#chechzooo

[imagineclaireandjamie]

It has been a long time since there has been a Vietnam AU update. It would be interesting to see Dougal after many years.

anonymous asked: Hi Gotham.  Your Vietnam au has touched me.  After watching the Ken Burns documentary I am floored by the amount of information that I didn’t know about the war.  Would you consider doing a chapter where Jamie and Claire tell each other of their experiences on their respective battlefields?  Thanks for continuing to give us these gifts!    

—–

“You get irritated with Vietnam because it won’t leave you alone.”

- James “Butch” Morris, United States Marine Corps, who served in Vietnam 1969-1970

———-

Vietnam AU

Fraser’s Ridge,North Carolina

May 1975

 The telegram arrived after breakfast.

 Claire tipped the Western Union delivery boy for histrouble – he had driven the windingtwo-mile gravel road to Lallybroch – and frowned at the envelope.

 “Everything all right?” Jenny appeared in the hallway, youngMichael on her hip, gnawing on a zwieback.

 “I don’t know.” Claire held up the envelope to the light.“We weren’t expecting anything.”

 “Well – Ian just left for the stables. Said he wasmeeting Jamie there.”

 Claire pursed her lips all the way up the back path, mindracing in a thousand directions.

 Fortunately Jamie was outside, polishing a saddle.

 “Hey!” he smiled. “I didn’t expect to see you up here!Everything OK?”

 Immediately his hand settled on her three-month pregnantbelly, caressing, cradling.

 She couldn’t help but smile. “We’re fine. But I don’t know what this is…”

 He tore open the envelope – hair so bright in the Maysunlight – and said a very foul word in Gaidhlig.

 --

 “It’s nice of you to host me, Jamie.”

 General Dougal MacKenzie’s eyes darted around the sittingroom – taking in the old furniture, and the antique maps, and the issues ofNational Geographic fanned on the coffee table.

 “Did Ellen paint that one?”

 Claire’s eyes swiveled across the room, toward thewatercolor of the house, nestled in the pines.

 Jamie sipped his whisky. “She did. When I was a boy.”

 Dougal crossed his legs, the dozens of medals on hisuniform swaying slightly. “She did always have a talent for drawing. I’m sorryto say I don’t have anything she made.”

 “She drew portraits of Jamie and me, and our Da. And aself-portrait, too – they’re upstairs, if you’d like to see them.” Jenny lookeddown at her nails, which Maggie had painted a vivid (if messy) pink.

 “That’s all right – I don’t want to impose.”

 “You’re not imposing, Uncle.” Jamie’s free hand grippedClaire’s tighter, his thumb tracing her wedding ring. “Only – it’s a bit oddfor you to drop in on us, out of the clear blue sky. I don’t ever remember youcoming to Lallybroch before. Even when Mam was alive.”

 Ian reached across the coffee table to top up Dougal’stumbler of whisky. The general watched him, then turned his gaze toward Claire.His eyes narrowed.

 “We’ve met before.”

 She nodded. “We have. At the 91st Evacuation Hospital inChu Lai. I was a nurse.”

 Dougal’s thick brows raised in surprise. “That’s right!You worked with a colored doctor.”

 Claire clenched her teeth. “Joe Abernathy. He’s a surgeon– he’s back at his practice, in Boston. And I’m a doctor now, too.”

 “She works with people who have suffered traumatic braininjuries,” Jamie explained. “She helps them heal. Like she helped me heal, afterI was injured.”

 Dougal swirled his whisky, then took a deep gulp. “That’sone of my proudest days, Jamie – when I pinned that Bronze Star and Purple Heartto your chest. It’s a shame you didn’t re-up after that.”

 Jamie bristled. “No it’s not. I was done.”

 The general sighed. “I suppose I’m done, too, in a mannerof speaking. Ever since Saigon fell last month – I still can’t believe DuongVan Minh surrendered – I’ve had nowhere to go. I’m finally stateside, but I don’tfeel at home.”

 Claire cleared her throat. “Get used to it, General.”

 “Dougal, please.”

  “Dougal – with respect,Viet Nam isn’t something you can leave behind.”

 Dougal looked up at her – then down at her and Jamie’sjoined hands – then over at his nephew.

 “Claire’s right. I’ve been back five and a half years –and I think about it every day.” Jamie sat up a bit straighter on the couch. “Sometimeswhen I’m out in the woods, the wind changes direction, and I catch a scent fromthe trees that takes me back to the rice paddies. Sometimes when Mrs. Crookburns the beans for our supper, I remember Elias Pound – he was a private in myplatoon, and he couldn’t cook over a campfire to save his life.”

 “He has nightmares, now and again,” Murtagh added fromacross the room, Suzette at his side. “More so in ’70 and ‘71. Not unlike whatyou and me both experienced, Dougal, those first few years after we stormed thebeaches in France.”

 Dougal nodded. “I understand. I just thought – ”

 “No amount of experience or willpower will make it go away,”Claire interrupted. “You’ll have to deal with it, just like we have. Just likewe’ll continue to.”

