#filledwithlight

[kfedup]

My favorite neighborhood tree is putting on one hell of a show. #nofilterneeded #soakupthesun #howtodie #filledwithlight #fallinohio (at Kent, Ohio) https://www.instagram.com/p/B3-xT0cnp08/?igshid=pu70h7mo4mx5

[desperationandgin]

Fic request set in the "Market Price" universe because I LOVE IT SO MUCH. So we know Claire is stubborn as it is, but I see sick Claire as a force to be reckoned with LOL! Would love a little ficlet of her coming down with a bad case of the flu, cue Jamie having to convince her to just STOP and rest until she's eventually just a pathetic blob too weak to get out of bed. D: Lots of Jamie pampering her? :D

Thank you for the prompt, I hope you like this, love!

Market Price, companion piece.

Sick Day

Also read on: AO3

“Do I have to tie ye to the bed then, Fraser?”

Claire’s eyes narrow as she looks at her (new) husband across the bed. “It isn’t that bad, Jamie. I’ll get Tamiflu and be on my way.”

“I’m no’ the doctor here, but doesn’t that only work if ye start taking it right when ye notice the symptoms?”

“You definitely aren’t the doctor,” she retorts, not answering the question, but standing too quickly and immediately sinking back down on the end of the bed when she stumbles.

That’s enough for Jamie to get up and kneel in front of her, taking her shoes out of her hands. “Ye’re no’ going.”

She groans and bats at his arm. “I have surgeries today,” she weakly protests, using him now to brace herself as she stands and lets out a breath, moving past him to get another pair of shoes, looking a little smug about seeming to outsmart him.

“Oh, and do ye think those people may no’ be grateful to not have a doctor breathing the flu at them?” Jamie reaches out, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Ye’re burnin’ up, Claire. Call it.”

There’s another groan, more groaning than talking, really, and she drops the shoes. “Fine. One day. And stop trying to talk like a doctor.”

“We’ll re-assess in the morning. I’m staying wi’ ye today. I’ll watch more Grey’s for my education.”

“God, Jamie, I don’t need a babysitter, I’m perfectly capable of--”

“Where are ye going wi’ that succulent?” he asks, raising his eyebrow and nodding at the cylindrical vase in her hand.

Claire looks at it, then the water bottle right next to where the plant usually sits, same approximate shape, before looking at Jamie. “Don’t read into that, it means nothing.”

“What it means is you’re no’ thinking straight. No’ really the best of mindsets for a surgeon, Sassenach.” He moves to her and gently takes the vase from her, putting it down and kissing her forehead. “Ye take today and I’ll allow a reassessment tomorrow. Agreed?”

She thinks about it for a moment, notes the way her muscles ache, the way she feels uncomfortably hot and all that sounds nice is melting into bed. “Agreed,” she gives in, pulling her shirt over her head now and tossing it in a chair before face-planting into the bed with a long groan. “I don’t want to be ill.”

Gently, Jamie rolls her and carefully tugs her skirt off before removing her bra and slipping his own discarded sleep shirt over her head. “I know it, mo chridhe,” he murmurs. “But I’ll take good care of ye, promise.”

“Will you rub my head?” she asks giving him the most pathetic look she can muster.

“Aye. I’ll rub yer hard head. After I get back from picking ye up some proper drugs.” He knows she already pushed herself yesterday, too far gone for a prescription. “Call the hospital and make sure ye tell the Chief of Surgery I’ll tell him to go fuck himself this time if he gives ye any grief.” The man’s a hardass, Jamie dislikes him immensely, and if he had his way, Claire would have Marylebone’s job.

“I have no problem telling Clarence that myself, you know,” Claire mutters, reaching for her phone.

“Oh, I ken it but I dinna want ye to actually lose your job.” Jamie leans down and kisses her forehead. “I’ll be back soon,” he promises, leaving her to make the call she needs to. When he returns some twenty minutes later, his hands are full of bags and he makes his way to the bedroom, realizing it’s blazing hot. He sees the reason for their apartment heat set to ‘inferno’ in the form of his wife, wrapped so tightly in the comforter that only the top of her head is poking out. “Sassenach? Can ye breathe under there?”

“I can’t breathe at all and I’m freezing,” comes the muffled reply as he sits down, placing the bags at his feet and gently unwrapping her.

“I brought relief. Dayquil, Nyquil, Tylenol, Advil, soup, crackers, chapstick for your dry lips and an electric blanket so I will no’ sweat my bawls off while ye have chills. Oh, and those wee electrolyte drinks. They said it would be good for ye.”

Claire stares at him and his bounty which includes the soft nose tissue she likes. She decides not to mention that she isn’t losing fluids and so she isn’t dehydrated. “Did you leave anything for the other sick people?”

“I dinna love them,” he scoffs, bending to press a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m very lucky that you love me,” she murmurs, reaching out to lace her fingers through his before sitting up enough to let him dole out medicine to take. That done, he gets the blanket unpacked for her and it goes under the comforter which she still wraps herself in tightly. “You know in ten minutes I’ll be burning up,” Claire mumbles, closing her eyes.

“Aye, and I’ll never be so glad for something as cool air.” He makes sure there’s something to drink for her there on the nightstand, then picks up the garbage and leaves the room.

She doesn’t expect him back, already dozing when she feels the bed dip and his arms wrap around her over all of the blankets. “You’ll get sick,” she advises in weak protest.

“If I’m going to get it, Sassenach, this will no’ matter much.” He kisses the back of her head, feeling the lump of blankets moving with her breathing.

“I do love you, for the record.” Her voice is muffled and thick with the edges of sleep. “Glad you don’t love all those other people.”

Jamie kisses her again, not minding the way her curls splay across his face. “Only room in my heart for one woman wi’ the flu.”

All that she can do is hum in response before she’s out, well-loved and taken care of.

[walkswithmyfather]

Luke 11:36 

“Your eye is a lamp, lighting up your whole body. If you live wide-eyed in wonder and belief, your body fills up with light. Keep your life as well-lighted as your best-lighted room.” (MSG) "If you are filled with light within, with no dark corners, then your face will be radiant too, as though a floodlight is beamed upon you. Then your whole life will be radiant.” (TLB, NLT)

"If your spirit burns with light, fully illuminated with no trace of darkness, you will be a shining lamp, reflecting rays of truth by the way you live.” (TPT)

“Be very careful that your light never becomes darkness. For if your whole body is full of light, with no part of it in shadow, it will all be radiant—it will be like having a bright lamp to give you light.” (PHILLIPS)  

I love all of these translations of Luke 11:36. 😊 I had this image a few days ago, of a tiny point of bright light, deep inside of a person, that grew until they were surrounded by light. I think that’s what the Holy Spirit does, once He comes into us, because He is light and He gradually fills us with a light that engulfs the darkness. The darkness of depression, loneliness, sorrow, worry, anxiety are all chased away by His bright light of peace and comfort. “I will talk to the Father, and He’ll provide you another Friend so that you will always have someone with you.” (John 14:16 MSG) PRAYER: Thank You Lord, for the gift of the Holy Spirit, our Friend and Strengthener. Lord, may You bring Your light upon us and in us, that we may be filled and blessed with Your light of peace and comfort. In Jesus’ name, Amen. 🙏

[evilqueens]

1.23 | 2.22 - started from the bottom, now we don’t really know where we are, but we might be married?

