#he just wants to hang out with his wee cousins

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Run Free

art by me!

Price, Gaz, and Ghost visits the MacTavish Estate baring the news.

Word Count: 2.1k words Warning: Major character death, angst and comfort. Note : I wrote this fic a few days after I finished the campaign. I've always thought it weird why the 141 boys had Soap's ashes when I've always seen Soap as someone with a family and a had good relationship with them, especially since it's canon that Soap's cousin brought him to the SAS base several times as a kid. Here's my interpretation of that fact, on how Soap's urn ended up with the boys.

Price, Gaz, and Ghost wore their dress uniforms from head to toe, finding themselves in front of the MacTavish Estate in Glasgow. It was… big, to say the least. Soap’s family was known not only because a number of people from the family are serving in the British Royal Armed Forces, but also the fact that they are 7th generation furniture company - MacTavish Furnitures. Lots of members of the family are veterans turned businessmen, carpenters, or woodworkers. It is a common cycle of life for them.

As Ghost and Gaz stood, Price climbed the stairs and wore his beige beret, breathing deeply through his nose before letting the air out to prepare himself, lifting his hand to knock on the wooden door. The captain heard faint noises of multiple footsteps from multiple people and some voices of heavy Scottish accent from inside the house. He waited for a moment, until the door finally opened, but he found no one in front of him. 

“Who are ya?”

A little voice spoke from under him, prompting Price to look down. He found a little girl with blonde hair no taller than his knees. She’s absolutely drenched from head to toe in a blue swimming attire and had to bend her neck so high to see him. He bent down to his knees to match her height, before saying,

“Hello. I’m… My name is John.” 

“John? Like Uncle Johnny?” Her little voice said, face gleaming with happiness at the name.

“Yes. Like Uncle Johnny.” Price smiled, chuckling lightly. The girl grinned at his smiling face. “May I see your dad? Or mum?”

“Phoebe MacTavish! Get your wee feet here before I pick your legs off of that floo–! Oh, Hello there.” A new voice came from in front of him, revealing herself to be an old woman with dark brown hair, though with white strands and the same quizzical brow that reminded Price of Soap. She looked strong, nonetheless, wearing a green shirt and knitted vest with a towel hanging from one of her shoulders, obviously to dry the little girl after a session of swimming in their estate’s pool. 

Price stood back up, greeting the lady. “Mrs. MacTavish.” 

The old woman looked at his attire up and down, and Price swore that he saw the gears rotating inside her mind. She looked down at the girl and gave her the white towel, “Phoebe. Go inside and dry yourself. Find your Da, Aunt Rachel, and Uncle Hugh, too. Tell them to meet me at the front door, yeah?” The little girl nodded and ran inside, disappearing into the house as Price heard a faint yelling from the same child, calling for the stated family members. 

Now, the lady in front of him walked closer to the doorway, face to face with him. She’s undoubtedly no taller than 5’7”, a height that might have been receding as time went by, but you could spot a proud MacTavish wherever you see one. Price offered his hand for a handshake as she accepted. “Captain John Price from the 22 SAS Regiment.” 

“Joan MacTavish.” She replied. Price noticed the name as the name on Soap’s file as his guardian, with the relation being marked with ‘Aunt’. “What brings you here, Captain?” Her face looked neutral like it wasn’t the first time a soldier with a full dress uniform knocked on this wooden door. 

Just before Price could say what he wanted to say, a deep voice called to her. “Mum?” One woman and two men with a frame similar to him showed up from inside the house. One man was around Ghost’s age, one was around his age, while the woman in a bun looked older than him, though looking very vibrant and professional. All of them had the same thick eyebrows – Family traits, he supposed – and clearly looked like honourable but firm Scottish people. Upon seeing Price, though, their faces changed from confusion to realization. 

Price remembered that Soap was not the first MacTavish in the SAS. In fact, there was another member of the family, Oliver MacTavish, who died in the line of duty a decade ago. Price remembered the way Soap had told the story of Ollie, his cousin, bringing his little arse to the SAS base  - however unpermitted it was – and how Price had busted Soap multiple times for applying with a fake age. 

“Rachel MacTavish.” The eldest one spoke.

“Hugh MacTavish.” The elder man said, followed by the younger.

“Scott MacTavish. That was my daughter, Phobe.” They all shook hands with Price. 

He repeated his greeting, before Rachel started,

“I've seen the likes of you before. I recognize that beret even from a mile away." She said firmly. "Out with it."

The captain's breath hitched as he cleared his throat, preparing himself to deliver the news. And so, he began.

"On November 21st, our target had placed an active bomb inside the underwater tunnel that connects the UK and France. During our attempt to defuse the bomb, the target sneaked from behind our line of sight…"

The whole family's face changed, Joan's eyes looked glassy with tears seeming like she knew of the incoming words.

"And I regret to inform you… that Sergeant John MacTavish has died in the line of duty."

Ghost, without his mask and black face paint around his eyes, and Gaz with their dress uniforms and beret could only stand from the base of the stairs, watching and hearing as Joan's cry of anguish tear through the morning sky. 

"Oh Lord. Johnny. Johnny. My baby, Johnny." Joan repeated his name like a chanting to the sky. "Why must You take him so soon? Why must he join Ollie so soon?"

The whole family hugged their mother as she wailed, her knees looked like it was giving up. Gaz gritted his teeth to strengthen himself, not wanting to break down to cry himself. 

As the family cried, Price could only stand still, letting the news sink in for the family. His job as the leader of the team was done, at that point. He delivered the news to his family. 

"The bomb…Did he defuse it?" Hugh questioned in the middle of his sobs. 

"He–" Price swallowed, remembering the way Makarov had killed him. "We were both defusing the bomb, John guiding me along the way as he was the demolition expert."

"He protected me, Sir. Our target was about to shoot me, before John stopped him - and got killed instead. The target ran away, but me and Sergeant Garrick managed to defuse the bomb thanks to his prior guidance, saving thousands of lives underneath the 30-mile underwater tunnel." Price answered as Rachel looked up at his face, anger and denial filling her in an instant. 

She raised her hand in such a way that Price knew that she was about to slap him. Price still opened his eyes, fully welcoming the slap before her hand stopped. 

Rachel bit her lips so hard that it might bleed, lowering her arm.

"...Why does it have to be Johnny? Why do you get to live and he doesn't?" She barely whispered in a shaky voice, going back to wiping her face again. “Why Johnny…?”

And Price asked that question every single hour ever since his death. 

Why Soap, and not him?

—

The MacTavishes requested for Soap's body to be sent to Scotland, where they held a memorial at the MacTavish estate to which they promptly honoured. The number of family members participating was not that many, considering only the immediate family attended. Price, Soap, and Ghost joined them, and even escorted the family as they travelled to the crematorium.

After the whole procession finished – that took the entire day – the family finally had possession of the urn containing Soap's ashes, and they invited the three back to the estate, where they now sit inside the guest room and tea in front of them with Joan and Rachel, his urn placed on a table beside Joan.

That was the day they learned that Soap was actually the son of Joan's late husband's younger sister. Soap's mother – her sister-in-law, died when she birthed Soap, while Soap's father died during an accident in a factory before his own birth. 

Soap had been raised by his uncle's family since his infancy, growing up in the MacTavish house as a strong and firm Scott under the wing of the eldest brother, Oliver. 

"He's always wanted to be like Ollie, that wee kid," Rachel told them after holding a photo album containing photos of Soap when he was a baby in his late uncle's arms, a photo of him and his older cousins playing with mud, photos of his graduations from school, and photos of him passing the test to be a part of SAS along with his cousin, Oliver. "Said he didn't want to go to school. Just visit the army base every day. It's what he dreamed of."

Ghost, still in his dress uniform, felt the most vulnerable in that room - Without his mask, in front of Johnny's family. He also had been in agony for the past day, because he'd failed to cover Johnny's back. He had one job at that time, and he failed, catastrophically. He only sat there with his hands joined in his lap, not daring to look at the family in the eyes. 

"We're very thankful for John's service with us. He was the best there is." Gaz spoke, "John's memory will live with us."

"Thank you, Sergeant Garrick." Joan smiled as she looked up. "I heard you share the same quarters with him in the barracks. I hope he wasn't too much of a naughty boy."

The sergeant chuckled lightly at that, "Well. Soap wasn't someone who could stay away from mischief too long, but I assure you that he's an absolute joy and inspiration to be around." Hearing Joan's laughter cured a little part in Gaz, as the only thing he'd heard from her was the sound of her cry. He could at least pride himself in knowing that he could share Soap's merry nature.

As they share memories, Price finished his tea before he stood up from the sofa, followed by the other two. "Well. We must take our leave, Ma'am. Thank you for the tea."

"Anytime." Joan spoke as the soldiers started to leave the sofa, heading towards the main room and front door. 

"Which one of ya’s is ‘LT’?"

Rachel’s voice stopped the men in their tracks, particularly Ghost’s. All three men turned around, finding the woman holding Soap’s urn in her hands. Price saw how Ghost's face turned to that of a deer in a spotlight, so he put his hand behind Ghost’s back to lightly push him towards Rachel, but Ghost’s hesitancy was apparent in the way he slowly walked. 

“...That would be me, Ma’am.” Ghost’s deep voice rumbled softly as he looked down to Rachel’s height. The lady herself observed him up and down with a negative face that she could convince him that he was standing there naked. 

“Yer tryin’ so hard to make yourself look small for such a big man. It’s almost dreading.” She started, her hips shifting. “I’ve been the CEO of MacTavish Furnitures since my da’ passed away and Ollie decided to go to the army, and I read people like a book. For someone whom Johnny admired the most – and repeatedly spoke about – you don’t look like the LT I heard from him.” Ghost was starstruck at the statement. Soap, talking about him to his family? “I expected you to be cocky and exude pride in your steps, but all I’m seein’ is just a pathetic, sad bloke.” 

Ghost stood still at those comments. No one practically had ever roasted him this badly in front of his teammates. He wondered if he showed up in his other attire, she’d dare to say all this. But then again, if someone got to do it, he was glad that it came from an honourable woman of the MacTavish bloodline. 

What caught him off guard was her hands stretching towards him, holding Soap’s urn in front of his chest. Ghost looked down at the metal container, looking confused as he looked up again to face Rachel. He thought the MacTavishes were going to hold on to Soap’s urn, and they get to keep Soap’s dog tags. However, clearly, the current head of the family had other wishes.

“Take Johnny with ya. Being trapped inside this urn for eternity in this old house would be the last thing he wanted.” The woman started with a shaky voice, her eyes starting to brim with tears again. Seeing Soap’s character, Ghost could understand that completely. 

“He’s… the proudest he could ever be when he’s with ya’s." Rachel continued. 

"So I ask you, as our brother’s comrades, to hold on to Johnny – and free him.” 

Ghost’s eyes opened wide in surprise, still couldn’t fathom how fondly Soap must've talked about his teammates, especially him, to his family that they’d give him his ashes. Ghost lifted his hands to carefully receive the urn. 

After breathing deeply, Ghost stood straight, holding Soap firmly. 

“We will, Ma’am.”

—

The three of them walked towards the car parked just outside the MacTavish estate with Ghost holding Soap’s urn in his hands. They all took off their berets and entered the car, Price the designated driver, Gaz riding shotgun, while Ghost sat in the backseat. 

“So what do we do with him, Sir?” Gaz rotated his body to look at Soap’s urn on Ghost’s hands, same as Price.

Ghost contemplated in his mind, staring at the metal urn, before speaking, “Where’s Johnny’s place of birth?” 

Price answered immediately as he’s the one who took care of Soap’s documents. “Isle of Skye.” 

“Soap said there’s a beautiful cliff where he and his cousins used to go to play. Endless sea where the eyes could see.” Gaz added.

“Then that’s where we’re goin’.” Ghost spoke with finality. “And then we’ll let Johnny go.”

Price and Gaz nodded to each other. "Alright, Soap. Let's get you home." The captain started the car and stepped on the gas, beginning their journey towards the Isle of Skye.

---

I'm not okay. Thank you for reading! (T_T) reblogs and comments of your thoughts are much appreciated!

[pausegame]

Lucanis is so cute 😭🥺💜✨🐦‍⬛ Emmrich is as well 🥺💜✨☠️

Some spoilers for Lucanis's romance under cut I have to gush and talk about him and Emmrich a little. They form a full necrosis team with my Rook which is great against Antaam encounters (and for a few bosses in the Crossroads behind locked doors), so I've gotten a good handful of their banter.

Also random thoughts and some comparisons from others a wee bit, since I'm not done.

Romanced Lucanis with my Crow because it felt right in my soul, and got to know that Emmrich ends up seeing Strife if not romanced himself 🥺💜 There's a brief cutscene between Lucanis and Emmrich discussing what would be a suitable date which Rook walks in on and is able to recommend.

Later there's follow-up banter between the two where Emmrich says Strife does indeed like knives as gifts (Lucanis had recommended knives as gifts prior), which Lucanis says he'll recommend his blacksmith. In a follow-up Emmrich asks who he gave a knife to as a gift, and Lucanis said another Crow a long time ago, and that he was never good at flirting like his cousin. When Emmrich asks why that didn't turn out as well as he assumed it would (since you think it would, right?) Lucanis reveals that he and the team had already met the Crow in question, and can glean his personality and why he wouldn't be into it, implying it was likely Viago.