  Silence stretched.

 “Are you stationed at Fort Bragg?” Ian pushed the plateof cookies across the table. Dougal took a shortbread.

 “For the time being, yes. I can retire, now that the waris over. But God knows what I’d do – where I’d go.”

 “What about your daughters?” Jenny asked gently.

 “They want nothing to do with me.” Dougal closed his eyes,suddenly looking very tired, very old. “Their mother was right – I never caredto make the time for her, or for them. And here I am, wishing that there wasstill a war for me to go to. So that I don’t feel so empty.”

 Jamie stood, then – and crossed the room – and lay agentle hand on the three stars on his uncle’s shoulder.

 “You’ll always have a home here. And when you’re ready totalk, Claire and I will listen.”

 Claire rubbed her belly, mind full of swaying palm treesand automatic gunfire and the scent of carbolic acid, watching silent, gratefultears track down General Dougal MacKenzie’s cheeks.

[whiskynottea]

Will you add to the beauty that is This Is Us?

Hi @chechzooo!!

This Is Us is amazing and it’s one of my favourite fanfics ever! I even wrote a love letter to it, and I guess the recent reblogs of this post are the reason you got confused. 

However, this story isn’t mine. This Is Us is written by the one and only @abbydebeaupreposts! 

And since I agree with you, when you feel like adding to TIU Abby, we’ll be here, waiting for it!

Much love!

[nordic-sassenach]

@chechzooo reblogged your photoset and added:

After events from The Scottish Prisoner, Jamie was given better but not too over the top clothes. He also became head groom.

That’s true and he got his own room as well. I wonder how the show will handle his time at Helwater though. 

[phoenixflames12]

Part of me is really, really excited about where this chapter is going (characters finally opening up and talking about what’s been bugging them for the last 4 chapters! Story arcs winding up slowly! Honest discussions about the future! Characters trying to be at peace with childhood trauma *side eyes Jenny and Jamie and their relationship with Brian* and yet another part of me is extremely sad that things are slowly beginning to wind up.

I’ve been with this AU for eight months (starting from when I began An Endless Night) and in that time I’ve written 50,3k words for Vergangenheit and a combined total of nearly 63k words for that and the other extended scenes. 

I’ve never broken the 50k word barrier before.

When I began this project, I never even considered that this would consume me as much as it has done, or that it would given me the opportunity to be a part of a group of loving, open, fantastic writers, whose primary objective is to build each other up and encourage each other in their writing. 

So thank you. Thank you @gotham-ruaidh for giving this AU exposure and for generally being the nicest, kindest person on the planet, for @abbydebeaupreposts for your unfailing support and your lovely reviews, @missclairebelle for sending messages and replies that breathed life into me when I thought I had none, for @marshmallow08910, @chechzooo, @whiskynottea, @housekeeperofpemberley, @katnoenau, @smoakingwaffles, @sassy-sassenach, @thatsoccercoach, @futurelounging, @momwendy, @tara-58, @sorcha-jayne, @outofcheese, @scatterations, @xlisaleinx,  @cantrixgrisea  and so many more, who I won't mention because this post is long enough already, but you know who you are, for all of your words of love, wisdom, encouragement, joy, sadness, longing and heartbreak. 

I know that I say this a lot, but you guys (and many others) have given me and my writing more than I can coherently put into words. 

Thank you. 

From the bottom of my heart, I thank you and cannot wait to share the rest of this story with you all!

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

Without worry etc. (Update 15/04/2018)

(“Schloss Sanssouci” by PeterB)

You can find all parts here:

Without worry - Prologue

Without worry (1): Never again

Without worry (2): Men’s stuff

Without worry (3): Do you remember? (1)

Without worry (4): Of Sons and Daughters (1)

Without worry (5): Of Sons and Daughters (2)

Without worry (6): It was your fault

Without worry (7): Back in her Business

or at AO3: “Without worry”

For those who are interested in “Under the wings of the black Eagle” - all parts are available here: ToC or at AO3.

Thank you for asking, @chechzooo !

[written-rebellion]

@chechzooo​ said: Wait, what am I missing? What new chapter? Is there a link?

I gotchuu no worries! You can find the latest PD right here!

[westerhos]

@chechzooo She had a c-section in the book, which is where this anon was coming from! (Also omg, I had just assumed she’d had a c-section in the show too, bc they put her under? That was how they did _natural_ births?!)

But also…I keep seeing people arguing about specifics? That is not the point of the post, people!!! Y’all know what I mean - scars, stretch marks, c-section, WHATEVER, I wish they had shown it.

[anoutlandishidea]

@chechzooo at Collum’s cabin. They don’t meet up with her til the next morning, but word reached Ellen who told Jenny who then told Jamie. More arrived at the Gathering than at Ellen’s specific cabin. You never know who’s gonna show up or when at these sorts of things (extended cousin wise) so it was a general heads up. 😜

Idyllwild: The One With Claire’s First Gathering

The Premise: FLUFF FOR THE SAKE OF FLUFF.