(for @filledwithlight)

[thefarrahsharpe]

My latest Divine Femme crystal creation! 😍 I call her Isis! 💜🕉 Quartz Crystal point statement necklace. It's supercharged and powerful. ✨⭐️✨ #filledwithlight New collection coming soon! 💎✨ One of a kind crystal jewels for your inner Goddess only at @thedivinefemme_ 💜 💎 www.thedivinefemme.com #vibratehigher #crystalhealing #litgems #creativeexpression #ilovethispeice (at Las Vegas, Nevada)

[yetanothername-blog]

#Mood. After a massive typhoon, my computer breaking down, and making 40 fabric boards in a week, I finally feel back in my element. 😎⠀⠀ .⠀⠀ .⠀⠀ .⠀⠀ .⠀⠀ .⠀⠀ .⠀⠀ .⠀⠀ #thehustleisreal #instamood #joshuatree #pauseandreflect #filledwithlight #creativityfound #createsomething #fauna #yetanothername https://www.instagram.com/p/BpGL6UdhWjf/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1snb1rjzfqj5p

[ourstartingpoints]

I’m making a separate post to this one made by @sparkles-bitch25  , because I don’t want to reblog it again, because these gifs were stolen from both me and @iknowyourheart . 

You said you wanted to share our work, here is the thing you can do it but credit the makers!!! If you manage to find all gifs from my post and @iknowyourheart you also must knew who made them. Yet, you posted it saying nothing about who made it originally. 

Now you updated your post, but you know it’s not enough!!!

Even if you know exactly know who made these gifs you didn’t tag us.  Personally I think you have a lot of nerves not so say your apologies to us, and the first thing you should do was to delete this post, and say something about it on your blog, that you made a huge mistake. I’m still waiting for you to detale this post and a formal apologies. You were caught and you did nothing to make this situation better. Nothing! And this makes me really angry. Because you stole from me, let people assume that is your work, and all you did is a few words you added after we noticed what you did.   What @oddlyfamiliar said, if you want to share someones else work, use a gif search, this search automatically gives credit. 

Blindspot Fam!!! PLEASE BE AWARE OF THIS PERSON WHO HAD A COURAGE TO STOLE FROM NOT ONE PERSON BUT TWO OF US AND MAKE US ALL BELIEVE IT WAS HER WORK!!! 

Please reblog this post to spread the word! 

I would like to say a big thank you to @oddlyfamiliar @filledwithlight @desperationandgin who stood up for us! 

[creyra]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by JMC (@creyra)

Let there be L🏮I🏮G🏮H🏮T!!! . . . #shinefestival #shinefestival2017 #lettherebelight #hallelujah #hallelujahnight #summer2017 #summervibes #chineselanterns #lanternfestival #lanternfestival2017 #nightsky #filledwithlights #shinynight #shinynightsky #summersky #underneaththesky #glowinthedark #lanterns #lanterns🏮 #lanternsfestival #fambam #instagood #instamood #instavideo #instagram #igers 🏮🏮🏮🏮🏮🏮🏮🏮🏮🏮🏮 (at Rensselaer, Indiana)

[desperationandgin]

Mood board One Shot!

Rating: General Audiences

Also Read On: AO3

Summary: Jamie and Claire have a conversation while in the thick of World War 1.

A/N: Thank you so much to @enormouseffort for the mood board and to @iamnottrisha & @outlanderlush for putting this together! And thank you to @filledwithlight​, @smashing-teacups​, @happytoobserve​ and @fierceweebadger​ for looking this over for me! Also, it’s midnight east coast time so surprise!!!

The Uncertainty of War

When she comes to him, it’s with a bloodied apron still tied around her neck and curls askew. Someone’s blood streaks her upper arm, smeared into a dried out whorl thanks to a hasty wipe. A glance at her and Jamie knows tension lies between her shoulder blades like a lead weight and that the balls of her feet are aching.

He’s no better off than she is, exhausted to the very marrow of his bones. He’d been ready to close his eyes and welcome sleep until she crept in, but now his only thought is of following through on the warm bath he’d conjured for her in his mind. It takes time to fill, but the moment he helps her into the tub and she sighs, he knows he would do it again, even so late at night. Reaching behind her head, his fingers find the material holding her curls at bay and lets it go, sending them chaotically floating free.

“Close yer eyes, a nighean.”

She does as she’s told and becomes malleable under his hands as they meticulously work to rub her feet under the hot water.

“I haven’t sat since five-thirty this morning.” Her words leave her on a weary sigh; the moon and stars have been out for hours now.

“Ye push yourself too hard, Sassenach. If ye dinna do more to take care of yourself, yer body will decide to slow down for ye,” Jamie chides gently, hands working a calf, delighting in her soft groan.

“Who’s the medical professional, here, Captain?” She cracks one eye open to look at him. “I know you only arrived here a few moments before me, and you were gone when I woke.”

He’s quiet as his hands move back to a foot, pressing his thumbs into the arch gently and rubbing outward. When he replies, his eyes flicker toward her face. “Cannae do reconnaissance in the bright, open daylight, Nurse Beauchamp,” he retorts with her own title. “And the day cannae be done only because I was workin’ early.”

“So, you’re saying that telling me how much sleep to get isn’t hypocritical?”

She’s won when he can’t think of a good retort, and she smiles smugly, proud of herself for outsmarting him there.

“It’s no’ a bad thing to take a break when ye can get it, was my point.” He switches feet, focused on his task.

“Hello, pot. I’m kettle,” she teases, though it’s really quite sweet, his worry for her. It endears him even more to her heart, though he’d done well enough the day they’d met two years ago, buying flowers from her at the park for his young niece.

“We both do too much and we ken it, but—”

“—but we have one another to lean on,” she finishes, smiling as he moves to the head of the tub in order to capture her lips in a kiss. One of his large hands cradles her face and she reciprocates, enjoying the feel of his stubble against her fingertips.

“I missed ye today, mo nighean donn,” he murmurs huskily, ducking his head a little further to press his lips to her neck.

“I thought about you earlier while I was debriding a wound,” Claire informs him, even as her head tilts this way and that to grant better access to skin begging to feel the imprint of his lips.

“That’s no’ a verra pleasant association,” he notes, pulling back as an eyebrow raises, looking at her in faux disgust. “What did I do to deserve it?”

With a light thwack against his arm, Claire leans forward as Jamie moves behind her to begin rubbing her shoulders. Enjoying it for a moment, she closes her eyes and practically purrs as he pauses to pour warm water over her skin. She gets around to answering just as his thumbs gently begin to work against a small knot at the base of her neck.

“I mean, I thought of you when I saw the extent of the man’s injuries.” Her tone softens. “I was more worried about you today than usual. I heard about the impromptu raid.”

There’d been a chance to get close to an enemy camp under the cloak of night, from a direction so heavily wooded the Austrian officers likely wouldn’t have thought to put more than a handful of men on the perimeter. Jamie’s assumption had been right, and within moments it was clearly a fight they could win if he made the call to charge. He did, and they had; the fighting had been done within fifteen minutes, though a victory today couldn’t guarantee the next fight would be won as well.

“By the time ye heard of it, I was likely already plotting our next course of action wi’ the General,” he points out.

“What does that matter?” she asks in confusion. “I’d be lucky if I received word within the month if you—” The phrasing of her statement sits bitterly on her tongue and she pauses to reach up, covering his hand on her shoulder. For a moment, both of them are still until she speaks again. “I see men die every day, Jamie, a countless amount of them. Too many to keep up.”

The hitch in her voice, as subtle as it is, is enough for him to move around in order to see her face. Reaching out, he rubs his thumb over her temple in slow circles in an effort to soothe. “May I tell ye something, Sassenach?”

As he helps her lean back against the tub to relax, she nods. “You can tell me anything.”

