He shrugged a little and looked sheepish. “I’m ashamed to say I needed the money. I’d just had my first girl and we needed food.”

“And look at us now,” You said, smiling. “Best friends twice a year.”

He laughed. “Yeah. Life is weird.”

“So see you next spring, then?” You asked.

“If they don’t send us, we’ll come on our own, just so’s I can win back that sack of gold you took off me last night.”

You grinned. “Good luck with that. Kiss your girls for me,” You told him.

He pulled you into a bear hug. “I will,” he replied with a smile. “You look after yourself back at that prison. Don’t let your wardens get you down.”

You smiled back and nodded, pulling your cloak tighter around you against the late autumn chill. You then moved on to the others to give them hugs and kisses on the cheek. Wrykas sat on the woodcutting stump, watching all this happen.

The gang was off then, waving back at you as they left, and you watched them disappear around the bend and out of sight. Sighing sadly, you turned to your new companion, eyeing him with some skepticism.

“Hands to yourself,” You said. He put up his hands and raised his eyebrows in acquiescence. You then went back into the chalet to pack.

He stood with a shoulder braced on the doorframe, watching you, and folded his arms. “You say you expected to be here for several days?”

“Yep,” You said with a sigh. “I usually have a few days, either with the boys or by myself.” You stopped for a moment and reminisced. “There was one year where I had three whole weeks. Gods. Those were the best weeks of my life.”

“Why do you call them boys?” He asked curiously. “The youngest of them has to be at least five years your senior.”

“Because…” You shrugged. “They’re… my boys. My friends. What else would I call them?”

“They do kidnap you.”

“It’s not kidnapping if I want to go. It’s more like a rescue.”

He was silent for a moment, then walked over and took the dress you were packing from your hands.

“Do you really hate it there so much?” He asked.

“Yes,” You replied venomously.

“Why? You’re a princess. You live in a castle. You have servants waiting on you hand and foot. What’s so bad about that?”

You sighed again and turned to sit on the bed. “What was your life like, growing up?”

He seemed surprised by the questions and sat down next to you, his eyes distant.

“I grew up on a farm. It was backbreaking work and we barely raised enough to keep ourselves fed, let alone sell anything. Five minotaur boys is a lot of mouths to feed.”

“You have four brothers?” You asked him.

“Yeah,” He said. “They’re all still on the farm with my parents, but I couldn’t stand farm work. I wanted more. More money, more freedom, more acclaim, just… more, you know? More than the life of a farmer.”

“But you’re family? What were they like? Did they love you?”

His brow furrowed. “Of course they loved me, they were my family.”

“You’ve never wondered? You’ve never had reason to think they didn’t love you?” You pressed.

“No, never.” He squinted at you. “Is that how it is for you?”

You took a deep breath and released it slowly. “My parents’ marriage was arranged. More to the point, they really disliked each other and didn’t want to marry, but the political climate was tense and their marriage was the only thing preventing a war. Their dislike of each other turned to absolute hatred pretty quickly. The only reason I even exist is because they were expected to create an heir, and I couldn’t even manage to be born a boy.” You stared out the window at the fast moving clouds. “A disappointment from the beginning.”

“Gods,” He said softly, and you looked over and saw he was staring at you with a gentle expression, which did a weird thing to your stomach. “I can’t imagine a parent hating their own child.”

“Oh, my father is indifferent to the point of failing to acknowledge my existence most of the time. I don’t think he cares enough to actually hate me. That’s all my mother. When I was young, she used to have cute ‘pet names’ for me and offer ‘helpful suggestions’ that I know now were outright insults.”

“What sort of things would she say?” He asked.

“That I was her fat little piggy, that I’d eat my weight if she didn’t watch me, that if I stood straighter, I would look less like a gargoyle stalking it’s prey, that if I wore my hair up, people wouldn’t notice how mousy and stringy it was, that if I wore rouge and lip color, I’d look less like a rotting corpse. Things like that.”

“What a vile woman,” He said, scowling. “She seemed unpleasant when I met with her, but I didn’t realize how truly awful she was.”

“She’s not exactly secretive about it. The castle staff hates her. I’d know; I spend more time with them that I do with my parents, which is another point of contention.” You stretched and stood. “But, I guess there’s nothing for it. They’re waiting. I might as well get this over with.” You reached for the dress he was holding, but he didn’t let go.

“Actually, that’s what I was coming to talk to you about,” He said, pointing out the open door. He stood and beckoned you to follow him, and you did so. The fast moving clouds you’d seen out the window were growing dark.

“A storm?” You asked him.

“Not just a storm,” He replied, narrowing his eyes and flaring his nostrils. “Do you smell it?”

“Smell?”

“The change in the air. There’s a cold front coming. I’d bet anything the temperature is going to keep dropping. We’ll likely be up to our knees in snow by midnight.”

“Oh,” You said. “So… what do we do?”

“Wait it out,” He replied, looking down at you with a sly smile. “Looks like your vacation just got extended.”

You actually gave him a real smile then, trying hard not to bounce on your heels in excitement.

“Your firewood is low. I should cut some more before the snow starts,” He said.

“Alright,” You told him. “How much is in the men’s quarters?”

“Not sure,” He admitted. “Would you mind checking?”

“Alright,” You said, turning.

The chalet was split into two rooms that were not connected; in order to get from room to room, you had to go outside from one door and go inside through another. You’d never actually been in the men’s quarters before. There had never really been a reason to before now. When you went in, you were actually a little shocked at the sight of it.

It was as large as your own room, but that’s where the comparisons ended. Where your room was bright and decorated and had food and comforts aplenty, this room was completely bare. The floor was cold stone, there was a dark hearth at the end of the room and a stack of furs and threadbare blankets neatly folded in the corner. There were some shelves with jars of preserves, and a container of salted meat. That was it.

Gods, you had no idea they were sleeping in these conditions. Why hadn’t they said anything? You’d have sprung for beds and good blankets. You made up your mind with a frown to return here in a few weeks and leave some surprises for their next stay.

Next to the hearth, you saw a small pile of firewood, enough only for a few hours. Clutching your cloak, you ducked back outside. And stopped short.

Wrykas had removed his sleeveless tunic and was chopping wood shirtless. You could see the muscles in his back move against his skin as he raised the axe and brought it down to split the logs.

No.. no, no… Not good…

“There’s not much in there,” You called to him, smacking yourself mentally to pull yourself out of his obliques.

“I’ll cut up some extra, then,” He said, casually, bending to pick up another log and put it up on the stump, his arm flexing as it moved.

It was time to go do something that… was not slobbering over your would-be rescuer, so you decide to start on lunch.

Wrykas had been right. No sooner had he finished the wood that snow began to fall, softly at first, but getting heavier by the minute. He made quick work of stacking the wood next to your hearth and was surprised when you handed him a steaming bowl of soup.

“Thanks,” He said. “I wouldn’t have guessed you knew how to cook.”

“Cause I’m a princess?” You asked wryly. “I told you, I spend more time with the servants and kitchen staff than I do at galas or grand balls. If I had a proper kitchen, I could cook literally anything.”

“Full of surprises,” He said, winking at you. He was still shirtless. You keep your eyes on your soup and tried to keep from staring.

Night fell, and with it the came the storm Wrykas had warned you about.

“I should go start the fire in the men’s quarters,” Wrykas said.

“Actually,” You said, reaching out to stop him. “Why don’t you sleep in here tonight? Even with the fire, it’s bound to be terribly cold in there, and even with your tolerance, you’ll be freezing.”

He laughed. “I appreciate your concern, Lady, but I’ve slept in worse conditions.”

“Please,” you said, keeping your grip on his arm. “I insist.”

“You’re sure?” He asked, and you nodded. He looked startled, but replied, “Alright. If you wish.”

“Would you mind turning so I can change for the evening?” You asked him.

“Not at all,” He said, turning to face the wall.

You took off your restricting skirted bodice with a relieved sigh. You mother insisted you wear them to “maintain a semblance of a figure despite your unfortunate size,” so they were the only outerwear you had. You’d go around in your shift all day if it didn’t make the boys blush. They were more of a family to you than your own family, so you didn’t want to make them uncomfortable unnecessarily.

Wrykas, however…

You decided not to put on a nightdress or a dressing gown, and stayed in the sheer shift you wore under your outer clothes. You also took your hair out of it’s brain and let it hang freely around your shoulders. You felt a little self-conscious about your body and weight, but you didn’t care. You wanted to be comfortable.

“I’m finished,” You said. He turned and opened his mouth to say something, but when he saw you, no sound came out of his mouth. He just stood there, staring, and not saying anything.

You suppressed an urge to cover yourself. “Everything alright?” You asked him.

He jumped as if someone had smacked his mouth, and closed it. “Yes, sorry. I was… um… caught off guard.”

You snorted. “By what?”

He cleared his throat. “You… uh… you look nice.”

You blinked a few times. “I just took my hair down and I’m wearing less clothing. I didn’t do anything to look nice.”

“You still look nice,” He said, scratching his neck and looking at the ground.

“Well… would you like to play a card game?” You asked him.

“Actually, I’m a bit tired. I spent most of yesterday traveling here and I didn’t sleep well. I was thinking of turning in early, if that’s okay with you.”

“Oh, sure, yes, of course,” You replied, going to your bed and pulling back the coverlet. When you turned back, you saw him laying out a fur on the ground.

“What are you doing?” You asked him.

He looked at you, then the fur, and then back at you in confusion. “Laying out my bed?”