My family has an annual family reunion of epic proportions and I realized while driving to it that it could easily fit the MacKenzie’s Gathering at Leoch in Season/Book One. So, with some modernized tweaking and situations directly taken from personal experience, come experience the Gathering with Claire!

Each Idyllwild chapter is stand alone, meaning you don’t have to read anything else to get this one, but this one WILL HAVE SEVERAL INSTALLMENTS to eventually encompass the whole Gathering weekend.

What You Need To Know: This is early on in Jamie and Claire’s dating relationship. No kids, not much of a history, they’ve been dating for a bit and falling head over heals in love.

You can read other chapters here.

July 3rd, 2008; Idyllwild, MN. Claire’s driveway.

I want you to meet my family.

Of course, I’d met Jamie’s parents and siblings already, but he’d meant his entire extended family… an open invitation to travel with him upstate to somewhere in the Northwoods where his mother’s family hosted an annual family reunion. I didn’t have much in the way of extended family — having precisely one bachelor uncle to my name and nothing in the way of cousins — so I packed my bags and climbed into Jamie’s pickup truck with a fair amount of trepidation.

“Ready?” Jamie grinned over at me before backing out of the driveway.

I sighed and tried to smile back, my nerves getting the better of me, “As I’ll ever be.”

He reached out his hand and took mine, squeezing it reassuringly. His touch steadied me — as it always did — and I took a deep breath. The familiar scents of the truck’s interior mingled with the subtle undertones of Jamie’s nearness, coming together to surround me in a sure safety.

“You’re sure they won’t bite?” I teased, not quite looking at him.

“Oh aye,” he readily assured, then laughed as he put the truck into gear and our journey began. “Well, maybe not Angus.”

…

The holiday traffic thinned once we left the main highways and ventured out onto more rural roads, leaving only determined travelers like ourselves to brave a sudden rain shower. Jamie hadn’t even plugged the address into his GPS before we left, but instead relied on memory and his uncanny sixth sense of direction to direct us to the cabin in the downpour.

His phone buzzed and he tossed it into my lap, asking. “It’s Jenny. What’d she say? Do we need to pick up anything on the way?”

Laoghaire just arrived, fair warning. 

Keep reading

[thelallybrochlibrary]

I really miss This Is Us. Do you know what happened to it?

Good Morning @chechzooo!

We were wondering the same thing about This is Us by @abbydebeaupreposts!

Maybe you could drop her a note to let her know how much you miss the story? Fingers crossed we will get an update soon!

[imagineclaireandjamie]

chechzooo asked: Will there be more of the story of John and Isobel on the Ridge? 

Murtagh on the Ridge AU (not written in chronological order) An alternate universe in which Murtagh survived Culloden and joined the others at Fraser’s Ridge

*listed in chronological order Claire’s return; first Christmas after Claire’s return; Company Part 1; Bree’s arrival; Jem’s birth; a skunk on the ridge

Company - Part 2 (a multi-parter within the Murtagh on the Ridge AU)

Claire was right about the measles. Isobel broke out in the rash before dark had fallen and John woke up with it. Ian held out the night in the stable but was shivering and feverish when Claire went to check on him and tend the animals in the morning.

She spent the next few days tending her trio of patients, which meant: brewing tea to soothe their headaches; keeping a pot of stew in the hearth’s embers for when they could only manage broth and a pot with milk-soaked bread beside it should they be able to manage a bit more; keeping them from overheating amid their fevers and the close atmosphere of the small cabin; washing their clothes when they slept soundly and the fevers began to abate.

It was exhausting but not unfamiliar work. As she fought to sleep sitting upright in the chair where she could hear anything should they need her, she wondered what she might do to get word to Jamie and Murtagh at the big house to tell them how everyone fared. They must be beside themselves with worry, especially the boy, William. But Claire couldn’t yet risk leaving them alone in the house for more than the time it took to feed the animals, milk the goats, and collect the chickens’ eggs. The horses were getting restless in their stalls, unable to get adequate exercise.

But John was beginning to come around, the disease having nearly run its course so that he would only have to fight through a few more days recovery and rebuild his strength. When he could stay conscious for more than two hours together and sit up in the bed beside Isobel, Claire would feel comfortable letting the horses into their paddock for a few hours and then corraling them back in just before dusk.

Young Ian was strong, too, and she was confident he would easily pull through. He slept soundly with Rollo curled up beside him on the pallet where it rested on the floor. If Ian stirred or needed something, Rollo whined to get Claire’s attention.

It was Isobel who concerned Claire most. Their journeying from Jamaica up along the coast and then across North Carolina had left her weary by the time she contracted the disease. She slept fretfully, the rash making it impossible for her to get comfortable. Her fever ebbed and flowed but stubbornly refused to break. Still, there was a quiet strength in Isobel Grey that refused to give up her hold on life.