Another banter has Emmrich expressing concern that he and Strife arr very different and don't have too much in common, to which Lucanis says the two like to be around each other and both like to discover things and poke them (in Emmrich's words then, a shared passion for discovery), which is more than can be said of Illario's string of partners. When Emmrich asks about Lucanis's dating history, he reveals Rook would be the only one, and he doesn't know what they see in him, but he's happy, and likes being around them.

I think I'm near the end of the game but so far his romance has been incredibly pure and friendly 🥺💜 There's only been one instance where they almost kiss, and nothing more. I could make the argument that Rook hangs out more with Davrin casually than Lucanis lol. You recruit Davrin after Lucanis but aside from taking him on missions and killing Antaam his bond progression is a lot slower/spaced out in segments different to the story. Davrin is a good comparison point since a lot of the middle of the story has to do with the Wardens, so building a bond with him goes incredibly fast and in a pretty steady order.

The titles of Lucanis's relationship phases is super cute though: Flirting with Danger, Personal Demon, and finally Rook's Talon.

I will kind of nitpick at BioWare's animations for general cutscenes though because the last personal mini quest/hangout with Lucanis I got, I probably would've preferred if both he and Rook reached across the table and held hands, grazed fingers, or for ease of factoring in race choice and animation differences, their pinkie or index reaches out to brush the other person's briefly, or if visually their coffee cups were touching but I'm very Repressed Victorian like that. Although IMO I think slight touches would be pretty big for Lucanis so those would be pretty meaningful for him to have someone to hold on to. Also Pride & Prejudice (2005) and period drama hand holding has me by the jugular so they would work really well in a fantasy setting.

I did hit flirt options with everyone else and instigated opening up for romance with everyone but Taash and Harding bc I wanted to see how that played out (it's very cute) and out of Emmrich, Bellara, Neve, Lucanis and Davrin, Bellara's is the only one that isn't interrupted before a kiss can happen (they don't kiss though, it's just a conversation). Emmrich's doesn't have a kiss at that point but there is an interruption. Lucanis, Neve, and Davrin all lean in for a kiss but Neve and Davrin are interrupted, while Lucanis pulls away himself to clear his head.

That initial almost kiss with Lucanis so far is the most suave he has been lol he's really earnest and sincere 🥺💜 which is very different from the stage Zevran set, not that Zevran isn't those things, but Zevran fits the Antivan Romantic vibe whereas Lucanis feels like an introvert. His story factors a lot into it, of course. He's very thoughtful and maybe a little distant, measured. Flirt options with him feel subdued, and I'd say he speaks with his eyes and the looks he sends, which are all beautifully animated.

I do wish that a romanced Lucanis is factored into the story of Treviso, esp if Rook is also a Crow but I can guess they wanted it to be easier for whatever faction for the story. It would have been nice though. I haven't gotten a whiff of any ambient dialogue about them being a thing, and I think it should be, considering who Lucanis is and how well known Rook becomes throughout the course of the story.

My Veilguard vacation is almost over so I'll be going the rest of the game at a normal human pace with a day job but it's been a lot of fun, and I def have to go draw a ton of meaningful glances and finger brushing between Rook and Lucanis once I'm done the full game 🐦‍⬛💜🐦‍⬛

[meteor752]

Episode 6 and 7 thoughts

This will now be a regular thing

Also im writing this as I go

Episode 6

So Izzy thought Ed was Roach. Huh. Does he and Roach talk regularly? <- Coming from a Rizzy shipper

“Do weeeee?” Fang I love you

Oh my god, Frenchie and Jim coming to Ed and Stede like they’re kids asking if their cousins can sleep over

The crew going shoppiiiiiiiiing!!!

Frenchie’s lil dancey dance added many years to my life

Ed being nice and giving kids mon- oh never mind, oh that’s a knife okay. Ed never have kids please

“Don’t pirate kids” well listen okay I don’t have HBO Max it’s the only way I can watch this show

MY QUEEN

Wee John you’re so beautiful and amazing and we don’t deserve you

Jim’s lil mustache, like yeah me too <- Non-Binary person

Stede looks so happy about seeing Wee John!! He’s so proud of his son!

Izzy is gorgeous. I’m actually so happy to see him explore more sides of himself, and to find things he can indulge in. This whole season has really just been Izzy’s big therapy arc

His hair makes him look a bit like Cinderella’s evil stepmother though

Oh he can sing too! Izzy!!! <- A person who did not like Izzy in season one

Wee John X Izzy? Roach X Fang?

YO THE

POLYCULE DANCING?!

Ed protecting Stede….just, immediately putting him behind himself…I just…

I rewatched that clip five times

“Because I only hang out with cool pirates” Stede’s face!!! He’s just like Oh Snapppp

Despite it all, Stede and Ed are still the cutest couple that has ever graced the TV screen. Like hell yeah, make fun of people together!

Ed keeps being protective…..okay I need a moment…

Roach you’re a lunatic and I love you

“Whatever this is it’s just gonna turn me on” Izzy you’re a shining star

Also I just now noticed that Black Pete and Lucius aren’t there. I’m guessing they eloped somewhere and are currently taking care of their adopted cat

Nope okay, literally the second I unpaused there they are. That’s the worst timing

Hell yeah my dudes, I hope you broke whatever bed you used

“I’m just doing it for the lolz” Yeah that’s sounds like something someone from the 1700s would say

I know this is a pirate ship but why do they just have so many knives and swords laying about

Who is this fanged torture queen, and how do I acquire her number?

Stede remains best employer, while Aziraphale is the best landlord. Can these two people just run the world please and thank you

Hell Cat Maggie is my soulmate

I feel like there needs to be a pirate workers union

The crew of the revenge is the best found family of all time

Stede Bonnet can rival Steven Universe in reforming villains, like he’s just such a genuinely nice dude

“Alright gang! Let’s talk profit sharing”

Oh protective Stede, alright let’s go mate defend your mans

Okay but why is Stede kinda 👀 in this scene

Oh Stede, love…

OH THEY FAWHKING

That French? Izzy speaks french?

I want to see that man get dicked down

I guess the revenge now has a pet goat

Episode 7

Okay Ed is a soft boy again, aight

NO NOT THE LEATHER JACKET

The anime toast in mouth thing. He’s officially been baby girl for a long while, but we’re really solidifying it

OH THEY FUCKED

Isn’t there an anime where a mob boss becomes a house wife? Yeah that’s Ed

Oh we’re telling him about the mermaid fantasy, okay

Izzy what the fuck, you’re amazing

“He’s jealous” my darling

The polycule is going strong, and I love the absolute lack of jealousy. This is the best representation I have ever had

Oh they’re going on a date! That’s so sweet actually

It’s really sweet that they’re talking about their time apart

Stede’s famous now? Good for him!

I need to stop falling in love with every pirate lady In this show. That being said, I hope we see more of the fangirl lady

I’m reinforcing my claim that Stede and Ed are cuter than anything that has ever been on screen

OH MY GOD SWEDE

The Söt Och Saftig, my love. Also this far in and this is the first time the character “The Swede” actually says something in Swedish

Scammer Frenchie is back in business, love that

Jim and Archie trying to get their boyfriend set up is very sweet actually

The character development of Izzy going from wanting Ed to remain “Blackbeard” to him saying if being a softie makes him happy then he should do that, like I get it now, I know why you all love this man

OH MY FUCKING GOD STEDE

Can’t believe Stede is an official Slut now

Open communication? Like genuine conversation about their relationship, and the pace they’re taking it? Ed being honest that he’s not ready for the steps they’re taking in their relationship?

What is this argument

I live for Lucius and Black Pete’s nicknames for each other

“I’ve only known you for a few hours Bonnet, but I’d fucking die for ya” Same random dude. Same

Izzy🥹

Zheng and Olu are really cute actually

Oh my god the polycule will end my fucking life

DONT BRING ED INTO THIS ZHENG

“That was really mean” YOU TELL HER STEAK KNIFE

Protective Jim my beloved

Oh my god

Roach and Fang friendship?

Roach is the queen of self care

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 8 Ep. 186: Sweet Success

Luigi’s social disappointment induced urge to focus on his studies and earn early graduation stood him in good stead when finals rolled around.

Even though he’d only been hitting the books for a little while that hard work enabled him to get the highest scores on his exams. He was sure that he was well on his way now to being able to put high school drama behind him for good and move onto better things.

---------------------------------------------

On prom night his cousin Denton invited Luigi to a sleepover at the family’s ranch and nectar farm in Chestnut Ridge.

The boys had a great time hanging out, drinking juice, and playing videogames until the wee hours of the morning.

Luigi decided he was glad Haylee had turned him down – he was sure he’d had more fun hanging out with his cousin than he would have making small talk with a bunch of Sims he didn’t really like in the stuffy school auditorium.

---------------------------------------------

Luigi had avoided Haylee and her friends since the “prom incident”, no longer feeling safe and happy hanging out with them.

When he heard Haylee and the other computer club kids spreading nasty rumors about things the new girl, Isra, had supposedly done at her old school he was suspicious. Thinking of his Papa’s advice about verifying the truth and not prejudging folks, he quietly asked for more details.

Looking at the story critically the way his detective parents had taught revealed the rumors to be amateur tales fabricated to be amusing at the expense of an easy target. The injustice infuriated Luigi far more than the rudeness he’d endured, and he publicly called out Haylee and Mauricio for their part in making the new girl feel unwelcome. He now wondered if there had been some similar incident behind Haylee's fight with Bryon that had introduced him to the club.

---------------------------------------------

Luigi’s good deed seemed to have made him a new friend. Isra began seeking out his company during free periods. Haylee had never done that!

He and Isra didn’t have many interests in common, but it was nice to have a friend who really seemed to enjoy his company (and didn’t come with problematic friends and tendencies). She wasn’t bad looking either, although he was too busy rushing graduation to try starting a relationship just then.

---------------------------------------------

Sure enough, in no time Luigi was called into the principal’s office and learned that all his hard work had paid off.

When Ms. Kane offered him the opportunity to graduate early, he didn’t think twice before accepting. One new friendship wasn’t enough to make him want to stick around Cooperdale! Besides, if Isra turned out to be more than a friend of convenience, they could always see each other outside school.

---------------------------------------------

When he got home that afternoon Peachy insisted on taking the household out to celebrate. After a pleasant evening at the theater Luigi made his way to the side yard to spend some time with Papa Jack, telling him all about his latest achievement and his plans for the future.

Up in his room Luigi did one final thing before bed. As an early graduate he was eligible to apply to university. He filled out the forms, crossing his fingers that his grades and high-level programming skill would be enough to get him into Foxbury’s distinguished computer science degree program.

He drifted off to sleep dreaming of his graduation with top marks from Foxbury. He couldn’t wait to show the world what he could achieve!

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Want To See More? View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[theofficefantasyfootball]

WEEK 1 - Wrap Up

HANG IN THERE!!!!

Guys, welcome to week 1 of the 2023 season! It's going to be a great year...I can feel it! Just like the video above..we are going to spend the next 14 weeks finding out who can hang on and make it to the playoffs and then...survive all the way to the championship game. I know some of you take fantasy football more serious than others. Personally, I feel those that don't spend at least 6 hours a week on fantasy strategy and team maintenance don't deserve a place in the final 3 weeks but that's not up to me. If it were up to me I would dedicate my entire week 24/7 to this shit. But, I have bills to pay and responsibilities, so I have to limit it to 20-24 hours a week. Anyway, good luck to everyone...I'm so glad we are back!

BACKDOOR BANDITS vs LONG LEFT BALLERS

Pretty sure on this one Kyle was hoping for more than 6.56 points out of his QB, Lamar Jackson...but he also probably didn't count on Nick Folk (Bebo's Titan Kicker) throwing up 18. Whatever the expectations were - this was the first match up of the year to end on Sunday and Bebo took the win 86 to 77. Knowing Kyle he will say his internet connection was funky and he meant to put Derek Carr in for Lamar and blame the whole loss on me...but no matter what is said or not said - Bebo get's the W and Kyle get's the L. Nice win Bebo...1-0 has to feel pretty good for a guy who still owes his fantasy fees.

HOWARD vs FUNK GUY

(this paragraph was written before the ending)

Ummm...Funk Guy beat Howard. Also, Funk Guy only had 62.90 points. WHAAAAAT? Things that contributed to Dana's win and Howard's loss? Well for Howard it was Joe Burrow with 3.18 points, Dallas Goedert with ZERO, Chase with 4.10 and Swift with .30. Pretty rough first week. For Dana, the Jacksonville Jaguars putting up 15 and Jalen Hurts squeaking out 14.50 was enough for him to put together a winning week. Congrats Dana. It's always good to beat a 3 time champion to start out the season.

(this is the correct ending)

Howard Wins. Jets defense...did it all. Sorry Dana!

LANAKILA vs TuPADRE

In the first game for the new Gullahorn "father/son" collaboration era - Lanakila said "No. Two is not better than 1 returning champion". Going into the night - Cliff was finished and had 103.44. The Gullahorns had 89.56 and Kicker Tyler Bass still to play...so they needed 14 from their kicker. Why were they in this position? Because Higgins (WR Cincinnati) decided to not get any points because the Bengals played like ass on Sunday and costs the commissioner $25 on fanduel. But, nonetheless - on Monday night - the Gully's did have a chance and came very close...they just came up a wee bit short. Congrats Cliff...could this be a back to back season with the trophy?