“Don’t be silly,” I said, patting the bed. “The bed is big enough for four people. There’s no reason for you to sleep on the floor. Come on.”

He visibly gulped. “Are you--”

“Get up here!” I said.

He smirked at me. “So demanding, princess. I wonder if anyone’s ever told you ‘no’ before.”

“Are you going to be the first?” You asked him, a hand on your hip.

He snorted and picked up the fur, laying it over the back of a chair. He put a few more logs in the hearth and extinguished the lanterns before coming to the bed. You scooched over to accommodate him. Gods, he was warm.

At first, you maintained a respectable distance apart, but as the night got colder, you found yourself moving closer and closer to Wrykas. If he felt you moving, he gave no sign.

The smell of him, his warmth, the memory of his muscles as he swung the axe, flooded your senses, and you could feel the rising tension in your body.

“Are you awake?” You asked softly.

“It is rather hard to sleep with a beautiful woman lying so close to me,” He said quietly.

You snorted and rolled your eyes. “You don’t have to make jokes.”

He turned over and braced himself on his elbow, looking down at you with a frown. Did he have to be shirtless all the time? “What are you talking about?”

You didn’t answer. You tried to roll over, but he stopped you.

“Do you think I was joking when I said you were beautiful?” He asked.

“Weren’t you?”

“No,” He said seriously. You couldn’t help but notice that his hand was creeping up your arm.

“I’m plain and unappealing,” You told him.

“Bullshit,” He said. “You have the loveliest eyes of anyone I’ve ever seen. You hair looks like silk in the firelight. Your skin is so soft, it’s like you bath in lotion. I’ve never felt skin so soft.”

“I… I’m fat,” You said, your voice wavering.

“So what? There’s nothing wrong with your size. What about that makes you less attractive?”

“Ask my mother, she’ll tell you all about it,” You said sourly.

“Your mother is a angry shrew who hates everything; what does her opinion matter? I think you’re gorgeous.”

You looked up at his sweet brown eyes, looking down at you with no deception or guile, and your heart thumped harder.

“You mean it?” You asked him in a hushed whisper. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Yes,” He said simply.

You didn’t even think about it. You lifted your head and kissed him. He kissed you back enthusiastically. He wasted no time in touching you; your stomach, your hips, your breasts. He slowly drew the underdress up and over your head, leaving you nude in the bed. He pulled the covers down so that he could look at your body.

He got up and pulled off his trousers, his member already fully erect. It was black and speckled, like his shoulders. If it weren’t for the size of it, you’d have called it cute.

He got back into the bed and knelt between your knees, his cock bobbing and pulsing as he soaked in the sight of you. You were doing the same to him, greatly admiring his hard, well-defined, multi-colored body.

He put his hands under your knees and pulled them up and apart, staring hungrily at what lay between. He lay kisses up your thighs, alternating with each one, until he reached that place that ached with want.

His tongue came out and pressed itself to your slit, and it was still. It didn’t move. You moaned in both pleasure and anticipation, but he pulled away.

“Hey!”

He crawled up your body and smirked at you. “No one has ever told you what to do, have they?”

“Besides my mother? No. But I don’t listen to her.”

“Would you listen to me?” He asked.

“What do you have in mind?” You replied curiously.

His smirk widened and he lay on his back with his hands behind his head. “Why don’t you take care of me the first?”

You got up and took his length in you hand. His body jerked at the first touch and he grunted, but he relaxed as you pumped him slowly. You bent your head and licked the flat head, and he grunted again.

He was as apparently as impatient as you were. He put his hand in your hair and gently pushed your head down, and you sucked him into your mouth. He was too big to take him all in, so you used both hands to massage the rest. He kept his hand on your head and applied gentle pressure on it as you sucked. He groaned and grunted, making you wetter.

He pulled your hair up a little to signal you to stop. He then pounced on you, flipping you on your stomach and laying you flat against the bed. He kissed down your back and ran his hands over your bottom, spreading your legs as wide open as he could with you in this position. He stuck one of his large fingers inside you, and you gasped.

“Mmm,” He purred. “You’re just right.”

“I can’t wait, please,” You begged. “Please, Wrykas.”

“A princess begging?” He said, and you heard a smile in his voice. “I think I like that. Do it again.”

“Please, Wrykas, please, please,” You said, over and over. You felt him nudge your entrance, and your begging increase in pitch and frequency. He pushed himself inside slowly, and you cried out, gripping the sheets.

“Say thank you,” He purred into your ear as he began to move inside you.

“Thank you, Wrykas,” You breathed.

“Louder,” He said.

“Thank you, Wrykas!”

He began to move faster, putting his hands over yours and gripping them as he did. He lay his head next to yours so you could hear his heavy breathing and moans. Gods, it was hot.

You cried out loudly, and the put one of his hands over your mouth, muffling you. You were right next to his large ears, and your shrill cried of pleasure were likely painful.

He sped up, and your screams of pleasure increased. You could feel yourself riding up to that peak, feeling your body tense as the wall of ecstasy, crying out against his hand.

His grunts got faster more intense, and you could feel from his pulsating inside you that he was close too. Your legs began to tremble as the wave crashed over you. He kept up the pace as your pleasure ebbed, then abruptly pulled out and released all over your bottom and back, snorting and grunting and bellowing.

He collapsed forward, braced on his hands so he didn’t fall in to the mess he’d made, and huffed to get his breath back. You felt the warmth drift across your back every time he exhaled, and it made your spine tingle.

“You alright?” You asked him breathlessly.

He laughed and kissed your shoulder. “I’m lovely.” You felt him raise up and slide off the bed. “Wait there, I’ll get you cleaned up.”

You opened on eye and watched him walk naked to the pot of washing water that you kept close to the fire so that it would stay warm and dunked a rag into it. He rung it out and brought it back, and you admired the view as he did with a side smile.

Once he’d cleaned you, and wiped himself off as well, he got back into the bed and pulled you against him. He kissed your face until you fell asleep.

You passed the next few days of the storm in bed, blissfully wrapped up in the best lovemaking of your life. He took control, and to your surprise, you loved it. You loved being told what to do during sex. You loved following his commands. It was thrilling.

Eventually, the storm began to die down, and your spirits started to dampen.

Wrykas noticed. “What’s the matter?”

“When the storm blows over, I have to go back,” You said sadly, laying your head back against his chest.

He put his arms around you and lay his cheek on the top of your head.

“Have you ever considered running away?” He asked you.

“Run away?” You asked in return, swiveling to look at him in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Leave. Go somewhere else. Another kingdom. My parent’s farm is in Farrowville, you could go there. They’d take care of you.”

You looked at him in shock. “You want me to live with you?”

“Not with me, I don’t live there,” He said. “I actually don’t have any sort of permanent residence, but I visit them often between jobs. They’re very loving people. They’d take good care of you.”

“You’re serious,” You said. “You’re really talking about running.”

“Why not?” He asked. “It’s clear your parents don’t value you. Hell, it shouldn’t be so easy to steal you away twice a year. They haven’t strengthened their guards or made arrangements for your protection. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were behind your abductions, maybe even made some kind of deal with the opposite kingdom disguised as a political dispute, just to get you out of their sight for a while.”

Your head rocked back at the thought. It had never occurred to you before, but now that he had said it out loud, it made perfect sense. Wow. They really did hate you, didn’t they?

“You’re sure your family won’t mind taking me in?” You asked, suddenly nervous about the prospect of a whole new life.

“Not at all. They really are wonderful people.” He sighed with a smile on his face. “I love my family, just not the way they live. I just wasn’t born to be a farmer.”

You smiled at his smile, as gentle as it was.

“The house is rather small, and they will expect you to earn your keep, but their not harsh or cruel. I’m sure they’ll love you.”

“I’m not worried about the work…” You said slowly, looking around the chalet. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” He said, taking your hand. “You’ll be with kind people who will care for you, and I’ll see you all the time.”

“Is that something you want?” You asked him playfully.

He smirked wryly and kissed you hard. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

You bit your lip. “Yes, I will.”

“That’s my princess. Say yes.”

You smiled and pressed your face into his shoulder. “Yes.”

Three months passed with Wrykas’s family, and it was the happiest you’d ever been. Wrykas’s parents were just as kind and loving as he told you they’d be, and his brothers were proper country gentlemen, always asking if you needed help or if there was anything they could do for you.

Wrykas visited at least once a week, usually bring back coin or furs or other spoils from his work. Sometime back, he had gone to inform Ethan and his gang what had happened, so every so often he came back with gifts and trinkets from your boys. You missed them, but you were finally happy.

Then, Wrykas showed up at the farm with Ethan and the gang in tow. you were immediately alarmed.

“What’s going on?” You asked, dropping the hoe you were using. “What’s happened?”

“Your parents have been deposed,” Wrykas said. “They’ve been sent into exile. Most of the people in your kingdom believe you dead, so there was an uprising. They felt that since the crown couldn’t protect you, how could they possibly protect the people.”

“That’s great news!” You exclaimed, but Ethan stopped you.

“There’s also bad news. With your parents gone, there’s a power vacuum that other members of your extended family are trying to fill. You’re the heir. If you went back, you could take the throne. Your right to it is beyond contest.”

“That’s true,” You said, rubbing your chin. “I could finally end these petty laws my parents put into place and get the country back on track.” You slapped Ethan on the arm. “You and your gang still want to be my Queen’s guard?”