Fishing for the washcloth and soap, Jamie lathers it before beginning to wash her body slowly, starting with her closest arm. He’s quiet as the cloth travels up and under her arm, then across her chest to the other side. He’s working his way down a hip by the time he speaks again.

“Before every battle, I think of ye. I think of how I left ye that mornin’, warm in bed and sprawled out right in the middle.” She’s taken to sleeping draped over him, and when he rises for any reason, she curls into the heat he’s left behind. “I think of the way ye look when ye fall apart beneath me, crying out my name, and I remember the way it feels to have yer lips press to mine. When I’ve thought of all that, Sassenach, then I pray for God to protect me, so I can live to feel ye again.”

Claire looks at him with wide, amber eyes that reflect the fire in the small hearth behind him.

“And are you ever afraid?”

“Christ, aye,” he quickly admits. “But no’ of death itself.”

She doesn’t ask the question, but it’s there in her eyes before he raises her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles.

“I ken what losing another person would do to ye, Claire.” Her father first, then her mother, her uncle, a husband. Everyone who had pieces of her heart has taken them to the grave. “So it terrifies me, the thought of leaving ye.” The ugly truth is that men are dying so quickly there are moments Jamie isn’t sure how anyone will survive to the finish. It could happen any moment, the bullet or bomb that ends it all.

“Then you’d better see to it that nothing happens, soldier,” she commands over a lump in her throat that she knows he can hear.

Done washing, the cloth is lost to the water again as both large hands cradle her face. “I would find ye, Sassenach. If we were ever parted by death, I would find ye. Even if it meant enduring purgatory to pay for my sins, for every lie from my tongue and death by my hands, I would wait and be tortured if it meant being wi’ ye again.”

“We’ve picked a terrible time to be in love, Jamie.” Tears spill over in warm rivers down her cheeks, and Jamie reaches out to wipe them away with a gentle touch.

“Even if I should fall tomorrow, I’ll ken that in my time on this Earth, I was given a rare woman.” His smile is warm, letting his thumb drag across the apple of her cheek. “And when I stand before the Almighty, I’ll be able to tell Him that in the time we had together, I loved her well.”

“Don’t be in a rush to relay that message,” she manages, sniffling even as her tears continue to quietly drip into the bathwater.

Jamie kisses her damp cheeks, shaking his head, murmuring, “The Devil himself would have to drag me away from ye, mo chridhe.”

Quietly, they breathe one another in until the bath is cold and he lifts her out, helping her dry. Donning a thin nightgown, she slides into bed first, and when he’s beside her she scoots against his side with her head resting on his chest. Her mind is still moving too quickly to relax, caught up in what ifs and endless horrific scenarios.

He knows it, can feel it in the way her body stays tensed. She’s dragging her fingers up and down his arm slowly — something she only does when her thoughts are tumultuous. He doesn’t push her to speak; instead, Jamie alternates running his fingers through her hair and massaging the back of her head.

Everything she can think to say she’s said before, but it doesn’t stop her from saying it again.

“I don’t know what I would ever do without you, James Fraser.”

“Dinna think of it, Sassenach,” he urges, brushing his lips across her temple.

“You still have to marry me after this great bloody war,” she points out, raising her head to look at him. “I told you when we started to get serious—”

“Aye, that ye never wanted to marry again. But somehow, I convinced ye then, didn’t I?”

She huffs a little, some of her tension beginning to give way. “You were stubborn.”

“I had to be more stubborn than you.” The last word is said even as he absorbs a light smack for the comment. “Ye only lash out because that’s the truth of it,” he chides with a slight smirk.

The truth of it was, five weeks into their relationship, he’d helped her carry her groceries into her flat, and when she’d tripped on a corner of the rug, he’d caught her effortlessly. It was the sort of thing depicted in frivolous romance novels she claimed she never read; their eyes met, and somehow she’d known he would completely demolish the walls she’d built around herself, brick by brick.

Now, there’s a war raging on with no guarantees, and she burrows closer to him.

“Tell me more about Lallybroch,” she requests, sleepiness creeping into her voice. “Tell me what our lives will be like.”

Once they’re both settled (Claire’s weight a comforting warmth draped across him—except for her cold-as-ice toes against his legs), Jamie’s eyes close, arms wrapped securely around her as he imagines it.

“There are so many rolling green hills it looks as though they go on forever, Sassenach. And the house itself, the moment ye walk through the doorway the love and warmth wraps ye up and lets ye know yer home. I remember my mam, Jenny, Willie, and I waitin’ for my da to arrive home from the fields every evenin’, sitting on the front steps.”

Claire makes a soft hum of acknowledgment, imagining it between drifting thoughts. When she murmurs, her voice already sounds far away.

“And how many children do you envision?” she asks, unaware, for now, of the life growing in her womb.

Jamie smiles to himself, rubbing the back of her head with his fingertips. “Four, at least. A good, even number. I ken ye like my red hair, but that gives me the odds of at least one bairn wi’ your coloring, mo nighean donn.”

“We’ll see. I think even your traits are stubborn.”

He squeezes her with a low chuckle, then goes quiet, the pull of sleep tugging at him, as well. Still, he has room for one more thought, unsure now if in the lapse of conversation she’s fallen asleep.

“We’re going to be alright, Sassenach. We’ll go home, love one another, and no’ ever worry about being apart again. We’ll lose track of all the evenin’s I come home to ye.”

He waits for a response, and when one doesn’t come, he realizes her breathing has evened out in sleep. Raising his head, his lips press softly to her hair, his words coming easily in the Gàidhlig.

May the Almighty protect you and watch over you. Carefully, slowly, one hand moves between them, so awkwardly angled that only his fingertips can brush her stomach.

May He protect you and our children from harm. Now, and always.

With a final kiss to her forehead, he lowers himself back down to the pillow and keeps Claire as close as he can.

Until morning, when the uncertainty of war rages on.

[mkegoodchoices]

Temple Light #metmuseum #templeofdendur #egyptianart #morninglight #filledwithlight #sunshine (at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York)

[laurenslorelai]

MERRY CHRISTMAS @filledwithlight - From your OQ Secret Santa xo

[onceuponasecretsanta]

Teaser for FilledWithLight

Merry Almost-Christmas, FilledWithLight! This is a teaser for part 1/3:

Leaving her son at a public restaurant licensed to sell liquor was not ideal, certainly, but as soon as Henry entered school, Regina knew he simply had more energy than she could conscionably keep contained in her office. Wednesday through Friday, she organized her schedule so that she could leave to pick him up from school at 3:15 and finish her work at home. Mondays, however, were reserved for the town council to bicker over budget lines, public service salaries, tax codes, and zoning permits. Tuesdays, she met with the school board, Sheriff, and Fire Chief. Both meetings generally only kept her from her son for an hour, but sometimes, she couldn’t get away until almost six pm.

One evening, as Henry and Regina enjoyed a late dinner at Granny’s, the old woman had overheard the young boy complaining that it was boring at “those meetings,” and couldn’t he go to the park with his friends “like everybody else?” Eugenia had always been unphased by Regina’s stern exterior, and even less so after Henry had arrived. With her son, Regina was always a little kinder, a bit softer… some might even say loving. Arriving at their table with a caesar salad and a plate of chicken fingers with mac and cheese, Granny offered to keep Henry at the diner after school on Monday and Tuesday.