MOOSES ON THE LOOSES vs TRADE WITH ME

Just what everyone wanted to see...the Moose grabbing a win in week 1. Brett, what the hell! We all had such high hopes for you. You had one job - to beat Mitch and you let us all down! Personally, I feel like Mitch is still pissed about not getting his way on the PPR or 1/2 PPR or whatever he was selling and so now he is going to go off and have a 13 game winning streak (losing to Malik my Balls of course). Brett had a rough go of it from Daniel Jones, Renfrow, Waller and Giants Defense...while the Moose killed it with the nicest QB in the league Kirk Cousins, Aaron Jones, Tony Pollard and David Montgomery. Nice win Mitch. Going into MNF you do have high point - and if it hits I will pay out immediately!

BOOMER SOONER vs MR AWESOME

Well, this one was a bit of a nail biter. Gabe, aka Mr Awesome had his score locked in at 101.52 - no more players to play. Stu Jones only had 65.22 but had Dalvin Cook, Garrett Wilson and Stefon Diggs to play in the MNF match up. So he needed 36.3 from 3 pretty great players. Projections had Stu only putting up 93 points but as it is with MNF anything can happen. As the night went on...it became more and more obvious that without Aaron Rodgers - Wilson and Cook were not going to be able to help Stu enough. But thanks to overtime...Stu pulled it out by less than 1 point! .20 margin...he wins. Sorry Gabe...I guess your autodraft mid draft wasn't the play :)

MALIK MY BALLS vs TREE HUGGERS

And, yes...i found myself just trying to stay alive in week 1 on Monday Night. With a new name and a new team...I worked so hard to make sure I had the right line up....but in the minutes leading up to the first game - I made a big mistake by changing my line up. I pulled Mostert and put in Deon Jackson (INDY RB) because the "experts" said he was going to be the lone back and get tons of carries. They were right he did get a ton of carries, but he fumbled most of them and ended up with negative points. Going into MNF - Tree Huggers was up 12 points with Bills Defense still to play. I had Josh Allen left and was just hoping that he showed up and had an epic night...but he really didn't. Throwing 3 interceptions and not looking like the dominating Josh Allen of the past...coupled with Aaron Rodgers going down....and the Jets not scoring...the Bills Defense held their points and I just couldn't catch Scott. I lose! It's sucks. But of course I am happy for Scott. Of course I am.

SURVIVOR

Yep. Everyone moves on but me. I see all the picks...try to make my own picks and not be influenced...and then I always lose. Vikings can suck it. Breen OUT!

CHEERLEADER OF THE WEEK

First Cheerleader of the year is Melissa from the 49ers. She is a 6 year veteran to the squad...so she knows what the hell she is doing. When she shows up on game day she isn't still trying to learn her routines if you know what I mean. Since the 49ers were so great this week she was the perfect choice for week 1 Cheerleader of the Week. Let's go!

[derrygirlstrash]

Fic Prompt: AU where to get her off his back one of David or John Paul’s friends gives Erin the wrong number and that number ends up being James’s number, and Erin is mad she got tricked and into phoning an English boy no less but James comforts this mental stranger over the phone because she seems really upset and has a cute accent and he wants to be kind since someone was clearly unkind to her and they start developing a long distance friendship and then a long distance relationship through phone calls.

Some assorted thoughts:

- James either hasn’t moved or hasn’t moved yet. I imagine this occurring maybe after the party, so late S1 or early S2.

- Imagine you’re James and this cute voice with a strange accent just starts trying to awkwardly flirt with you and then a few words out of your mouth and suddenly she’s furious and emotional and it’s just like you have NO clue what’s happening but you kinda now feel obligated to help if you can it’s not every day a stranger yells and cries over the phone to you. James trying his best to understand a Derry accent over the phone clearly he’s a smitten kitten if he’s trying to understand her.

- Erin just calling James to talk because she can’t admit this stuff to her ACTUAL friends that would be embarrassing except sometimes she’s also calling to tell him all about stuff in her day, and her poetry, and whatnot because he’s a really good listener she kinda just assumed English loved the sound of their own voices but he listens and doesn’t seem impatient or irritated with her like sometimes other people do she can just relax and be herself, maybe they’re becoming friends. Secret friends. Even his accent, that she started out uncomfortable with becomes kind of… cute?

- Erin eventually wonders how he can always be around for her calls so much, like, isn’t his Ma or Da on his back about how much he uses the phone. She has to sneak to call when and where she can, but he doesn’t seem to have that problem. He is surprisingly casual about what sounds to Erin like a raw deal. Maybe she’ll let him talk more in these calls. She kinda wants to know more about him. Erin’s special little secret boy. Even if he is English.

- Accidentally saying something you shouldn’t over the phone, the kinds of ways one can translate their gradual shift in personal space into phone calls. A bit of harmless banter, maybe. Taking longer to hang up and slipping some things into the conversation. They’re both starting to really feel that chemistry.

- Still gets stood up for Prom and calls James, and he comforts her like he always does, and admits that if he could, he would have taken her to prom… Erin feels things. Lots of things.

- Erin and James could trade addresses to send each other gifts for Christmas or something and Erin has to try and get her gift before her family gets to the post so that she doesn’t have to answer uncomfortable questions about her mystery parcel.

- Erin trying to hide her friendship with James but occasionally slips up by mentioning James and has to lie her way out of those mentions before anyone finds out she may like some boy she met over a phone

- If James ends up moving to Derry he would probably end up there in the gap between S2 and S3 and Michelle is ranting and raving about her dickhead English cousin that honestly Erin is already head over heels for. He’s her best secret friend and his voice makes her flutter and it turns out he might be a wee bit handsome. Luckily for her he was already halfway in love, spends his first day in Derry with Michelle and her friends and managed to fall in love with her fully by the end of it.

[amayaonly1]

Diavolo's Cousin from Hell - Lesson 4 (Obey Me! x Female!MC/Reader)

@strawberry-moonpies Hello! It's been a while, hasn't it? I decided to take a one-week break to prepare for my test and go on a weekend vacation with the fam. It's been a while since I wrote anything, so I might be a wee bit rusty. Hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter. Cheers!

(Btw, I can't help but chuckle when I read the dialogues for the current event "Sacrifices of Darkness". They remind me so much of Balial.)

Interested to join the tag list? Drop me a DM! I write Obey Me! fanfiction for now.

Other work: A Lil' Oopsie

Diavolo's Cousin from Hell mini-series:

Prologue | Lesson 1 | Lesson 2 | Lesson 3 | Lesson 4 | Lesson 5 | Lesson 6

He didn't exactly know how long it took, but Beelzebub was certain that this was the first time he'd seen his own twin with such fury and stubbornness that could rival that of one of their elder brothers.

The Avatar of Gluttony remembered sitting inside his room enjoying a bag of Hell Cream Cat Tongue Cookies that he purchased from Madam Scream's when, all of a sudden, in came the youngest demon brother scowling. Surely it was without a doubt for him to ask what irritated him, and then have Belphegor open up to him. But never in his life had he seen the latter sharply mutter "Nothing" before sprawling on his bed.

Finally, after what seemed like eons, he got an answer - Balial.

Ah, yes. It's no surprise that this young demon Prince had the ability to irk the Demon Lords so effortlessly. All he ever did was cynically critique everything they did. From how they dressed up for school to the way they ate, their articulation, their involvement in the Student Council, their punctuality; nothing, and no one, was spared. Not even the eldest brother.

But now, not only did they have to deal with his nitpickiness, he'd imposingly invited himself over to their house; as if it wasn't making it any worse for them. Well, it's partially thanks to MC, but it would be merely hypocritical for any one of the demon brothers to pinpoint his sudden fascination with the human exchange student when they, too, were just as fond of her.

The only difference was that the Prince of the Underworld took an instant liking to her and didn't attempt to eradicate her; like them at the beginning.

"Just ignore him," advised Beelzebub. "He'll be here for two weeks only, right? After that, we won't have to face him anymore."

"But that feels like such a long time," the younger twin whined. Encountering the vile, little gremlin was torture enough.

"I think by now, we know what his personality is like. I understand how you feel, but there's nothing much we can do about it. The least we can do is hang in there, at least for MC's sake. Otherwise, it might seem like she's the one at fault, and we might accidentally make her feel bad about it."

Was it unfair of MC to make such a rash decision without discussing it with the demon brothers beforehand? Yes. But one could argue that she did it with genuine intention, and Balial was willing to help her while being under the same roof.

Perhaps the older twin was right. Might as well tolerate it all for MC's sake.

At that moment, a loud rumble resonated in the room. "It's almost time for dinner," noted Beelzebub with realisation. "Come on. Let's go downstairs. I'm starving." A wide, gleeful smile spread across his face. "I heard that it's MC's turn to cook dinner tonight. I can't wait to try some more of her cooking."

"You go ahead," insisted Belphegor, who easily let out a yawn. "I'll be there shortly."

But the orange-haired demon was concerned. "Are you tired? I can save some for you if you want to sleep."

"It's fine," assured his brother. "I just need a quick shut-eye."

To which, he nodded saying, "Alright."

Beelzebub strode towards the door, pouring the remaining cookies into his mouth before tossing the paper bag into the bin hiding in the corner. He shut the door behind him, walked down the hallway leading him to the staircase that would take him to the kitchen. It wasn't long before he got a whiff of an unfamiliar, bu tantalizing aroma.

Is tonight's dinner roast? he wondered. Or perhaps a hearty stew? What if it's another human realm burger he had yet to try? Ah, yes. There's also that human dessert called brownies that she'd made waiting for him in the fridge. Oh, just the thought of MC's cooking excites him! Beelzebub didn't even realise that he was already wiping away the drool hanging by the corner of his lips. Might as well pick up the pace if he wanted to try some of whatever she's cooking.

And just like his brother moments ago, his appetite churned when he saw who was in the kitchen.

A black cauldron was left on the stove as its contents eminated an aroma that made him drool even more. MC was at the island counter ceramic baking tray with rolls of dough stuck to each other. Standing across her atop of a wooden stool watching with fascination was the young Prince himself, with a white apron tried around his waist. Merihem, adorning a black full-body apron, was at the stove using a pair of thongs to grill some sliced Devildom vegetables on the cast iron grill pan.

Hearing the footsteps that suddenly halted, MC looked up and smiled upon seeing who it was. "Hey, there!" she greeted, just as she lifted up the tray. "We're almost done here. Balial wanted to try beef stew for dinner. Well, technically it's minotaur stew since I couldn't get any regular beef here. I've never made one before so I thought I'd give it a go with some dinner rolls and grilled vegetables. He and Mr. Merihem have been a great help preparing tonight's dinner."

"It's been a tremendous oblectament cooking with you, Miss MC," said the butler gratefully. "Your kind invitation has given us an exceptional insight into the human realm food. Why, I'm of the opinion that the Young Master is willing to try some of the recipes that you've humbly shared."

"I can assure you that, Mistress MC!" chirped Balial with a bright smile. "I didn't know the preparation of human realm food and our delicacies are alike. Quite an intriguing learning experience, I'd say! Even a taste of tonight's dinner tickles my taste buds. If I may humbly say this, I think your cooking is one of the best I've ever experienced; aside from my faithful Merihem, of course."

MC smiled sheepishly. "You flatter me too much," she said bashfully. "It's my first time attempting this dish. I hope it would turn out just as delicious as you expected."

However, the Avatar of Gluttony heeded no mind to the exchange. Rather, he was more interested in the brown savory gravy stewing inside. He stood in front of the cauldron, sniffed, and licked his lips with anticipation.

"Can I try some of this, MC?" he asked.

"I don't mind letting you try the stew with some vegetables, but if you want the meat we'll have to wait a little while longer," advised the said girl. After putting the dinner rolls into the oven, she approached the iron pot. She picked up the wooden ladle dipped in the stew that was left on a plate at the side and began stirring the contents while peering in, inspecting.

"I expected nothing less from the Avatar of Gluttony," remarked Balial with a despondent sigh. "We spent some time preparing food while he merely pranced into the kitchen asking for taste of everyone's dinner. A reductive sight, if I may be honest."

Beelzebub felt his eye twitch. Was that a sign of annoyance, or a sudden spasm in the nerves?

"It's alright, Balial," MC quickly assured, scooping some stew into a bowl before handing it to him. The demon's expression immediately morphed into one of excitement before "I'm used to it. That's why we cooked large amounts to accommodate Beel's hunger."

"I see."

Beelzebub didn't like the way the young Prince drawled the last word, although he tried his best to ignore him. He did advise his younger twin to do so, right? Not to mention, this wasn't his first time getting nagged by Balial. So it should be manageable, right?

Or so he thought.

"Was that why you left that container of brownies in the fridge?"

"Yes," was her reply. "Asmodeus found out about it on the internet and asked me to make some. So I baked a large batch for everyone. Well, mainly for Beel because I know that he gets hungry easily. Did you like them?"

"I did!" Balial gleefully answered. "It was so good that I finished it all."

What?

"Wow, that's quite a lot of brownies you had there," commented MC, looking at him with wide eyes. "Do you eat as much as Beel?"