Ethan blinked at you. “You were serious about that?”

“Hell yes, I was serious. You and the boys and your families will all move into the castle and replace all the up-tight, snooty ladies-in-waiting my mother appointed for me. You in?”

Ethan looked to the lads, who all grinned excitedly. “We’re in, lass. We’re with you all the way.”

You looked up at Wrykas, kissed him, and smirked. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” He asked quizzically.

“Remember when we first met and you said you wanted more from life?”

He smiled, still a little confused. “Yeah.”

“How does ‘prince’ sound to you?” You asked with a big smile.

His face split into a wide grin. “Sounds like something I was born to do.”

“Good,” You said, putting your arms around his neck. “Then let’s get to our coronation.”

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Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[ivisite]

First thing I need to address is that, wow, cats and cat like creatures are so hard to draw? please excuse my attempt at a Khajiit and a smol version of said race. Also bearded men? I’m used to drawing pretty korean boys 

kind of a timeline ( ?? ) but also some family doodles even though Saoirse hasn’t claimed to have one of those in years (but what protagonist has parents these days, amirite-) A Poorly Paced and Terribly Written Origin Story by Me, an actual Potato When wee lass Saoirse was about 11, her father, an “Ex-Foresworn”, took her aside one day and told her they were going on an adventure and not to tell her mother or sister. A few days later, they ended up in the Reach atop some cliff and it is from this pivotal moment that Saoirse’s Daddy Issues™ started. He grabbed her by the arm, threw her down to the ground and yelled nonsense about the Old Gods and Hircine. Plot Twist, he was still a crazed Foresworn and wanted to appease Hircine by offering Saoirse up to be “BleSsEd” with the werewolf business. Before her very eyes, her father warped and twisted into a terrible beast and set his eyes on her. 

Not about that, Saoirse tried to run off and pretty well got away from him but did sustain a nasty couple of scratches to the back in the escape. From there, she ran through the hills and cliffs for hours until coming across a Khajiit Caravan camping for the night. Bleeding and probably ugly crying, she scampered off into the camp and begged for help and the oldest member, the Matriarch named “Qu’Ra”, took pity on her and agreed to let her stay with them and their other little orphan, the aptly named “Snaggle”. 

Not one for the whole “sweet motherly love” thing, Qu’Ra was more on the tough love side of things. Saoirse got to travel with the caravan but also had to learn to barter and trade so she was at least useful (or would be when she was older.) 

Once she got older, probably 14 or so, the Caravan started sending Saoirse into the towns that the Khajiit themselves weren’t allowed into to sell their wares. Naturally gifted with a quick wit and light on her feet, she had no trouble at all selling and sneaking around to avoid concerned Guards. 

After leaving Skyrim for a bit, the Caravan finally returned to the frost coated land and put Saoirse to work selling their wares inside cities. The first stop was uneventful, but the second stop in Riften is where all the fun stories Saoirse likes to tell Lucia about red headed men come from. Upon entering the city she came across the market area and heard a familiar type of accent and tracked down the source.  “Is that your real accent, or just the one you use to sell your snake oils?” Saoirse said with a coy smile to the red headed vender settled happily in the stall she leaned against. 

“It’s 100% real, just like my Draugr tonic.” he replied with an equally suave smile of his own, catching sight of a potential customer nearing the stall. “It’ll keep you alive and kicking for years.” he continued as the curious onlooker walked closer. 

He gave the curious man a charming smile and leaned forward a bit to continue his sales pitch, all the while Saoirse watching with an amused expression. “Why would I buy this? Draugrs look horrid from what I’ve heard.” the man asked, brow raised in suspicion. 

“Oh aye, but you have heard of them, then? Somethin’ has to keep the beasties skulking around all day, ya ken?” Saoirse retorted, stepping into the stall next to the fellow con-artist.   “I took time out of my day, risked my own life to search several draugr infested tombs just to find the secret to their liveliness and bottled it up just for the likes of you.” the red headed man added. 

Between the two of them, the poor man seemed to have fallen into the well worded trap, nodding thoughtfully to the red headed man as he spoke and mumbling to himself whenever Saoirse threw in her own septim or two.  “Draugrs do skulk around all day, something must keep them up and about, huh? ....I’ll take one.” the man said after a few more moments of banter and coaxing.

After paying a hefty price of 200 septim for what could have literally been sewer water with flowers tossed in for good measure, the man walked off happily clutching his bottle and muttering to himself about it all. 

“Good at making coin, aren’t you lass?” The red headed man asked, dusting his clothes off a bit and giving Saoirse what she could only imagine to be his most practiced, handsome smile. 

He was a crafty one, for sure, but she couldn’t help but poke at the fire, if only out of her own curiosity. “Practiced that smile for weeks, didn’t you lad?” She cooed playfully back. The gesture was met with a chuckle from the man. 

“What say you to sticking around the stall the rest of the day?” he asked, a cheeky smile parading onto his lips. It was the first genuine thing she’d seen off him thus far and it was perhaps more charming than his more practiced one.  “Maybe, but I do charge a small helpers fee, of course.” She cooed. 

and BOOM a terrible partnership of con-artistry began in which she would get to sell her wares from the caravan at his stall so to avoid paying business taxes and he would get a small cut and help selling his own “wares”. Did she know better? Of course. Did she talk herself into thinking she was smart enough to avoid getting hurt? Of course. Did she get her heart broken into pieces after bonding and romancing this man only to find out a few months into it that he’d been “borrowing” some of her wares, making her come up short when returning to Qu’Ra and profiting off them for himself all the while? You bet your sweet roll she did. 

So naturally, as anyone might do, she crept down to his guild quarters, buttered him up and tuckered him out for the evening before running off into the night with 5000 of his personal money and several thousands worth of job related trinkets and jewelries he’d hoarded to give to the clients in question the next day. 

And what did she do next, you might ask? Well, naturally she marched around the entirety of Skyrim and hand delivered all the stolen goods back to their owners in spite of him and then fled the country because she low key owed a powerful guild hella money and ain’t no one got time for that.

The next few years of her early twenties would be spent traveling literally anywhere but Skyrim doing odd jobs. Need someone to take out some bandits at your mine? Saoirse was all about it. Some questionable magic guy need help getting into a crypt to get a weird book? Sure, why not. Some rich person need help getting an heirloom that somehow ended up deep in the bowels of a falmer infested, centurion guarded Dwemer ruin? Sure but like double the payment because Centurions are scary. 

It was a simple life and she ended up traveling all over the continent before returning to Skyrim in hopes of making it to Windhelm unnoticed by anyone that might be looking for her so she could hop a ride to Solstheim. 

Of course that didn’t work out and instead she ended up getting caught up in an imperial raid on a stormcloak post while she was trying to trade herbs and potions for their sick in exchange for arrows and such. 

On a moral ambiguity scale of black to white, she’s like a solid light grey for the majority of her life, like she would for sure talk you into giving her your shirt and then talk you into buying it back from her for double you paid for it, but also buys a room for the local orphan kid to sleep in for the night because it’s raining. not the best person but also not the worst, like a solid C+ human (∪ ◡ ∪)

the whole Helgen thing makes her start to rethink her life choices and thus starts the grueling journey of character development (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ and it all starts with her deciding to pick the warrior stone instead of the thief stone while Ralof rambled on about draugrs and stormcloaks in the background

[renee-writer]

Loved Her First Chapter 14

AO3

“And it was Michael. She needed his hands to measure some of the things for the bairns.” He completes his explanation for his sudden departure with his head down. Claire bursts into laughter. “Hey!”

“Come Jamie, it is funny. You so sure our daughter was going to elope without a backwards glance.”

“Well I don’t fully ken her.” That sobers her up.

“Oh Jamie,” she wraps her arms about her him. “I am sorry. You will get to, I swear it.”

“Before Ian takes her away?” She nods against his chest.

“Yes. Faith has a strong mind and will, but she’s practical also. She won’t run off and marry before really getting to know him or,” She meets his eyes, “making sure it is alright with her parents. Both of us.”

“Thank you Claire. I was a bit of a fool, eh?” She smiles up at him.

“Just a bit.” They laugh together.

“Oh, how did Jenny take the news. “

“Surprisingly well. She understands.” His shocked eyes meet hers, “She just don’t want to see her son hurt.”

“As if our Faith…”

“I told her,” she raises her voice a little to be hurt over her husband, “that I felt the same. I don’t believe they will hurt each other.”

“No,” he shakes his head at his overreaction again, “She was really alright with them courting?”

“She really was. Said it happens, rarely but happens. I believe she feels as I do, that as our children will be finding love, it is better to find it with someone we trust.”

“Aye, there is that.”

“Jamie, I want to show you something. Come up to our room.” His eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Sassanach, I believe I have seen everything you could show me, after last night and this morning.” She smacks at him.

“Just come.”

He holds the pictures, as she calls them, in shaky hands. They show him his daughters, as they grow up. Faith holding a just born Brianna. Them running around together, the younger chasing the older. First days of school. Christ mass, celebrated quite different in their time. Tears drip down his face.

“Claire.”

“I debated about bringing them but, you deserved to see them grow up, no matter the risk.” He swallows and bites his lip.

“No one here would dare accuse you of witchcraft.” He says. “Thank you. I never imagined seeing them so young. It is a gift.”

She smiles. Outside the window, unseen by either of them, Brianna smiles at Jeremiah under lowered lashes.

