#gotham' s writing workshop

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

family means no one gets left behind

by Rainycat

Meet Danyal al'Ghul: seventeen years old, Right Hand to the Demon (aka Talia al'Ghul, his mother), big brother to Damian Wayne, the White Ghost, assassin with a kill count well over 1000+. Meet Danyal "Call me Danny" Wayne, well-adjusted teenager from the same mother as Damian, who'd been in boarding school on the other side of the planet until he graduated, and looked to move to Gotham City to get to know his father and adopted family. Meet Danny Fenton-Phantom, full-time hero, King of the Ghost Zone, interdimensional being and beloved ruler with a frankly OP powerset that is only mitigated by his own lack of ability to remember all his powers.

Somehow, because Fate loves picking on Danny, these are all the same person through different eras.

(Aka, the "danny is damian's older brother and the reincarnation of fenton-phantom who remembers his old life and has some of his old powerset, but loves his family So Damn Much and wants them safe and sane again" au.) (inspired by the batpham server, who helped me workshop the basic idea for this & is constantly screaming over each other's fics. love yall weirdos.)

Words: 1507, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Danny Fenton, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne's Parents, the ghosts of wayne manor, Alfred Pennyworth, Batfamily Members, Jason Todd

Relationships: Danny Fenton & Damian Wayne, Danny Fenton & Bruce Wayne, Batfamily Members & Danny Fenton, Danny Fenton & Talia al Ghul

Additional Tags: author uses al'Ghul spellling, Author Is Sleep Deprived, danny fenton is an al'ghul au, Reincarnation, The Author Regrets Everything, inappropriate use of ao3's tagging system, i know i should be writing my other 3 fics, but frankly i dont care, this is nagging me, its GOOD bite me, death jokes in leiu of coping mechanisms, danny is the white ghost, technically, he inherited it the same way damian inherited the demon's head title, or will, anyway, he works for talia but mostly is trying to get his family back together, and sane, and not lazarus-pit exposed, wayne manor's fuckin haunted, no ships, no plot just vibes, author uses em-dashes and semicolons because she's not a goddamn heathen, but mostly em-dashes, i love a fuckin em-dash

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/46545274

[emgrad603materialsandmedia]

TypoGrafika - 24 & The Designers

Joseph Churchward - Type focused designer. 

A Samoan born New Zealand graphic designer who mainly focuses on typographic work. Joseph is best known for having designed 690 original typefaces. Joseph attended the Wellington Technical college at age 13 where he perfected his craft and love for design. 

After graduating, Joseph went on to work as a commercial designer, starting up his own company in 1969 - Churchward International Typefaces - which became one of New Zealand’s largest typesetting spaces. Not long after this was established, leading German type company Berthold Fototypes accepted some of his fonts for international distribution, and they were soon in use throughout the world.

“His accomplishments are not only significant on a national scale, but place him highly on the global stage. He is a pioneer and I admire his continued dedication to the craft of design. He is a true inspiration.”  - John Britten, Black Pin Winner  (2009)

https://designersinstitute.nz/initiatives/black-pin/2009/joseph-churchward/interview/

https://www.myfonts.com/collections/joseph-churchward

https://www.the10sonsofmanu.com/joseph-churchward-qsm-1923-2013/#more-188

A pioneer and legend when it comes to New Zealand type. 

David Bennewith – 20.10.2005 “Joseph Churchward in his home studio.”

Tobias Frère Jones 

For 25 years+, Tobias Frere-Jones has created a major name for himself as one of the world’s most successful typeface designers, creating some of the most widely used typefaces, including Interstate, Poynter Oldstyle, Whitney, Gotham, Surveyor, Tungsten and Retina.

Tobias received a BFA in Graphic Design from the Rhode Island School of Design in 1992. Then joining Yale University School of Art in 1996 and has lectured throughout the United States, Europe and Australia. His work is apart of collections in Victoria & Albert Museum in London and the Museum of Modern Art in New York. He has received the Gerrit Noordzij Prijs, the AIGA Medal, and most recently Cooper Hewitt’s 2019 National Design Award for Communication Design, recognizing his contributions to typographic design, writing and education.

Alot of Tobias retro and vintage based graphics come from his love of collecting various antiques when he was younger - we can see the inspiration for alot of his work today from this. 

https://sixtysixmag.com/tobias-frere-jones/

https://frerejones.com

More selections from Tobias’ extensive type collection: transit passes from the 1950s

Tobias Frere Jones - Designer. (Image from portfolio website) 

Old cigar box edging strips from Tobias’ collection.

Verena Gerlach 

Verena Gerlach was a photography instructor at the Hochschule der Künste in Berlin in 1991 and spent 1992 doing a first-year course at Glasgow School of Art. From 1993 to 1998 she studied communication design at Kunsthochschule Berlin Weißensee and spent one year (1996) as an exchange student at the London College of Printing. FF Karbid, FF Sizmo, and Chambers Sans are some of the few typefaces she created, Verena has her own studio for corporate design in Berlin.

In 1998, Verena Gerlach began her studio for graphic design, typedesign and typography in Berlin. Since 2006, she has been consistently working as a freelance book designer for art book publishers like Hatje Cantz and Kerber Verlag. She began lecturing in type design, and typography in 2003,and currently gives lectures and workshops all over the world. Aswell as designing corporate fonts for global companies, she also is working on the typographic production for international, contemporary artists.

https://www.fraugerlach.de/project/paradox_algiers

PARADOX ALG(I)ER(S Silk Screen Posters, 2010

HIJRA FANTASTIK

An art and research project by Claudia Reiche in collaboration with Verena Gerlach 

Daniel Rodríguez - “Verena Gerlach” 

Nadine Chahine 

Dr. Nadine Chahine is an award-winning Lebanese type designer working as the UK Type Director and Legibility Expert at Monotype. She has an MA in Typeface Design from the University of Reading, UK, and a PhD from Leiden University, The Netherlands. Nadine’s research focus is on eye movement and legibility studies for the Arabic, Latin, and Chinese scripts. She has numerous awards including two Awards for Excellence in Type Design from the Type Directors Club in New York in 2008 and 2011. Her typefaces include: the best-selling Frutiger Arabic, Neue.

Nadine’s work has been featured in the 5th edition of Megg’s History of Graphic Design and in 2012 she was selected by Fast Company as one of its 100 Most Creative People in Business. In 2016 her work was showcased in the 4th edition of First Choice which highlights the work of the 250 top global designers practising today. In 2017, Nadine was selected by Creative Review to their Creative Leaders 50 which aims to celebrate, educate and inspire those who are leading creative businesses, organisations and teams in the UK.

Nadine is a current CEO at I love typography. 

https://arabictype.com/portfolio/

Information gathered via website

‘SST Arabic”

“DIN Next Arabic”

Carol Twombly

Carol Twombly is an incredible creative force who is to thank for majority of the graceful characters found in several typefaces such as Trajan and Charlemagne. During Carols childhood in New England, she spent a lot of her time exploring various artistic techniques. Finding interest in sculpture, Carol followed her architect brother to Rhode Island School of Design (RISD). Once there,, she changed her major study to graphic design. Carol says, “I discovered that communicating through graphics - by placing black shapes on a white page - offered a welcome balance between freedom and structure.” Though graphic design became her career focus, Carol also specialises in  basketweaving, drawing, painting, and jewellery making.

After graduating RISD and a year spent working in a small Boston graphic design studio, Carol accepted an invitation from Bigelow and joined a small group of students in a newly formed digital typography program at Stanford University. The program, which has been discontinued, awarded Carol and her colleagues Masters of Science degrees after two years of study in computer science and typographic design.  Carol has designed a number of very popular and widely used text and display typefaces. Trajan, Charlemagne, Lithos, and Adobe Caslon are inspired by classic typefaces and characters from the past - from early Greek inscriptions, around 400 B.C., to William Caslon’s typefaces of the 1700s. Designs like Viva and Nueva explore new territory while maintaining traditional roots. In 1994, she received the Charles Peignot award from the Association Typographique Internationale for outstanding contributions to type design. She was the first woman and only the second American to receive this prestigious honor.

Specimen of Carol Twombly's Trajan typeface

Specimens of typefaces by Carol Twombly

“Carol Twombly” Image sourced by Oak Knoll Books - Stock-Allen, Nancy

https://fonts.adobe.com/designers/carol-twombly

Veronika Burian

Veronika Burian studied Industrial Design in Munich and worked in that capacity in Vienna and Milan over a few years. Discovering her true passion for type, she graduated with distinction from the MA in Typeface Design in Reading, UK, in 2003 and worked as type designer at DaltonMaag in London for a few years. After staying for some time in Boulder, USA, and her hometown Prague she is now enjoying life in sunny Cataluña.

Veronika Burian is a type designer and co-founder of the independent type foundry TypeTogether, publishing award-winning typefaces and collaborating on tailored typefaces for a variety of clients. She is also involved with Alphabettes.org, a showcase for work and research on lettering, typography and type design by women. She continues to give lectures and workshops at international conferences and universities. Her typeface Maiola received, amongst others, the TDC Certificate of Excellence in Type Design 2004. Several other typefaces by TypeTogether have also been recognised by international competitions, including ED-Awards and ISTD.

She is also a founding member of typography platform Alphabettes.org created by and for women, being solely involved in mentoring program the GRANSHAN project for non-Latin fonts and typography, which is unique in the world, she engages in communication and sponsorship.  “Her typeface Maiola received the TDC Certificate of Excellence in Type Design 2004. Several other typefaces by TypeTogether have also been recognised by international competitions, including ED-Awards and ISTD.” - Type Together

http://bitscon.asia/speakers/2016/veronika-burian

https://fonts.adobe.com/designers/veronika-burian

“Type Together” - Veronika Burian

“Geared Schunger Scholarship” - Veronika Brian 2021.

A couple of examples of how her typeface has been used - provided by “FontsinUse” A good way to see how artists type has been used in current day.

Jessica Hische

Jessica Nicole Hische is an American letterer, illustrator, and type designer.

Jessicas work is something I find really interesting! I mainly focus on illustration myself so I really love her work, there's alot of personal interest in the characters she creates and you can see the passion reflect in her design.

Jessica has spoken at over 100 conferences, colleges, and other design events on nearly every continent. Winning awards such as New York Times Best-selling Author, Forbes under 30,  New Visual Artist, ADC Young GunGDUSA, Person to Watch.

When Jessica is not drafting letterforms, manipulating beziers, writing kids books, or letterpressing on my Vandercook, she spends her time trying to help others find the same happiness and fulfillment that she finds in her work. 