"Pardon me for the interruption," chimed the elderly butler, who placed a ceramic tray of grilled vegetables on the counter. "But it has slipped my mind to inform you that the Young Master has quite a huge appetite. Do expect him to finish up any leftovers you decide to put into the refrigerator. I apologise for my tardiness."

"No worries, Mr. Merihem!" assured the human girl with a wave. "I can just make some more. Although, I'm not too sure if Lucifer would be happy to have the house budget spent on baking goods."

"Rest assured, Miss MC," Balial said. "I'm willing to impart my expenses to share the cost. It is only fair that I do such a thing if I were to stay in this place."

"Are you sure about that? Not that I mind, but you are a guest."

"My Father used to preach that when I share the same accommodation with another being, I shant let them bear all the burden."

Beelzebub didn't even bother to hear the rest of the conversation. All he was thinking was that the little brat dared to finish the brownies. The gull he had to even touch it! And he was looking forward to even getting a lick.

"Sorry, Beel." MC's voice managed to snap him out of his raging thoughts. "I know you were looking forward to the brownies. I'll have to make another batch tomorrow after school. I need to drop by the bakery to get more ingredients. But don't worry! I'll make more so that no one has to fight over it."

The said demon took a deep breath. There's no point getting angry at MC, he reminded himself. She wasn't the one who finished the brownies; she was the one who made it in the first place. So it's only fair that he directed his anger at the dwarf demon Prince.

"It's okay, MC," he assured, gritting his teeth as he tried to suppress his anger. Feeling his triumphant gaze on him riled him even more. "I know it's not your fault, so I don't mind waiting. But don't keep me waiting too long, okay?"

"Of course!"

But Beelzebub knew this won't be the last time that he'd become the victim of Balial's shenanigans. After all, he found that supercilious smirk plastered on his face was very incongruous.

And he began dreading the next thirteen days of hell.

[what-the--curtains]

There Are No Wolves In the Desert

( Oberyn Martell x f!reader, Robb Stark x f!reader)

Part 1 - The Wolf and The Outsider

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Summary: The series of events that have lead to you being in Dorne and why you can never return home.

Authors notes: Oberyn is not in this chapter but he will be in all subsequent chapters! This part is mainly context corner to build up the character! The reader is a distant relative of the Targaryens but I only mention hair colour and eye colour everything else will remain non- descript! Let me know if you want to be tagged (or untagged) in this story 😊😊

Tw: Swearing, violence, mentions of and allusion to sex (none depicted), war, murder the usual GOT stuff, major character death (I wonder who it could be👀👀)

Word count: 5.7k

Tagged: @evyiione

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Kings landing

Cersei tilts her head, eyes thinning as she gazes out over kings landing, the moon illuminating the gold plated roofs of the upper class, the stench of the poor unable to reach her here. Jamie sits on the bed she had shared with her late husband, slowly re-donning the white armour of the king's guard. He turns watching as the summer breeze blows the ends of her golden hair. His shin guard is clipped into place just as three short knocks sound out against the wooden door, filling the quiet air of the night. Sighing loudly Jamie stands up to answer the door, a smile forming on Cersei’s lips as she trunks to greet the visitor.

“Littlefinger, to what do we owe the displeasure,” Jamie asks, sarcasm dripping off every word.

“Funny… I thought knights usually waited outside the bedchamber of those they swore a sacred oath to protect,” he queries smiling, the candlelight illuminating his prominent front teeth.

“Is it done,” Cersei asks through her teeth, tiring of the man’s desperate attempts to hold some semblance of power.

“Yes. Not a soul left alive that isn’t loyal to house Baratheon... or is Lannister perhaps more apt. The north is ours for the taking now the young wolf has fallen, and Sansa is under control here.”

“What of his wife?” she asks, walking towards a nearby table, decanting wine into a goblet turning with eyebrows raised. Littlefinger was not the only one in Kings landing with ears everywhere. She had heard a rumour, one she wished to squash as soon as she can.

“His widow, you mean,” Jamie states from the door frame, dissatisfied at being left out of the conversation.

“Gone, left in the wee hours of the morning from what I heard,” Cersei says, eyes staring into Littlefinger’s, locked in a strategic game of mental chess.

“So she’s alive, ” Jamie adds, despite his previous statement being ignored.

“Not for long,” Littlefinger states , brushing him off.

“Who saw her leave?” Cersei demands, a hint of concern slipping through as she swirls her wine around in the glass.

“No one left alive,” Littlefinger reassures

“So she's...” Cersei begins,

“She’s set to land in Dorne two days from now, she will be dealt with when she arrives. She is…inconsequential.” Littlefinger finishes.

“And so ends the reign of the wolves,” Jamie remarks, as Cersei raises her glass toasting the gods.

Dorne (2 days later)

You watch the docks appear along the horizon as the ship begins to reduce its speed. The sea spray from the trip spattered across your skin was yet to dry, cooling you off, as the southern sun bares down onto you. You lick your lips, the salty taste leaves you parched in a heat the likes of which you’d never known. You’d never been to Dorne, though you’d heard stories of it’s fair weather, people and architecture, and you were eager to see if they held true. You’d heard the wine here was the sweetest the world had to offer, you planned on returning home with some, even if Dorne was merely a stopover. It was not a honeymoon you were here for, no you were here to complete a task of utmost importance. You came in search of the so-called dragon queen at the behest of your husband. He wanted to see if the rumours were true and if they were he hoped to make an ally of her. He had sent you in hopes that your shared lineage, though distant, would work in his favour. The Targaryens held family in high regard, especially with so few of them remaining. You smile as the shore comes into view, the birds above singing to your arrival. The golden hues of the late afternoon sun paint the tents of the markets in the docks. A sense of bliss rolls over you as the crew ties the ship to the dock. It would be one of the last moments of peace you would know for some time. Your feet make contact with the ground, legs wobbling slightly at being back on solid ground. You stumble slightly and a man with a blue beard catches your elbow.

“Winter is coming,” he whispers and you look up as he discreetly passes you a note. You open it. The letter is long and the script rushed, but seven words stand out ‘the King in the North has fallen’ the sheet slips from your fingers and you drop to your knees. “Quick, we haven’t much time,” he says dragging you up, as the first arrow pierces the sky, hitting the captain of your ship in the neck.

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Winterfell, 7 years prior (age 17)

You had always stood out in the north, a caveat of the family you were born into, all of you were outsiders here. Your grandfather was a Targaryen, second cousin to the mad king and when war broke out he led a small rebellion that tried to push back the Baratheon troops storming the capitol, but to no avail. Your father and his brothers were there that day, fighting alongside him, but they were outnumbered, and no amount of skill would keep the combined Starks and the Baratheon forces at bay. After the capitol was taken, your grandfather was hanged and your grandmother took your father and his brother and feld while Robert butchered any descendents of the Targaryen line that would weaken his claim to the throne. Your father had split from his family opting to head north, while they trekked south. He never saw them again. Upon his arrival in Winterfell he built a small homestead outside the city walls and sought work, thankfully the distinctive hair and eye colour had skipped him and he could blend in with the northerners. He found work as a stone mason, crafting formidable architecture admired and paid for by the nobility. The payments allowed him to move up the social ladder and while he remained in the forest he had gained the respect of the elite and was accepted as one of them. His hands soon grew tired of creating. They craved the weight of a sword and so he gave up masonry and offered his services to Ned Stark. Your father became a confidant to the King in the North as he moved up through the ranks. He ended up training many of the soldiers, and for a while, even Ned’s own sons. His proximity to the crown brought him into the path of your mother.

A ball was held in celebration of their eldest child's first name day and your mother was in attendance representing the Tyrells. He spotted her across the room, and to this day he swears the sun shone down on her despite being inside a hall. He approached her that night and they married during the long summer, your brother Illirion was born a year later, then a year after that it was your turn. Their final child, your youngest brother Rhaevar was born two years after you, thus completing your family unit. While the honeyed eyes and dark toned hair of the Tyrells presented well with your brothers, the Targaryen traits that had initially skipped your father came through in your genetic composition. Your hair was as white as the snow that came to the north during the winter, and your eyes a lilac similar to the foxgloves that grew in the spring. You attended a local school until you reached the age where girls were no longer allowed to study. Whilst there you heard whispers from the other children. Every now and then a comment of “murderer” or “traitor” would be shot your way, much to your confusion. It wouldn’t be until years later than your parents would tell you why such comments were made. After school ended officially you continued your education at home and studied the methods of healing that your mother had been trained in while in Highgarden.

Your father insisted all his children learn how to defend themselves, the north was a dangerous place after all, and the threat of war loomed large. The stability between kingdoms was teetering, it had been peaceful for too long, a storm was coming. You’d proven to be of high talent, had it not been for your eldest brother's size you would have been the strongest fighter in the family. Illirion married at 18 to a noble girl of high status, and it wasn't long after that you lost many of your friends to marriage. Some of the pairing were good, some bad and some even for love. Despite being propositioned a few times, you had no interest in being a bride.Your parents did not mind now that your brother had secured a wife and would be able to care for you once they passed. Your father also had it on good authority that you all were to be cared for so long as a Stark sat at Winterfell.

You were acquainted with the family since childhood, though outside of parties you rarely saw them. During the gatherings you and Sansa often gossiped together and Arya would sneak you into the courtyard and beg you to train her. The time spent with them was greatly cherished. Their brothers were often gone during such events, off showcasing their prowess to girls of higher status than you, women who would one day be their wives. Little did you know, Jon and Robb had been told to stay away from you so as not to ruin your reputation. That rule had been followed until one day when a particularly cruel comment from a noble girl sent Arya running directly into your path.

You were out tracking a wolf that had killed one of your family's horses. It wasn’t revenge you sought, but its attack on your homestead meant it was getting closer to town, and growing far too bold for your liking. You’d stopped your trek once you realized it was headed back towards the wall. Approaching your house you see Arya sitting on a log outside your house near the fire pit. Her feet swinging, intermittently kicking at the dirt below.

“Arya?” you question placing your gear down on the ground as she turns to face you, her nose running, eye slightly red.

“Is Rhaevar around? I wish to play” she demands, her childlike nature apparent now more than ever.

“I’m afraid he’s gone off in search of the children of the forest, but perhaps we can find something to do together?” you offer sitting beside her, she was upset, evidently so.

“I have no want to stitch,” she huffs, causing you to laugh at her attempt to insult you.

“Good neither do I. I’m no good at it anyways,” you admit and she looks up at you “Well what do you wish, Arya? Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

“I wish to know how to shoot my arrow so it hits the target every time. I don’t care what Robb says, Jon thinks I can do it so I want to try.”

“Well, I can help with that, come I’ll show you a trick. You’ll hit it every time. Prove your eldest brother wrong,” your comment earns a rare grin from the youngest Stark daughter. After a few goes she gets the hang of it, hitting your practice targets one after the other.

“By the gods,” you chuckle, you’d never seen such natural talents before. Caught up in your admiration of her gift you fail to catch her turning to aim at a farther target still. The arrow soars through the air as two horses approach your homestead, the arrow only just missing them.

“Arya!” you shout, grabbing her arm “You must be careful!” you exasperate as she looks up to you her mouth ajar. The sound of the horses fast approaching.

“Get behind me,” you murmur, pushing in front of her and aiming the bow true.

“It’s Robb!” she shouts, pushing against you attempting to make a run for it. Despite her efforts to throw you off balance you manage to grab her arm, dropping your weapons in the process.

“Why are you running?” you ask, not releasing your grip on her scrawny arm.

“Because I don’t fit in!” she finally admits.

“Well a secret Arya, no one fits in, we're all different, it's what keeps life interesting and what will keep you alive in your years to come,” you say watching as she stops struggling a softness suddenly coming over her features.

“She said I had a face like a dog,” she whispers, chewing on her lip, eyes down. The cruelty of children was always surprising to you.

“Well I’d find it hard to find someone who does not see the tenderness of a pup, or the strength and beauty of a dire wolf. Either way, You have talents, beyond what beauty can measure, ones that will never abandon you,” you reassure. She sniffs and looks up at you offering a rare smile. You see her shift back into her tough persona, the scowl returning to her face as she runs towards the horses belonging to her brother and who you assumed must be his ward Theon. You watch the eldest Stark, now two years your senior drop down allowing Theon to help Arya, as he strides towards you.

“We’d be lucky to have you in our ranks, if you can teach her to nearly take my head off from a mile away,” he laughs, easing your nervousness slightly, his northern accent heavier than you had remembered.

“I did remind your sister to be more careful lest she be tried for treason, or worse yet, get me tried for treason. As for my services, they are always at the will of the Starks, if you wish me to join the army who am I to refuse,” you say, tilting your head and offering him a smile.

“Women are not allowed in our ranks, lest of all those who look like you,” he charms, an unexpected compliment from a man you rarely got the opportunity to speak with.

“Not yet, but rules are meant to be broken after all my Lord.” You retort, eyes meeting his steel grey gaze causing an unexpected chill to run down your spine.

“Are they?” he laughs, the warmth of it causing a sudden heat to rise within you, counteracting his gaze.

“You should remind your mother of that when you return Arya to her,” you offer, as he hands you the arrow that almost took off his head.

“Thank you for returning my sister, wolves have been prowling about, heaven forbid they got to her before us,” he says, concern etched in his face.

“The wolves have moved north, I do not believe they will return this way, and Arya is stronger than you give her credit for,” you assure, his brows raising at your competence.