“I’ll make sure he does his homework,” Granny promised, “he can refill my salt shakers, and then he can color or do puzzles until you can pick him up.” Regina seemed to be considering all of the reasons this plan was a terrible idea, but five-year-old Henry’s eyes had lit up like Christmas lights. He clambered onto his knees in the booth across from his mother, planting two fists (one still holding a spoonful of cheesey pasta) on the top and declaring his agreement. Regina tutted at the slop of food left on the table by his exuberance, but reluctantly made a plan to bring Henry to the next day for a trial run.

As expected, Henry loved every minute of his time at the diner. Ruby helped him pour ketchup into each glass bottle, and watched as he raced them over to each table, delighting any and all customers with his polite, “Have a lovely dinner!” He then received a spoon and small bowls of salt and paper, which he not-so-masterfully used to refill shakers, emitting tiny “oops!” and “uh oh” murmurs whenever the whole spoonful ended up on the counter top. Between coffee refills and delivering hot plates from the kitchen, Granny checked his spelling and numbers, then produced a puzzle all about the colors of the rainbow which kept him occupied for the remaining twenty minutes until Regina arrived.

As the boy and his mother left the diner, Granny smiled to hear the sweet boy re-telling all of the events of the day, not without tossing a “Thank you Miss Granny!” over his shoulder. Thus began a delightful Monday and Tuesday routine…

[secretsantaandsmores]

filledwithlight's wishlist

THINGS I’D LIKE: I’m good with really anything, though I love a nice fluffy gifset or a fluffy fic! Fic-wise, I’m open to anything and love AUs, but particularly love fics that incorporate the whole Hood Mills family!

WHAT I CAN DO: I can write fic and maybe manage a graphic or fanmix!

WHAT I CAN’T DO: Cannot gif to save my life, nor can I do fanvids.

ANYTHING YOU DON’T WANT? Would prefer nothing super angsty, but if it’s a fic and angst seems necessary, a fluffy, happy ending would be great. :) Also nothing overly violent.

SEND ANON MESSAGES TO ME? Yes, absolutely!

[revolutionsoftheheart]

Fic writer meme: #3, 10 & 15! :D

3. What is your absolute favorite kind of fic to write?

Angst. Actually, I don’t know if it’s my favourite kind – feeling like ripping your own heart out every time you write isn’t exactly fun – but it’s what I’m apparently good at. (I think? You guys are the actual judge of this.) My mind tends to go down the path of horrible headcanons and AU ideas very easily. I was talking fic with @outlawqueenluvr earlier tonight and shared with her very painful ideas that I know I will regret one day, lol.

I think, though, my favourite absolute favourite thing isn’t actually a kind of fic. I think you could categorize it as writing human emotion, be it happy or sad or bittersweet. And this is especially true with a show like OUAT. In-between all the craziness and the magic, I love writing the moments where those fantastic, amazing and out of this world fairytale characters get to be human (and often times, this means having them break down, hence the previous answer of angst).

10. What inspires you the most?

This is a hard question because I can’t say I’ve been terribly inspired lately. I’m too busy and my brain is everywhere but on fic. Reading inspires me, learning new words (English is my second language after all, and sometimes when I learn a new word, I try to think of a way to include it in a fic), music, friends I get to talk to about fic, who I can bounce back idas with and who help me get my thoughts out before I actually start writing. Those friends are awesome for inspiration.

15. Your guilty writing pleasure?

Angst? Lol. I mean, I not-so-secretly enjoy my readers’ pain.

Hmmmmm.

Can I throw that question back at you and everyone else reading this? What do you think my guilty pleasure is? Help me figure it out, guys, lol.

(cool asks for fic writers)

[desperationandgin]

Peaceful Easy Feelin’ (A Market Price One-Shot)

Rating: Explicit (or Mature? IDK.)

Author: desperationandgin

Also Read On: AO3

Summary: Jamie and Claire take their first road trip together.

A/N:  Hello, my friends! After a month of 0 writing, I'm back with an MP one shot. This is, to date, the longest single fic of anything I've written, so I have to deeply thank all of my betas. @filledwithlight, @smashing-teacups, @happytoobserve, @fierceweebadger​ and @lcbeauchampoftarth​, thank you so much. I dropped them on this yesterday and felt real bad about it, but they all knocked it OUT. A L S O thank you to @happytoobserve​ for the idea with the game! Annnnnd @fierceweebadger​ even made this GORGEOUS mood board, thank you love! This ficlet takes place after Future Expansions, and I would suggest reading (or re-reading for the tie-in) The Nearness of You afterward!

Peaceful Easy Feelin’

Let it be known, there is nothing sexier than Jamie Fraser pumping petrol while wearing his lumberjack ensemble.

Claire fires off her text to Geillis, subtly watching Jamie’s profile in the side mirror. He’s wearing jeans that make her purposefully linger behind him when they walk; and, to be quite frank, looks as if he stepped straight out of a Barbour ad. When her phone vibrates, she glances down just as he finishes, only having enough time to read part of her friend’s response.

Yer wee fox cub certainly’d like to show ye some wood-

Coughing to hide a laugh, Claire quickly drops her phone down into the bag at her feet as Jamie slides back into the car.

“Ye alright, Sassenach? Want me to go inside, get ye a drink?”

Shaking her head, she smiles and settles into her seat. “No. I’m fine, just eager to go. My expert navigation skills have us at the bed and breakfast by supper.”

The trip from home to the quaint town they’ve read about along the coast is nearly a three-hour road trip on its own. After spending most of the day on Friday making sure things will run smoothly for Jenny and Ian at the farmer’s market, their stop for petrol has them on the lengthiest part of the drive just after three in the afternoon. The temperature is a comfortable 13 Celsius, nice enough to crack the windows and breathe crisp autumn air once they hit the open road. They chat about various things each of them have been meaning to get to (Claire reminds him about the never-ending search for the perfect bedding; Jamie floats the idea of an all-family vacation to one of the cabins near the loch for winter holiday) and weigh the pros and cons of eventually adopting a cat versus a dog.

“I can run wi’ a dog,” Jamie patiently explains, as if that alone should be the winning argument.

“Well, while you run, I can laze around with a cat reading a book and drinking tea,” she responds just as matter-of-factly. “Besides, you don’t run more than once a day, but the dog definitely needs to go out more often than that. How eager are you to put on clothes at eleven p.m.?”

“Ye do tend to have me thoroughly undressed by ten,” Jamie muses, smiling at her soft thwap against his shoulder. “Dogs alert ye to intruders, they like to play, and they can obey.”

“Oh,” Claire scoffs. “Is that what you’re looking for? Something to obey you?”

“I’m no’ generally the commanding type,” Jamie retorts. Anyone trying to command Claire Beauchamp was never going to get very far, in any case. “I only meant they can learn tae do things.”

“Well, so can cats! And they don’t need to be held by the paw to go to the bathroom. I’m right about this.”

“I dinna have anythin’ against havin’ a cheetie, ye ken,” Jamie points out. “My mam had one when I was a wee lad, I liked it fine.”

Claire turns to face him, head tilting to the side. “What was its name?”

Jamie smiles in reflection, sparing a glance at her while he drives. “Adso. He was a fierce hunter, chased away all the mice and ate what dared to linger. She loved that cat until—” He trails off, quiet for a beat before finishing. “No’ long after she died, Adso disappeared. No one remembers seeing him after that, at least.”

Out of habit, Claire rests a hand on his thigh, but as he reaches down for her she meets him halfway, tangling their fingers together. “Adso was truly your mother’s. That’s beautiful, Jamie.”

For a few minutes the memory lingers, the image of his mother curled up with the kitten suddenly swimming to the surface. He can remember the sound of her calling out sweetly for her cat, and the rediscovered memory sways his decision.