Photo by Helena Price

One of her best selling books “Tomorrow I’ll be kind”

https://www.jessicahische.is/afanofoxfam

MOXIE SOZO - “Jessica Hische on the art of procrastination”

Oxfam Holiday - Jessica Hische 

Johnson Witehira:

Johnson Witehiras work has the purpose of bringing all cultural aspects of Maori culture back into the lives of Maori and has alot of cultural responsive media and design.

Typograpfika’24 The Annual Conference on Type and Typography 25 January 2024 – 20 February 2024 Events and Information 

[renee-writer]

I Hear You Are Always Drunk in the Afternoon Chapter 46 A Blessing

She stands in front of the mirror, in Jamie's childhood room, in the heart of Lallybroch, in Ellen's wedding gown. Her, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Fraser, former active drunk now wife of Jamie, mother to his unborn child and part of this heritage, this family. It is overwhelming.

"Ye are beautiful Claire." Ellen says as her and Jenny walk in. She has a mum and a sister in them. Brothers and a father in Willy, Rabbie, and Brian. And Jamie and their baby. What a blessed woman she is!

"Thank you. I..." She can't say more, breaking into tears. Ellen and Jenny pull her into their arms.

"It is okay a' leanan. We understand." Once.the happy tears are cried out, they retouch her make-up and hair. It is down. The riotous curles free, the way Jamie likes them. No veil but a garland of flowers, forget-me-nots, grace her head. She is ready.

Jamie paces back and forth across the floor of the church behind the vestry. He is waiting for time to go out, to stand in the front and await Claire. The small group they had invited, Claire's apprentice, Raymond, her sober friends, Jamie's work friends, family; are already seated.

"Deep breath son. It will be time soon." Brian sooths.

"I ken it is just...any last minute marriage advice?"

"Love her. Even when you are fighting, or she is grouchy or you are. Love her when the kids are small and you barely have time to be more than parents and when they are grown and it is just you two again. When you are holding your first grandbairn. Just always love her. It is nae just a feeling, but a choice. Ye are a brawl lad, Jamie. I am sae proud of the man you have become. Now, come out front and let me go fetch yer bride."

"Thank ye da." They hug tight.

He takes her breath as she approaches him on Brian's arm. He has went full Highlander for the occasion and wears a kilt in the Fraser colors. A crisp white linen top, a tartan over his shoulder, knee high socks, a belt and and a sporran. Even a dirk and ceremonial sword. He is magnificent.

"Who gives this woman to be married to this man?" The priest asks.

"Clan Fraser and she herself does." Brian answers. He places her hand in his son's. The rest of the ceremony they repledge themselves to each other, the rings are blessed and placed back on their fingers and then Jamie reachea in his sporran.

"I've something for ye Claire. A wedding gift." He pulls out a string of pearls. "They were last my mam's. Before that, her mam's. They have been traced back to the time of the 1747 Raising. I want ye to have them. To pass down to our daughter on her wedding day." He slips them over her neck and she sobs.

"Oh Jamie, they are so beautiful. I have a gift for you too." She takes his hand and places it over the gentle swell of her stomach. "A baby. We are pregnant." A collective' ahhh and ohhhh' runs through their guests. Jamie stands with his mouth open and tears stream down his face.

"A bairn! We are having a bairn?"

"We are. I thought now would be the perfect time to tell you."

"It is." He lifts her up and spins her around. The priest and the congregation laughs.

"What a perfect way to end this blessing ceremony. With the blessing of a new baby. May I introduce the Fraser's. Jamie, you may kiss your bride." But, he already is.

[zekethefreak]

First Draft High

Check out how I finally finished my first draft! #finishit

The way Samwise looks was the way I felt! Finally finished! For now… On November 17, 2021, my birthday, I finally finished the first draft to my fantasy novel. This is the first time this has happened for me. Never before have I finished something longer than 35,000 words. The sense of accomplishment was satisfying, gratifying and brought on much needed relief. What a great birthday present to…

[justasimplesinner]

Ok first of fucking all I love the way you write, it's really hard to find a writer who can make a character or topic im not particularly interested in actually worth reading. Fucking spot on my guy 👌. Secondly, I was wondering if you'd be up for a request with Mof Johnathan and Arkham Eddie? If you could write a scenario were he's sitting down at his workspaces or couch working on something villain related and they feel a full blown breakdown coming on. Like they're really fucking stressed for whatever reason (take your pick) and the fact that they can't even focus on their own work is making it worse. Their s/o walks in and all it takes is a glance in his direction to figure out they've stumbled upon a ticking time bomb. So, as a spur of the moment attempt to distract him, they plop themselves into his lap and start whispering sweet nothings and praise while they stroke his hair (your choice whether it gets saucy from there or not). I'm a soft bitch and I need you to quench my thirst for hurt/comfort fics.

nothings better than making grown men break down. also, despite being short, this took so god damn long, i swear. but writing eddies pov is just so enjoyable, thats rewarding enough. he's such a stupid fuck its adorable

Masters of Fear!Jon getting comforted hcs:

It didn't feel right. At all. Nothing felt right. Everything was wrong. Every scratch of his pen on the paper felt like nails on a blackboard and his ears were ringing. His hands were shaking and instead of words, there were just crooked lines, like a hand-written ECG record. Every little sound from outside made him jump, every little drop of rain falling onto the window felt like a small bomb going off right besides his ear.

Ever since he woke up today, everything felt so wrong. You weren't in bed when he woke up, your side already cold because you left for work. Because he slept in and couldn't even say goodmorning to you. Or goodbye. And if something happened to you? It was Gotham, everything could happen to you. And he didn't even get the chance to see you, talk to you, kiss you. And the scrambled eggs he reluctantly made for breakfast almost made him vomit. He didn't eat them. Actually, he hadn't ate at all. Nothing. Not a crumb. It made him sick.

It's like he felt something coming, but he had no idea what. Like a storm, like danger. The feeling you get when you're being watched. The feeling he always got when he heard those specific footsteps in school hallways. Very specific. Measured, every move thought out - the trait of a sportsman. But heavy. Not clicking on the floor, but thumping. Very loud and very obvious. The footsteps that made him freeze in place because even if he tried, he wouldn't outrun them. They would follow. The pain would follow. Thump, thump, thump on the floor, foretelling nothing good, right around the corner, right... behind him!

He jumped up high in his seat, whipping his head around, eyes trying to scan the room but it all felt foggy. The only clear thing was the loud crack of the pen breaking in his clenched hand. And the first thing he saw was a hand, reaching out for him, maybe for his throat, maybe to thrash him around - he didn't know, but it was too close.

– Jon? – it was like something snapped in him when it was your voice that rang in his ears and his breathing stilled when he realized you were lightly rubbing your right hand. Did he hurt you? He wanted to ask, he needed to know if he hurt you, if he fucked up again but when his eyes finally looked up into yours, he couldn't say anything. 

The best thing was, he didn't even need to. It's like you already knew. Like he didn't have to do anything and you just saw it. Knew it. Sensed it. And when you got closer this time, he didn't push you away. There was no pain. No pain when your brows furrowed in genuine concern. No pain when your hands cupped his face to look him in the eyes. No pain when you slowly lowered yourself onto his lap. You never brought pain.

– Oh, baby... – your tone was condescending in the best of ways, and your fingers glided up into his hair so gently, nails scratching softly at his scalp, and it's as if his eyes shut on their own accord as he curled into you, wrapping his arms tight around your torso to press you closer. Keep you there, in that exact spot. So that you would never leave.

– I'm sorry I hurt you. – he practically cried into your neck, pressing his face hard into your skin to remind himself that you were there for him. He had you right in his lap, and yet he had to fucking remind himself still. Why was he so fucked up? You didn't have to put up with this. You didn't have to care. He wasn't your responsibility, he was nothing. And yet...

– You could never. It's fine.

You hugged him tight, one hand combing through his messy hair, tangled from him pulling on it, and the other one tracing up and down his back, making up shapes as it went. There were spirals, zig zags, waves, straight lines - he focused strictly on the feeling of your fingers, imagining every little shape they drew.

He kind of wished his shirt was off. So that he could actually feel you on his skin.

– I'm sorry. – and he was, because you just came back from work, probably exhausted, and now you had to baby him since he couldn't even fucking take care of himself. Why was he like this?

– Don't. You don't have to be sorry for feeling something. It's what humans do.

How did you always know what to say? How did you always know what to do? What has he ever done to deserve even an ounce of what you gave him? Did it matter? He was so fucking glad you were back home.

Arkham!Eddie getting comforted hcs:

Mistake. One after another. Each one followed by the next, like a chain reaction. The only thing he fucking did today was mistakes. All the measurements were wrong. All his coding was wrong. Every single little thing was at least a little bit off. He didn't accept 'a little bit off'. It was either perfect, or it was nothing to him. He was nothing. Nothing but a fucking failure, constantly fucking things up, unable to perform even the simplest tasks. Every last idiot could programm a computer. And he wasn't an idiot. Or was he?

A groan ripped from his throat, the hand in his hair tightening.

If he wasn't an idiot, why couldn't he get anything done? If he wasn't an idiot, why did Batman, of all people, outsmart him? If he wasn't an idiot, why hasn't he won yet?

It's like his body wasn't his own when he let out a pathetically high-pitched growl and his arm instinctively threw the first thing it gripped at a wall. The coffee cup smashed into little pieces upon the impact, coffee splashing everywhere, blemishing everything. You brought him this cup. And the one before that. You put it there. You did yet another thing he hasn't asked of you. Why couldn't you just listen for once? Stop disturbing him? It was all your failt that he couldn't focus, because you were constantly going in and out of his workshop and he clearly told you to stay away.

Oh, speak of the fucking devil, he could already hear your thumping footsteps nearing the door, probably lured in by the sound of his cup shattering. Because you were 'worried', as if he would be stupid enough to injure himself or do anything reckless! He furiously pushed some old scraps of metal to the floor, making them clink loudly, feeling a slight sting on his forearm. Great, now he fucking cut himself because of you-

– Eddie, baby? You alright? – the sound of your gentle voice echoed in the room, overpowering the earlier noise. He didn't even grace that with a response, just sighed heavily, annoyance seeping out of him, as he leaned his head on his palm. Why did you have to ruin everything?

And then, just to spite him, you moved closer. Close enough for your sweet scent to fill his lungs, your fingers dancing over his shoulder and he almost shook them off. Instead, he abruptly leaned back in his chair, gritting his teeth. You wasted your chance to get out of here without a scratch.

What he didn't expect however, was your legs slowly, yet suddenly straddling him, hands on his shoulders, digging in lightly to massage and manipulate them into whatever it was you wanted. He felt his stomach churn, his blood boiling to the point where he felt hot all over and his hands almost, almost shot out in your direction. To push you off.