“I know, and I think she does too, I fear she’ll outlive us all,” he offers, rubbing the back of his neck, the two of you standing there for a moment, the smirk that usually danced replaced by a nervous grin. His head dips down before turning back to the horse, but he stops one last time swivelling round to face you.

“My lady,” he calls after you.

“Yes my lord,” you say, turning back to face him.

“I look forward to our next meeting,” he offers sincerely.

“As do I,” you say curtseying in such a way to make him smile before you both head back towards your respective homes.

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2 years later (age 19)

“What is it?” you ask your father as you lay down your quiver and the pair of small pheasants you’d brought home for dinner. He takes a long drag of his pipe, gaze glued to the treeline. “Father tell me?” you stress, knowing he only ever smoked when bad news had arrived.

“Illirion, he’s...” He stammers and drops his head letting out a strangled sob. You shake your head at the suggestion. Your brother had gone down to kings landing a week ago to serve as a bodyguard to Ned Stark who had been summoned at the behest of King Robert Baratheon. Arya and Sansa had gone with them, leaving Catelyn and the boys in Winterfell, Robb currently ruling in his place.

“Ned Stark would never allow…” you begin, sure your father had once again fallen trap to the rumour mill.

“He’s dead, they’re all dead, all of them...” he whispers, dropping his head to his hands.

“What happened tell me everything,” you stress, pushing your own sentiments aside for the moment.

“Beheaded, Ned for treason, for the murder of Robert Baratheon, his greatest friend, unlikely story. They killed your brother as Ned’s head fell. Arya, is missing, presumed dead, Sansa is a prisoner, to be wedded to that horrible snot nosed inbred Joffrey.” He continues in fragmented sentences.

“Mother?” you question.

“She’s in bed still, hasn’t left, I dare not tell her the worst of it,” he admits tear streaked eyes meeting yours.

“What the worst of it?” you ask, unable to think what could possibly be worse. “Lean on me father, there is no else left for you to confide in, lend me some of the burden,” you stress rubbing his arm in encouragement.

“War is upon us and each family must provide a soldier. Since my knee… I am no longer able to fight, the Starks know this. So your youngest brother…” he starts, but a sob catches in his throat stopping him.

“He can’t go, he’s too…” you begin, swallowing as you try to think of the right word.

“Soft” your father offers.

“No, he’s just not skilled enough, at least not in the ways of the sword. Skilled as he is as a mason he wouldn’t last a minute on the battlefield,” you pause, only one path was clear to you “Let me go in his place,” You say, before you have time to process what you had just offered to do.

“No,” your father says without hesitation.

“Let me go and you may end this life with two of three children. If he goes, I will be the only one left and I could not bear it,” you say pushing back tears at the thought of losing another brother.

“Your mother...” he begins

“Knows I was the best fighter. I had the best teacher in all the seven kingdoms after all,” you say nudging him with your elbow. He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, before pulling you into a tight embrace.

“When do I leave?” you ask.

“Tonight. It’s a good thing your brother isn’t tall, his armour will fit you, take this helmet. Do not remove it, keep your hood up, any trouble and cut off their cocks, or else I will.”

“I'll see you again, I swear it,” you state, with every intent of keeping your promise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The battle rages forward, men fall around you, but you refuse to meet a similar fate today. Your sword penetrates through the opening of a Lannister’s armour turning quickly to slice the backs of the knees of another soldier, both falling in tandem. You hear a horse whinny on your left and you turn to see Robb Stark fall from his horse becoming trapped beneath the dying creature. You weave throughout the battle towards him. Your blade intercepts the longsword of an enemy soldier just as it’s about to penetrate Robbs armour. You drop your shield to Robb and you push up against the attacker. Releasing your force he falls forward and Robb pushes the shield up hitting the man’s face swinging his head back. Grabbing the man by his hair you slit his throat. You drop your sword and pull Robb out from beneath the horse. He grabs your shoulders giving you nod before returning to the forefront of the battle. As the horn of retreat sounds you celebrate the victory with those around you, surviving the first of many attacks.

You're walking back to the tents when you hear a familiar voice call out to you.

“You, wait,” Robb demands, chuckling with those around him. You continue on your path hoping he was talking to someone else. “It is not wise to disobey your king.” He sounds out again, forcing you to turn towards him.

“Come now friend, we mean no harm. I wish to look upon the face of the man who saved me and invite him to ride alongside me.” he states.

“Perhaps he is too ugly to show his face, my lord,” one of his lieutenants states causing a laugh to erupt from the surrounding crowd of men except for Robb. Though a slight smile pulls at the corner of his mouth breaking the cold façade he’d donned since his father’s death. A moment passes then another until the silence is so prolonged you have no other option but to obey. Slowly you lift your helmet up your eyes meeting his for the first time in a year.

“A prize for the army, my lord?” one of the men questions, hungrily eyeing you up as he fervently steps towards you. Robb's arm stops him in his tracks and you draw your blade.

“Touch me and risk losing more than just your hand, I have fought alongside you. I am your equal. You will treat me as such,” you demand, your voice unwavering despite the uneasiness in your stomach.

“You have a cunt, you are not our equal, though perhaps in bed…” another from the crowd offers.

“Stop! Leave us” Robb orders, and the men retreat back towards the camp ground the sound of laughter and whistles picking up once out of range.

“I did tell you rules were meant to be broken,” you say, watching as he tries to suppress a smile.

“Well they certainly have been now” he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Are you going to hang me, my lord? Or is it my King now?” you question, a bolder move than you should have felt comfortable making.

“To you it's Robb and no I am not going to hang you, but you are going to come with me,” he says offering you his arm which you brush by looking back at him to follow.

“How have you come to be here? Does your father know?” Catelyn stresses,eyes growing wide as she scans over you assessing the damage.

“My lady, yes, he does. You see when the war was announced and after my brother’s death, we knew someone from our family would have to fight. My father’s leg as you know isn’t... as it used to be, and my younger brother while talented in many ways, cannot hold a blade to save his life. My mother’s grief was already far too much for her to lose another child.” You say, eyes risking tears as she meets her gaze.

“So they sent you?” she explains to herself.

“Yes my lady I was the best fighter in the family, or the most skilled at least.”

“Well, we will not make your brother come to fight, but you cannot stay in the army,” she explains softly, hand running up and down your arms in reassurance.

“She saved my life today,” Robb interjects and Cat looks at you as you look at him.

“Then I am indebted to you.” She expresses.

“As am I,” Robb states the two of you not having dropped eye contact, much to the notice of Cat.

“Lady Catelyn, I am a capable fighter, but if you will not allow me to so, at least allow me to tend to the wounded or to serve you in some other manner. I am here after all, put me to use.” you say and she lets out a sigh.

“Well, if you believe yourself able to defend yourself, and if what my son says is true then I would be remiss to send you home, though you will not sleep out with the rest of the army, you will stay with me.” she says.

“And during the battle you will remain close to me,” Robb stresses “not for your protection, but for mine”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1 year later (Age 20)

Robb watches as you kill another soldier, the sight never failing to impress him. You had remained close over the past year, both in and out of the battlefield. He kept you close at all costs, your company bringing him some semblance of joy, even in his darkest moments. Rumours swirled amongst the men and the other kingdoms, though nothing between the two of you had come to fruition. Due to the colour of your hair, the enemy soldiers had dubbed you the white wolf, in an attempt to link the Starks with the treacherous Targaryens. While the insinuations at your extracurricular activities with Robb pushed the narrative that he was impure, that northerners were savages, who did not abide by the values of the seven kingdoms.

As you wipe the blood from your eyes, an arrow catches you in the shoulder, the force knowing you back into a tree. Robb is at your side in record time, his hand stopping yours from pulling the weapon out.

“Medic!” he shouts, eyes not leaving yours.

“Go! you need to lead your people, I will be fine,” you emphasize and he shakes his head “Robb, it is a shoulder, nothing of importance lives there.”

“No but it is attached to something of the utmost importance.”

“Go you have a war to win,” you state as the medic helps you to your feet and brings you back across the line.

You sit in Robbs tent, despite your insistence at being treated in the same manner as the other soldiers, he had demanded you be brought there instead. A skilled nurse had removed the arrow from your shoulder just as you heard the rambunctious cheers of the men outside, victory had been secured. Unsurprising considering Robbs keen strategic mind, he was smarter than you'd have accredited him for in your youth. He enters the tent blood spatter still on his face, seeing you alive and fine he takes the moment to remove his armour. He pulls his undershirt off and walks to the water basin wiping himself clean of the sweat and grim coating his skin. Your eyes watch his bare skin intently, studying every scar, every freckle. He grabs a fresh cloth dunking it the basin and wringing it out before heading over to you. He kneels before you, staring up at you eyes telling you to drop the blood soaked rag currently held to your wound, and you oblige.

“I must confess I long hoped to share an intimate moment with you, though these circumstances are not as I imagined,” he says, gently dabbing at your wound, you smile at his concentration.

“And under what circumstances would you have hoped to be intimate with me, my king? At one of your fancy parties, in the secrecy of a barn, somewhere no one would know you had been with a Targaryen girl.” You ask trying to keep your eyes forwards and not at his muscular physique.

“Every man in Winterfell had dreamed of sharing a moment like that with you, though none have found any luck,” he says, standing up and walking back over to the basin.

“I have no need for a husband nor do I have the want to be wife,” you say, watching the muscles of his arm flex as he wrigns out the rag.

“and what about a queen?” he queries, as his hand braces against your thigh, continuing to clean your wound, his eyes still focused on the gash.

“Do you ask all your foot soldiers such bold questions,” you quip, laughing at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

“Only the ones naked in my chambers,” he retorts, eyes darting up a grin plastered to his face.

“A bare shoulder is hardly naked in your chambers,” you state, and he raises his eyebrows mischievously.

“My fondness for you was never allowed,” he admits, dabbing the cloth into a salve and applying it to the wound.

“Oh wasn’t it,” you ask as he looks up to you

“No, my mother feared one of us would ruin you,”

“A Targaryen In the north, perhaps it was fear of you boys being ruined.” you laugh, but when you look at him the tone has shifted.

‘When that arrow hit you, my feelings were confirmed, I no longer wish to be more than a few feet from you at any given moment. I wish to marry you. If you'll allow me”

“Don’t be stupid my king, you’re to be married to a princess from what I understand.”

“I'll be married to whom I please” he assures.

“Robb is that wise?” you question, unfamiliar with the high stakes games played with marriage.

“The Frey’s will recover besides, we’ve crossed their bridge already, and I have no love for anyone but you.”

“Love? We barely know each other,” you say.

“Only our whole lives,” he reminds you.

“I fear you’ll wake up tomorrow and regret your words, so I will not answer you tonight.”

“Then I will return to these chambers tomorrow morning and restate my intentions to make you my wife.”

“What will they say if you allow me to take your bed for the night?” you ponder aloud.

“I guess we shall see” he states, slinging his bloodied shirt over his shoulder.

“Goodnight my King” you offer, watching in amusement as he attempts to find the tents exit without turning around.

“It’s Robb. For you, it's always just Robb”

True to his word he returned the next day and asked again, and this time you accepted. You married a few days later under an old willow tree, with Catelyn and a few others standing witness. The morning after your wedding you awake in his chambers, the sun yet to rise. Robb snores faintly beneath you, the warmth of the fire sending a chill up your skin that had become exposed in the night. You scan over his features, a peacefulness you hadn’t before on his face. You reach over brushing the white patch of hair amongst the mass of soft brown curls on his head. As you do his eyes open looking over to you propping himself up on his elbow and learning over to kiss your forehead.

“What is it my love?” you ask, kissing his cheek, then his lips .

“I need you to do something,” he says, serious as always.

“What we just did wasn't enough, my king? How else may I please you tonight,” you offer hands dancing across his chest, he grins shaking his head slightly.

“You have pleased me in every way imaginable for the past year, and even more tonight. This favour isn't a pleasure of the flesh however, I need you to complete a task. You’re the only one I can trust,” he states.

“You shift up to face him, the furs falling off you slightly, “find the Targaryen girl. I wish to make an ally of her, to destroy the Lannister once and for all. You are likely the only family she has left, she may listen to you.”

“I'll do what I can, and I'll do it fast, I do not wish to be parted from you for long.” you admit as his hand traces over your back.

“Take this with you, that way i'll be protecting you even while we are apart,” he leans over grabbing his dagger, the one made for him by his father, offering it to you.

“Robb I…” you begin.

“Will return it to me a fortnight from now when you come back. I suggest we make the most of tonight, so you have another reason to return to me,” he states

“I'll always return to you, even in death,” you reassure and he wraps the blanket back over you pulling you tightly to his chest. And so as Robb took his seat in the halls of Walder Frey to watch his supposed bride marry another man, you were catching a boat destined for Dorne.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present day (Age 21)

“Come with me now Lady Stark, your life depends on it,” the stranger says, pulling you to your feet and shuffling you into a nearby tavern ushering you quickly up the stairs. You see a pile of clothes laid out on the bed and immediately strip, all notions of decency erased in favour of time.

“You must disappear, make them think you are dead,” he says, averting his eyes as you change into clothes typical of local mercenaries.

“Who killed him, what happened?” you ask, needing some kind of answers.