“When we’re finally settled after the honeymoon, we’ll see about a cheetie of our own,” Jamie promises, wrapping up the debate for good.

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She didn’t mean to drift, and she’s alarmed to find herself alone in a still car when her eyes open. Before she can wonder too long, Jamie appears, exiting a quaint-looking home that she realizes must be Eskview Farm in St. Cyrus: the true starting point of the road trip. They’re staying for two evenings, planning a day at the beach (in jeans and jumpers) before heading out on the 30th toward Aberdeen. From there, it’s onward to Slains Castle just in time for Samhein, the questionably haunted portion of their road trip beginning and ending with a tour of Bram Stoker’s inspiration.

Getting out of the car, Claire stretches and Jamie detours, moving to her side instead of grabbing a bag from the boot.

“You were snorin’,” he teases, leaning in to brush his lips against hers.

“If I was, it was only because I found myself quite content,” she explains, granting him another kiss as she leans back against the car. “Our first road trip.”

“First road trip. How’s it feel, Sassenach?”

She smiles as she presses her lips to his cheek, then grazes his stubble with the tip of her nose. “How it always feels to be with you.”

Jamie’s lips find the crook of her neck, one hand wandering under her shirt, caressing her back slowly. “And how does that feel?” he whispers in inquiry, dropping a kiss to her pulse.

Claire feels as though she’s standing on a swaying ship, closing her eyes as warmth blooms in her belly. “It feels like an adventure with you, Jamie. Every day.” Sinking into him, her arms loop around his waist as her face nuzzles against his shoulder. When she speaks, her voice is muffled, but she doesn’t move. “And you cannot feel me up in the parking lot of our bed and breakfast.”

“And why no’?” Jamie asks, lips trailing to her collarbone now.

Her eyes drift to the porch and the pleasant-looking elderly woman eyeing them. “Because I think the proprietor is on the porch,” she laughs softly, stifling it against his shoulder. “I’m ready for a shower, though. With company.”

Distraction accomplished (and faster than she expected), they’re shown to a room exploding with lace and doilies, a teddy bear draped in a strand of pearls sitting on the dresser. Once they’re alone, Claire stops trying to hide her laughter and raises an eyebrow. “Someone not take a glance at the photo gallery before booking?”

Jamie, having opened the closet door, stands frozen to the spot. “Sassenach, I cannae think of words tae properly describe what I’m seein’, so just come look.”

Curious, Claire goes to his side, peeking in, and lets out another bark of a laugh as a row of wooden puppets stares down at them from the top shelf. “Well, this is supposed to be a spooky road trip.”

“Spooky and creepy are verra different things,” Jamie feels the need to point out as he firmly closes the door again, tugging off his shirt.

“How so?” she asks, heading into the bathroom to turn on the shower.

He follows her, shedding shoes and jeans in his wake. “Creepy is more on the weird side, ye ken? Like perhaps a person who has that many wooden puppets has other things in her cupboards. But spooky is just aesthetic, Sassenach.”

She scoffs, looking over her shoulder and appreciating the fact that he’s made quick work of his clothing. “I must say, I feel properly educated on the subject now. Thank you.” Draping her arms over his shoulders, she pecks his lips lightly before pressing closer. “I see I’m suddenly overdressed.”

“And the shower was your idea, even. I see what yer up to, distracting me from gropin’ ye in the parkin’ lot.”

Claire laughs, delighted at him — at them — and lets him undress her, if only to feel his fingers against her skin as he exposes it. “You can grope me just as well in the shower, you know.” The last word is a soft exhale as his fingers graze up her sides, pushing her shirt up as he goes and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“Aye, I plan to. Dinna fash about that,” he breathes out against her clavicle, hands reaching behind her back to unhook her bra, gently pushing the straps down her shoulders. As he pulls the garment away, Jamie steps back to admire her — topless, in jeans, still wearing her practical walking shoes.

Tugging at her hand, he pulls her to the mirror, grinning at her reflection. “Ye look ridiculous right now.” She’s laughing too hard to respond, shoulders shaking with it. “I mean, it is a look, Sassenach.”

“Would you shut up and get me naked, please?” Claire finally sputters, heaving out a breath as she tries to stop herself from another round of hysterics.

Laughing with her, he unbuttons her jeans, turning her around to kiss her laughing mouth as he pushes them down her body. “I could distract ye wi’ bawdy things.”

Her laughter catches and she clears her throat. “Do go on. What sort of bawdy things will you do to me while the puppets listen?”

It’s his turn to laugh and he does, loudly against her ear. “Nevermind, ye ruined it."

“We’ve wasted enough hot water,” she decides, kicking off her shoes and shimmying the rest of the way out of her jeans, even as he pushes her knickers (with wee hearts on them; a joke gift on her birthday before the real gift of the skimpiest things he’d ever bought) down her legs.

Once all offending pieces are discarded, they step into the bath-shower-combination together, realizing the tight squeeze almost immediately.

“You know,” Claire begins. “Every movie and television show I’ve ever watched would have me believe sex in the shower is effortless. Easy, even.”

There’s hardly room to turn around, let alone do any groping, and Jamie graciously steps back to let Claire have the water. “This is why we never tried it before,” he points out. “I’m no’ prepared to break a hip on vacation.”

With a smirk, Claire wets her hair while facing him. “I’m glad you’re more practical than horny. My own hips thank you.”

When she turns her back to him, Jamie wordlessly reaches for one of the decorative (but unlabeled) bottles, sniffs it, and determines based on color and smell it must be the shampoo. Lathering it into her hair, he massages her scalp in the tamest of ways, but his cock is doing very little to help with his restraint.

“If either of us breaks anything then we cannae have one another for Christ knows how long, so I’m no’ willin’ to risk it,” he supplies practically, working on her hair until she has a well-shaped soap afro and letting her go to rinse—his favorite part.

Closing her eyes, Claire reaches up, working the water through her hair. “Then I suppose we’ll be boring and wait for bed,” she teases, scrunching her nose as soap drips down her face.

Jamie reaches up to wipes the offending suds away, then looks at the high edges of the tub. “I do have an idea. No’ quite what they write in bodice rippers, but somethin’.” As she finishes rinsing her hair, Jamie pushes the shower curtain behind his body before sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Her hips are at the perfect height, and he grins while dragging a finger over her skin.

Turning to rinse any lingering soap from her face, Claire finally finishes and eyes him warily. “What are you going to do?”

Carefully ensuring she doesn’t slip, Jamie pulls her closer and coaxes her left foot up onto the edge of the tub. When his gaze shifts to the view directly in front of his eyes, any half-hardness of his cock goes to full attention. It’s enough to make him groan, lips pressing to her stomach.

“Christ, ye have no idea how mind-blowin’ ye are.”

After his words, his tongue traces the crease where hip joins torso, feeling her shiver despite the warmth of the shower.

“I have—” her words falter, breath hitching as his fingers part her. “—you doing this. I know how to take a hint.” One of her hands pushes through his hair, and gripping a handful of said curls, she presses her hips forward against his mouth.

“Impatient,” he scolds, but the words are muffled as he’s helpless to fulfill her request. He can’t imagine what would need to be wrong with him to deny her, and he hopes to never discover it. His tongue teases around the enticing warmth of her, but his focus shifts to nerves already taut with anticipation. He waits for half a heartbeat before slowly circling his tongue around it, feeling her hand tighten in his hair, her curls brushing the top of his head as her own bows.