– If you haven't realised yet, I'm working. – it was a blatant lie and you knew it immediately. He wasn't working, not at all, only tinkering with things and fucking them up further. All because of you-

Your hands slowly travelled up, surprisingly careful not to tickle his neck, grabbing his face on both sides with that gentle, motherly fucking smile of yours. Like he was some child. Like you were trying to lure him in and... and... kiss his forhead, and... push your own against it, and- argh!

– Maybe take a little break, hm? – you muttered and he felt it more than heard it, your lips moving lightly against his skin, your nose soon nuzzling his long one and it's as if his head moved along on it's own accord.

This was such obvious manipulation-...!

– I don't need a break! I-...!

– I know you don't, Eddie. – you rudely cut him off, thumbs caressing his cheekbones – But I'm asking you nicely. I miss you.

Even if he protested, you wouldn't've let him go. It was obvious in the way your arms slid around his neck and shoulders, hugging him to your body, almost suffocating him in your chest and he just had to brace his hands on your back. And maybe he would've even pulled away, but you were so... warm. Soft. Like a pillow. And it made him snuggle in further.

– You're so clingy sometimes, you know that? – he muttered, his arms wrapping around you tighter, fingers hooking into your flesh and he felt your fingers slide into his hair, gently massaging his pounding scalp, making the ache almost instantly ease off slightly. His muslces started relaxing, too, his spine finally having a break from holding up his weight.

– You know you like it. – he clearly heard a chuckle in your voice, and it made his hand slide up to the back of your head to push you further into in, to quiet you, as his chin found it's place on your shoulder. Your nails dragged up and down his back, sneakily creeping under his clothes sometimes, and it made a violent but pleasant shiver run through his body, causing his arms to tighten around you.

Maybe he could take a break. You clearly needed him, it would be unwise to ignore you for too long. You could feel neglected, abandoned even - that could cause... problems. He didn't have the strength to deal with problems now. He could just indulge you for a little bit, no harm done. And so, his grip tightened, his body curling around you so every possible part of it was touching you.

You so obviously needed the comfort, and truly, he could never deny you.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Calculation Theme

A/N  Another little ficlet in the Outlander modern AU I’ve decided to call the Metric universe, since both stories have thus far been inspired by songs from that band.   

Although not necessary to understand this fic, and in no way told in a linear fashion, here is the other ficlet in this universe: Lazy Dancer. 

All you need to know is that Jamie is a firefighter, Claire is a nurse and medical student, and they live together in present day London.

This story also fulfills the prompt from @gotham-ruaidh‘s writing workshop: I understand none of those things (found in bold in the text).

An irritated sigh sounded from their shared desk beneath the drafty living room window.  Jamie was balancing his cheque book, and was in a foul mood as a result.  The autumnal waves of his hair were arranged in tussocks by the frequent passage of his fingers.

Even with both of them gainfully employed, the cost of living in London was daunting.  Neither of them owned a car, and their professions demanded proximity to his firehouse and her hospital.  Combined with her medical school tuition, and the cost of keeping food in the fridge and the bill collectors at bay, there was precious little left over each month.  Hence Jamie’s current mood.

She took a sip of her tepid tea, and was immediately seized by a coughing fit.  Several minutes passed in a dizzy fugue before she could focus again.  She read Jamie’s concern in the tight brackets of his shoulders.

“Ye’re still sick,” he said needlessly.   She didn’t bother responding.  They both knew her night shifts on the pediatric ward combined with the long hours and stress of her final year at medical school meant she was sick more often than she was well.  It was the price she paid to chase her dream.  One of the prices.

“Ye’re sick.  I’m tired all the time from worry.  I dinna remember the last time we spent a night out t’gether.  And t’has assuming I could afford tae take ye anywhere but the nearest chip wagon.”

She knew Jamie spoke out of concern, that he did not mean it as a reprimand, but exhaustion left her nerves thin and patience torn.  Defensiveness rose up like a third body between them.

“Well, I’ve good news then, lad.  I’m in line for a tidy raise, once I complete my exams and start my residency.”

It was a skillfully placed incision, worthy of a future surgeon.  She’d cut Jamie exactly where she knew it would hurt the most: his damnable outdated masculine pride in being a good provider.   She braced for his predictable outburst, shame cresting over her in a hot wave.

Instead, he stood and looked out the window in silence, which was somehow worse.  She placed her tea, forgotten, on the second-hand coffee table and tried to come up with words to suture the damage she’d caused.

“Some days, I dinna recognize my life,” Jamie said, leaping ahead of her thoughts.  “There’s no horizon here.  Jus’ row after row of ugly buildings, stretching out in a grid tae infinity.   Everything’s a number: how many ‘ours tae go til ye’re done workin’, how few quid ye ‘ave left tae yer name, how many stops on the Tube tae the market, how many wee pills ye ‘ave left that keep a bairn from comin’...”  He broke off, realizing he’d said more than he meant.

She approached quietly, palm coming to rest on the quivering mutiny beneath his flesh.

“It’s the life we both chose, Jamie.  To serve others.  To strive for better.  To carve out some little space between those things for our love.  Are you saying you want something different now?”  

She was glad they weren’t looking each other in the eye, or she might not have been brave enough to give these tiny words voice when they could end everything: the snowflake to start an avalanche.

“I dinna know what I’m sayin’, Claire.  Only that I’m the kind of tired tha’ sleep canna mend.”  His shoulders rounded as he dropped his chin to his chest.  She’d never seen him so beaten.

“You do understand that this is only temporary, right?  That it’s for the best?  I’ll finish school and winter will end.  Maybe we could head up to Lallybroch at Easter.  I know nothing makes me appreciate my life in the city more than watching Ian and Jenny work the farm from sun-up to sundown,” she tried for levity.

“I understand none of those things,” Jamie responded, missing the joke.

“What can I do to help?”

Jamie finally turned towards her, and the pain in his eyes made them icy as an alpine lake.  She reached up to cup the ridge of his jaw.

“Can ye hold me t’gether in yer arms, Sassenach, til I’m able tae do it myself?”

“Always.”   She wrapped herself around his torso, so strong and yet so vulnerable.   They stood there, swaying ever so slightly from side to side, as the world outside the window faded away to nothing.

[buggie-hagen]

When I started writing, I used to stare at the blank page until my forehead bled (to borrow an oft-used metaphor). I thought that's what writers did. Yes, it was torturous, but I took a certain masochistic pleasure in it. As I began to write professionally and get better, my technique shifted. I began doing more soft time in the early stages of a project, letting my mind wander in a leisurely manner. Perhaps I would do relevant research or have conversations with people about my ideas. Perhaps I would just ponder. I would take notes and maybe even write fragments here and there. After a while, I had an abundance of ideas about my story. Then...I took the story into hard time. The work flowed with relative ease. And it was better. I seldom needed to bandage my poor forehead.

Writing Fiction: The Practical Guide from New York’s Acclaimed Creative Writing School, written by Gotham Writers’ Workshop Faculty, edited by Alexander Steele, 16-17.

[yarnings]

You’ll Have to Excuse me... I’ve Been Gone for a Month

Merry Christmas! Have some None So Scots. This is my first fic on Tumblr that wasn’t for @gotham-ruaidh‘s writing workshop, so be nice (not really. I still want to hear if there’s a huge plot hole, or if there’s something you find really troubling). Gotham still gets the credit of course. Don’t blame her for the fact that this story really hasn’t been edited enough. I don’t have the patience to wait long enough to edit it properly, especially since I like the symmetry of posting Thanksgiving dinner right after Christmas, having posted Christmas dinner shortly after Thanksgiving.

Towards the end of September, James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser was lying in bed, in his apartment, browsing Macleans online, when his sister phoned him. Startled, he almost dropped his smartphone before answering.

“Hey Jenny, what’s up?”

“Nothing much, Jamie. I’m just calling to invite you to the farm for Thanksgiving dinner on the Sunday.”

Taken aback both by his sister’s tone and the invitation, he forgot about his resolution to keep his language at all times classroom appropriate.

“What the hell, Jenny? Since when do I need an invitation to eat Thanksgiving dinner at home?”

“How about since you moved out, and we’d like you to eat Thanksgiving dinner at Lallybroch with us?”

Jamie forced himself to take a deep breath and count to te-

“If you’re still willing to spend time with us, of course.”

-four. Four was a good number to count to.

“Janet. I know we discussed this during the summer. I’ve hardly moved out, I just have an apartment for during the week. Saves me from having to get up at 5:30 every morning.”

“Generally speaking, people who haven’t moved out, and are still planning on helping out around the farm, have spent more than one night since Labour Day at home.”

Breathing heavily (snorting, really) through his nose, Jamie ground out through his teeth “Perhaps this is a conversation we should be having in person, not over the phone. Since I apparently am expected to stay in the city next weekend, perhaps we can do it at Thanksgiving?”

“Can’t. You’re bringing a guest.”

“What do you mean I’m bringing a guest? Who might this guest be? Are they hiding under my bed? Nope, no one there.”

Jenny sighed heavily, the sound carrying through the phone’s speaker and filling the bedroom.

“Don’t be an arse. You know that mom’s doctor finally arrived? Mom invited her to come for Thanksgiving, since she obviously doesn’t have any family or even any friends here yet.” The new doctor wasn’t Ellen Mackenzie’s in the sense of Ellen being her patient. But when Jamie and Jenny’s mom had decided to start leaving more and more of the day-to-day running of the farm to Jenny and her husband Ian Murray, she hadn’t so much done less work as redirected the work she was doing. She had organised a physician recruitment committee, and directed it in the unusual direction of not trying to bring in a family doctor, but to hire a surgeon for the hospital. The committee’s work had succeeded, Ellen had managed to get all the visas in order, and the new surgeon had just arrived from England.

“I’ll send you the details about picking her up. And can I put you in charge of potatoes and cranberry sauce? We’ll do your usual pies for you, because they won’t travel well by car. The doctor is the only guest this year, so it’s us, mom, Murtagh and you in addition to her.” Barely giving Jamie time to confirm that he would bring the requested dishes, she hung up.

 When the alarm went off, Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp was lying on her new bed, not so much sleeping or even dozing as simply staring blankly at the opposite wall, exhausted and somewhat overwhelmed. Before this move she would have said that she was used to moving around a lot, and didn’t have any trouble adjusting to a new place. But this was her first time in a foreign country on her own, and to her surprise that made a big difference. Thankfully she didn’t have much to move; the household supplies that had been provided for her may very well have outnumbered her possessions. (Why on earth would anyone need that many pots? And three different vases? She was wondering if more than one recruitment committee member had taken it upon themselves to provide a full set of everything that they thought she might have left behind in Oxfordshire.)