“I have never known a lass quite like you Brianna. There is something intriguing about you.” She smiles, a blush raising on her cheeks. In her original time, she hadn’t a boyfriend. Not for lack of interest, it was just no boy could hold her attention. Jeremiah now, he was different. When he looks at her, her heart pounds. It was just the way her romantic books described it.

“Nor have I meet a lad like you. You cause my heart to do flips in my chest.” She admits, to his amazement. No lass says such. Even the married lads he spoke to about such things say that the marriage bed was something their wives endure.

“Brianna, never has a lass spoke in such a way,” Oh crap! She has said to much. She must recall when she is. “I really like it. You have the boldness of a man but the sweet ways of a lady.” She lets her breath out in relief. “May I take your hand?”

She nods and offers it to him. Complete, that is how she feels when he enfolds it in his. Complete and safe. They just stand there, hidden from the windows, holding hands.

“Why you little hypocrite!” her sister ‘s voice startles her and she drops Jeremiah’s hand.

“Christ Alive Faith! You scared me.” Michael and Jeremiah share a look. Neither have heard a lass use that type of language.

“You are just blessed it was me and not da.” Michael pales and crosses himself. What his Uncle Jamie would think about such behavior doesn’t bare thinking about. “You, who fussed at me, holding hands with a lad where anyone could walk up on you.”

She tosses her head. “I like him Faith. He makes my heart beat funny.” Michael’s eyes get big.

“Michael, will you see to the wagon and horses please. Jeremiah please help him.”

The lads nod and start to walk off.

“Wait, you can’t tell him to go.” She glares at her sister, hands on her hips.

“Go on lads.” When they are out of earshot, she grabs her sister ‘s arm. “Brianna Ellen Fraser, you need to remember when you are and who’s daughter you are. You cannot be talking such in front of Michael.”

She has the grace to flush. “Sorry, really Faith. It is just that I have never felt this way before.”

Faith loses her stern, big sister, face. “It is wonderful isn’t it?”

“I have never ken’d lasses as bold as Uncle Jamie ‘s daughters.”

Jeremiah just smiles. “They are a wonder, aren’t they?”

“I don’t think they would act such had he had a hand in their raising.” Michael interjects. He is still young enough to see all in black and white. How his cousin talked was shocking.

“Maybe no.” Jeremiah is all smiles as he helps unload the wagon.

“We need to tell mama and da before Michael does.” Faith says. “It I’ll be better coming from you.” Brianna smiles. She is in love and the thought doesn’t disturb her. Her sister, however, is quite concerned. She and Ian are enough of a shock. What will they say about her baby sister and Jeremiah? “Come. We might as well get it over with.”

Jamie can’t meet his eldest eye. “I am sorry Faith. I pictured you running off with Ian and getting married. Your mama has set me straight. Forgive me?”

“Aye da, of course. We were wondering what that all was about. Poor Michael was quite confused.”

“Aye, I shall speak to him.” He starts to raise.

“Wait before you do that, Bree has something to tell you.” She presses her sister to the forefront.

“I am well,” now that her da’s stern but kind eyes are on her, her courage fades a bit. “Jeremiah and I fancy each other. We were holding hands when Faith and Michael returned.”

He looks at her, mouth slightly agape. Then he looks down at the pictures. The top one is Brianna at two, smiling up at him. Just a wean. Now she stands telling him of a lad she was holding hands with. It is impossible to reconcile the two.

“Jeremiah, he is the Mackenzie lad that is mate’s with Ian, right?”

“Yes mama. He makes my heart do funny things.” Claire smiles until she sees the steamy look on Jamie’s face.

“What now have you and he done to cause such?”

She shrinks against her sister. “Nothing but talk and hold hands. I swear da.”

“Jamie, she is a good girl. If she says that is all they have done, it is.”

He breaths out harshly through his nose. “Alright. It is just, I just got you back. I dinna wish to lose you so soon.”

Bree places her arms around him. “You never shall da. I will always be your baby girl. But may I please date Jeremiah?”

“Date?”

“Their way of says court.” Claire explains.

He sighs against her head. “I shall speak to both lads. Why couldn’t you be son’s.” he mumbles. Claire just smiles.

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey buisness - john shelby x reader (part 2 of ?)

read part one here!

a/n: hey loves! i'm finishing up school rn, but i had to get this out and i'm about to start working on a tommy request immediately after i upload this. anyways, i'm so excited to post this series, it's incredible and i can't thank my bestie @stxdyblr-2k enough. she is a fucking genius :)

prompt: you can't get john out of your head. lo and behold, here he is.

warnings: fluff, mentions of smut, angsty af, soft john (ugh my heart)

Despite your best efforts, you'd been unable to stop yourself yearning for John Shelby. Your pokey flat now often lay empty; you were far too busy to mope at home due to your career as a personal assistant to a local solicitor who was allied with the Shelby's, attending rallies and lectures with Ada and the drunken nights you'd spend at various mansions, galleries and club openings with the "razor chasers" you'd become friendly with due to their refusal to leave Ada alone. Yet still, in those odd seconds of calm you seized over a cigarette, the first seconds after a bump of Tokyo, when you carefully applied your makeup, styled your hair or bathed, you'd think of him. The way the pads of his fingertips felt on your skin, how he’d muttered in your ear how pretty you looked.

But this was different to when you were dreaming about John at 15; he was no longer the allusive older brother of Ada who had a string of beautiful girls on rotation. He wasn’t a fantasy anymore. He was true flesh and blood, and for a moment he had wanted you.

It would be delicious if the whole situation hadn't left a bitter taste in your mouth. Of course you came back to Brum to only immediately fuck it up. The first night, and already you were so close to ruining everything? Looking back, now that you were so close with Ada once more, now that you knew who John had grown to be, that night was cringe inducing. Luckily, no one had seemed to catch on. Luckily, you thrived in the Small Heath rumour mill once again. All the gossip about you was mainly about your substance use, the lads you were seen curling up with outside nightclubs, your intelligence, your helpful nature, sometimes your questionable politics but that was all. John's was far darker, stories of blood, death and gasoline. Recently, the tales of his conquests had quietened, but only due to the lurid delight taken by the factory workers in talking about the recent blinding of some poor fucker who'd crossed the wrong person. Obviously, a lot of the detail had to be exaggerated for shock value and to boost the Shelby status, solidifying them as notorious throughout Birmingham city and its rural surroundings. There were murmurs everywhere about the violent John Shelby: ruthless, cocky, vengeful. It seemed impossible that the same man who cracked shit jokes just to see you smile, kissed you with so much desperation, and prioritised getting you off first could cause such harm without an ounce of guilt or shame to slow his swagger.

Whispers of war were far more constant, but then again, people would say anything for a reaction. You didn't bring it up with Ada. You refused to (openly) partake in mindless gossip on principle, yet you were hungry for information about him.

***********

You'd long forgotten whose wedding you were at. Some loyal blinder, a close friend of the Shelby's, the occasion calling for a large white marquee to be built onto one of Tommy's gardens, fully staffed with the best chef and service team money could buy (from a London restaurant at short notice; when Finn told you the extortionate figure Tommy had paid, your jaw had dropped). The cake, dress and decorations were stunning; you weren't sure exactly what the groom had done for the Shelby's but you could only assume the worst for what they'd splashed out on him.

However, thinking like that only spoilt your night: you'd realised at your fifth club takeover, now you repeated it like a mantra constantly. You'd quickly learnt every excess the Shelby's granted to those outside their circle were due to some perceived sacrifice for being associated with them. Well, that's what you chose to believe after John had sent a junior blinder to your office with a bouquet, the Monday morning after he turned you down. So, it was best to smile and take the shit, get paid, and get out as soon as possible. You were to keep your head down until then.

Yet, keeping your head down was difficult tonight. Ada had treated you to a shopping trip to London for the occasion this morning, Arthur forcing the junior blinders to tag along next to you on the train and trailing less than two metres behind you for hours. You missed the days when it was just you and Ada. It was far more simple without the stares whenever the two of you stepped out. Ada had gotten used to it, she'd devised her own methods of being completely alone; complex plans involving leaving a window open, knotting sheets into a rope and twisting her ankles. Not that she minded, she reckoned the suffocation of being a Shelby was much worse than a few bruised ankles.

You were wearing a clingy emerald green dress from some fancy French boutique you couldn't even pronounce, the diamond necklace sitting along your collarbone and the jewels dangling through your ears were on loan from Ada. You felt eyes unpicking you the moment you entered the after-party. Your arm was linked through Ada's as per usual, she looked equally stylish in a peacock blue number that set off her eyes, her delicate features perfected with makeup.

You'd quickly found your gaggle and began drinking and dancing the night away. Whispers about snow arose from your table, people disappearing to the toilets to rail a line on the bathroom counter, then to the dance floor or to the lap of the poor fucker who'd hold back their hair while they vomited in just a few hours. At least the Blinders were polite about it. Isaiah would kill them if they weren’t. You'd let your arm be tugged on various bathroom trips, treated among your group like secret missions although you weren't entirely subtle about it.

What you weren't aware of was across the marquee, you were being watched by the three men in your life who you'd never want to see you in this state: the Shelby's.

"Looks like Finn's taken your spot, John." Arthur yelled in John's ear over the loud music, gesturing to the youngest Shelby sat at the table next to you who was staring up at you in complete adoration as you chatted across him to Michael, seemingly arguing with him. By the looks of it, you were winning.