“Will she survive?” John asked softly when he roused enough to begin to be company again. Claire had him move to the other side of the bed, between Isobel and the wall, so that Claire might reach her better. It helped to have another warm body tucked next to Isobel but being on the closer side of the bed made it easier for Claire to pull back the blankets when necessary to let in cooler air.

“I think so,” Claire responded. “I certainly intend to do all that I can. She had a long period yesterday when the fever quieted and I had hoped it would break but it rose again this morning. I think it’ll be the final push for both and if she can hold on a little longer, I think she’ll do it in once and for all. Then it’ll be a question of getting her through the recovery.”

John sighed, his breathing still shallow and unsteady. He reached over and lovingly brushed several strands of his wife’s hair back into place. “She’ll outlast it,” he asserted. “For Willie’s sake.”

Claire smiled. “The love of a mother for her child can accomplish many things,” she agreed.

“You sound as though you speak from experience,” John said with a hint of surprise.

“Jamie and I have a daughter,” Claire informed him, keeping her voice low. “It was for her sake that I went on when I thought Jamie was lost at Culloden. Love for her gave me strength… and still does. She’s grown now and living far away.”

“I saw what it did to Jamie to be parted from you. And the comfort having Willie nearby provided. You’re sure they’re safe from this measles?”

“If any of them were likely to show symptoms, they’d have been on the doorstep by now.”

Isobel began to stir and groan, perhaps roused by their conversation. Claire adjusted the blanket and dipped a cloth in a pail of cool water next to the bed, wringing it out before using it to bathe Isobel’s face and neck.

Isobel opened her mouth, her eyelids fluttering as she fought to wake.

“Mrs. Grey,” Claire called softly. “Mrs. Grey, can you hear me?”

“Where’s… Willie?” Isobel breathed.

“He’s safe, darling,” John told her.

“He’s… measles?”

“No. He’s been kept away to prevent him catching it. But I doubt they’ll be able to keep him away much longer. He’ll be wanting to see you,” John continued. “We’ve given our hostess a scare, but you’re doing splendidly.”

“Your husband is right, Mrs. Grey. You’re pulling through nicely. Your fever seems to be breaking at last,” Claire said with a note of triumph. “Rest more now but in an hour or so, I want to see if Mr. Grey and I can get you sitting up enough to take a bit of broth or perhaps a few bites of bread.”

“Course,” Isobel murmured. Her eyelids stopped twitching with the effort to open them and her body relaxed into the mattress once more. “Thank you… Mrs. Fraser.”

“You must call me Claire moving forward. We’re going to become good friends in the next few weeks while you recover and my good friends call me by my first name.”

“Claire,” Isobel said with a weak but warm smile. “Please… Isobel.”

“Which room do ye wish to bed down in tonight?” Jamie asked William as they put their tools away in the fading light. “We’ve tried each of the bedrooms on the second floor a time or two and I’m most grateful to have had yer help wi’ findin’ and fixin’ their deficiencies. Could I beg yer opinions on the rooms of the first floor, now? The parlor perhaps or the study?”

“What about the kitchen?” William suggested a little too eagerly.

Murtagh laughed. “There’s no food stored there yet,” he reminded the lad. “No beyond what we’ve managed in our snares and what’s left of our stores. It’ll be a few months yet ‘fore it’ll be worth sleepin’ in the kitchen.”

“Will you be putting books in your study?” William asked, turning to Jamie.

“Where else would I put them?”

“I didn’t know that you would have any. Even stopping in the cities and towns, there were few places to find books,” William observed. “Mother says we’ll need to send to England when we’ve settled.”

“It’s true there arena so many printers in the colonies here as there are in England or Scotland,” Jamie conceded. “But books are a necessary for man no matter where he makes his home, for they bring civilization to the wild and the wild to civilization.” He grinned at the lad who smiled—a happy sign after a day in which he’d let his fears and frustration boil over into a brief tantrum. With tools at hand it was simple enough for Jamie to help William channel that energy into something productive. He would wait until the Greys were well enough to serve as a distraction and then he could return to the house, pull the nails in the floorboards in the corner of Claire’s surgery, and hammer them home again in a straighter line. “Do ye have a favorite book?”

William blinked, surprised by the question. He pondered it while they finished tidying up and moved to the kitchen where Murtagh had stoked the fire in the hearth enough to roast the rabbit he’d prepared.

“I don’t think so,” William finally declared. “I’ve only read my lessons and lessons are not my favorite. Do you have one?”

“Aye. Robinson Crusoe by a Mr. Daniel Defoe. Tells the tale of a man shipwrecked who washes ashore of an island when all the rest were lost. He must find a way to survive it all, even when he believes he’ll never be rescued or see another livin’ soul again.”

“And is he ever rescued?” William perked up at the teasing in Jamie’s voice.

“Ye’ll find out if ye read it for yerself.” Jamie put his small tin plate down and wiped the grease off his hands before reaching for his pack. He had packed it with the other supplies they would need when formally left the cabin four days earlier. Having confirmed for Claire that he’d had measles as a child, she permitted him inside for a quarter hour before kissing him goodbye and telling him they were not to enter the house again for at least one week—unless William or Murtagh began showing symptoms. Jamie said a quick and silent prayer that his nephew and friends were well again, and that Claire was taking care of herself as well as the others.