She was feeling less and less certain about having accepted the invitation to dinner today. (“Well, we call it dinner, but it’s more of a combined lunch and dinner. We eat in the early afternoon. Come hungry.”) But at least it meant she wouldn’t have to cook. The takeaway options here were limited, and she didn’t feel like having to track down some groceries and cook for herself just yet. Putting on some nicer clothes and meeting some people was probably less work than that.

She stepped out the front door of the building just as a tall young man was approaching from visitor parking. He was a few years younger than her, approaching 2 metres, and had a head of red curls, just like Ms. Mackenzie had described her son.

“Dr. Beauchamp?” Unconsciously, Jamie shifted his accent towards a more international French, away from his usual, Canadian, pronunciation, in an attempt to impress the vision of loveliness in front of him.

“Je utilise la pronunciation anglais, c’est <<beech-am>>. Vous êtes M Fraser?” Claire blinked and realised what she had just said. “I’m so sorry, I’m a little tired and I guess I thought we were speaking French for a moment there. I was just saying that my name has a very English pronunciation – it’s ‘beech-am’.” Her accent sounded very cozy to Jamie. To his inexperienced ear it was neither working-class nor particularly posh, but beyond that he couldn’t tell. Not that he cared. All he knew was that it sounded perfect.

“Pas de problem. Je parle français aussi,” Jamie continued, switching to English, with a shy grin. “I teach the French stream for Primary – that’s the 5- and 6-year-olds – actually. It’s a change to be M Fraser to an adult instead of someone at waist height.” He waved at the car. “I’ve been told that you’re who Mom is dragging out to the farm for Thanksgiving this year. She delegated the dragging part to me though. Shall we?”

Claire walked to the door of the car, and only after opening it noticed the steering wheel.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I think I might be a bit jetlagged still.”

From where he was holding the passenger door open for her, Jamie grinned at her. “No worries. If you want to nap on the way I won’t tell on you.” As she came around the car, Claire looked at him with confusion.

“Wait, nap? I thought your mother lived close.”

“She’s not very far. It’s maybe a 45 minute drive.”

Claire’s eyes bugged out. “Bloody hell, that’s considered “not far”? I always thought that people were joking when they talked about distances here.” Jamie politely ignored her confusion, and walked around to the driver’s side to get into the car himself.

Despite the fact that she had never met him before, Claire found herself feeling surprisingly comfortable with Mr. Fraser, as if an instant friendship had sprung up in just the few sentences they exchanged. So comfortable, in fact, that in the companionable silence in the car she did end up dozing off. Reaching one-handed into the backseat, Jamie dug out an old plaid blanket he kept in the car for emergencies. Keeping one hand on the wheel and most of an eye on the road, he tucked it around her as they drove on.

During the drive to his family’s farm, Jamie kept stealing glances at the fascinating woman sitting in the seat next to him. Despite the popularity of holding Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday, traffic was light, allowing him this extended distraction. Apparently most people had either already done any travelling needed, or else were actually having Thanksgiving dinner on the day of. It occurred to Jamie that he probably should have asked around to see if any of his coworkers were on their own for the holiday, and maybe hosted a dinner on Monday. He mused on this for a while, enjoying the scenery outside the car almost as much as he enjoyed the scenery inside it. Eventually, he noticed that they were getting close to the end of the trip.

“Dr. Beauchamp? We’re almost there; you probably want to wake up now.” When she didn’t respond, he reached out and gently laid his hand on her shoulder. She started awake, and blinked at him.

“Lallybroch is just a few more minutes, I figured you probably wanted a bit of warning.” She screwed up her face, giving him a grimace that was probably intended to be a smile. They sat in silence for a few minutes, neither one wanting to shatter the fragile sense of intimacy that had grown out of her napping in his presence. But Claire’s curiosity got the better of her after a little bit.

“Lallybroch? That’s an interesting name.”

“It’s Scots Gaelic. Means ‘lazy tower’. My parents had to take the tower down for safety reasons when they bought the property, but they kept the name. Changing it would have been too many changes for the community to tolerate.”

Claire laughed at the mock-solemn look on Jamie’s face. “So you speak Gaelic as well as French then?”

“Not really. My mom has a fair bit more of it than I do. Some of her relatives, especially as they got older, weren’t very good in English, so she practiced it a lot. But knowing the name of the house you grew up in doesn’t take much.” As he explained this, Jamie smoothly turned off the road into the private drive, long practice letting him know where the rough parts where and how to avoid them.

When Jamie parked the car by the house and they got out, Claire insisted on helping him carry the food inside. “After all, you did the driving. I promise that I won’t try to take credit for it myself.” As they walked up to the door, Ellen opened it for them, saving Jamie from the dilemma of whether his sister would be more annoyed if he rang the bell (confirming that this was no longer home) or just walked right in (ignoring her accusation that he had moved out). It also saved him from having to decide whether he wanted to do the one that would annoy her more or the one that would annoy her less.

“Come in, come in!” Jamie’s mother called out, taking bowls from them and taking them into the kitchen. Arms free, Jamie and Claire took off their coats and shoes, leaving them by the door. Claire followed Jamie into what appeared to be the living room, where Ellen bustled out of a door that appeared to also lead to the kitchen.

“So nice to finally meet you in person, Dr. Beauchamp! I’m Ellen, as I’m sure you guessed.” She stuck out her hand to Claire. Her callused griped was firm, but she didn’t try playing any dominance games as she shook Claire’s hand.

““I really appreciate all the work you’ve put in to making my move here smooth. And it was so generous of you to invite me to your dinner. Oh, and please, call me Claire. And you too.” The last was directed to the room at large, starting with Jamie.

“Well then, I’m Jamie, Claire.” Jenny shot her brother a dark look at this, wordlessly saying You spent how long with this woman in a social setting and only now share your first name? She stepped forward, offering a handshake of her own.

“I’m Jenny, and this is my husband Ian, with our daughter Katherine” the tiny woman said, pointedly offering only first names as she gestured to the dark-haired man sitting in a plush chair, holding a baby who was industriously pulling at the bows in her dress in an attempt to remove them so she could eat them. Claire nodded to Ian, and cooed over Katherine. The last person in the living room, a wiry, somewhat disheveled man silently nodded at her.

“This is Murtagh Fraser. His grandmother was my late husband’s grandfather’s oldest sister, and he’s Jamie’s godfather. But close friend of the family might be a better description.” Claire shook Murtagh’s hand as she parsed the relationship.

“So you’re second cousins by marriage,” she said, pointing at Ellen and Murtagh. “And they’re his second cousins once removed,” pointing at Jenny and Jamie. Murtagh flashed her a quick grin, transforming his face for a brief instant. Claire had the feeling she had just passed some kind of obscure test.

Ellen invited Claire to take a seat, and almost immediately bustled back to the kitchen in response to a timer. She was followed by Jamie who wanted to check on the food he’d brought and it’s reheating, then Murtagh, who came back only to send Jenny in to confer with Ellen on the subject of turkey carving. Shortly afterwards Ellen herself returned, announcing that dinner was ready.

Once everyone was settled around the dinner table (except Katherine, who was playing with brightly coloured plastic in a playpen), Ellen said a prayer for the meal, and the feast began. In addition to Jamie’s cranberry sauce, the turkey was accompanied by gravy and a large dish of dressing (“And there’s more in the kitchen, so take as much as you want.”) There were rolls with butter, a green salad, Brussel sprouts and, to pair with the mashed potatoes, a dish of mashed rutabaga. This last caused some confusion, as none of the Cape Bretoners knew the name “swede” until Google was consulted for a picture. Claire found herself in a swirl of dishes being passed, leaving plates piled high with food in their wake. “If you need anything else, or want more of something, please, just ask.” Wine was poured, and water jugs placed out on the table, and everyone started to eat.

When Jenny had a half plate of food remaining, Katherine suddenly switched from happily entertaining herself to wailing. Jenny sighed, looking at her dinner and started to get up. Ian stopped her. “I’ll change her diaper first, you can have a bite more right now before you have to come in and nurse her.” He walked off into the house, carrying the crying baby.

Jenny took Ian’s advice and tucked into the food on her plate while it was still warm and she had company in her eating. Seeing the concern on Claire’s face, Ellen explained “Katherine isn’t fond of wet diapers. And she’s been up for a while, so she’s tired. Nothing’s actually wrong, she’s just not able to handle the discomfort. A dry diaper, a full belly and she’ll nap.” Claire smiled her thanks, not very used to interacting with small children, especially not healthy ones.

Once Jenny left to nurse Katherine, Ellen looked at Jamie and quietly said “Jamie, I’ve been wondering. You seem to be doing quite well in the city. How would you feel if moved into the granny flat, instead of you just storing your stuff there? You could have my old room as yours, so you wouldn’t need to be staying in a guest room every time you were home. And between Katherine, and the fact that you have your own place now, Jenny and Ian shouldn’t be having to live in my house. And it’s going to be my house unless I move out.” Not really having a choice, despite how his mother phrased things, and appreciating that she had waited until Jenny was out of the room to raise the issue, Jamie agreed.

“After dessert I’ll go see if there’s anything I want to take back with me today. But I can’t do anything about the majority of the books right now. Maybe I should come back tomorrow? Or I can come home after school. After all, I made the trip daily for a couple of years, I’m sure I can manage it for a few nights.” His mother raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not overly picky about it being done that quickly. Just so long as I don’t have to move all those books myself.” Jamie glared at his mother, but given the size of his personal library (at least the hard copy portion of it) he had no reasonable reply. Ian smirked a bit at this; having been recruited to help Jamie install the bookshelves, he was quite happy to have someone on his side about the excessiveness of the collection.

Murtagh grunted. “I’ll swing by the NSLC for you and grab some boxes. You might not be able to fit enough in your car if you do it yourself.” Ellen and Ian burst out laughing, and even Claire, who had been feeling slightly awkward while this not-quite-a-fight was going on snickered. Ian shot her a reassuring glance, understanding how she felt, as Jenny returned with a triumphant look on her face.

“Out like a light! Hopefully she’ll stay down, I never quite trust it when she falls asleep so quickly.” Fortunately Jenny’s worries proved to be unfounded, and the adults were able to enjoy the rest of the meal leisurely.

At the end of the meal, as the plates were being passed to Ellen to return to the kitchen, Claire offered another round of praise for the food.

“That was amazing. You’re all such good cooks. I’ve never had a meal like this one, and this was an amazing introduction.”

Jenny looked at Claire curiously. “I know that turkey is a New World food, and the cranberries, but the meal as a whole can’t have been that different from what English food is like.”