John pulled a face at Arthur. “Fuck off, old man. That'll never happen. Finn’s too young for her." He immediately regretted the words that had fallen out of his mouth, revealing far too much for his comfort.

"It's not impossible."

"He's just not right for her, yeah?"

"And you are?"

John didn't bother to bless him with a verbal response, instead flipping him off and downing the rest of his whiskey. "It's not like that."

"What's it like then? Because from where I'm sitting, it's pretty fucking clear, John." Arthur slurred, glass of whiskey sloshing onto his sleeve.

"You're too gone to even know you're chatting shit." John sneered, standing up, "I'm off for a smoke and some fresh air. Try not to fuck anything in my absence, both of you."

His brothers cursed him out as he left. John took a second to figure out his route, purposefully having to cross your path, gesturing for you to follow him subtly. He was surprised you came trailing after him, telling Michael that you weren’t done yelling at him and you’d be back. When you were both only metres from the marquee, he knew you were fucked. You were instantly bored, begging him for a cigarette, which he lit for you, shaking his head at your state.

"You're a fucking mess, love." He said, mouth sloping attractively to one side.

"Takes one to know one, John-boy. Where are we off to, then?"

"Somewhere fucking quiet, can barely hear myself think. Plus, you need to sober the fuck up, lass." He said, softly, as he walked across the dew soaked grass. You followed, heels in hand, holding your dress up as not to ruin it. He sighed, taking the shoes from your hands and wrapping his blazer around your shoulders, linking your arm through his for stability. He kept the distance respectful, but there wasn’t any denying the thick tension in the summer air between the two of you. Ahead, there was a small stone bench sat at the foot of one of Thomas' manicured gardens, and John offered his hand to help you sit. You made small talk and caught up on each other's lives, and you noted John only seemed to glow when you asked about his kids. He talked at length, the drink seemingly unhinging his jaw. There he was again, the John you knew and had admired for so many years. You could sit here forever, watching his blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight. Yet, it just wasn’t meant to be. You wished you could stop time just for a bit, give you enough moments to memorize the freckles on his skin.

"You know the night I first came home?" The alcohol and snow had loosened your lips. You were teetering on the edge of your boundaries, but you couldn't care enough to hold back.

"The night where absolutely nothing happened?" He joked, raising an eyebrow at you, cautious that you'd randomly brought it up in your state. "Sweetheart, this can wait."

He was warning you. For a second you managed to bite your tongue, but curiosity tipped you over the edge.

"But something nearly happened, right?"

"Y/N. Don't." He warned, his tone icy, suddenly distancing from you, hiding between an emotional boundary which he didn't wish to explore.

"John, it's just us. Can't we even talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about, though. You were off your face then, and now. That's fine. We know where we stand. It can't happen."

"I wanted to. I do want to."

"You don't. Trust me. You need a nice lad who'll marry you and look after you. Just need to keep your nose clean long enough yeah?" He teased, trying to lighten the mood, blue eyes begging you to move on.

Your head turned to face him, your face contorting in a mixture of confusion and irritation. "You don't get to tell me what I want or need. The last thing I want is to marry any lad, nice or not."

"I didn't mean it like that, right? Look, I just meant you deserve better than Shelby scum. You're going places you know? Don't settle for Small Heath." John responded with a pained sigh. He didn’t want to get into it with you; not here, not like this. He'd thought about it, naturally. You were constantly on his mind, yet only problems ever seemed to appear, never solutions. It was best for him to avoid you. Why the fuck did he drag you out here? Horrible idea.

"Your family isn't scum. Where the fuck did you get that from?" Your face was screwed up in genuine rage. "I-"

"Y/N, fuckin’ leave it."

His face had hardened completely now. He'd snapped at you. His voice hadn't raised, it was just the power he spat his order out with. You held up your hands in mock surrender, pointedly taking a cigarette from his front pocket and light it silently, not saying a word.

"Why are you so bothered, anyways?" He asked, breaking the silence like you knew he would. John always had to ask questions.

"Fuck off with that, John. I'm not in the mood."

"What do you mean?" He looked completely lost.

"We nearly had sex. Just sex, nothing else right?"

John remained silent.

"Would it be the worst thing in the world?" You asked, your voice wavering. It was hard enough to get the words out, let alone imagine the response.

"You're far too wasted to chat about this, love."

"John, I’m not-"

"I'm serious. You're fucking mashed like my brothers aren't you? Like all those other fuckers in there." He sounded genuinely angry. In the glow of the sunset he looked so much younger, so hurt and lonely. Why hadn't you noticed before?

He turned to you, eyes widened and shocked at his own outburst. "You're not the only one gone yeah? Ignore me, I'm fucked, sorry."

You reached out your hand and linked your fingers through his in silence, the warm evening wind ruffling your hair and dress, blocked from your skin by John's suit jacket which was wrapped around your shoulders. Not that anyone would notice or care. As long as Ada wasn't with you, you could disappear for hours without any alarm. There you sat in the tranquil last few moments of the day, your hand linked with John's, both beyond tipsy. You weren’t thinking properly but it felt right. You felt safe. You didn't want to have to return to the chaos of the party, to have to catch up on who your friends were currently trying to screw. None of that seemed to matter anymore.

Was it too much to ask for something to be simple? Maybe you didn't have to fuck him. Maybe just these small moments were enough. You laughed at the thought when it crossed your mind; neither you nor John were known for consistency or stability in relationships, you being admittedly rather inexperienced, only having been with a few men, and he had his fair share of escapades. But he was just so different. You wouldn't admit that he'd gotten your attention in any way than purely sexually (which surprised you to admit) and for fun, but you genuinely enjoyed his presence.

He was right though. It wasn't a good idea at all to hook up. There was far too much baggage for both of you to make it worth it.

Just once?

You glanced over at John. He rolled his eyes at you, but the edges of his lips were slightly upturned, his dimples faintly peeking through his defined cheeks.

Just once couldn't hurt.

***

The sky was streaked with shades of gold, amber and blood. John could feel the friction from your knee barely knocking against his, the pressure putting him on edge. In fairness, he had drunk heavily, and that's what happens when you let your guard down around beautiful women. He couldn't believe you had told him you wanted to have sex with him still. He'd chalked the whole situation down to a drunken mistake that would have progressed into a far more significant drunken mistake. Ada would never forgive him if he went for another of her mates. Especially Y/N. No matter if he said that Y/N could be different, that you wasn't just another conquest. But who'd believe him?

Far better to keep his mouth shut.

Far better to play safe.

As you were called back to the party by the gaggle of girls John vaguely recognised from hanging off the arms of other blinders, he realised (despite his state) that you were right. Having sex with you wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it might be one of the best.

Just once?

He watched your figure disappear back into the marquee, waiting for you to turn back and look for him. You do. He would have done the same if it was him.

Maybe just once wouldn't hurt.

***

to be continued!

[magnoliasinbloom]

The Midwife - II

AO3 :: Previously

IX

My stores were running low. After tending to the visiting clansmen for the gathering, they had dwindled steadily. I resorted to spending time in the kitchen, where the hearth was bigger and Mrs. Fitz could spare another kettle or two for me to prepare tonics.

I was tying off bundles of lavender and rosemary to dry in the rafters of my surgery when I realized I had forgotten the glass bottles I needed to fill with the willow bark tea I was preparing for headaches. Sighing, I tied off one last handful of lavender before making my way down to the surgery. I rounded a corner of one of the many staircases in Leoch when I heard a familiar deep voice.

“… lass.” Jamie’s timbre was unmistakable.

“All those years ago when ye fostered at Leoch, then ye went away to study in France, I never forgot ye.” I stopped in my tracks. That voice belonged to Laoghaire. Boiling kettles forgotten, I flattened myself against the wall, out of sight of the small alcove where they talked, but still within earshot.

“Laoghaire…”

“Nor the way my heart beat when ye were near, Jamie. And ‘twas a noble thing ye did. I heard from my grandmother, how she was alone, her mother dead… perhaps it inspired pity in you, but that is not love.” I felt my face grow hot with anger. I felt a bit guilty for eavesdropping, but I was not about to let that child have her way with my husband.

“I’m wed now.” Jamie’s tone was gentle, but firm.

“I havena laid eyes on anyone since I met ye,” Laoghaire said desperately. “I’ve lain with no one. I ken what happens in a marriage, and I commend ye for doin’ yer duty. But that needn’t stop ye from sampling… other pleasures…” At this, I dared to peek around the corner. Laoghaire was standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. Jealous rage threatened to overflow in words and deed, but my eyes were on Jamie. Jamie stood still as a carved statue. His hands lay balled into fists at his side, unwilling to encourage her. Laoghaire tried a few more times, but he did not reciprocate.

Jamie stepped away from Laoghaire, shaking his head. “Lass, I made a vow, and I’ll not break it. I hope ye’ll find someone who returns yer sentiment.” She let a sob escape, which she quickly muffled behind her hands. Jamie turned to go, and I took that as my own cue to leave.

I backtracked silently up the staircase again, heart pounding. I might have to have words with Laoghaire later, but for the moment, the wariness in my stomach eased, replaced with sweeping relief. Not that I had had cause to doubt Jamie or worry about infidelity on his behalf, but he was a handsome man. As long as he stood by me, and I him, we would be alright, disapproval and jealousy notwithstanding.

* * *

The door to our chamber creaked open and I looked over my naked shoulder at Jamie, fresh from the fields. I paused at scrubbing my skin with a washcloth. I lay in a copper tub, filled to the brim with delightfully hot water. Taking a bath was a laborious undertaking, having to take time to heat the huge bath cans and haul them up to the room from the kitchen. Mrs. Fitz, however, had been only too happy to oblige, and I blessed her for it.