“There is no time, and it's safer if you do not know.” He says eyes darting from you to the door.

“I have a right to..”

“The Freys betrayed you, everyone at the wedding is dead, you have no claim to Winterfell. The Lannisters have taken the North”

“Everyone at the wedding..” you echo, sitting on the bed

“Stay here..” the blue bearded stranger says, returning a few moments later with a cloak, sword and black dye in hand, placing them down and grabbing for the clothes and the dagger on the floor, Robbs dagger.

“That stays” you stress grabbingthe dagger from his reach.

“It’s too…” he starts

“It stays, it's all I have left of him,” you whisper harsher than intended, fighting back tears. He nods and you take it from him. You grab the dye from his hand and rub it through your hair, staining it a deep ember.

“Keep your eyes down, they're the only thing we can’t disguise,” he states

“Who are you, why are you helping me?” you question memorizing the man's face.

“You share a common enemy with powerful people. You have allies here. Goodbye Lady Stark I hope we meet again,” he says, and with a swift turn he exits the tavern leaving you alone with your thoughts. You wait a moment before donning the cloak and pulling up your hood. You walk out the tavern, putting as much distance between you and the docks as possible. Keeping your eyes down as men scoured the streets for the person you once were

[thebrochtuarachs]

Something in the Rain - “Situations”

A/N:  WHAT?! BACK TO BACK UPDATES?! Yes, you're not dreaming, it is happening and even I, am surprising myself. I'd like to thank you all for the support even though I haven't written in a while. I've never received much more heartfelt messages and comments. With much encouragement, this next chapter wrote itself quickly. :) I hope you like it. As always, your comments and suggestions are very much welcome.

AO3  / C1: A Day In June : C2: Definitely, Maybe : C3: So We Meet Again : C4: Friday Lunch : C5: Finding Solid Ground

XXXXX

“Are we on for lunch next Friday?” she asked, three blocks away from her home. 

“Actually, I’ll be going on a two week business trip to London.” Jamie answered. “I need to look at our office down there, catch up with our staff and clients” 

“Oh, I see.”

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mention it earlier. But my schedule is going to be cramped.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s work!” Claire bumped his arm with her elbow. “Message me when you’re back and settled and let’s catch up then.” she followed, hoping to keep communication lines open in line with what seems to be a long break. 

“I will.” Jamie noted that offer. “How about you? How is your week looking?” 

“Uhm, between my rounds, surgeries, and department duties” Claire counted with her fingers for emphasis. “My days are pretty much full. Lunch, late evenings and the weekends are generally my free times.” The answer also serves as an indirect information Claire hoped Jamie would figure out about how unpredictable her time and availability is.

A brief silence and then Claire asked the question that was on her mind since the afternoon. “Erm, why didn’t you tell me you were popular?” 

“What?” Jamie chuckled. “What is the world are ye talking about?” 

“It has come to my attention that you, Jamie Fraser, apparently, is one of Scotland’s most eligible bachelors.” Claire said and Jamie groaned. 

“Ugh, how’d you find out?” 

“Geilis mentioned it earlier. Apparently, there are magazine pictures that I should see. She’s showing me her copy on Monday.” she added, earning another joking sigh. “I wondered why it never came up and/or why you didn’t tell me?” 

“One, I thought you, at least, knew. I mean, it was in a national magazine. Second, it’s not the first thing I share with the people I meet. How would you feel if I said, ‘Hi, I’m Jamie Fraser, did you see my photo on Tatler?” he saw her tilt her head and stick her tongue in feign disgust. “Exactly.” 

“I guess that’s a valid point. Still - I guess, I’d rather knew about myself first or you.” 

“I’m sorry, Sassenach. It just comes with working at a local, historic business, keeps us afloat, ye know. I’ll warn ye ahead of time of any write-ups about me out there.”

“What’d ye call me?” Claire stopped walking.

“Hmmm?”

“You called me a Sassenach?” she raised her eyebrow. 

“Aish, it’s not as bad as ye think it means. It just means Englishwoman, an outlander, not from Scotland.” Claire didn’t look convinced, forcing Jamie to explain further. “It was my first thought about ye when you slipped under my umbrella. I guess it kinda stuck and is what I’ve been calling ye in my head.”

“Mhmm, alright.” She shook her head and smiled. “This is me” 

Jamie looked at the Georgian building and took note of the place and surroundings. “I guess, I’ll see you in two weeks.” 

“I’ll see you in two weeks” Claire waited briefly if Jamie had anything else to say or do but when he didn’t move, it was her cue to leave. “Bye, then.” 

“Bye.” Jamie watched Claire enter her home and when she was safely in, he walked back to his car, berating himself if he missed a big opportunity. 

--

Claire reached the emergency room and immediately asked for a patient in the nurse’s station. “Tammas Baxter?”

“Bed 4” She quickly went to where the nurse pointed and opened the curtain to find a pale, sickly, boy, a frightened grandma, and a fidgety young lady. 

“Hi, I’m Dr. Claire Beauchamp and I’ll be checking on Tammas today. Are you his family and what seems to be the problem?” She asked the ladies on the other side of the bed as she examined his physical state. 

“Yes, we are. I’m Mrs. Fitz, his grandma and this is Laoghaire, his cousin. He came home from school this afternoon and just started vomiting and developing a head and stomachache.” 

Claire leaned down and smelled Tammas, having a hunch already on what the boy might be going though but she needed to confirm. “Tammas, my name is Claire. I know you’re in pain right now but I need you to tell me something so we know what medicine to give you, okay?” The boy nodded weakly. 

“Did you eat this?” Claire shared a photo on her phone and despite his frailty, everyone saw the panic in his eyes looking from Claire to his grandma. Claire looked at the old lady as she soothed rather than scold her grandson, telling her he was in no trouble and just needed to tell the truth. With that, the boy turned to Claire and gave a nod to confirm her suspicions. 

“Thank you, good lad.” Claire patted the boy and proceeded to order her treatment to the nurses. “Get blood and urine samples, hang an IV and start to give him a dose of anti-poisoning” 

After getting a clear from the nurses, Claire invited his guardians outside to explain his situation better. “Hi, Mrs. Fitz, was it?” the older lady confirmed and she proceeded to explain the situation. “Tammas ingested a plant called Lily of the Valley. It is incredibly poisonous and you made the right decision to bring him in immediately. We caught it at the right time and we’ll treat him with fluids and medicine and we’ll observe him in the next couple of days until his situation improves. He’ll be just fine.”

Mrs. Fitz sighed in relief and then hugged Claire which she returned. As a pediatric surgeon, she’s already used to these moments but it always warms her heart when it happens. Mrs. Fitz then asked her niece to check on admitting Tammas and left. They checked on Tammas again, the boy now asleep after being medicated. 

“I’ll check up on him before my shift ends. I’ll ask the nurses to page me if anything changes on his condition.” Claire said, signing his chart and placing it back on the caddy. 

“Thank ye, Doctor.”

“Please call me Claire” 

“Ye know, it was my nephew who told me to go straight to the ER and look for Dr. Beauchamp. He didn’t mention, though, that Dr. Beauchamp was a pretty lady.”  

A blush threatened to creep Claire’s cheek but she kept her composure. “Jamie called ahead as well, told me that you were coming. I was free and was able to come down to the ER. I’m happy to help” 

“And how did ye know it was poisoning right away?” 

“I dabble in medicinal herbs sometimes. The plant has a distinct smell that I picked up while I was examining him. Jamie also had a hunch and told me about a tradition with the boys about eating the plant as a right of passage. Between those two, it kinda showed itself.” 

“I see. And how long have ye known Jamie?” Mrs. Fitz found the opening and she took it. 

“Not too long.” Claire smiled and answered honestly. Just then, Laoghaire returned with documents for them to sign and she excused herself out. 

As Mrs. Fitz finished the paperwork, her thoughts flitted back to Claire. When she asked about Jamie, she somewhat expected the lass to immediately gush all over him as what she’d experienced with his previous affairs. 

But what she found, instead, in their short conversation thus far, was a genuineness that was incredibly refreshing to see. She didn’t know the extent of their relationship, yet, but for whatever’s worth, she knew Jamie found a good one. 

---

“You were right, it was poisoning. Yep, no - he’ll be fine now, Jamie. We’re treating him and should be able to go home in a few days.” Claire put the phone on speaker as she signed documents in her office. It’s been a week and a half since they last saw each other and due to the nature of their jobs, they’ve texted sporadically, just catching up or checking in, here and there. But, today, the emergency forced them to communicate more directly and urgently to which each of them welcomed.

Jamie was on the other line, wanting to hear the update himself. “I told the lad not to do it and he still did. Mrs. Fitz might not have a thing to say anymore to him but I might have” 

“Like you were not a ten year old that broke the rules before.” she gruffed. 

“Still, my da told on me.” 

“Jamie, I’m sure Tammas would have plenty to hear about it by the time you come back.”

She heard a sigh on the other end and she knew she’d saved the lad against more scolding from his family. “Yer right. I’ll just settle for a really, really stern look and not give him his presents” 

He can hear her roll her eyes and moved to change the subject. “Who accompanied Mrs. Fitz, Sassenach?” 

Claire smiled, still not use to the name but truthfully, she liked it because it came from him. “A granddaughter, I think her name was Laoghaire.”

“I see.” he said plainly and Claire caught on. 

“Anything you’d like to share?” she pressed but instead the call ended and rang again, this time a video call. 

Claire was surprised but took a quick look at her mirror and accepted the call. 

“Yes?” 

“Nothing. Just wanted to see how are ye” 

“You called after I mentioned Laoghaire. That is suspicious.”

“There’s nothing to tell other than, she might have a wee crush on me, Sassenach.” 

“A wee crush. That explains the weird look she gave me earlier today.” 

“What weird look?”

“Like she was sizing me up or something. Didn’t last long, though, Mrs. Fitz had her do all the errands earlier. 

It was Jamie’s turn to make a face and shrug. “Don’t let her get to ye, Claire. I’m no interested in her” 

“Oh yeah? Why so?” she quipped back. 

“For starters, she isna my type and…” 

Claire cut him off, “Alright, alright, no need to say more” a laugh bubbling as Jamie looked so serious on her screen. “Anything else, you need to say, Mr. Fraser? Some of us have to work here.” 

She saw Jamie scratch the back of his head, turn red, and hear the shuffling of his feet. “Erm, Claire, would you be free this Saturday evening?” 

She looked at her calendar, “My schedule is free so far” 

“May I have the pleasure to take you to dinner then?”

“Are you asking me out, James Fraser?” Claire asked, eyeing him adorably. She was not at all surprised that their lunches would eventually become dinners. It was only a matter of time. If they we’re not interested in each other, they had stopped meeting a long time ago. 

“Aye.” Jamie replied, anticipating her answer.

“Pick me up at my place around 7:00?” 

“It’s a date, then.”

[fettsvette]

Never Worn White (Part One)

Cloud City, Bespin. Boba Fett is on the hunt for a casual fuck before he cashes in on Han Solo’s bounty. You’re a naïve virgin, saving yourself for an adolescent fantasy… and it just so happens that he’s in town. Upon encountering the object of your infatuation though, you didn’t expect he’d be so willing to help you out.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader Words: 2.1k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Loss of virginity and unprotected sex

Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.

Boba Fett was in town.

 There had been rumblings around the city for the past several days. Something big was happening, but nobody seemed to be sure of exactly what. You’d overheard people at the Shadow Market saying there was a beautiful woman who matched the description of Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan - well, formerly of Alderaan, now - staying in the guest quarters of the Administrator’s Palace, with a motley crew of attendants that included, of all creatures, a Wookiee. There were whispers of the famous spice smuggler, Han Solo, having been sighted as well, and even quieter mumblings concerning something called a ‘Skywalker’ (whatever that meant). An Imperial Garrison had been installed earlier in the week with no sign of leaving anytime soon, and the Baron Administrator himself, Lando Calrissian, had allegedly been seen meeting with Darth Vader himself. 

  Or so your roommate claimed.

  “That big scary guy who works for the Emperor? The one with the magic powers who sounds like he breathes through a gas-processing vane?” You had asked skeptically when they’d burst into your shared flat with the news, the normally relaxed Aruzan acting infuriatingly bubbly at finally having gotten hold of the hot gossip in the neighborhood before you had.

  The very same, they insisted; and the Baron hadn’t looked too pleased to be hosting such a powerful representative of the Empire, either.

  They hadn’t seen anything themself, no - they’d heard it from one of their coworkers at Pair O’ Dice, who’d claimed their cousin’s friend’s uncle had seen them together, walking across the Apex Overlook with a squadron of armed stormtroopers trailing behind them… the amount of parties involved in this city-wide game of Comlink Operator seemed to go on and on and on. You couldn’t decipher what was true, and what was just garbled rumors and hearsay. And you couldn’t make sense why such a varied amalgamation of the galaxy’s most well-known creatures would choose to congregate at a mining colony so far away in the Outer Rim.

  There was one thing you were absolutely certain of, however.

  Boba Fett was here, in Cloud City.  

  You’d never been so sure of anything in your life. You knew it was true. 

  Because you’d seen his ship yourself.