“I can’t really say, actually,” Claire replied. “We never really ate it. I was raised by my uncle, he was an archeologist. When we were out at one of his digs, he would hire a local cook. At home he tended towards curries. You have to remember that his generation grew up hating home cooking. He was 2 when food rationing started during the war, and 16 when it was fully lifted. So, once he got to choose, he stuck with a diet that didn’t resemble what he ate as a child.”

Ellen had grabbed the stack of plates to take to the kitchen. Claire grabbed a couple of serving dishes at random and followed her, to a disapproving shake of Murtagh’s head. In the kitchen, Ellen turned around and realised it was Claire who had helped out.

“Oh, Claire. You’re a guest, you didn’t need to do that. Here, I’ll take those. Why don’t you go and relax? I’ll have dessert out in a jiffy.” Claire rejoined the table in time for Jamie and Jenny to hop up with dishes to clear, leaving her at the mercy of the quiet members of the family. To her pleased surprise, Ian turned out to be perfectly capable of holding up his end of the conversation, as long as his wife and in-laws weren’t filling up all the spaces. Claire found herself immersed in his stories about shenanigans at Fort Mac. Before she knew dessert, in the form of pumpkin and apple pies, along with a bowl of freshly-whipped cream had appeared on the table.

“Would you like pumpkin or apple, Claire?” Ellen hovered her knife between two pies.

Seeing her indecision, Jamie leaned over to her and stage-whispered. “Both is generally an accepted answer.”

Claire blushed, but took Jamie’s advice. She felt less awkward when everyone except Murtagh (who asked for a larger piece of pumpkin instead) followed her lead. Unsure as to which pie she wanted to eat first and which one she wanted to save for last, she tried a bite of apple, followed by a bite of pumpkin, at which point she understood Murtagh’s logic. To her embarrassment, her appreciative moan was audible to everyone at the table. Even Jenny grinned at it.

“It appears that you’ve managed to make an acceptable substitute for my pie, Jenny.”

Claire ignored Jamie. “This is amazing. What do you put in it?”

“It’s a custard with pumpkin puree and basically mixed spice.” Jenny was quite proud of her knowledge of British culinary terms, and was thrilled to get an excuse to refer to mixed spice.

“Did you use my jar of spice mix, Jenny? Because if you did, there’s cardamom in there too.” Jamie was far less concerned with keeping his recipe secret than with taking credit for the pie’s success.

Not to be left out, Ellen piped up with her contribution. “And we used rum in the whipped cream instead of vanilla. Pairs much better with the pies that way.”

“Whatever it is you did, it’s great.”

Jamie and Jenny, however, weren’t listening, and kept verbally poking at each other for the duration of dessert, with the occasional comment from Ian and Ellen thrown in.

By the time the table was cleared again Jamie, who was still blaming his sister for the entirety of the argument over whether or not he’d moved out, as well as him having stayed in the city the last weekend and this one, realised that he was at a profound disadvantage from the assumption that Lallybroch was no longer “home”. Had it been agreed that he was living at Lallybroch, or even if he had been home for the weekend, he could have argued that someone else should drive Claire back, but as it was, clearly he was expected to drive back with her tonight. And, given that her nap in the car on the way here seemed to be wearing off, he really couldn’t join in the after-dinner drinks, as he would likely be making that trip soon. Irritated by this, he announced that he was going to his room to see what he could pack.

Jenny watched him leave with ill-concealed annoyance, and turned to Ellen, who was looking doubtful.

“It’s going to be so odd having an actual granny in the granny flat, eh mom?”

Ellen laughed. “Remember how upset Jamie got when we let him move out there in high school, but kept calling it the granny flat? He always said that since it was only him and Murtagh who had actually lived there that it should be the dude room.” She turned to Claire. “See, when Brian and I bought Lallybroch, pretty much every single building on the land was in disrepair. It ended up being cheaper to just tear them all down and replace them. Now, we were only able to afford the farm because the price was heavily discounted due to all these repairs. We were a bit tight for being able to rebuild everything. But we got lucky, and ended up with a budget – or rather something of a blank cheque – for building the house. Just the house mind you, so if we didn’t spend the money on it, it was gone. So we made sure there was everything we wanted. And after we had all the rooms I was willing to clean, we decided in a fit of optimism to add on a granny flat. We intended it as such, and always called it that, even when it was a glorified guest room, or an apartment for family who needed a place to stay. So Jenny’s right, when I move in will be the first time that the granny flat is used as such. Oh, can I get you some more wine?”

Claire looked down at this apparent non-sequitur, and realised that she had indeed finished her wine without noticing. Hmmm. Not a good sign if she was tired enough to not notice that she was drinking. While she had nothing against enjoying a few drinks on occasion, she was aware that there was a strong correlation between how much she had had to drink, and how much more blunt she got. And given that her usual tendency towards bluntness was exacerbated by being tired, too tired to notice how much she was drinking was not a good situation with people she didn’t know well, and really wanted to stay on the good side of. (Aside from lingering worries about making a good impression on Ellen, Claire found herself very much enjoying the company of the family, and held some vague hopes of seeing them socially again.)

Much to her relief, Jamie re-entered the room. They caught each other’s eyes, and spoke simultaneously.

“Jamie, I’m sorry, but I think…”

“I can take you back anytime you need, Claire. Let me know”

Murtagh let out a chuckle as Jamie and Claire paused to figure out what the other had said.

“Thank you so much Jamie. I don’t mean to take you away from your family, but the trip and time change are catching up with me.”

“No worries. I’ll probably come back later tonight or tomorrow anyhow.”

“That will make Katherine happy,” interjected Jenny. “She always likes to see you.” Jamie grinned at this, being as enamoured with his tiny niece as his mother was, and taking the olive branch from his sister for what it was.

A few minutes later, Jamie was backing out of the driveway. His leftovers were still in the kitchen, except for those parts of them that had ended up in the bundle of food his mother had handed to Claire as they were heading out the door.

Despite her fatigue, she stayed awake for the trip this time, chatting easily with Jamie, and watching the scenery out the windows. She found him more than able to share what he knew of local history, answering all the questions she had, and offering up the occasional tidbit of his own.

For his part, Jamie didn’t want the drive back to end. He found himself genuinely enjoying the time he was spending with Claire, and to his surprise was even happy that he had to do the return trip, as it meant he got more time with her all to himself. He enjoyed getting to share his knowledge with her, and as the trip back to the city wound to a close, he found himself more and more thinking of his father’s words, that when he found the right woman for him, there would be no questions, he would just know.

Next

[mybeautifuldecay]

Private Tutor. Chapter Eighteen: Wide Awake.

Apologies for the mini-hiatus, but I hope this chapter makes up for it <3

Thanks to @suhailauniverse for keeping me sane, sending me book quotes to help spark my half-dead imagination and basically being wonderful. ILY girl.

As always, this is for @gotham-ruaidh‘s writing workshop. I’m trying to catch up as best I can, hopefully I’ll be there soon. MWAH.

You can find all other chapters here: MASTER LIST. 

The steady whoosh of the traffic outside kept her lucid, the dark of the apartment surrounding her as she noted the small sound of the bell as Murtagh locked the pub up below. After giving her statement to the police, Claire had insisted on making sure Glenna was alright. To her surprise, Glenna had already been to talk to the constables and had backed up her accusation, solidifying the events of the evening - almost certainly making her unemployed - and although Claire was back at Jamie’s now, and safe, she couldn’t switch off.

They had arrived back in time for tea and Jamie had crashed, too tired to keep his eyes open any longer, soon after they’d eaten.

Shadows played on the walls, the headlights illuminating the floor, up and along the walls before plunging her back into the black - over and over until symmetrical patterns started to appear, the white and yellow splashes forming their very own stories as they played out like an old black and white movie.

“Claire?” Jamie murmurmed sleepily, scratching his head as he wandered into the lounge. “Canna sleep?”

Sighing, Claire pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders as she turned her head to glance at Jamie. “No, I’m wide awake.”

Perching himself beside her, Jamie let his hand linger by her side -palm raised- as he waited for her to open up to him.

“I can’t stop thinking about him, about his touch. It isn’t like we didn’t-” biting her bottom lip hard, Claire stopped herself, the image of their previous interactions turning sour after his final assault. Jamie let her continue without saying a word, he sat patiently until she started talking again, only wrapping his arm gently around her waist when she leaned into him - her head resting lightly on his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter how many showers I take, I can’t seem to wash the feel of him from my skin.”

“I canna change it, Claire.” Turning towards one another, Jamie whispered to her, his eyes half closed as their noses met in the middle. “But I can try and erase it wi’ my own touch, aye? If ye’ll trust me to take care of you…”

Tilting her head a little to the left, Claire moved slowly towards Jamie, her skin prickling as his arm tightened around her and their free hands joined between their knees.

“How do ye feel now?” Jamie muttered against her lips, feeling her take a jagged breath as her body semi-twitched next to his. He could feel her, the slight hesitation she’d developed - something that hadn’t occurred when he’d touched her before. He licked his lips, watching through hooded lids as he waited for her reply. His fingers, the ones trapped around the base of her waist played idly with the sliver of skin that was bared - her t-shirt having ridden up as she’d moved towards him, revealing her goosebump covered flesh.

“Safe.” She responded, her voice returning for long enough to say the only word she knew to describe Jamie’s company at this particular moment. Sealing her lips to his, she finished with a tentative kiss, their mouths moulding in the gentlest of ways as silence sprung up around them.

It wasn’t long before the pair were a tangle of limbs, Jamie lying between Claire’s thighs as he hovered over her, her hands now resting over his sleep pants as she toyed with the elastic waistband.

The word ‘safe’ echoed around Jamie’s brain as he rolled his hips, his unconscious mind taking control of his body for just a moment, the heat of her guiding him forwards. Before he hadn’t needed to make her feel that way, it had just been a silent agreement between the two of them that the other brought them some kind of unknown comfort in an uncertain world. But now, with Frank’s actions lingering -like an invisible demon- he needed to know that his own behaviour wasn’t causing her any distress.

A gasp escaped Claire’s mouth, her knees rising towards her chest as a rush of lust flowed through her, Jamie’s body igniting something unknown within her as every nerve ending fired, sparking her blood and setting it alight as it flowed through her veins. Something had been unleashed, she could feel it in the turning of her belly as butterflies fluttered through the uninhabitable space. With every thrust, though he probably didn’t know it, he was erasing each and every bad memory that had been tattooed onto her skin from the moment her relationship with Frank had started to deteriorate. He was healing her, rebuilding her from the inside out as each of her cells regenerated, some sacrificed in her womb as their baby grew silently beneath her skin.

“Don’t stop…” she managed to sigh, her night shirt riding up above her middle now, as her fingers dug into his arse.