Jamie’s face was streaked with dirt, I noticed, as he sat beside me, resting his head in his arms on the edge of the tub. He looked weary. I offered a bright smile, and leaned in to dab at his face with the cloth. “There is room in here for two.” A very tight fit, but we would manage.

“Ye look so bonny in there, mo chridhe, I wouldna want to impose.” His finger trailed a wayward damp curl that had fallen from the haphazard pile on my head.

“Of course not, husband.” I reached to help him out of his shirt. He climbed in behind me, water sloshing over the lip of the tub. He settle in with a groan as the hot water began to work its magic. I rested my back on Jamie’s chest, trailing the washcloth lazily over his arms. We lay in comfortable silence, and I wondered if I should bring up what I had witnessed in the alcove. Jamie spoke first.

“Sassenach, there’s something I think I should tell ye.”

“Mm-hmm?” I tensed slightly, my hands stopping their caressing motion.

“Laoghaire asked fer my help carrying some casks of wine to the kitchen and of course, I couldna refuse—they were verra heavy—though why she didna ask any of the other lads… weel, we were walking back towards the kitchen—did ye get all the brewing done today as ye said ye must? I imagine all the folk from the gathering must have depleted yer stores a bit. I could ask Dougal if ye needed—”

“Mon Dieu, Jamie, get to the point!” I pinched his knee lightly, as it rose above the soapy water. The tub was barely large enough to accommodate his height.

“Laoghaire kissed me.” Now it was his turn to tense, as he awaited my reaction. I reached a hand behind me, touching his cheek.

“I saw. I heard.”

Jamie grasped me by the shoulders and turned me slightly. “Ye saw? How?” His face was red, and I did not think it was due to the heat of the bath.

“I was on my way to the surgery. You were by the staircase. I didn’t mean to listen, but you were there, and Laoghaire is just so…” I touched my forehead to his. “I also heard what you told her.”

“Och, weel.” He relaxed minutely and nestled me back against his chest. “’Twas the truth, aye?”

“Jamie, I can’t help but imagine that your life might have been easier if you had wed somebody else. Not her necessarily,” I added hastily, “but a Scottish woman. Someone everyone approved of. One of your own.”

“Ye are mine, and I am yers. No one else’s, mo nighean donn. Do ye not ken that still?” His arm came around me, holding me tightly to him. I grasped it as though I might drown.

“Above everything else, James Fraser—you are loyal.” He kissed the nape of my neck, and I began losing any coherent thoughts in the onslaught of Jamie’s kisses and his touch. His hands wandered upwards, cradling my breasts gently. He rose behind me, lifting me with him out of the tub. He patted us dry with a linen towel before carrying me back to bed.

Jamie lay me down, his hands traveling all over my body. He left no inch of skin untouched until I was writhing with pleasure. My own hands were at his back, tracing over the ridges of scars, urging him inside me.

We moved together slowly at first, savoring the feeling of being one. Then Jamie turned on his back, fingers splayed wide on my waist, as I hovered above him. I moved my hips in lazy circles, until it was Jamie who grunted and moaned, searching for release.

“Does it ever stop?” he gasped. “The wanting you.” He raised himself to take my breasts in his mouth, his tongue laving roughly over my nipples. I tilted my head back, awash in sensation.

“I hope not,” I breathed, gripping the back of his head to my chest. Jamie’s bright red curls slipped through my fingers, fire and heat and mine.

[the-life-we-fear]

ALEXANDER JAMES  MCTAVISH MCNAIR’S PAST (1720-1730)

Jus’ A Wee Barren

Born in an old stables in Inverness, right next to his father’s favorite horse sleeping off the ride from the town, Alexander Mcnair was born. First of his name in the Mcnair family but a blessing to Sophie and Rupert. Alex was born with fiery red hair that curled just out of his mother’s womb and his soul was just as fiery. For the first ten years of wee Alex’s life, his mother often found him setting ‘accidental’ fires to stable houses, falling off backs of horses by riding on them improperly, and running around the McNair estate gripping his father’s dirk. His mother would follow him around the house knitting their next blanket for the harsh winter’s to come and to bring to their stay at Caslte Leoch for the winter. 

Alex looked forward to winter’s most since he was able to practice swords with his uncle Robert and sampling the whiskey Robert used to sneak for him as well. Life was good in Scotland for his family until three months after the Winter’s Crest. 

His father and wee Alex were returning home one day after transferring the crops Rupert nursed the week before to sell for money for the tenants when they came home to their door kicked open and two British Solider’s posted outside the house. His father was outraged since the only people in the house without Alex and himself was Sophie and their kitchen maid Iris. Despite  the two soldiers posted outside their house, Rupert stormed in leaving young Alex outside staring at the wood scattered all over their front stairs. Iris screamed from the inside as a crash echoed through the house. And then a window broke. Broke from the sound of gunfire inside the house. Alex’s skin went cold. He may have been a young child, but he heard the stories from his father and other children of the British entering the homes of Scottish townsfolk and taking what they want because god knows why. 

After what felt like hours, Rupert’s body was dragged out of the house and lain in front of Alex. It wasn’t till his mother was pushed out after, tears streaming her face and then pushed to the ground in front of Alex did he fall to his own knees. One of the soldiers posted outside stepped behind him and placed their hand on his shoulder almost as to console him for what he was about to see. Just at the age of ten. And with one quick shot, his mother lay on the dirt next to his father. The Solider’s didn’t give their reasons for raiding his home, nor did they think it was necessary to a young Scottish child.  

Life at Leoch Castle(1730-1740)

Alex’s things were transported to his Uncle’s home, well what he wanted to bring there which was just a couple of his father’s kilts, nightshirts, sword and dirk. Everything else was left behind for Robert to deal with. When Alex arrived to Castle Leoch, he learned that he had two other Uncles who were bastards, Etherial and Jared had joined the Castle’s men.They weren’t too much older than him, just turned 18 when Alex came to stay at the castle. They were the men who taught this wee Scotsman to be a Solider who would soon fight for his fellow Scotsmen to be free, free from the British. 

In the mornings of the castle, he would join Jared out in the stables to begin tending to the horses. They would brush, feed, tame, and if Alex was lucky, take the horse out for a ride out in the fields in the back of the castle. 

During the first Winter-festival living in the Castle, Alex made friends with the Cooks daughter, Celeste. Beautiful, long, blonde hair that glowed in the sunlight. They met when Alex’s Uncle’s first son, Tomas invited him to sit at the table with Celeste and a few other lads at the time. Alex was 12 sitting at the table with a bunch of 16 year old lads and lasses, but the only sophisticated one was Celeste.  Alex learned that Celeste and Tomas would be wed once they came of age, and the two of them were always infatuated with each other when the other was around. But Alex got closer to Celeste rather than Tomas. They were always found running around the castle, sneaking food to take up to the fields to lay in and just talk about the future. A possible future where the British didn’t have a part in Scotland's life. 

Tomas even got jealous one day, watching Alex and Celeste run up to the stables instead of heading into the town when the three where teenagers, 16 years of age, and challenged the red head to a duel in the field after dinner. Alex tried to explain to Tomas that his intention wasn’t to steal Celeste from him. But Tomas still wanted to duel. So the two of them scarfed down their dinner, and rushed out to the field, swords at hand and began their duel. Celeste, Etherial, and Jared were the only ones present. It was a sloppy fight, the boys were stumbling over their feet, slicing each other on the arms, the legs, and the chest. Nothing to make either man scar. In the end, Alex won, but only because Tomas yielded. After that day, Alex made it a point to get better at fighting, and by the age of 18, he was fighting in his first war. 

It wasn’t a large one, but it was against the British. It was a war that broke out because a Scotsman fought back against a group of British troops because they barged in, ransacked the place, had their way with the man’s 20 year old daughter, and left them for dead. This was something Alex wanted to stand behind, since he wanted this to stop. This was the war he chose to fight in. One that got 18 year old Alex captured. He wasn’t afraid. He was determined to show those British that he wasn’t going to lay down and take what they threw at him. Even when a British officer gave him 200 lashes over the span of three days, scaring him for life. But those scars would make him fight longer and harder for Scotland’s freedom.  

Scars that Would Wound the Soul (1740-1742)

Life went on after a group of Robert’s men stormed the prison where Alex was being held and rescued him. They nursed him back to health on the way back to the castle which was a good two day’s ride. His back hurt him the most, but like the day it happened, he pushed his pain aside and stayed strong, even through the bumpy trip back to the castle. After that, he trained and trained even when he was hurting to become the man he was when he met Her.

At the age of 20, Alex was on a hunting trip with Etherial, Jared, Tomas, and a couple other men to collect the meet for the next week when they stumbled upon a woman. She was sitting by the side of the road, dress torn, singed in a couple of places, and holding her arms to her chest. She looked young, about the same age of Alex, and all of the men agreed to take her back to the castle. She was quiet the whole way to the castle, but that didn’t stop Alex from trying to make conversation with her. Once back at the castle, Alex offered to take the lass to see Mary, to get her new clothes and to get a good meal into her. That was when the woman told him her name. Liana Springs. Her hair was long, with different shades of brown throughout it’s wavy strands. Strands that smelled like peaches, even through the smell of ash that stained her clothes. 