“You brought it with you?” William asked, baffled.

“And why no?” Murtagh interjected. “We’ve time to pass and if he’s willin’ to read at us to pass it, I say proceed. It’ll either give us something new to think on or it’ll send us to sleep and I’ll no be mindin’ that either.”

William actually chuckled at that and the put upon expression Jamie adopted to play off Murtagh. It was a dynamic they’d found put William at ease.

“If tha’s the way ye’re goin’ to be about it, I dinna ken as I want to bother strainin’ my eyes wi’ the hearthlight. Ye can count yerself to sleep wi’ sheep,” Jamie informed Murtagh.

“Oh please read it, Mr. Fraser,” William begged. “I won’t be put to sleep by it, I promise. Please?”

Jamie bowed his head to William and said, “For you, lad, I shall be happy to oblige.”

[whiskynottea]

I originally came here with the intentions to ask you for a Master List. But then I found it. And then I found “We’ll Rise Up”! How did I miss that?!?! Any plans to continue it? 😘❤️

Hi love!! I’m so glad that you found “We’ll rise up” and you liked it! 

It’s my first (and less popular) story and it has a special place in my heart. After a kind reminder from @cantrixgrisea a few weeks ago:

and inquiries from @outlander76, @chechzooo, @rancar47 and @underthewingsofthblackeagle… I think it’s time to write the next chapter!!

I’m sorry for this huge delay girls and thank you for your support!! 💖💖

[phoenixflames12]

A next day reblog for those who didn’t see this and its link to AO3 here and a massive shout out of thanks to @sassenachwaffles , @whiskynottea , @gotham-ruaidh , @sassy-sassenach , @holdhertightandsayhername , @annagoober , @lukeylass, @86vol, @denise-alwaysuselove , @saint-hildegard-of-bingen , @chechzooo , @becc127 , @marshmallow0810 and @missliemist for their kind words on here and @abbydebeaupreposts over on AO3!

Much love,

Phoenixflames12 xxx

Christmas Eve, 1945

A/N: A small moment in my WW2 AU that began with An Endless Night and Vergangenheit  in which the Fraser’s celebrate Jamie’s first Christmas Eve home from the War 

On Jamie’s first Christmas Eve home, Lallybroch is visited by carolers. 

Keep reading

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Fast Forward

Will there be more Fast-Forward? Is there more than 2 chapters? If so, what is the link? It’s off to a great start. — chechzooo

After only one short trip outside, Claire’s back began to swell and fester - the fever setting in deep as she writhed beneath the thick blankets Jenny had her wrapped in to stave of any further sickness.

“Will she be alright?” Jamie whispered from their corner of the room, watching and ever vigilant as both he and Jenny tried to keep Claire semi-sentient.

Jenny sighed, her chest rising and falling as she placed her hands delicately onto her hips and drummed her fingers over her trousers. “I mean, she should be. But I dinna really know. She’s had antibiotics, as much as I have left wi’out having to get her a prescription. And I’ve cleaned her wounds again. Now it’s all down to her...truly.”

Wrapping his arm around Jenny’s shoulder, Jamie leaned some of his weight against her as he looked over Claire’s huddled form.

She looked so small, so helpless buried under all of those layers whilst her body simultaneously attacked itself while trying to heal. Having barely slept, Jamie’s eyes kept blurring as he tried to keep them open. Claire was a strong woman, she’d have to be to have survived those injuries. For her to falter now - well, it just wasn’t fair.

Jenny, her eyes never leaving the bed, nudged Jamie in the side to gain his attention. She wasn’t a fan of voicing her more spiritual side, especially to Jamie who could be highly cynical at the best of times. But now was no time for holding back. “There is one more option we could explore?”

Jamie bowed his head, the bottom of his hair coming into contact with the top of Jenny’s head as he almost plucked the thoughts from her head. “Really, Janet Fraser?” He sighed, his fingers digging into the flesh of her shoulder a little as he tried to come up with a valid reason why she shouldn’t suggest it.

“Och, aye!” Jenny snapped back, her faux-ire enough to stop Jamie in his tracks. “Did ye no’ think that --maybe, just maybe-- the bacteria here in our wee part of the future isna the same as hers?”

Jamie tried not to scoff. He’d seen the dress Claire had shown up in. He had been there when she’d appeared out of the blue. But still, the more rational side of him rebelled. There were many people who were skilful enough to sneak up on folk out in the wilds. Many a person who had been a talented enough seamstress to knock up a version of historical dress and use it for differing purposes. She didn’t have to be a *traveller* for that.

“For just one second, James Fraser, will ye see what’s right in front of ye!” Jenny castigated, “she’s suffering, badly. You ken that at least.”

“*No…*” Claire cried out, her fists curling around the blanket as her feet kicked against the mattress.