Her vision blurred, her eyes opening and closing slowly as Jamie’s mouth disappeared from her own as he slid down her body. First she felt him kiss her neck, his tongue tasting her skin as she tried to hold herself still. Next on her chest. As one hand neatly massaged her breast through the thin fabric, his mouth finding her nipple on the other - sucking it as delicately as he was able.

“What are you doing?” She managed to whisper, the words catching in her throat as he skimmed his teeth over her taut flesh. The feel of it, with her t-shirt acting as a barrier between him and her, heightened her pleasure.

“You’ll see.” Lifting her shirt with his hand, Jamie answered quietly, letting his words wash over her as he moved further down, using one hand to shift himself whilst the other skimmed softly along her naked stomach. He could feel her shudder, her belly tensing and then relaxing once more beneath his fingertips.

It wasn’t until he began to peel off her knickers did she realise his plan, her lust-addled brain too focused on Jamie to put the pieces of the puzzle together any sooner. “Oh...f-fuck…” she groaned underneath her breath as his fingers gently lifted her leg over his shoulder. The first time she felt the cool wash of his breath at the apex of her thighs she thought she might lose it altogether, her legs clenching tight as he glanced up at her.

“I want ye, Claire…” Whispering, his mouth hovering painfully close to her, his eyes -glancing between her face and where she patently needed him the most- were so dilated that they looked almost fully black in the dim grey of the lounge. “I’ll be yours, if ye’ll have me.”

“God yes.” She spluttered, the need in her words clear and concise as Jamie disappeared, his red locks floating above his head, the ends of them tickling the insides of her thighs as his tongue ran against her heated flesh. “I-I’ll always have you, Jamie.” A sigh  escaped her lips as his worked some kind of inexplicable magic between her legs. All memories of her previous life -some good but most bad- were erased in the blink of an eye as she let her head fall back against the arm of the chair, her gaze focused on the ceiling as the feeling of unadulterated pleasure rocked through her from head to toe.

Time seemed to slow and then stop altogether as a fuzziness muddied her vision. Spots danced above her, the old artexing merging and folding in on itself as multi-coloured dots played and pranced across the ceiling. It was like an erotic optical illusion, her brain fumbling to make sense of what was happening to her body, her mind -fatigued from the events of the day- playing tricks on her as her hands reached downwards, desperate to feel Jamie in every way.

“I’m...Christ…” she cursed uncontrollably.

“Dinna hold back.” Jamie sighed, inhaling jaggedly as he nudged his nose against her before returning his mouth to the same spot. His lips eased as his tongue took over, his touch getting lighter with each and every stroke. The way she was twitching made him pause for just a second, he knew she was getting closer and closer as her hips started pushing deeper into the cushions. She was talking to him, the wordless communication of her body telling him exactly what he needed to do to get her to fall for him.

“S-shit...holy...fucking God…” Gripping his hair with all her might, Claire struggled to get air into her lungs as she came undone. Her thighs clenched shut, trapping Jamie between them. Her mouth hung open. Her toes curled tight as her tummy flip-flopped, the fireworks igniting within her, increasing the burn that had been steadily consuming her.

She felt burnt to a crisp. Her entire body, floppy and lifeless, now lay in Jamie’s arms as he carried her back to his room. “But what about you?” She whispered, her hand rising of its own accord to rest against his stubbly cheek. “You need--”

“Nay,” he replied quickly, leaning into her touch, “sleep now, Claire. I just need ye to rest.”

“S’ok, I’m awake,” she sighed happily, her voice fading away with every word, “wide awake.” Eyes finally fluttering closed, she let sleep take her, a smile on her lips as her head curled against Jamie’s neck.

“Aye, my girl, wide awake.” Jamie repeated, chuckling as he wrapped them in his double duvet, sliding his leg between hers as she retained her healthy grip on the waistband of his shorts.

Outside the cars began to slow as the night finally took hold, Glasgow finally joining them in slumber as the wee clock chimed midnight. “I love ye so much, Claire” Jamie uttered, his heartfelt sentiment hovering over them, his voice barely a whisper in the small bedroom, “so sleep well because I need ye.”

[thesketchingwitch]

For Gotham’s Writing Workshop, week 28 - ‘Where There is Love, There is no Imposition’

A/N I was really struggling with this prompt - I couldn’t make it work within my modern Snapshots AU but then last night I read the final part of @bonniebird17 ‘s Swing It Au, and something just clicked. She wrote her versions of Jamie and Claire so beautifully and I couldn’t just leave them as they were, so with her approval, I have given them an Epilogue of sorts....

The Coffee Shop - a Swing It Postscript

Tucked in a corner, on a miserable Thursday, a young woman sits, staring out of the window, seemingly watching the rain as it hits the panes of glass and silently rolls down, but really if you look closely at her face, you can see that she is actually lost in thought, completely turned inward. It’s a beautiful face, if slightly anxious, dominated by eyes the colour of a 20 yr old single malt, and framed by wildly curling hair, still damp from the dismal weather.

Her latte sits idly on the table, next to her phone, forgotten and growing colder by the minute. 

The bell over the front door rings as another customer walks in, a very tall gentleman, leaving a trail of water in his wake. He stops suddenly, as if in a trance, and raises an unsteady hand towards his wet hair, swiping the dark red strands back off his forehead. He moves forward again, slightly unsteady, as if spontaneously drunk, towards the table occupied by the single woman. He hesitates but a moment, and then leaning over, asks in a beautifully rich Scottish brogue,

‘ Is this seat taken?’

The lady visibly starts, but then seemingly gathers herself.

‘Not yet,’she answers softly, and raises those glorious eyes towards his face, ‘though I hope it will be soon’ and offers the man a tentative smile, which only grows wider and more confident as she observes his grin in response.

‘Well, you know what Einstein said - where there is love, there is no imposition.’

‘Is that so?’ In the last few moments, her whole demeanour has changed. The introspection has been replaced by a gentle excitement.

He scrapes back the chair and sits down. Puts his left hand across the table, no ring on his wedding finger, and grabs her matching hand, noticing there is also no ring on her fourth digit. His thumb begins a soothing dance across her skin.

‘So, Claire, where do we go from here?’

*fin*

[douxreviews]

Gotham - ‘Nothing's Shocking’ Review

Oswald: "Penn, I think you need some rest...and a psychiatrist!"

What a conflicting and contrasting episode this turned out to be. All I could really muster afterwards was "I think I liked it?" Forgive me though, for I realize how that doesn't sound very promising.

After my viewing of 'Nothing's Shocking', I did some additional reading online afterwards and learned that in the process of developing and filming the initial layout for Season 5, FOX gave Gotham the opportunity to air two additional episodes, allowing Gotham to reach the 100-episode milestone. But this can also be seen as a double-edged sword by some, because since Gotham already had Season 5's resolution set, some of it already well into filming too, their new material for the two episodes - pushed into the slots of 5x08 and 5x09 - couldn't display anything that would contradict or upset the narrative's flow. Enter 'Nothing's Shocking' and presumably next week's 'The Trial of Jim Gordon'. These are sure to be filler-episodes in every sense of the word, but even filler can have its redeeming points. Do they outweigh the shortcomings though?

'Nothing's Shocking's story this week is fractured a tad more than its predecessors, with one plot dedicated to Gordon and Bullock pursuing a shapeshifting cop-killer, one centered around Bruce and Alfred investigating the tunnels Joker had been digging all throughout this season, and a third revolving around Oswald and Nygma having a run-in with the presumed-dead Arthur Penn. Each one features a self-contained villain to this week's episode, and cinematography that makes you feel like someone kept leaving the tripod on an uneven stack of thesauruses. (Hasn't the slanted camera shot become an old chestnut by this point? It's about as overdone as the last word of a pop hook being "tonight".)

We should start with Bruce and Alfred's story first, if only because I have the least to say about that one. As it turns out, there are unknown perpetrators now inhabiting the tunnels Joker's troupe had burrowed, and they've begun preying on innocent civilians. Substratum tunnels and sewers, people's flesh being sought after for consumption, and an eerie snarling that is quick to catch Bruce and Alfred's attention could naturally only allow someone like me to assume this episode was giving us the debut at last of Waylon Jones/Killer Croc, and nothing else. Gotham however decided they could top that easily though and instead revealed that Villain-Of-The-Week No. 1 is just a disfigured cannibalistic average-Joe harmed by the radioactive chemicals Gordon dumped in the river last week as part of his "brilliant" solution to foiling Joker. But I did mention 'redeeming points' earlier and this subplot does have it in the form of Bruce using throwing stars or throwing knives of some sort to save Alfred's skin. It's really nothing more than just another allusion to Batman, but David Mazouz has sold me so much this season on his aesthetic that I think he looks even more menacing without the cowl.

Meanwhile, Villain-Of-The-Week No. 2 is a shapeshifter that's begun killing off retired police officers in the city, and it seems that Gordon and Bullock are their next targets. In the process of the investigation, because Gordon discovers that Bullock and the victims all used to work together in the corrupt manner we saw the GCPD operate in back in Season 1, he immediately decides Bullock can't be trusted or relied on in this investigation, and even goes as far as 'benching' him when they obtain a lead on the killer's address. Even if I were Gordon's number one fan, I would still feel that this was really out-of-character for him. Gordon and Bullock have been through how many battles for Gotham's soul now? How many times have they stuck their neck out for one another? But now because Gordon's gotten to reminiscing about the days when Falcone ruled over the GCPD for just a bit, he decides he doesn't want to have Bullock watching his back in this case? Bullock's theory too that Basil Karlo/Clayface could be the perpetrator (a theory also shared by yours truly) held just as much water as Gordon's theory that the GCPD had a hand in covering up the killer's history.

The killer in question is actually Jane Doe, the first villain since Professor Pyg last season that Gotham's actually gotten me to go online and look up. Similar to Absorbing Man from Marvel Comics, Jane Doe has the ability to mimic other's appearances and mannerisms just by touching them. It's perplexing to me that Gotham would bring in another shapeshifter, toyed with by Hugo Strange while at Arkham no less, when there's already one established in Gotham's mythos. At least she does her part here by reminding the audience that Gotham City's police have the precision of your average Death Star-stormtrooper when it comes to trying to hit a limping target. Bullock feels guilt over his hand in indirectly sending Jane to Arkham and tries to make peace with her, but is forced to gun her down when she retaliates.

The final subplot here was by far the most delightful and enjoyable for me. For context, Oswald and Nygma have begun attempting to build a submarine that can carry them out of the city. While bickering away in their workshop, they are abruptly confronted by Arthur Penn, Oswald's former handyman who was presumably shot and killed at Haven several episodes before. But Penn isn't alone - he's got with him Villain-Of-The-Week No. 3: a ventriloquist dummy named Mr. Scarface who wants to cross Oswald off and make a name for himself as the city's newest mobster. As shoehorned in and almost nonsensical Penn's revival is, I am thrilled that we've finally gotten a live-action debut of The Ventriloquist.