With one hand wrapped around her calf to keep her steady, the other moves to her opposite hip while his mouth devours her, doing all of the work. He grunts at the feel of her thigh against the side of his head, absorbing each tremble until her body pitches forward a bit. That’s when he begins listening: to the sweetest sounds that exist just for him, his own private performance.

When she’s close, when pleasure causes her hips to writhe of their own accord, she makes a keening sound; head falling back as her lips part, cheeks flushed the sweetest hue of pink, curls skimming the pearlescent expanse of her shoulders. A high-pitched cry comes next as she tenses, the skin right between her eyebrows furrowing as she chases her climax. Two letters, a gasped out “Ja—” is all the warning he has before a loud, unchecked moan fills the room, not at all drowned out by the sound of the shower. One hand is buried in his hair, while the other clutches his shoulder, leaving red half-moon marks in the wake of her pleasure.

Lapping at the fruits of his labor, Jamie hums in contentment, tongue lazily gliding along warm, slick flesh before nosing at soft curls and finally kissing her hip. As everything in her eases and relaxes, he gently lowers her leg, his arm sliding around her waist as he stands. He gathers her close, standing sideways with her in the shower as his lips find hers for a series of soft, tender kisses. Without prompting, he reaches for the soap and washes her, slowly bringing her down from her high with more touch, this time soothing instead of lust-filled.

When she can finally move again, Claire reaches out to cradle his face in her hands, smiling in blissed-out contentment. “I think I might have to marry you.”

Having previously deemed the shower too dangerous for more strenuous activities, they finish washing and step out, lazily drying in favor of kissing and touching again.

“I cannae be near ye and not want ye,” Jamie confesses against the hollow of her throat as she leans back against the vanity. After a brief pause to plant a kiss over her heart, his mouth envelops a nipple, the warm curve of her breast still damp from the shower.

With one hand braced behind her on the bathroom counter, her other reaches out to drag up and down his back. Claire’s eyes close, head tilting back as she encourages him. “I don’t have it in me to mind.” Her final word is said on a sharp gasp as the tip of his cock presses insistently against her. His mouth hasn’t stopped, moving to the opposite breast to shower it with the same affection as his hands begin lifting. She expects to be moved to the counter, but instead, he coaxes her legs around his waist once he comes up for air.

“Tell me I can have ye now,” he pants across her cheek, beginning to make his way out of the bathroom toward the bed.

“You can have me, Jamie. You can always have me.” Her lips fuse to his, and in a display of exactly how weak he is, she finds herself pressed against the wall, feet from the bed. Before she can tease him, he’s inside of her, and whatever thoughts she once had are replaced by a series of white bursts of light behind closed eyelids. Her hands grasp at his shoulders, frantically trying to find solid purchase on the scarred terrain of his back as he anchors her between his body and the wall.

Forgetting that they aren’t, in fact, in their own home, an unrestrained moan tumbles from her lips, so loud that it makes his own ears ring. Jamie slams forward, doing nothing to help keep her quiet as he sinks deeply into her. His loud groan is swallowed by her mouth, though there’s no resemblance to a kiss thanks to both of them gasping for lungfuls of air. He can tell that she’s focused again by the way she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and digs her heels into his lower back. She’s close, but not close enough, which has him sneaking a hand between them, only just able to reach her clit with his thumb. It’s plenty; she jerks as though touched by a live wire, and as her body contracts around him, he holds a thrust while burying his face against her neck. Letting her carry him with her, both of them breathlessly whimper the other’s name as waves of pleasure begin to recede.

It’s firm knocking on the door that brings first Jamie, then Claire, out of their post-sex stupor, still slumped against the wall. He lowers her gently to the ground, and when her legs are no longer as wobbly as a new foal’s, he steps back, tossing on jeans and answering the door sans shirt. While he does, Claire revisits the bathroom, cleaning herself up a bit until she hears the door close and lock.

“What was that about?” she asks curiously, making her way to the bed and crawling in naked.

“We’re deviants,” Jamie replies casually, laying on the bed and shifting so that she can drape over him. “It was the person next room over. Apparently, ye sound like a dying coo, Sassenach.”

“Excuse me?”

“I didna say it! The woman next door did. I politely disagreed, and she told me that to answer the door in such a state of undress was a mark on my puir soul.”

“Was she about eighty years of age?” Claire mutters, blushing a little.

Laughing, Jamie pulls her closer, kissing her forehead. “Closer to eighty-five, I think. I promised her we’d be leavin’ after breakfast in the morning and until then, no more rude noises.”

“You think they’re rude?”

“I happen to find them verra adorable. Sexy too, if it helps,” he playfully taunts.

She huffs, pretending to be greatly put out. “And what if I wanted to try and get you to make rude noises before 5 a.m?”

With a smirk, Jamie curves a hand around her hip. “If ye’re awake before 5 a.m. on our vacation, Sassenach, I’ll make all the wee noises ye’d like.”

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Morning comes (but not either of them, thanks to Claire sleeping straight through the alarm), and after a few impolite stares from other breakfast goers, Jamie and Claire wander along the beach, properly freezing before driving into town to shop (Jamie buys a ridiculously priced book of Scottish poems printed in the 18th century, Claire sneakily buys cufflinks to give Jamie before their wedding), have lunch, and spend the rest of the afternoon at a whiskey distillery in Aberdeen. Research, he says, and she agrees to a point—until they walk out more than a few pounds lighter. Still, there isn’t much to worry about as the day begins to fade and they make their way back to the bed and breakfast.

As politely as they can, they rush through supper before escaping to their room; both of them miss the look of contempt shot at them from their neighbor in the corner.

Once their road trip resumes, Claire takes over the driving, opting for an Eagles playlist as the low background music. A half-hour in, Jamie reaches behind Claire to retrieve a bag from the backseat, rummaging while he explains himself.

“I told Jen we were goin’ on this trip and she suggested we borrow a game she bought a while back.”

“A game?” Claire asks with suspicious wariness, glancing at him as he settles back in his seat with a plastic bag full of small square cards.

“Aye, she bought it for a dinner party, when we started havin’ vendors to the farm for get-togethers. To break the ice, ye pick a card and ask the room whatever the question is and everyone answers.”

“It sounds like something you do when you work in a business office and go to company retreats,” she says dryly, looking behind her to change lanes. “And I’m driving, I can’t stop to read.”

“Come on, Sassenach, it’ll be fun. I’ll read them all, but every other card, I’ll answer first. Deal?”

“What could you possibly not know about me by now?”

Jamie takes that as his cue to draw a card and read it off. “‘Have ye ever bought anythin’ from a TV infomercial?’” He looks at her expectantly. “Weel?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, and I’m not ashamed of it like that question implies I should be.” There’s a slight huff at the end, but when he looks over, he sees the corner of her upper lip twitch as she tries to suppress a smile in favor of mock annoyance.

“What was it then? Can I guess?”

Now it’s impossible to hide her smile. “You can try. But it was years before I met you and I don’t own it anymore.”

“Oh, so it worked sae well ye got rid of it?”

“No. I lost track of it during a move and never bothered to replace it. Tell me what you’re thinking it could be,” Claire retorts, deciding maybe the game is alright after all.

“A kitchen gadget?” he attempts on his first try, then goes through various electronic gadgets, home remedy devices, and articles of clothing before giving up.

“A towel,” Claire tells him succinctly.

“A towel? One single towel ye ordered off of television?”

“Specifically for drying my hair. It had a tab in the back to secure it like a turban until these curls were as dry as they could get without assistance,” she explains. “What have you bought from an infomercial?”

“Nothin’ at all, I can honestly say. Do they even have them anymore?”

“Towels?”