  It had been two days ago. You hadn’t been able to sleep, even after a long night waiting tables at K’cri’s Café, and you’d decided to take a walk down by the landing platforms in the wee hours of the morning, dawn still only a pinkish-orange smudge barely visible above the thick clouds. Whatever the time of day or night, there was always some action going on there - ships arriving constantly, bringing tourists from all over the galaxy looking to try their luck at one of Cloud City’s various casinos. You enjoyed watching the multitudes of different creatures disembarking off their various means of transportation - sub-aquatic Mon Calamari, blue-hued Chiss, reptilian Trandoshans; you’d even seen some gargantuan Hutts a few months ago, with their retinues of slaves and hangers-on, making their sluggish way across the concourse towards Yarith Bespin. It sometimes seemed that this city never truly slept.

  You’d been about to finally call it a night, still not particularly tired but knowing that you should attempt to go home, draw your curtains against the burgeoning light of the sun, and get some shut-eye before your next shift the following evening, when a bizarre sound from above snapped you out of your reverie. 

  You’d heard the Slave I long before you’d seen it. 

  The ship’s engine gave out a strange whining noise, unlike anything you’d ever heard in a transport. It reminded you of a gigantic buzz-bug, and you resisted the urge to swat at the air around your ears out of habit, squinting your eyes against the hazy morning light to see what kind of damned contraption could be making such a racket. 

  The ship came into view as it banked around the clouds, beginning a slow descent towards one of the nearby docks, and you felt your heart give a walloping jolt from the shock of what you were witnessing.

  ‘No… it can’t be… not here…’

  The ship was an ugly, mottled thing - a retired Firespray model of Old Republic make, the paint faded red and greenish-grey, much of it scraped away and adorned with deep gouges and obvious carbon scoring from firefights over the years. It had seemed to glide almost effortlessly through the air as it swept towards the docks, and as the transport grew closer and its image became more clear, your eyes widened, your blood screaming in your ears, your heart threatening to jump up out of your throat and flee from your frozen form. Its strangely vertical craft had suddenly rotated horizontally in the air, hanging momentarily as if suspended by a fine thread, and sank down to settle on one of the nearby landing pads, steam from the thrusters billowing around its now motionless form.

  You knew the ship well, although you’d never actually seen it in real life. It was all over the HoloNet almost every time a huge sum of credits were posted on a well-known fugitive’s head, their eventual capture usually accompanied by footage of that very same transport leaving the scene. It was called the Slave I , and was owned by a man who wore a ragged suit of Mandalorian armor, and who made his living by hunting down and - sometimes killing - those who found themselves on the wrong end of a particularly influential creature’s business dealings.

  Rooted to the spot, trembling from excitement, you’d stood on your toes and craned your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the pilot as they exited the durasteel behemoth. When the boarding ramp had finally extended, however, you’d turned and ran back to your apartment, a wave of anxiety at possibly seeing the owner - and them seeing you - having overcome your senses. And there you’d hid for the rest of the day, pacing the floor of your living quarters and periodically peeking out the window, expecting to see the old Firespray taking off into open space from the vicinity of the dockyards across the city. But as far as you knew, it was still there. You could feel in your guts that it was.

  That was how you’d discovered that Boba Fett had come to Cloud City.

  The deadliest and most effective bounty hunter in the entire galaxy, in your town.

  And you wanted to meet him. You needed to meet him.

  It sounded almost dirty, to acknowledge that maybe you had a bit of a crush on Boba Fett. Although merely calling it a ‘crush’ was quite an understatement. 

  You were infatuated with him. 

  You’d followed his career almost obsessively since your early teenage years, when he’d first erupted onto the bounty hunting scene and began making headlines thanks to the clean, efficient work he’d make of marks who’d been unfortunate enough to cross his path. He was highly dangerous and had a nasty reputation for being a ruthless killer, focused only on bringing pain to the creatures that could earn him as many credits as possible. On top of that, he had exclusive hunting contracts with both the Empire and the Hutts, which didn’t garner much support from communities sympathetic to the Alliance to Restore the Republic, such as your own. Much of the galaxy considered bounty hunters to be the lowest of scum, on the same level as the criminals and other dregs and vestiges of the civilized universe that they were famous for capturing. It was difficult to admit that it wasn’t the gorgeous Falleen who lived down the hall that you fantasized about sweeping off your feet and charming the Corellian hells out of you, but Boba Fett. 

  You couldn’t fully explain it, even to yourself let alone your exasperated and befuddled friends, but there was just something downright sexy about him. You felt weak in the knees whenever you saw his visage broadcast on the holocaster in the café, and your ears always tingled and burned when you caught his name being mentioned in a snatch of overheard conversation. You spent hours scrolling and typing on your holopad, searching for any and all information you could discover on this enigmatic figure who wore the regalia of an ancient warrior race. You’d made it a point to haunt the local nightclubs and bars on your nights off, always seeking out information on Boba Fett’s whereabouts in the galaxy, his latest jobs, encounters that the creatures constantly flowing in and out of the local entertainment establishments may have had with him during their travels. You’d heard how good of a lay - and a generous tipper - he supposedly was from several of the go-go dancers who worked at the Zero-G Club, and the idea of Boba Fett himself getting a lap dance in a seedy topless bar always sent liquid heat pooling to your core. One of your most prized sources of intelligence concerning Boba Fett was Rystáll Sant , the half-Theelian backup singer for the Max Rebo Band, whose frequent sets at the Blue Petal Bar you never missed for this express reason. Lyn Me and Greeata Jendowanian had their own Fett stories, but Sant in particular became very talkative about her famous conquests while touring the galaxy - always after a couple spotchkas, which you were more than happy to share with her.

  Rystáll Sant was adamant that she’d had a casual physical relationship with Fett for years, and that he was, without question, the best fuck of her life. She hadn’t seen, let alone hooked up with him, in several months, no, but the band had a long-term residency at Jabba the Hutt’s palace on Tatooine coming up, and she was looking forward to finally reuniting with him there. He was one of Jabba’s favorite hired guns, after all. You always came away from your conversations with Rystáll feeling flushed and woozy, in a way that had nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol you both consumed while chatting. You’d always been too shy to grill her on any of the specifics of her dalliance with Fett, even though you knew she’d be happy to give them to you - what kind of a lover he was, if he was gentle or rough or a delicious mixture of the two, what he sounded like when he moaned, what he looked like both underneath his Mandalorian helmet and that mysteriously dented codpiece - but those unasked questions haunted you endlessly. You wanted to learn the answers yourself, somehow.

  In short, you were helplessly drawn to Boba Fett, and found everything about him to be intoxicating - from the danger associated with his chosen career, to the mystery of what dashing good looks he had to be hiding behind that black-visored helmet… and the fact that he was experienced. 

  Because you’d never been with a man before.

  Ever.

  You were a virgin in every sense of the word.

  You didn’t consider yourself a prude, or anything close - you just felt you’d never met the right person who you’d want to share that part of yourself with. Your virginity was something sacred in your eyes, something you wanted to give to someone special, not to just waste on a drunken, spiced out tryst after a night partying. Your prospective admirers on Bespin bored you to tears, and you found yourself constantly daydreaming of being whisked away off-world by a masked man in a shining suit of armor; one who would take you on exciting adventures and carry you bridal-style back to his ship afterwards for a romantic, passionate night together.

  You’d never admit it to anyone, knew you’d be laughed out of the social circles you’d managed to cultivate during your years living and working in Cloud City, but Boba Fett’s was the only name that ever came to your lips as you laid in bed, your hands between your legs, bringing yourself to climax twice, sometimes three times during one of your nightly sessions. Just the mere thought of him drove you wild in a way that no other person ever had, and you constantly fantasized about him claiming your innocence for his own, leaving you trembling and mewling underneath him.

  And now, like a bolt out of the blue, he was actually here , located in Cloud City on some unknown business, possibly entangled in whatever Imperial affairs that’d had the entire colony holding its collective breath over the previous days.

  It almost seemed as if it were meant to happen, that you were supposed to seduce and sleep with him, despite your initial panic at his unprecedented arrival. You knew how it sounded. If anyone found out about what you were planning, discovered the details of your deepest fantasy, the one thing you truly wanted above all else, they’d have you admitted to the psychiatric medcenter at Cloud City Central.

  It was true.

  You were saving yourself for Boba Fett.

  You were on a mission to fulfill that adolescent promise to yourself, consequences be damned, and you had no idea what you were getting yourself into.

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

the best by far is you: chapter 17

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Previous Chapter

For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you -  Cecilia and the satellite

————

Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

Chapter 17

Edinburgh

June 1746

Edinburgh proved difficult to search. One lone carriage was hardly something of note for residents of Edinburgh, and that besides, Claire was quite certain this was where that particular journey had ended. They had no way of knowing where in the city Jamie and Faith would’ve gone once they’d arrived. So they checked every tavern, inn, and boarding house they could find, hoping they weren’t too late, that Jamie and Faith hadn’t moved on to some other place.

It was once again the horse, of all things, that gave them hope.

They were walking through a bustling market when Fergus stopped so abruptly in front of Claire that she nearly knocked him over. “Fergus, what are you‒”

His gaze was frozen on something ahead. “It’s Donas, Milady.”

“What?”

He didn't wait another second and surged forward into the crowd, leaving Claire and Murtagh to scramble after him. When they caught up to him, they were both brought almost nose-to-nose with a black horse that was unmistakable to them.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” Claire whispered tightly, eyes widening at the sight before her. Donas was tucked back into a stall just off the busy street, but his head swung curiously over the wooden gate.

She glanced about, trying to get her bearings. If Donas was here, then‒

“Get back!”

The three of them startled at the sharp voice, Claire’s hand flying to Fergus’s shoulder as if that could shield him. Off to their right, a man had appeared ‒ a blacksmith by trade if his gritty, grimy appearance was any indication. “Unless ye want tae lose a hand. That beast is the devil’s own.”

Donas reared back suddenly, as if he understood and took offense. Claire was used to the horse’s attitude, but his timing always was something else, she thought. The blacksmith only took this as confirmation of what he’d just said, nodding sharply toward the horse with wide-eyed suspicion.

“See? He kens it.”

“That is not‒” Fergus began. Claire squeezed his shoulder.

“Please, can you tell us where we might find the owner of this horse?”

The blacksmith’s gaze shifted over the three of them, considering. Finally, he folded his arms over his chest and leveled a withering gaze at Claire. “Ye’re lookin’ at ‘im.”

“What?” She balked. Her gaze flew back to Donas, looking him over more discerningly. It had to be him. Then…?

“When did you acquire him?”

“I dinna see why ye need tae know.”

It was clear the man was growing tired of them, but before Claire could respond, Murtagh had fired back a reply. “I dinna see what harm there is in answering the lass.”

The blacksmith hardly concealed his annoyance but threw his hands up in defeat. “If it’ll make ye leave. A man brought him ‘round last week and sold him to me‒”

Claire felt her breath leave her lungs in a rush. A week ago. They’d never been this close before. A light, buoyant feeling filled her.

“‒ under false pretenses, mind. Tha’ horse was docile as a wee lamb when he brought ‘im here. Soon as he’s gone, I was dealing wi’ a demon.”

“Maybe you should‒”

Whatever Fergus was about to say, Claire was certain it wouldn’t have been flattering. And she needed more from this conversation still.

“Last question and then we’re out of your hair.” She felt an odd flutter in her stomach at the thought of what answers they might be able to walk away with. “What can you tell me about the man who sold you the horse?”

  They’d come to stay so long in Edinburgh that Faith’s understanding of “home” was beginning to solidify around the place they’d resided there: Mary’s aunt’s house. And while the streets were still crawling with soldiers, Jamie had gone so long without incident or recognition that the wariness was fading each time he stepped outside.

Mary's aunt had been hospitable in opening her home to Jamie and Faith when they arrived with Mary, though Jamie got the distinct impression that she wasn't exactly thrilled with this arrangement, given that she knew he was a Scot.

Still, it was a safe haven while they waited for sea passage to open up again.

Jamie entered the house, lugging his bundle of purchases, and was almost immediately greeted by Faith's high-pitch squeal from the other room. He paused, wondering if it was a squeal of excitement or some sort of fit.

There was a bustle of movement up ahead from the parlor and then Faith tumbled out into the hallway, tripping on the hem of her dress. It was new to her, an old dress belonging to one of Mary's cousins, and they were adjusting it for Faith.

"Da!"

Happy squeal, then.

He grinned broadly and dropped to one knee as Faith toddled over to him, nearly tripping again as she reached him. "Did ye behave for yer Auntie Mary, then?"

She didn't respond to him, only looped her slight arms around his neck and started to hang from him, giggling all the while.

"Alright then, ye wee fiend," he laughed, scooping her up as he moved to stand.

By now, Mary had appeared at the threshold and greeted him before they all moved into the parlor. Jamie noted that none of the other inhabitants of the house were in the room and breathed a sigh of relief. He was abundantly grateful to be able to keep Faith sheltered here, but he had no great desire for the company of near strangers ‒ especially those who looked down their nose at him.

“I’ve had a letter from my father,” Mary announced.

“Aye?”

“He’s sending my younger brother to escort me back to my father’s estate.”

Jamie nodded at that, though he wasn’t sure how he should feel. “And how did he take yer news?”

“Oh quite well,” Mary said swiftly. “I knew he would. Of course he wishes I wasn’t so recently widowed, since he’ll have to make arrangements for me to be married again. But there’s no shame in being widowed and with child.”