Of all the villains inaugurated into Batman's rouges' gallery in the last three decades, Ventriloquist and Mr. Scarface, popularized heavily by Batman: The Animated Series, have been among my favorites. The schizophrenic nature of Arnold Wesker and the ambiguous notion of whether he was controlling the dummy, or the dummy was actually sentient fit right into the maddened nature of Batman's world. And in Gotham, albeit a little stiff, it's fair to say that Penn (Andrew Sellon) has the voice practically down-pat. Nygma manipulating Penn and Scarface into sparing him and giving Oswald a chance to get the upper hand was brilliant too, though I'd say the showrunners are being a little too meta at this point with the sexual undertones concerning Oswald and Nygma. Oswald remarking that he and Nygma may be meant for each other after all before the two of them laugh it off at the episode's end can be left up to your own interpretation.

So now that Mr. Scarface has taken the stage, with the potential of easily shaping up to be the most entertaining villain Season 5 has introduced - for all of ten minutes - it brings us to what is so conflicting about this episode for me. What do Oswald and Nygma follow through with once they've turned the tables? They kill him - Penn and the dummy both. Even if Gotham's jumbled schedule of filming episodes out of order means that Scarface and Penn can't show up in future episodes, my issue is with the notion in itself of introducing lesser-known rouges to the show. By now, I believe Gotham has abandoned the prequel-shtick, and has committed to being the best full-blown Batman television series it can possibly be with only twelve episodes left. But then what's the point of bringing in future Batman rouges if their fate is just to be axed off, never to face the caped crusader, or even young Bruce Wayne for that matter? Penn and Jane bite the dust here, Magpie in last week's episode, Pyg back in Season 4...starting to see a pattern? I'm not surprised by any means by Penn's fate ('Nothing's Shocking' certainly lives up to its name in that aspect), I'm just truly flummoxed by all these hasty conclusions to Gotham's villain-of-the-week stories. Maybe it's for the better that Bruce and Alfred didn't encounter Killer Croc - it probably spared him the likely fate too of a premature death.

'Nothing's Shocking' works best as an independent, even successfully horror-esque at times segment, but as an episode surrounded by four previous seasons and the legacy of Batman in its future, it's clunky and indispensable. Even as a filler episode, the sense that Gotham City is essentially a wasteland, and ammo and rations are scarce values that was felt in this season's first three or four episodes now feels strangely absent here. I think it's fruitless at this point to continue anymore trying to make sense of Gotham's loony state considering it has the worst case of DID I've seen since Kevin Wendall Crumb graced the big screens.

Aaron Studer loves spending his time reading, writing and defending the existence of cryptids because they can’t do it themselves.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

family means no one gets left behind

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/XuM7W6N

by Rainycat

Meet Danyal al'Ghul: seventeen years old, Right Hand to the Demon (aka Talia al'Ghul, his mother), big brother to Damian Wayne, the White Ghost, assassin with a kill count well over 1000+. Meet Danyal "Call me Danny" Wayne, well-adjusted teenager from the same mother as Damian, who'd been in boarding school on the other side of the planet until he graduated, and looked to move to Gotham City to get to know his father and adopted family. Meet Danny Fenton-Phantom, full-time hero, King of the Ghost Zone, interdimensional being and beloved ruler with a frankly OP powerset that is only mitigated by his own lack of ability to remember all his powers.

Somehow, because Fate loves picking on Danny, these are all the same person through different eras.

(Aka, the "danny is damian's older brother and the reincarnation of fenton-phantom who remembers his old life and has some of his old powerset, but loves his family So Damn Much and wants them safe and sane again" au.) (inspired by the batpham server, who helped me workshop the basic idea for this & is constantly screaming over each other's fics. love yall weirdos.)

Words: 1507, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Danny Fenton, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne's Parents, the ghosts of wayne manor, Alfred Pennyworth, Batfamily Members, Jason Todd

Relationships: Danny Fenton & Damian Wayne, Danny Fenton & Bruce Wayne, Batfamily Members & Danny Fenton, Danny Fenton & Talia al Ghul

Additional Tags: author uses al'Ghul spellling, Author Is Sleep Deprived, danny fenton is an al'ghul au, Reincarnation, The Author Regrets Everything, inappropriate use of ao3's tagging system, i know i should be writing my other 3 fics, but frankly i dont care, this is nagging me, its GOOD bite me, death jokes in leiu of coping mechanisms, danny is the white ghost, technically, he inherited it the same way damian inherited the demon's head title, or will, anyway, he works for talia but mostly is trying to get his family back together, and sane, and not lazarus-pit exposed, wayne manor's fuckin haunted, no ships, no plot just vibes, author uses em-dashes and semicolons because she's not a goddamn heathen, but mostly em-dashes, i love a fuckin em-dash

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/XuM7W6N

[purpleheatherdream]

Fics Inspired By, Based On, or Crossed-over with Movies

[For @thelallybrochlibrary Scavenger Hunt: Collate and post a list of Outlander fan fiction based on a chosen event, theme, category or specific AU.]

[updated April 21st, 2019]

Strangers Like Me by @theministerskat

Claire Beauchamp tries to capture that final detail of the man who has swung into her life. (Tarzan)

The Ridge by @abbydebeaupreposts and @whiskynottea

Claire wasn’t looking for a hero but there he stood, resplendent in his cape and mask. “I’m Batman,” he said in a soft Scottish burr. “I’m Dr. Beauchamp,” she told him, “I’d like to help you for a change.”

The Time Traveler's Family by @abbydebeaupreposts​

Strange the things you remember, the people, the places, the moments in time burned into the heart forever. Jamie Fraser has lived a life different from other men, for most men don’t have wives and children with temporal displacement disorder.  (The Time Traveler’s Wife 2009) 

Til Death Do Us Part by @sassenachwriter

Jamie and Claire spend time in Lallybroch after surprising everyone-including themselves- with their engagement. The Proposal inspired. (The Proposal 2009)

To All The Boys I Loved Before by emm273

Claire Beauchamp has her own way of dealing with love. She writes love letters, pouring her heart out, saying the words she can't say out loud. She never sends them though. She keeps them tucked away, only keeping them to remind her of the way she felt at the time. Well, until her secret letters ended up in the hands of her former crushes: Jamie, Frank, John, and Joe. A modern Outlander/To All the Boys I've Loved Before AU (To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before 2018)

SIRUN ‘AJNABIUN// THE FOREIGNER’S SECRET by kkruml  @kkruml

1920s- Claire and Uncle Lamb are on an archeological dig in Egypt alongside a competing camp- led by a mysterious red-headed Scot- in hopes of uncovering a long hidden secret treasure. Originally posted on Tumblr as a response to a prompt: ‘What’s a lass like you doing out here on a night like this?’ (The Mummy 1999)

Outlander / Sound of Music AU by AnOutlandishFanfic @anoutlandishfanfic

The plot of Sound of Music with Claire as Maria and Jamie as the Captain von Trapp... and a few more outlandish changes woven in. (The Sound of Music 1965)

His Name is Home by KalendraAshtar  @kalendraashtar

Ficlet inspired by the movie “If I Stay” and Claire’s illness during ABOSAA. (If I Stay 2014)

The Road To The Heart by @julesbeauchamp

When photographer Claire Beauchamp get lost on the road in the Scottish Highlands and drives down a road to a recluse farm to ask her way, her life is changed forever. (The Bridges of Madison County 1995)

City Of Angels by  @julesbeauchamp

Pretty Woman Au, where Claire is a hooker in Los Angeles and is hired by businessman Jamie Fraser for the week. (Pretty Woman 1990)

Eilean Mo Chridhe by thewhitelady (Sileas)  @thewhitelady

Love in a time of war. Two loners find each other in the most unlikely places in 1916 Belgium while war rages around them. (Written for @akb723 for Tumblr's Outlander Secret Santa 2017) (A Farewell to Arms 1957 and Journey’s End 2017)

Friendship of Stone by trashofalltrades @trash0falltrades

While stationed at a French hospital in WWII, Claire runs into Captain America who in turn introduces her to Peggy Carter. A lasting friendship ensues that spans not only decades, but centuries. (Captain America 2011)

I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) by LadyVioletHummingbird @ladyviolethummingbird

Jamie Fraser is a successful news anchor in London and is none-too-pleased at being sent on assignment to his home town in Scotland. Having not been back in over a decade Jamie can’t wait to leave, a plan delayed when he is forced to relive the same day over and over and over...(An Outlander/Groundhog Day inspired work) (Groundhog Day 1993)

The Parent Trap AU by @sassenachwaffles @kkruml  @missclairebelle

Part 1    

Part 2    

Part 3

 Barks and Glances (101 Dalmatians) by  @whiskeynottea  @kkruml @sassenachwaffles of the @outlanderfandomproject

Part 1     

Part 2     

Part 3   

Part 4   

Part 5

Once Upon a Time | Cinderella AU by MClairefras  @curlsgetdemgurls

Once Upon a Time there was a beautiful girl named Claire Beauchamp, she was strong, independent and kind. She lives in the Kingdom of Lallybroch, ruled by King Brian Fraser, his son James Fraser is a young, sharp and handsome lad, unsure of his responsibilities. Claire's world shifts when her Uncle Lamb announces he is to be married. This is a tale of family, strength, kindness.... and love.

The Choice by  @bonniebird17

This story is inspired of the book and movie The Choice by Nicholas Sparks, combined with Gotham’s workshop week 19 prompt; not yet. (The Choice 2016)

Simply Irresistable (Dirty Dancing/Outlander AU) by LadyVioletHummingbird  @ladyviolethummingbird

It was the summer of 1987. I was 19 and 6’4” but still called ‘wee Jamie’ by my family and it didn’t occur to me to mind. It was before the internet and before the death of Princess Di. When I couldna wait to get to university in France and I never thought I’d find a lass as kind as my mam. That was the summer we went to Dunsany’s. (Dirty Dancing 1987)

The Holiday by MClairefras  @curlsgetdemgurls

It’s Christmas and Claire doesn’t want to sit and wallow in self-pity. Going online she finds a travel company that looks intriguing. It’s called Home-Exchange. The idea is that you find a place you want to go and then swap houses with someone, you stay in their home and they stay in yours. Fed up with the way her life has turned out, Claire decides on a quaint house in Inverness, one belonging to a Jenny Fraser. Based on the movie, “The Holiday” (2006), this follows the lives of Claire Beauchamp and Jenny Fraser as they swap homes for the Christmas season.