Her sudden distress pulled Jamie and Jenny from their argument immediately, and Jamie took one unconscious step towards her. Jenny smiled at the action, certain that Jamie didn’t fully understand the notion of Claire’s sudden arrival as much as he didn’t realise how tied he was to her already.

“Fine,” he acquiesced, his voice tight as he tapped his foot nervously against the exposed boards of the floor. “I’ll go into Inverness and fetch the man, but I dinna have to like it,” he mumbled, alert to every miniscule movement Claire made - but, for now at least, she seemed to have calmed.

--

Claire felt warm hands caressing her back as she sunk beneath the surface over and over. She burned, her spine rigid through the fire as *his* face reared up before her eyes over and over again. She could see the cat o’ nine in his hands, the large, feral smile gracing his lips as he took one measured step backwards - surveying his prey - before slapping the worn leather against the side of his boot.

The sound echoed around her for what seemed like hours.

A distant creek brought her from her terrifying memories for just a moment and the scent of leaves, earth and peet seemed to swirl around her in a fine mist. Blue eyes pierced the veil between hers and the harsh cinnamon ones that held her captive in this purgatory. Claire wanted to give him a name, the man who seemed to hover on the periphery of her nightmares (causing her anguish to subside as it seemed to hit a peak). But in her current state she was unable to.

“Hush...madonna…” she heard, the new voice pulling her aches and pains from her as the burning eased a little.

French, she thought blearily - the haze of her trauma subsiding gently with each individual touch.

Whoever he was, this new man, he was stealing away her pain.

As she drifted once more, a calm swell now encasing her as the hands left her back feeling cool and her whole body relaxed, a blue haze appeared like a fine mist tugging her into an easy sleep.

“S’better...thank you…” she muttered as she tucked her knees up to her chest and wiggled her toes to get comfortable.

“Sleep now, madonna. You will need your rest.” Her strange visitor cooed.

Claire nodded - or at least, she thought she had - as she obeyed, her limbs feeling sated and heavy, crushed by the pleasurable sensation that had been massaged into her skin like a fine ointment or salve.

--

Jamie watched with his arms crossed, a worried expression plastered across his face as Raymond, the local herb and apothecary salesman, murmured across Claire’s newly stilled form. Still a skeptic, he had to admit that the small Frenchman had a certain way with ailments that rivalled most modern doctors.

“Thank you for calling on me, Mr Fraser,” Ray piped up, interrupting Jamie’s musings, “I know it must have been difficult for you, but I believe your sister was right. Bacteria is a sneaky organism, oui? Your Claire here does not seem to have adapted so well to this new ecosystem just yet. But believe me,” he continued, only pausing briefly for breath, “she will - given time.”

Jamie nodded, the tight set of his lips loosening slightly as Claire shifted in her sleep. Bandages changed, sepsis stopped and her fever lowered she seemed infinitely more peaceful now than she had been since the sickness had taken hold.

“Do we need to gi’ her anything else?” He whispered, careful not to disturb Claire any more tonight.

“I’ll leave the appropriate medicines with Jenny, Mr Fraser. I hope that’s to your liking. She knows how to administer them. They’re mostly herbal remedies but most are found in common tablets today so they won’t hurt her, they’ll just be easier for her body to process making them more effective than injections and such. When she’s on the mend, you can take her for an update on her shots and she shouldn’t require such assistance in the future.”

Ray smiled at Jamie and patted him on the shoulder as he walked towards the door with his briefcase. Turning back, he arched one bushy brow in Jamie’s direction, a coy look shadowing across his aged face. “And Jamie,” he said, addressing him by his forename for the very first time, “look after her, yes? Hopefully soon you will come to see the significance of her presence in your life.”

With that the door closed behind and Raymond’s clear footsteps disappeared along the corridor and down the stairs.

Shaking his head, Jamie went back to his constant vigil over Claire. With Ray’s words echoing around his head, though, he moved his comfy chair from the corner of the room around the bed to sit at Claire’s head. She was huddled under the covers, tucked in neatly so that only the top of her head and her closed eyes showed. The rest of her was obscured by the thick floral fabric.

From here, Jamie could monitor her breathing better. Tucking his hands beneath his legs, he fought the urge to sweep stray curls from her forehead, opting instead to hum old nursery rhymes lowly. His deep baritone seemed to work and the deep grooves that marked her forehead almost vanished as her eyelids fluttered and her brow softened. No longer did she look tense and scared, instead her shoulders sagged and her sleep seemed to deepen.

“See, Claire,” he whispered as he leaned closer to her, “yer safe here. I promise no harm will come to you, ever.”

“J-Jamie..” she said in return, her words formed in a dream and said out loud as she unconsciously collected his words and stored them in her subconscious.

“Aye, Claire, it’s me, it’s Jamie,” he replied, smiling widely as he blinked slowly, his eyes closing and opening again only to droop once more, “I’m here...always…”

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Hi there @chechzooo​,

The Vietnam AU is posted on AO3 as “Let Us Not Talk Falsely Now.” 

You can also click here to read all the stories on tumblr.