As she got settled into the castle, she spent more time with Alex, even helped him out in the stables from time to time. She sooner opened up that when they found her, her house had just burned down, leaving he the only survivor. They grew closer because of that. Liana even grew closer to Celeste while doing the cooking, cleaning, and picking of herbs for the kitchen to use. They grew to be sisters. 

It wasn’t until six months of Liana being in the castle, did Celeste catch Alex gazing at her from across the room in the dinning hall, not being able to look away from her. Though it was returned from Liana’s side. Then came that year’s Winter’s Crest, where Alex stood in front of everyone and proposed himself to Liana, vowing to protect her, love her, and be by her side in whatever situation life put her through, and she accepted. 

They spent the next year and a half they grew inseparable. There wasn’t a moment they weren’t together. She began to go on trips with the men since she was able to prove her ability to take care of herself, taking down a bull that was racing towards Tomas once. If they weren’t right by each other's side, they were near, gazing at each other so much that Celeste began to poke fun at the two of them every chance she got. 

But it wasn’t all easy for them. Liana had disappeared sometimes in the night, and Alex found her coming back two hours later sneaking back into the quarters. At first, he thought it was just her wanting to get some air, but it wasn’t after a night of love making did he catch a glimpse of blood on her nightshirt. He confronted her about it, checking her skin for any wounds but found any, but she still had a small blood smell to her. That was when she admitted to him that she wasn’t human. That she was in fact a Telepathic Vampire. At first Alex was shocked, but she hadn’t caused anyone harm in the castle, and he trusted her. Never had she shown any sort of danger with the time she lived there with him. He also heard stories of mythical creatures walking the lands, creatures that feasted on human blood, and wolves that change into beautiful women the next. He actually found the idea of it beautiful. So he did not shun her for it. But it wasn’t until Celeste was out with Tomas one night that she found Liana sneaking off to feed did she grow suspicious. Celeste confronted her the next day and was demanding that she explain to her what was going on. So Liana did, but she made her promise that no one else would know of her. But that secrecy didn’t last for long. 

One night when Liana decided to feed, she was found by Etherial, Jared, and a few men who had chased Robert’s dog in the direction of where Liana was feeding, and found her covered in blood, with her teeth sunk in a deer. They rushed back, not recognizing the girl that Alex had fallen in love with, to report what they saw to Robert, who immediately in the middle of the night called to speak with Alex. 

Robert was afraid for his people, Alex understood that. But now more people knew of Liana’s true self. And that terrified Alex. Talk already was spreading around the castle of what she was. This was a week before Alex and Liana were to be wed. Alex was able to calm Roberts fears and he agreed to let them both stay.

That whole week Liana was distant, barley talking to Celeste or either Alex, even on the nights they were alone. It wasn’t until the night before their wedding did Liana truly speak to him. That night they fell asleep in eachother’s arms, crying from the words that were spoken that night. But those tears wouldn’t be the last for Alex for the years to come. 

The next day, Alex woke to an empty bed and a note set on the bed side. She had left. Left in fear of how many knew of her secret. In fear that one day, she would hurt the family she grew into. So she left to protect. To protect him most of all. 

Fighting for A Scot(1742-1745)

After Liana’s departure, Alex grew distant even towards Celeste. Spending most of his time out in the stables, taking all of his meals there. That lasted for three years until he was called to fight in the Battle of Colluden. He fought long and hard, but they still lost the battle. Some Scotts were killed after the battle, but those that accepted the defeat were spared. So Alex, Jared, Tomas, were hired, a long with a few other men to be at the service to Irish and British families that needed their help. 

His heart never stopped aching. It ached for the memory of Liana, and for the loss of his countrymen. But that wouldn’t stop him for fighting for the ones he loved. Supernatural or human.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Are we going to get more flood my mornings?

FMM: Of Small Kangaroos

This story takes place in an AU where Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

FMM Master List

Previously: Found

**Backtracking timewise just a bit on this one! The woes of getting acclimated to your own AU timeline again ;)** 

—-

November, 1952

“Can’t you stay home this morning?” she wheedled, wiping maple syrup from Ian’s chin. Christ, how sweet she looked in her Turtle’s-Neck sweater, the cabled one the same color as her skin. Not even six o’clock—bairns make early risers of all, aye?—and still her eyes were bright and sharp. “It’s Sunday and cold as b…all-get-out.”

“I wish I could.” He’d like nothing better than to spend a few stolen hours abed with her while the children napped away the afternoon. “But I canna,” he said,  the last piece of toast in his mouth as he began clearing up the dishes. “Promised Hank I would go in and cover for h—”

“DA, Mummy SAID, it’s—”

“Don’t *interrupt*, Bree,” they chanted with one well-worn voice. 

Brianna sighed with even greater exasperation and piled every remaining piece of bacon onto her plate with a grumble that sounded a great deal like.  “…interruptin’ me….” 

“Brianna Ellen.” Claire’s head tilted, hawk’s eye fixed with deadly precision. “Attitude.” 

“S’too cold out there, Daddy,” the lass piped at once with saccharine primness that dared anyone to question its sincerity.  

“Aye, ‘tis cold,” he agreed, sharing a secret, rueful glance with Claire, “and that means the horses will be, too.” He laid a freshly-scrubbed plate onto the rack and took up the next. “Shall ye come along wi’ me to the barn, then, cub?”  

“Me?” 

“ME!” Ian parroted, slithering down from his seat. 

“Aye, you, and yer Mam, and Ian? Make a wee outing of it?”

“No-thanks,” came the verdict of the bacon-cruncher. “Dinna wanna put my coat on.”

“Ye lazy wee baggage!” He cast over his shoulder for her and spied Claire first, hiding behind her mug. “No!…Et tu, mo nighean donn?” 

“It’s awfully warm and cozy indoors….” Her guilty grin gave way to a yawn, then a stretch. “And I really do need to stay,” she said, bringing her stocking-feet up onto the seat and hugging her knees, “got to make a dent in these applications today.” 

This last rose in crescendo, still barely heard over the din of: 

            “CAN I–” 

             “Me-me-meee!!!” 

               “CAN I BE ‘SCUUUSED!?”

“Verra well,” he sighed at Claire with a wink, Bree seizing upon this as permission and tearing out of the kitchen while Jamie dried his hands. “I suppose I’ll don my coat and set off all alone into the frigid—”

“Meeeeee!!”

At last, he took notice of the smallest Fraser, who had been wrapped around his leg. “Why, hallo, YOU.” 

“Go, too?” he asked excitedly in Gaelic, giving a little bounce for emphasis. “Me, too?”

He took a moment to simply marvel. The boy didn’t always choose to speak, but when he did, it never failed to surprise Jamie how much he truly understood of the action swirling about over his head. And to reply to English with Gaelic, forbye! Perhaps it shouldn’t be shocking, seeing as how Ian had been hearing it spoken since birth, but Lord, his pronunciation was near perfect as he begged, “Go, too, Daddy?” 

“Ye want to come wi’ Da to see the horses, jo?” (in English, for Claire’s sake). 

Ian nodded once and beamed, raising his hands expectantly and switching languages without missing a beat. “Go-’IF!”

Jamie gripped Ian’s wrists and let the lad climb up his front like a mountaineer, grinning as broadly as he. “Go we shall, then!” 

“But, shouldn’t–? Jesus H. Christ, I can’t believe I’m asking this, with the chance at a 50% less chaotic day on offer,” Claire laughed, coming to stand with them and rumple Ian’s hair, “but won’t he be in your way?”

“This wee face?” he said, kissing it. “Nay, never.”

—-

It might well be, in actual fact, Jamie admitted as he set the pair off them off for Fernacre. A child of sixteen months was never a simple matter, even as one as generally agreeable as Ian, but having the lad with him was well worth a bit of disruption here and there.

It wasn’t simply Ian’s acuity that had startled him earlier, but that the lad had asked to go with Da. With him. 

His heart melted afresh as he thought on it, as he felt Ian’s head, warm and heavy against his hip. 

Naturally, the singular bond with Claire had stayed strong, even past the time he was weaned. Many was the occasion that Ian would suddenly turn from Jamie and wail for her, entirely inconsolable until he might cry against her shoulder and be soothed by her hands, her voice. 

There was nothing malicious in the preference, of course. Brianna was a never-ceasing demander of energies and was always happy to fill any vacancy left by her brother. Besides, Jamie could see the wee one’s point, for he likewise had a very strong desire to be held by Claire at all times. 

Even so, being singled out himself by the lad was yet new enough that it sent a warm, silly thrill through his chest each time, almost like being a schoolboy again: happily heartsick over his attentions being returned. 

“And if it’s no’ being in love,” he murmured as he slowed the car, palm atop the boy’s head, “I haven’t the faintest idea.” 

“We-heer?” Ian exclaimed, coming to life and nearly toppling over as he tried to stand on the seat mid-parking. ‘We-heer?”

Scooping him up with one arm, Jamie stepped out into the chill. “Aye, here!” He bent to set Ian down, remembering the great bag of diapering supplies, food, and toys in the back seat.  “Off ye g—”

“Nooooo!” The boy turned violently legless, twisting impressively to avoid touching the ground. 

“Ian, ye–” 

“Hoam-me!”

“Do ye no’ want to walk on your own feet like a big boy?” He already kent well the answer.

His brown-haired lad gave an uncanny impression of Claire’s ‘don’t talk nonsense’ face. “HOAM-me.”