Our Last Summer by @julesbeauchamp

Outlander meets Mamma Mia! Julia Beauchamp is about to get married and wants the father she never met to attend the ceremony. After finding her mother's diary, she invited the three possible men...and they all showed up. (Mamma Mia 2008)

Part 1     

Part 2

Call Me By Your Name by MClairefras @curlsgetdemgurls

During the summer of 1983, somewhere in Northern Italy, the Grey family hosts a student named Jamie Fraser for six weeks. In this time, John Grey falls in love with the well read Scot, but can they be together or will other forces tear them apart? Based on the movie "Call Me By Your Name" (2017)

The Sassenach Bride by @sassenachwaffles

A Princess Bride AU, Outlander style. (The Princess Bride 1987)

ON A SHIP HARBORED AT THE DOCKS IN TORTUGA by @bonnie-wee-swordsman

A one-shot crossover. Because COME ON, you know Claire Fraser+Jack Sparrow is a hateful, non-sexual match made in snark heaven. (Pirates of the Caribbean)

Trick of the Eye by Nokomis

Young Ian sees something frightful. (Pirates of the Caribbean)

You Are The Music In Me by @thetranquilteal and @jewelsbrooke

Whilst on vacation, 17-year-old Claire Beauchamp finds herself singing karaoke onstage with none other than North High School’s all-star athlete Jamie Fraser. After a night filled with fun and laughter, the two make plans to meet at their shared school when the holidays are over. But life has a way of changing things when you least expect it. Due to circumstances beyond her control, Claire never returns to North High School, or to Scotland. Until now. Inspired by the Disney Channel movie High School Musical (2006).

Dirt in the Skirts by @notameeksassenach

What happens when Claire Beauchamp-Randall joins the All American Girls' Professional Baseball League. An A League of Their Own (1992) / Outlander Crossover. 

Titanic AU by MagnoliasInBloom @magnoliasinbloom

One-shot. (Titanic 1997)

(Some additions to this post come from @thelallybrochlibrary ‘s post of Crossover Themes.)

Feel free to add any other Outlander fics that are based on or related to movies!

[renee-writer]

I Hear You Are Always Drunk in the Afternoon Chapter 45 Year One

One Year! It is a huge milestone. A year ago she was drunk and passed out in her neighbors yard. A year ago she meet Jamie. A year ago she started down the path of recovery. And now, she is 365 days sober.

She would get her one year chip at her AA meeting. There would be cake, coffee, and reflection. How far she had come. She would hear from others who were farther along and encourage those who are new to this journey.

She prays her stomach cooperates. Ever since discovering that she was pregnant( a fact confirmed by a home test and a visit to the doctor), she has had morning sickness. She has, so far, been successful at hiding this fact from her husband. She has a plan on when and where to tell him and it isn't time yet. She prays she doesn't embarrass herself in front of her entire meeting and, therefore, spill the beans to soon.

"A year! I am sae proud of ye." He greets her with a tight hug and a kiss.

"Thank you. I am proud of myself. I couldn't have done it without you and my group. One year and the rest of my life."

"Aye! Are ye ready?"

"Just need to brush my teeth and stuff. Will meet you downstairs." He kisses her again and heads down and she runs to the bathroom.

"We mark these occasions to show how far we have come, to remind ourselves where we have been , and to encourage those behind us. Claire has come quite a ways since she joined us. It is a pleasure to present her the year one chip." Mrs Fritz turns to Jamie, who will be doing the actual presenting. He step forward and, through a film of tears, hands the gold plated chip to her. She takes it with equally tear filled eyes.

"Thank you Jamie, Mrs Fritz, and all of you. I couldn't have made it to today without everyone of you. You all play a vital role in my continuing recovery. From the first day when the DT's were so bad I thought I was losing my mind, to freeing my home of hidden alcohol, to speaking truth to my addictions lies, to being here today. There are no words to properly express my gratitude to you. All I can do is stay sober, living one day at a time, and, help those coming up behind as we all climb the same steps. It is year one, day 365, of the rest of my sober life. Thank you."

[wafflesetc]

@gotham-ruaidh‘s Writing Workshop Week 17: “So, what?” 

A/N: Only took a week and nothing like last minute. But it’s finished! Set in ABOSSA shortly after Claire’s illness. No massive spoilers. 

He was quiet as he slowly crept into the door frame- watching as she slowly and methodically, with a surgeon’s delicate touch, peeled the potatoes. He leaned against the door frame, holding the herbs she had asked him to grab in his hands, and listened to his wife as she hummed tune that was foreign to his ears.

A smile spread across his face in amusement, as her hums became a soft mumble of words, and there was a slight bounce in her step as she seemingly moved to the rhythm of her own drum.

Minutes went by— and the one peeled potato became a half dozen— and as she was in the middle of the seventh, Jamie was brought back to reality as Claire spoke something to herself under mumbled breath.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!” She stammered, throwing the knife and potato down onto the solid wood counter.

“Christ! Sassenach, what is it?” He asked as she hurriedly placed the herbs on the counter, rushing to her side.

His reaction startled her — he saw her jump in her stance as she turned to face him, as the trail of blood ran down her forearm and on to her apron.

“Jamie!” Claire gasped. “Just how long were you watching me?”

“About six potatoes or so, Sassenach. But do ye care to explain what happened to ye? Thatsa  lot of blood.”  Jamie argued sternly, as he reached for her hand and grabbed a piece of her apron wrapping her finger in the cloth.

“I heard Jem squeak somewhere in the distance and it startled me. I was in my own little world for a few minutes there, that’s all. Plus, that’s a rather sharp knife.”

“Aye. I ken it’s a sharp knife, I made it for you myself.” Jamie smiled at her lopsided and applied a bit of pressure to the wound. It caused Claire to grimace in pain and she squinted her eyes.

“Claire.” Jamie demanded, in one of his more demanding tone of voice. “How bad is it?”

“Honestly, not a clue. I haven’t really taken a glance at how long or deep it is, since you wrapped it up like a newborn baby about 3 minutes ago.”

“Claire.”Jamie pleaded— his tone wavering enough to alarm her. She quickly glanced up and saw the sheer look of panic on his face.

“Christ, love. What is it? It’s just a cut. I am fine.” She whispered as she reached her hand up and cusped his face in her hands.

“It’s no’ just a bad cut, Sassenach. Ye almost cut yer damned finger off!” He huffed as he rested into the palm of her hand.

“You…” Claire started as she took stock of the tears in his eyes, “Have seen me near dead on a few occasions, and have never acted like this. It is just a cut. So, what?”

“So, what? So, what?! Ye need to take care of yerself, dammit!”

His tone shifted from exasperation to anger in the matter of just a few words and it made Claire take a step back, taking her injured hand from his grasp.

“You…need to use your words James, Fraser.” She demanded as she squared her shoulders and looked at him— her eyes fierce and daring.

“You…. Are always so worried about others. Tonsils, births, a toothache, stitches, a sickness…. Claire, ye worry about so many others ye forget about yourself. And ye almost died on me!”

Jamie’s voice was almost barely audible and she watched as the tears flowed freely down his face. “Ye care so much about others, mo nighean, ye forget to take care of you.”

“Jamie.” She answered and threw herself into his chest. He was warm and large and took her into his embrace without sparing a second thought.

“Ye are a needed woman Claire, for your healing talents. But ye forget sometimes, I need you, for a great deal more than just the use of yer hands.”

“I know.” Claire breathed into his chest — taking in the musky, earthy smell of her husband. “I know.”

“Dinna be scaring me like that again, ye hear me?” Jamie half choked, half laughed, as he kissed the top of her head.

“I hear you… Now, come with me, soldier. It’s about time I teach you how to suture.”  She looked up and kissed the base of his jaw and nodded in the direction of the surgery. “This is definitely going to need a few small stitches.”

[scapegrace74-blog]

Lazy Dancer

A/N This little scene has been bouncing around in my head for days.  Set in no particular universe, it’s Jamie and Claire in modern times, sharing a peaceful moment.  It also kills two birds with one stone, as it fills the Week 18 prompt (”wide awake”) from @gotham-ruaidh ‘s writing workshop.  AND finally puts me on the board for the @outlanderbingo2020 challenge for the “I missed you” tile.

Inspired by the Metric song Collect Call, which you can check out here.

Her head was bent over a weighty anatomy textbook when creaking oak floors and the scuffle of sock-clad feet announced Jamie’s approach.  Blanket-fueled heat radiated against her back as he bent to kiss the corded muscles of her exposed neck.

“Have ye no’ taken a break since gettin’ home?”  Sleep-roughened and fathoms deep, his voice made rows of tiny hairs on either side of her spine stand up on end.

“I honestly can’t remember.  I’m on my third mug of tea, so there must have been a trip to the bathroom at some point.”   She practically purred as his warm palms cupped her aching shoulder muscles.   “How was your last night shift?”

“Routine.  Ach, save fer Rupert, who met some lass at a club last weekend, and willna shut up about it.  He kept hummin’ the tune tae Hips Don’t Lie.  Angus was ready tae choke him wi’ his own safety whistle, but then we were called out tae a warehouse fire.”

She stood and stretched theatrically, taking in his pillow-tousled hair and sleep-drunk eyes as he watched the skin of her belly wink and disappear.  They’d been on opposing shifts all week, their circadian rhythms riding on inverted waves that intersected at a cursory good morning / goodnight kiss.

“Your notion of routine is a little bit off, Fraser.”

He made a non-committal sound, distracted by a faint vibration that seemed to emanate from the floor.

“Mr. Archibald is practicing his cello again,” she explained.

“Tis a viola, Sassenach.”

“For someone who claims to have no ear for music, that’s an interesting distinction.”

“If ye helped the auld man carry ‘is groceries in ev’ry Sunday, ye’d ken the difference as well,” he retorted.  “Dance wi’ me?”  Jamie formally extended a hand to her, a courtly gentleman wearing plaid pajama pants and a thread-worn Mogwai concert t-shirt.

Surprised, Claire stepped into the shadow of his body and twined her arms about his neck.  His hands cupped the parabolae of her hips and they eased into a subtle sway.  The music was felt more than heard, rising through the soles of their feet.

“You’re a very lazy dancer,” she commented after a while.  They were barely moving now, settling to the largo metronome of their heartbeats.  “Are you even awake?”

“Aye, wide awake, Sassenach.  I was just thinkin’... dancing is like making love, is it no’?”

She leaned away from his chest, interested in this theory and where he might be taking it.

“Ye hold yer partner closer than close.  And when ye move, I move with you.”  

A shiver of electricity ran across the surface of her skin.  Jamie grinned, triumphant in his quiet seduction.

“I missed you,” she whispered, kissing the flat of his sternum to punctuate the sentiment.

“And I you, Sassenach.   Come.  Let me show ye how much.”