“No, ye wee brat. Infomercials.”

Laughing, she shrugs in genuine ignorance. “If they do, I haven’t seen one in a while. What’s the next question?”

Glad to see her seemingly into the idea of the game, he pulls another card. “Alright. I’ll answer first. The question is ‘do ye possess any of the qualities of yer astrological sign?’ Claire, I couldna tell ye at all. I ken I’m a Taurus, but after that, ‘tis a mystery.”

“Geillis is really into horoscopes, you know. She told me that apparently you’re supposed to be devoted and responsible, so lucky me. Stubbornness happens to be a trait of your sign, and the more we talk, the more I think there might be something to that. You know what else a Taurus likes?”

“No, but I’m interested to hear,” Jamie declares, wondering when this conversation with her neighbor happened.

“Apparently, and I wouldn’t know anything about this, you’re supposed to be good with your hands.” When she glances at him, her grin is so toothy that they both laugh, spending a few seconds recovering from it.

“I’m ashamed to admit I’m no’ even sure what your sign is. What are you supposed to be like, accordin’ to October twentieth?”

“I’m a Libra. You’ll have to tell me if I’m gracious, diplomatic, and indecisive, with a love of the outdoors.”

Leaning back as if to appraise her, Jamie ponders it. “I’ve never kent ye to be indecisive. Careful to choose, perhaps, but no’ unable to make up yer mind. And either ye love the outdoors or the acting ye do at the farm is award-worthy.”

Claire smiles, reaching out to rest her hand on his arm for a second. “I love it. All of it, everything that comes with you and Lallybroch.” Her life before him of simply waking up and going to work was status quo for so long that the moment James Fraser stepped into her life, it was as if an entire world had opened up to her. Family and togetherness, love and warmth. Every single bit of her happiness comes from that farm.

“Next question?”

Pulling a card, his face softens. “What’s the most beautiful drive ye’ve ever taken, Sassenach?” She smiles at him sweetly; it’s a quick glance that feels as though it lasts forever, a moment neither of them wants to forget, and so it seems to stretch on. In unison, they answer.

“This one.”

“‘Which American landmark would ye most like to see?’ The Grand Canyon I think, aye? We’ve both talked about that one,” Jamie answers first.

Humming her agreement, Claire adds on to the wishlist. “I want to see the older parts of the country. The original Colonies, where it’s all the most historic.”

“Perhaps in ten years or so, we could take a trip, visit museums and the like,” he offers.

In confusion, she balks. “A decade? Why are we waiting a decade to visit America?”

His shrug is easy as he draws another card. “Our first bairn would be school age, able to appreciate it more, aye?”

As Claire stops at an intersection, she takes the time to look at him, eyes moving over his face and expressing a dozen things she doesn’t say aloud. Instead, as she begins to drive again, she agrees with him. “According to your rigorous baby-making schedule? Yes, we’ll have a nice school-aged child and probably two others by then.”

Jamie’s laughing as he looks at the next card, then makes a noise in the back of his throat as he really reads what he’s pulled.

“What’s the hardest thing ye’ve ever done, Sassenach?”

The air in the car shifts as she thinks, straightening up in the seat. It’s with that question she realizes maybe he doesn’t know some things. The things she doesn’t talk about, the things she’s pushed to the furthest recesses of her mind in favor of not sinking into pieces of her past.

“I can draw another,” he offers after her silence stretches for a full minute.

Shaking her head, Claire wets her lips. “No, it’s fine. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it, really. I mean, I haven’t thought about it—” She pauses again and looks at him from her peripheral vision before focusing on the road. “The first time I told someone their loved one didn’t make it. It was only my fifth surgery, a young man. He was twenty-three; he’d been biking with his friends and swerved to avoid a pothole, but his rear tire caught it.”

It really wasn’t her fault he died on the table. She knows that now; but then, younger and hearing the single monotone beep after her hands had been trying to save a life, it felt as though she’d killed him herself.

“He crashed into a metal fence, the kind with the sharp point at the tip? One went right through him, and I did the surgery. Everything went fine, I thought. I had no idea there was a nicked artery and he was bleeding elsewhere. When he died...telling his parents, his beautiful young wife…that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Jamie watches Claire as she speaks, watches her face, her hands on the steering wheel. He checks to see if she’s white-knuckling it at any point, and listens as she checks herself for wobbles in her voice. He knows her, knows her heart, and realizes that must have taken a toll. “But ye got through it?” he asks quietly, reaching over to rest his hand on her leg while she drives in a show of quiet support.

“It took a long time,” she admits, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Those don’t get easier, ever, but the first one is always the most difficult. And the hardest part was convincing myself that it wasn’t my fault.” She’ll never forget any of the wails she’s heard, will never forget the people waiting at the hospital alone who had no one to comfort them but her.

Exhaling again, she drops her hand to squeeze his. “Your turn.”

Even when she replaces her hand on the steering wheel, Jamie keeps his own on her leg as he answers. “Watching my da slowly lose it after my mam died.” His eyes move to the window, unable to look at Claire as he speaks. “I’ll always think he died of a broken heart, dinna care how cliche it sounds.”

“I don’t think it sounds cliche. I think he lost the most important person in his life,” she soothes. Once she’s on a long stretch of straight road, her hand drops again to cover his.

“He truly didna want to go on wi’ out her. Her death, Willie’s, they broke him, and he was never going to be the same. When he died, it was almost a relief, Sassenach,” Jamie confesses quietly. “To ken he’d be wi’ her again, that he was no longer here in a state of perpetual grief. He tried to be brave. You would have liked him, I think. I ken for sure he would have loved ye, Claire.”

“I wish I could have met him. Your father sounds like he was a wonderful man, Jamie.” A wonderful man who raised an incredible son. Claire isn’t sure what she believes — if her parents and uncle will be waiting to greet her when she dies — but she does know one thing for sure. “If I ever lost you, I don’t know if I would be any different.”

His hand squeezes around hers before raising it to his lips in a soft kiss against her inner wrist. “I’ll try to never go where ye cannae come wi’ me, Sassenach.”

She doesn’t hesitate in her answer. “Then I promise the same.”

They can’t — not really — but the words are sweet, the sentiment real.

Time melts away and she loses track of how many questions they’ve answered before she warns him they’re ten minutes away from the castle.

“Last one then,” he concludes. “If ye could do something dangerous just once, with no risk, what would ye do?”

Claire has to think about it, then hedges her answer. “Where are we on the danger scale?”

“I would jump out of a plane. Or perhaps let NASA launch me into space.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” she retorts with a scoff. “You’re never jumping out of a plane or anything close to it. Especially not with your plan for ten children.”

Jamie snickers as he puts the cards away, spying a road sign to Slains Castle. “I do have a different answer if ye’re interested. No’ really dangerous physically, but it could be a financial disaster if it doesna go right.”

She knows this has to be about the farm, and she looks at him curiously after making the final turn of the trip. “What is it?”

He hesitates, and she’s pulling up to the dilapidated ruins before he answers. Once the car is in park, he turns to look at her fully. “I want to expand into America. Once we finish wi’ the distillery, I want to market to restaurateurs and chefs in the States.”

She can tell he’s nervous about broaching it; she knows it will take a lot of late nights and frequent travel on his part. She studies his face for a moment before unbuckling her seatbelt in order to reach over and cradle his face in her hands. It’s an awkward position thanks to the center console, but she’s determined to make it work.

“You should do it. Do it because you’re afraid. Do it because I’ll be here to help along the way.” She pauses to kiss him softly. “Do it because I know you won’t go through with anything you don’t believe in, Jamie.”