A Sucker he was, wi’ no hope for it whatsoever. He chuckled and sighed, hoisting the lad up higher.  “Today you win, joey.” 

Strange, thinking back now, that he’d gone the first quarter-century of life knowing nothing of Kangaroos.

He’d first learnt the odd word in the days when his appetite for knowledge of the centuries missed had made trips to the library a near-daily event. Australia— what a wonder that place seemed to him! All that vast expanse, filled with such uncanny creatures. A nightmarish beast, this one had looked from the illustration: like a man-sized hare with a great, thick tail, tapering like a lizard’s; eerily man-like in the arms and chest, capable of leaping thirty feet in one bound before kicking one’s teeth in.  

Still, a softer recollection had come straightaway to mind later, when Claire began to carry Ian about the house in a sling on her front. Jenny, too, had worn her bairns, wrapped in a shawl on her back, yet there was something all the more intimate in seeing mother and child nestled chest-to-chest amid the mundane tasks of the day; seeing Claire wrap her arms around him with utter tenderness, whispering soft love; the babe dozing as she worked and moved about, warm and safe in the comfort of her heartbeat, just as he had been in the womb.

Both the nickname and the love of being cuddled had stuck, and it was only sight of the horses of Barn A that coaxed Jamie’s little marsupial down. True-to-form, he hit the stable floor with a hop.  

Jamie made quick inspection of his four-footed charges. No need for mucking out, God be praised; just feeding, watering, and a bit of love for each. He began making his way down the first aisle of eight, Ian toddling along to watch, full of quiet wonder. 

It had been some time since he’d gotten to be alone–mostly alone– with the horses. Nearly all his working days were spent in the paddocks, training the young or new ones; coaching the riders on how they might better work in harmony with the being beneath them. He loved it, took such pride and joy in witnessing the excitement of human and beast alike as they improved, as they bonded.

Yet it brought his heart a different sort of joy, the quieter sort, to be in the stables on a still morning such as this, gentle mist seeming to soften the hard edges of world and word.

They soon reached the last stall on the eastern side. “How goes it, a nighean?” he crooned to Cornflower, who knocked her snout into his shoulder in companionable greeting. 

“Pat him?” Ian asked in the same language, honey-eyes glowing. 

“Aye, ye can pat *her.*” 

Lifted high, Ian gingerly reached out to touch the mighty neck. 

“Morning, Jamie!” 

“The same to you!” 

He turned them to face Tom, who was coming through the door with two steaming cups.“HEY! Look who came to help his Papa out! Jeez, Jamie, when did he get so darn tall?” 

“Tis our constant question, as well!” He set Ian atop a stack of hay bales by Corny’s door and gratefully reached to take the mug. 

Tom winked at Ian. “How you doing today, little man?”

“Hiii,” was all Ian said before covering his face so nothing save grinning eyes showed between hat and mittens. 

God bless Tom Harper, Jamie prayed sincerely as they sipped and chatted, discussing business, the children, all the usual things. Of all the people in his new life, it was Tom that minded him most of Murtagh: always near, always willing, always irreverant, yet always looking after ye from afar. It wasn’t often he thought of it: but knowing that Tom was only ever a call away should emergency strike or counsel be needed of one with more years of experience in the world was an immense comfort, more than Jamie could ever truly express to the man. 

A jubilant shriek erupted from behind them. 

Ian had descended the hay bales and was now right underneath Cornflower’s stall, head thrown back, both hands reaching up to touch– 

“IAN, STO–” 

“Mmmm-wah!” Ian kissed the fuzzy snout, right in the spot between the heaving nostrils. He bounced on his heels, chirped ‘Bye!!’ to her in Gaelic, then ran toward the next stall. 

Jamie crossed the space in two leaps to yank him backward….but of all the wonders, Hector was already at the front of the stall in response to Ian’s command.

“What’d he say??” Tom whispered.  

“He said, ‘Come here.’”

“Whoa….” 

The horse had lowered his neck, inspecting Ian judiciously. Jamie kept both hands around the boy’s ribs, half-crouched in readiness to rip him away at the slightest sign of danger….but as though by magic, Hector nudged his snout deliberately into Ian’s outstretched hands with a tiny nicker, getting an enchanting giggle and kiss in return. 

“Christ in Heaven…..” 

Tom hooted. “I. will. be. DAMNED!!” 

Jamie discovered both that his mouth had fallen open and that his son was already in front of the next stall, charming his mark. He and Tom stayed close, heart still thudding in terror of the inevitable crushed finger or nip on the face, but no….  one by one, each horse willingly lowered their nose for a kiss. 

It wasn’t just heedless affection young Ian radiated: it was instinct, too. For, when Bard put back his ears and snorted, the lad took a tidy step backward, not offended in the slightest. He only gave the brute a cheery wave and moved on to find his next sweetheart. 

“Well done, a bhalaich!” he laughed, giving the lad a squeeze.

“Fanks!” Ian wriggled out without a backward glance, intent on his mission. 

Tom groaned as he settled onto a bench, beckoning Jamie to do the same.  “So little Ian takes to horses a bit more naturally than Brianna, huh?”

“Aye…” Jamie exhaled heavily, allowing himself to sit and relax. “He’s got a way about him.” 

Tom resumed sipping his coffee (Jamie’s somewhere on the floor), watching Ian and chuckling. “You do crank out some damned cute kiddos, Jamie.”

“I do have a damned cute wife.”

They laughed and Jamie’s mind wandered, even as they continued to chat, even as he kept Ian in the corner of his vision. 

Strange, no? How bairns can be so similar in some ways and yet so different in others. Bree, with her warrior spirit, indomitable, was nearly as frightened of horses now as the first time he’d brought her here. This morning she had blamed the coat and the cold, but Jamie knew it was more to do with the great stomping hooves and enormous teeth. Never would she admit fear, of course. She would fluster and put on that wee glower he loved so well, but beneath it, the lass was petrified.

Contrast this with Ian, for all he might be the more quiet and cautious in life as a whole, who showed no fear whatsoever here in the stable. True, he had seen horses before, even ridden one on Jamie’s lap, so there was no factor of shock as there had been with Bree. Still… Strength and courage manifests to each of us in our own way. A comforting thought, in this ever-changing world, no? Unlike Jenny and Ian, he had not one clue how his children might spend their lives once grown, so many paths being available to them. It weighed heavily on him some days– but if they each find their strength, wheresoever it might lie, then surely they shall find their own prosperous path, as well….

Sounds of human and equine unease sent his head whipping round. Merlin, one of the younger horses of this bunch, was standing in the window with no apparent intent to lower his head. Ian was grunting, jumping up and down to get the laddie’s attention with a persistent, “Hiii? HIIIII???” on repeat.

“He may no’ wish to talk just now, Ian.”

The boy whirled eagerly and pointed back up over his shoulder. “Up, Da?” Without waiting for an answer, he sprinted over, eyes bright with urgency. “Da, Up! Up, ‘kay?”

“I think you’d better pick him up, Jamie, before he blows a gasket,” groaned Tom as he stood, heading toward to door to continue his day. 

“Take it easy, Tom,” he called. 

“You do the same!” 

“Daaaaa, UPPP???“

He heard Tom’s infectious laugh vanish into the distance. 

–

“Easy now,” he murmured to the horse in Gaelic as they approached, reaching out his free hand to carefully rub the long, white neck. Merlin blew out through his nostrils. “Aye, I ken, your wizardship, ‘tis a bit unconventional, but the wee thing just wants to say hello, aye? Can ye find it in your heart?” 

“No scary,” Ian promised. 

With sudden inspiration, Jamie rifled in his coat pocket and held out the contents to the wary brute. “And what say ye now, friend?”

Merlin held back a moment for dignity, then descended upon his treat. 

“W’ ‘is ‘it?” demanded Ian, back to English in his curiosity.  

“Give me your hand—“ Jamie pulled the mitten off with his teeth. “Cup your fingers like a wee bowl, aye?”

Ian peered into his palm.“…..’Is ‘at, Daddy?” 

“'Tis a sugar cube. Shall we see if he’d like some more?”

Ian’s eyes lit up and he swiveled around toward the horse so suddenly he dropped the cube. Once resupplied, he held his arm out at full length, bellowing, “Hiiiii!”  

Ian squealed in delight as the huge lips and teeth explored his hand. “Mooorr-Da!”

Many, many sugar cubes later, Jamie crouched to set Ian on his feet, but the lad  flung his arms about Jamie’s neck with an insistent “Nnnhhhh!”

“Christ, you’re truly naught but a barnacle wi’ legs!” Jamie gave up, kissing the boy’s capped head. “If I ever thought your sister was a cuddly sort, there was no fathoming what was to come, wee jo.”

“Moor-coops?” Ian asked, popping up to search Jamie’s face.

Jamie checked his pocket, coming up with one last sugar cube. Ian didn’t miss a beat. He took it between his fingers, said ‘Heer-Da,’ and pressed it firmly against Jamie’s lips. 

“You’re a sweet one, a chuisle,” Jamie said, crunching the sugar and kissing the hand. “And you’re lucky the horses didna chomp all your wee fingers off—!!” 

Ian squealed as Jamie made play of gobbling them up, his little belly shaking with giggles so deep he began turning red. 

“Allllllright, lad,” Jamie soothed after a time, before the lad exploded, “we’d best be going.” 

“Go home?” 

“Nay, no’ until later. We have three more barns to check, yet. Let’s hope ye have enough kisses left in ye.”

.

He did.