Enjoy!

Love,

Mod Gotham

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

Hi @chechzooo​ Thank you! Please, always feel free to leave a comment or even criticize something. I have no problem with that :) Concerning your question: No, I very I deliberately chose the word "irritated". Because the German wort “irritiert” which is translated in every dictionary I own with “irritated” means much more than overwhelmed or puzzled. If someone is “irritiert” it means the person is shocked, surprised, confused, sometimes speechless, perplexed. A feeling of fear and aggression and/or insecurity can also mix into this whole complex state of mind. What have I done? What will the consequences of my decision be? I would like to know what your understanding of “irritated” is and if there is a better word to describe the state of mind I am trying to show to the reader.

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

“We only do this for Fergus!” is a short Outlander Fan Fiction story and my contribution to the Outlander Prompt Exchange (Prompt 3: Fake Relationship AU: Jamie Fraser wants to formally adopt his foster son Fergus, but his application will probably not be approved… unless he is married and/or in a committed relationship. Enter one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp (Randall?) to this story) @outlanderpromptexchange​

Chapter 2: ​Jes suis prest!

        “Once again the anger about Frank rose in Claire’s heart, but before she could think about him any further, a familiar voice tore it from her thoughts.

        It was the voice of Dr. Ned Gowan. The company’s lawyer stood between the open wings of the large door and invited her to come in. Claire stood up in surprise. She was the last of the women who had arrived and now she was the first to be invited in. The other women also looked at her in irritation.

Keep reading

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Flood my Mornings: Service

Notes from Mod Bonnie:

This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

See all past installments via Bonnie’s Master List

Previous installment:  Thanks (Thanksgiving and Bree’s Birthday)

Late November, 1950

[CEBF]

“Bath time, little smudge!”

Bree squealed and, like a shot, went barreling toward the bathroom. Turning two years old seemed to have turned on a tap of perpetual energy from on high: energy to throw tantrums, energy to hate going to bed, energy to form VERY strong opinions about what she did and did not plan to eat, and so on, and so forth for all time. 

However, she had also decided she loved baths, and by the time I arrived at the tub myself, she was already standing on the bathmat, triumphantly nude and brimming with expectation with her toys in hand. I laughed and kissed the top of her head. “One minute, you goofy girl.” 

I poked my head briefly into the living room. “Do you want bath duty or bedtime duty tonight?”

“I’ll take bed, if it’s all the same to you, Sassenach,” Jamie said, looking up from the rolltop. “I’d like to get the rest of the bills paid and ready for tomorrow’s Post.”

“Fine by me,“ I said, taking the chance to stretch my back, already thinking of plopping into bed as soon as humanly possible. “Thank you for handling those, sweetheart.”

“’Course,” he said with feeling, rising and kissing my forehead. “How are ye feeling?” 

“Pretty well, at the moment,” I said, pleasantly surprised, now that I thought about it. “Like death, this morning, but I haven’t vomited once since lunch!” 

“Victory, indeed,” he grinned, kissing me, long and sweetly. 

“MaMAAAA?” bellowed Bree, her voice bouncing ghoulishly around the bathroom walls. “Come’on do insee’pyder, please!”

“I’m being summoned,” I murmured against his lips. 

“Go,” he whispered. “Heaven forbid ‘insee’pyder’ have to wait.” 

“Oh,” I called when I was halfway back down the corridor, “I think the electric bill came today. It’s on the counter by the phone with the rest of today’s mail.”

“Thank you, mo ghraidh,” he called back. 

Tub filled, baby inserted, bubbles abundant, I knelt beside the tub and swirled my hands in the warm water. Bree beamed up at me, ready: “GO! Insee’pyder, Mama!”

“Alright,” I said dramatically, reaching for the green plastic sandbox bucket and scooping up water as I sang: “Theeeeeeee ITS-Y-bit-sy spiiiiiider went UP the water spout ….”

I raised the bucket theatrically. “Down came the raaaaaain AND—”

The payload released on, “WASHED the spider out,” dousing Bree with warm, soapy water. 

Fizzy giggles emerged through the waterfall pouring down her scrunched-up face as I sang on. “Out came the suuuun and dried up all the rain, and the ITS-Y-bit-sy spiiiiider went UP the spout—?”

“—AGAIN!!!” Bree finished, knowing the drill and LOVING it.

We had just finished washing the shampoo-spider from her hair and ANOTHER rendition was demanded, when Jamie’s voice came from the doorway. “Sassenach?” 

“Yes, darling?” I said absently, reaching for the bar of soap Bree had just knocked into the water. 

“What is the ‘selective service?’”

My blood froze absolutely cold. I whirled on my knees to gape at him, praying that it was a newspaper clipping in his hand, or one of his library books, or—

But it was a letter bearing the words ‘Department of Defense’ across the top. The truth was written on his face, the tightness of his voice, the rigid set of his jaw. “Tis the forced conscription for the war in the east, aye?”

“Jamie—” I staggered to my feet, praying in blind panic. Please, God, no. “Jamie—Please tell me—you haven’t been—?”