A swell of emotion makes his eyes narrow a bit, the underlying surprise turning into a small, pleased smile. “Ye dinna think it’s too risky?”

Claire kisses him again before she pulls back to turn off the car, opening the door as she answers. “It’s going to be the riskiest thing you’ll ever do with our money,” she corrects, but after walking around to the passenger side of the car and opening the door, she waits until he’s out to finish her thought. “I’m not going to say ‘no risk, no reward.’”

“Oh, thank Christ. It’s uninspired.” His hands come to rest on her hips as his eyes study her face intently. “You’re serious, though? About looking into expanding, what it would take?”

Looking around at the currently unoccupied grounds, she walks with him toward the unattractive, not at all well-kept castle—a rarity for historical buildings in Scotland, as far as she’s observed. “I’m serious, Jamie. You’d never be happy knowing you could be doing more. You should look into it, find out what Ian thinks, and see about getting in touch with your cousin Jared? It’s different than wine, but he might have some useful contacts in the liquor business.”

Jamie has to stop solely to reach for her, ignoring the scenery around them and focusing on this woman he’ll be calling his wife in six months. With his hands at her sides, his forehead presses to hers. “You have no idea how incredible ye are. Everything I’ve done and all that I want to do, I’m no’ ever worried it’s too much to put ye through.”

“Silly man,” she says with a soft smile, nuzzling the side of his nose with her own. “Nothing about you could ever be too much.” Kissing him with a quiet, content sigh against his lips, she reaches for his hand after stepping away. “Now. Explore a castle before sunset with me?”

Following her lead and seeing a grand total of three other tourists while exploring, he listens while she tells him everything she knows about the castle, including that it was once difficult to determine which areas had been outdoor spaces and which were actually interior rooms. It was a confusing space, and as they cross the property to look out at the cliffs, she stands close enough to Jamie that an arm winds around her without thinking much about it.

“Are ye pleased wi’ yer Samhein road trip, Sassenach? Is this terrifyin’ enough for ye?”

“It isn’t what I thought it would be after reading the book,” she notes idly. “I had no expectations, and the view is beautiful. The drive was worth it. This just feels...I don’t know. Cold.”

“Could be that it’s currently freezin’ out,” Jamie notes, getting an elbow to the side for his wit. “Could ye imagine livin’ in a castle? Having meals in great rooms, wandering the stone halls wi’ a torch.”

“Is that how you imagine us? Living in a castle with a staff to wait on us hand and foot?” They walk to the interior of the castle now, stopping in a room with a fireplace. “This could have been a bedroom, for all we know. Imagine a large bed with four posts. A crackling fireplace.”

She’s stepped away from him to look into various nooks and crannies, and it gives him the opportunity to wrap his arms around her from behind. “I’m certainly imagining a few specific things,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss to the side of her neck.

“Of course you are,” she says with a smile so large he can feel the way her body relaxes with it.

“I’m thinking of making love to ye on the floor wi’ a bear skin rug beneath us. A fire going in the hearth.”

Closing her eyes, she tries to picture it, the way the room would have looked and felt; dark, probably, with the hearth doubling as warmth and light. “Would you mind it much? Not having electricity or modern conveniences?”

“If you were wi’ me? Nah,” he murmurs as he turns her to face him, dropping a kiss to her lips. “Dinna think I would mind much at all, so long as we were together.”

Pressing closer to escape the chill, her arms wrap fully around him as he reciprocates and both of them sink into one another.

“Are you happy?” Claire suddenly inquires, whispering the question as they stand together in the ruins.

“I dinnae ken if how happy I am can be measured properly. I’m happy to be here wi’ ye right now. Happy to do all of this driving, happy to be marrying ye, Claire.” Moving his fingers under her chin, he tilts her head up in order to deepen their kiss.

She gives in easily, lips parting as his tongue does a very thorough exploration of her mouth. As he does, her hands wander, dragging to the button of his jeans. “We may not have the furs or the fire, but I could certainly see about making you a little happier,” she offers with a coy grin, then pauses. “Unless there are qualms.” Her raised eyebrows suggest she knows there will be exactly zero qualms.

“If I tell ye to stop, it’ll only be on account of unexpected company. But at some point, my brain willna work and ye’ll be on yer own.”

“Well,” she begins, unzipping his jeans and pushing them down as her hands cup equal handfuls of a heavenly sculpted backside. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” When she kisses him, she can feel his laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“You. How long have ye been thinkin’ about this?”

“Honestly?” she asks, backing him up a couple of feet until he can brace against what she hopes is a sturdy wall.

“Aye, of course.” His eyes follow her movements as she sinks to her knees in front of him, but she delays answering to softly kiss along the line of his pelvis. It’s enough to convince his cock as one hand reaches for her hair.

“On the cliffs.” She licks her palm, wraps her hand around him, and begins a slow stroke. “You were taking a picture of the view.”

“Really got ye goin’?”

Instead of saying anything in return, Claire presses her lips to the tip of him before using both mouth and hand to show him exactly how inspirational she found his body in profile. Dragging her tongue along the underside of his cock, she hums in response to his long, low groan as one hand holds onto his thigh.

“Christ, Sassenach, do that again,” Jamie requests, panting, eyes so dark they nearly look black as he watches her intently.

She does as he asks, letting her tongue travel the length of him, slower this time. The way he shudders makes her own arousal ache pleasantly, so she indulges in the action once more. After repeating the action a fourth time, her mouth moves away in order to kiss along his inner thighs softly, giving him a moment to catch his breath. Each shaky inhale is a point of pride, and when he least suspects, Claire’s mouth moves around him again, this time finding a rhythm and not moving away.

With one hand pressing flat against the wall behind him, the other tangles in her hair. He doesn’t move her, but rather uses her curls to anchor himself. He focuses on the feel of them, the way they stretch but spring back to life instantly. He thinks of anything to keep from coming too soon, though she certainly is hell-bent.

“I’m no’—” he curses in Gaelic, wondering if this is how she feels when he’s greedy for her. “Mas e do thoil e, Sassenach,” he pleads, and the hand against the old castle wall attempts to clutch the stone as his body begins to tense.

It’s impossible to resist when he says please, and so she moves intently, closing her eyes as she focuses not on what she’s doing necessarily, but on him. The way the pads of his fingers grip her shoulders instead of his nails (she offers no such courtesy), and the way he’s careful not to actually pull her hair. His breathing, where before he took controlled but shaky breaths, is now panting gasps, each sound beginning to hitch. When she knows he’s going to come, one hand drags its way up his inner thigh to feel the way his muscles tighten, and the loud groan of her name is enough that she can feel the vibration from his body to her palm.

He loses it completely after that, head dropping back as his vision darkens and he’s sure he’s left his body. When pleasure begins to ebb and his heart seems content not to pound out of his chest, Jamie still can’t open his eyes. Her hands are warm on his body, but eventually she tucks him back into his boxers and jeans before standing. It’s then that he finally looks at her, a lopsided and lazy grin greeting her.

“Are you happy, Sassenach?”

As his arms envelop her, Claire rests her head so that she can listen to the now-normal beat of his heart.

“Aye, Jamie,” she replies, kissing his chest tenderly before raising her head to look at him. “I am.”

[shinewithalltheuntold]

filledwithlight replied to your post:Fandom: Once Upon a Time :) (this is a reminder...

Oh our answers for OUaT are similar! Also I love your other fandoms, we have similar tastes. ;)

I think what I’m loving most about this meme is finding all the things I have in common with people when it comes to my different fandoms, not just Once. We all have great taste. :)