“To Mr. James Fraser,” he read, 

“According to our records, you have not yet registered with the Selective Service, as is required of all permanent residents of the United States. 

Please report no later than December 15th, 1950 to the enlistment station named below for registration, or risk revocation of your residency status with the Department of Immigration. 

Sincerely…”

Jamie trailed off, his face a mask of control I hadn’t seen in many years. The sight terrified me to my core—his face of duty, of danger, of great burdens to be borne.  

My hands were shaking as I reached for the letter, as I scanned it wildly for some salvation. “But you’re—you’re not even a citizen! They can’t just force you to go off and fight in their wars!”

“Apparently they can,” he said stiffly. “’All permanent residents,’ it says.”

“Jesus…” There was no way out. “Jesus—fucking—”

“FUN-KING!” Bree squeaked from the tub, sounding immensely pleased. Normally, that would have incited riotous laughter, then stern admonishment and promises between Jamie and I to guard our words more carefully. But we barely noticed. 

My blood pounded so loudly in my ears I could barely hear myself blurting, "We could go to Canada." 

He cocked his head in question. “They dinna fight wars there?”

I gave a jerking shrug. “They don’t usually start them, at least.”

“That’s the coward’s way,” he whispered, his face still stone. “I canna just run.”

“And why not?” I demanded, my voice treacherously close to both tears and shouting.

“Why can I no’ take the coward’s way?” The mask wavered, showing his scorn. “Christ, Claire, do ye no’ ken me at all?” 

“And do YOU not know me?” I shouted. “Do you not have the faintest idea what it DID to me to—” It took only the cracking of my voice for the panic to overtake me completely in wracking sobs as my hands went feral. “ —to let you go to your death? For a cause you—shouldn’t even have been dragged into in the first place?? I w—” I choked. I was mere inches from his face, but I could barely see him through the tears. I wrenched a breath from my throat. “—WON’T, do it—again—do you—hear m—?”

Jamie suddenly snatched me hard against him, his voice a cracked moan of despair through his own sobs. “I know, mo chridhe...I know....”

I buried my face in his chest, and could only croak, “Jamie—”

He tried to say something, but couldn’t get a word out. 

We clung to one another with every ounce of strength, swaying and weeping for a long time, until —

“I’m scairt of this, Sassenach.” 

His breath was hot and gasping in my hair. “God, I—dinna want any part of it.... The thought of leaving ye....the—” He let out a sob, and I could feel his tears against my temple, the resonance of his words in my chest. “—Christ, the bairns—” 

He buried his face in my shoulder. “I’m so scairt, Claire.”

“What’s you scairt, Daddy?”

We turned to see Bree standing in the tub, still naked as you please, looking up, stricken.

With a small sound that broke my heart, Jamie released me and crossed to the tub. He lifted his daughter up into his arms and pressed her against his chest, not seeming to notice that his shirt was instantly soaked.

“Daddy? What’s you scairt?” she repeated. 

I had to clamp my hand over my mouth. He clutched her tighter, rocking her, focusing his entire being on love of her. 

“Use-r words, Daddy.” 

Despite everything, he choked out a laugh at that. 

“I’m scairt,” he answered hoarsely after a moment, “of having to leave you and Mama, a chuisle.”  

“Oh…” 

I came and wrapped my arms around them both, trying so very hard not to slip into panic. This—this was my home, these three people I held—That it might be ripped from—

“Dinna leave though’kay?” Bree demanded, glaring sternly at him. “Okayyyy, Daddy?”

“Okay?” I seconded in a feeble whisper.

He let out another weak, broken laugh and leaned down to kiss us both. I could feel his chest shuddering with the sobs he was suppressing. 

The words were in Gaelic, breathtakingly quiet, and he repeated them over and over.

 "I won’t...I won't.”

When he drew back a long, long time later, his eyes were dry. “Now,” he said, kissing Bree and wrapping a towel around her shivering back, “let’s get ye ready for bed, wee cub. Which storybook shall we have, tonight?”

[JF]

Jamie resolved never to let Claire or Brianna see his fear of this ever again. 

“I’ll go tomorrow to register my name,” he said firmly to Claire as he held her in their bed that night, “but it willna come to anything, Sassenach.” There are millions of folk they’ll call up before me.” 

“You don’t — ” 

“Dinna fash, mo nighean donn,” he crooned, kissing and soothing away her fears. “I’m staying right here—We’ll no’ be parted—I’m right here—”

But he lay awake far into the night and most nights to follow, praying with all his soul.

Please, God….

Please….

Dinna take me from them.

Please….

Please…..

[more to come]

From the prompts: 

@dlouise2016​ said: This may not be appropriate for FMM but in response to your request for Jamie “firsts” & since he is only about 27-28, there was a military draft going on at the time for the Cold War & the Korean War. Since Jamie was certainly a warrior, he must have some strong feelings about war & Claire definitely would with her WWII experience  

@chechzooo suggested: Staying out of the draft