Jamie took a deep breath, ready to dive in on that comment, but thought better of interfering in her family matters and bit his tongue instead.

“Find everything you were looking for?” Mary asked.

“Oh aye.” Jamie pulled out the fresh ginger he’d purchased. There had been a number of items he’d needed to prepare for the upcoming voyage, but none quite so important as the very thing he held up for Mary to see. “For my seasickness,” he explained and then grinned ruefully. “Canna seem to so much as set foot on a ship wi’out getting sick.”

“Is it bad?”

“It’s no’ a pretty sight, I’m sure.”

“What will you do with Faith?”

Jamie’s gaze dropped to Faith in his lap and he swallowed roughly. “I dinna have much choice but to pray the ginger tea keeps me standing. I canna afford to get sick.”

Mary fell silent at that, her hands fidgeting restlessly in her lap.

But he knew even without her saying it that it was a foolish endeavor. He knew how sick he became on sea voyages and without anyone else with them, he ran the risk of becoming too sick to care for his child. But what other choice did he have?

“I could go with you.”

Mary’s words were spoken so softly, he almost didn’t catch them. His head snapped up and he stared at her. “You canna be serious.”

“Of course I’m serious!”

“It’s‒ I mean no offense to ye, Mary. It’s only… well, yer brother is already on his way and‒”

“That’s not a problem. I’ll just leave word here with my aunt telling him where we’ve gone. He can follow after and escort me back, same as he intended before.”

“That hardly seems fair to him. How old is the lad?”

Mary hesitated briefly. “George is fifteen, he’s old enough.”

Jamie swore under his breath. “We dinna even know where we’re headed yet. Could be as far as the colonies. And even if ye did accompany us on the journey and instructed yer wee brother to follow us… by time he arrives, ye willna be fit to make the journey again wi’ the bairn coming. You’ll have to have the baby in another country, alone.”

“I’ll be alone no matter where I am,” Mary pointed out and Jamie immediately regretted his words. “Doesn’t matter if I’m in Italy or France, the colonies or my father’s estate.”

Jamie sighed. “I still dinna like the idea. Ye’re finally safe here and under no obligation to help us further. I’m already indebted to ye for getting us this far. No, I couldna ask that of ye.”

“Good thing you didn’t ask then.” Mary straightened her spine. “And it’s… it’s me who’s indebted to you. If you hadn’t come to Inverness, I’d still be‒”

Jamie raised a hand in silent pleading. After all they’d been through since he’d knocked on her door in Inverness, there simply was no keeping score of how they’d aided one another. And he valued her friendship too highly to think of it as mere transactions.

He sighed loudly, hating the idea but seeing that determined look in Mary’s eye.

“Besides,” Mary added, “I’m not really doing this for you.”

He smiled cheerlessly, once again turning his gaze back to the red-headed toddler in his lap. For Claire, she’d said at the start. And it had never escaped his notice just how much Mary risked to repay Claire’s kindness, her friendship. “Well, I thank ye for it. Truly. Ye’re a good friend, Mary Hawkins.”

The evenings were always bittersweet in Edinburgh. It meant putting Faith to bed, a small routine that they’d carved out no matter where they were, and a time that Jamie always treasured. And it also meant once his child was asleep that there was nothing to preoccupy his mind, to keep his anguished thoughts at bay.

But before then, his complete attention was always on Faith.

“C’mere, lass.”

He scooped her up and headed toward the nursery where Faith slept. He felt her head rest heavy on his shoulder as they went, and her small hand patted his opposite shoulder gently.

He was helping her change into her nightgown when she sneezed. Three times in quick succession.

“Something tickling yer nose, a nighean?” he said lightly, though his hand went to her forehead and tried to gauge her temperature. Felt normal, but there was a small voice in the back of his mind ‒ Claire’s voice ‒ reminding him that unless the fever was very high, it was often hard to discern if someone had a fever by merely feeling for it.

Faith rubbed her nose with the back of her pudgy hand and looked up at him with glassy eyes. “Christ, I hope ye’re not sick.”

He took her wee face in his hands and pressed a kiss to her hairline, then rested his cheek there for a moment. She felt a little warm, but did that mean…?

Faith’s little hands wormed their way between them and pushed his face away. “No’ sick.”

He chuckled and pulled back, startled by her boldness, her certainty. A pint-sized force of nature, even if she was ‒ perhaps ‒ feeling under the weather.

But God in Heaven! He wished Claire was here for this. For all of it with Faith, but especially this. She would know better than him what to do if Faith got sick.

“Ye ready for bed then?”

She shook her head vehemently. “No’ yet, Da.”

“Not yet?”

Again, she shook her head, this time with a hint of a smile on her face. The more she learned to talk, the better she became at delaying her dreaded bedtime. She burst into a flood of speech ‒ not much of which was intelligible to Jamie, but she had something to say nonetheless ‒ which ended promptly with the word “story.”

“Ah. Ye’ll be wanting yer bedtime story then, is tha’ it?”

A curt nod from Faith.

“Aye, I can oblige ye there, mo chridhe.”

He stood and watched Faith scurry over to the small bed that was all her own. As was their nightly ritual, he situated Faith off to one side and pulled the covers up for her before carefully easing his six-foot-four frame onto the comically small bed, curled onto his side with his feet hanging over the ledge. A gentle breeze could’ve knocked him backwards off of the bed, but this was what he’d done the first night in this strange house when Faith had been too scared to sleep alone. Now, she slept well enough so long as he was there to tuck her in, give her a story. Once she was asleep, he would move her more towards the center of the bed before he left and retired to his own room.

“What story would ye like tonight, a nighean?”

“My mam?”

He exhaled a laugh. They were always about Faith’s mam. Even while he worried that Faith would never truly know Claire, it couldn’t stop him from wanting to talk about her to Faith. To help her understand the magnitude of Claire’s love for her, and that it wasn’t Claire’s fault that she wasn’t here now with Faith.

“Aye, I can tell ye about yer mam,” Jamie agreed softly. He started as he always did ‒ with a memory of Claire, whatever came to him in the moment. And he’d simply talk for as long as Faith needed, weaving one memory into another until he noticed her eyelids getting heavy, her breathing slowing to a steady rhythm.

“Ken yer mother was verra canny,” he prefaced his next story, slipping subconsciously into past-tense when he spoke of Claire. “What she didna ken about healing could fit in a shoe. After the Battle of Prestonpans, I was so weary and hurting ‒ got stepped on by a horse that day, ye ken, and och yer mam was furious wi’ me ‒ but I came back into the cottage to watch her, tending to the injured men. She was tireless and so determined…”

When Faith was finally out, he reached over and felt her forehead again, battling a sinking feeling that Faith truly was coming down with an illness. She’d been sniffling and sneezing, but that could be nothing. Or it could be the first sign of something more.

“A Dhia…”

He ached for Claire every minute of the day ‒ needed her like the very breath in his lungs ‒ but he’d never felt so wretchedly helpless without her until this moment. What would he do if Faith became sick?

Panic squeezed his heart in a vice grip. She was all he had now. Faith, still so wee and fragile, was the only thing keeping Jamie from careening off into the dark. And suddenly, he wasn’t even sure he could do this on his own.

He wanted to steal away back to the stones with Faith, to find some way to fix this. She should be with Claire ‒ she should’ve always been with Claire ‒ and it wasn’t right that they had been separated. That Faith couldn’t travel like her mother could.

Since he was a lad, he had a habit of speaking to his departed brother, Willie. Since Willie had been the oldest, he rightly should’ve been laird. So much of Jamie’s life growing up had been the result of Willie’s death. Honors that would normally befall the oldest son passed to Jamie instead, like fostering with his Uncle Dougal or continuing his studies in Paris. This had always been front of mind for Jamie, and when faced with a decision as Laird, he found it only respectful of Willie’s memory to ask his older brother’s thoughts on choices that should’ve been his to make.

Aye, the dead had a way of living with Jamie. He hadn’t only talked to Willie, but to the plovers along the shore, which legend said carried the souls of young mothers lost in childbirth. And he’d done this for years before he lost his da, but never once in the time since Brian Fraser’s death had he spoken to his father.

But suddenly, he found himself longing to pour his heart out to his departed father, in conversations he’d been too hesitant to have with the weight of Jamie’s misplaced guilt over Brian’s death. Suddenly, more than anything, he ached for one last conversation with his da.

“How did ye do it, Athair?” he whispered in the still room the question that had been plaguing him. He was intimately familiar with the pain his father would’ve suffered when his mam died. “How did you keep on living wi’out yer heart?”

The answer was there before him in the sleeping form of Faith. His father had survived for his and Jenny’s sakes, carried them through their grief and gave them hope. And though it felt impossible, though everything within him screamed that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be, Jamie would do the same for Faith as his father did for him. “I ken now the pain ye were trying to hide, Athair. But ye raised me and Jenny well despite it all. Help me do the same.”

His hand gently brushed over Faith’s wispy curls as he then addressed his sleeping child. “I’ve told ye plenty about yer mam, but nothing of my mam and da. We’ll need tae remedy that. Another time.”

He breathed in deep and then sighed heavily. “My da only ever kent me as a lad. Sometimes I wonder… if he saw me as I am today, would he be proud of me now? Would he approve of who I’ve become? And would I be much different from who I was before... or would he still recognize me as his son?”

His thumb softly stroked at her hair just above her temple before tucking a few wayward locks behind one tiny ear. “But I look at ye, Faith, and… there’s nothing ye could do that would ever change how I love ye. How I’m bursting at the seams with pride o’er ye. And that’s one thing I ken my da would’ve been very proud of,” he shifted slowly and pressed a kiss to Faith’s head before he finally stood, “My bairns.”

  It had been a week since they’d found Donas and they still didn’t have a crumb of information for where Jamie and Faith might be.

“Would it have been better to wait at Lallybroch in case he sent word? Before we went trampling across the country in search of him…” Claire wondered aloud.

“That would have taken months to wait for news to arrive.” Murtagh eyed her protruding belly, just starting to appear noticeable to others under all her layers of clothing. “Ye dinna have that kind of time to wait around.”

Claire sighed. “Aren’t we just waiting here, until we find a trace of him? Doesn’t feel much different.”

Murtagh didn’t reply, just made that Scottish sound low in the throat and eased into a chair.

There was a boyish shout from outside and Claire’s gaze flickered over to the window. Fergus was out in the street with another boy, playing some sort of game. She’d told him to go run some energy off after he’d been driving her up a wall all afternoon within the cramped confines of their rented room. They’d had no lead on Jamie even after finding Donas and that had hit Fergus hard. But even worse had been walking away without the horse that Fergus had loved so dearly ‒ all the time wondering why Jamie had sold him in the first place.

“What if they’re already gone from here? How long do we wait ‒ how long can we wait before the money is gone?”

They’d had no collateral of their own to offer up for the horse and even though they had some money ‒ money that they’d carefully skimped and saved during their journey before arriving in Edinburgh ‒ it wouldn’t last forever.

Murtagh grunted softly again. He’d heard her, he just didn’t have an answer.

Claire had even tried offering her services as a healer here when they first arrived. But Edinburgh was a bustling Lowland city, not a remote Highland village, and where those small populations would flock to Claire, the people of Edinburgh turned their nose up at her ‒ a strange woman they had no cause to trust or even to need in a large city such as this. So even the small hope of word getting out to Jamie of a Sassenach woman healer had quickly been dashed.

Her gaze sought out Fergus again and her heart sank in her chest. She wasn’t sure how much more disappointment they could shoulder before it became all too much. Or how much longer they could search before the only obvious solution was to turn home for Lallybroch.

Her hand fell to her belly. Murtagh was right about that at least. They didn’t have all that much time before there would be a baby to consider as well.

  The ports had reopened in Edinburgh ‒ but not without British control over what came in and out of the harbor. The sale of Donas helped provide enough to book passage on a ship, but they’d had to be careful in arranging it. Jamie had begun to notice the new broadsheets going up around Edinburgh and among them, one for Red Jamie. No doubt as the dust from Culloden began to settle, his disappearance hadn’t gone completely unnoticed.

He had followed the captain of a cargo ship recently docked in Edinburgh into a tavern one night. The captain ‒ a Scot through and through ‒ and Jamie swapped tales over drinks well into the night and only once he was sure the good captain had been plied with enough drink to make him amiable did he bring up the request to book passage with him.

“Ye dinna even ken where we’re going,” the captain laughed, his cheeks ruddy from drink.

Jamie laughed too, though he realized he’d made a misstep. That it might sound more suspicious now than if he’d learned of the destination first. Instead he tried to play it off as being cavalier. “Tell ye the truth… it doesna really matter where ye’re going, so long as it’s away from here.”

The captain chuckled and shook his head. They negotiated the price and sealed the deal there at that tavern table. “Write yer names down for me. I’ll have them added to the ship’s manifest. We sail in three days. Dinna be late.”

“And where are we sailing for?” Jamie finally asked.

“Och I thought it didna matter!” The captain roared with laughter again and Jamie reminded himself he couldn’t strike the captain that was giving him a way out of Scotland.

The captain stood to his feet, a bit wobbly at first try. Jamie thought of Mary and how she planned to leave a letter for her brother to be able to follow. How could he follow if he didn’t know where they went?

He opened his mouth to speak, but the captain clapped him hard on the shoulder and said, “Le Havre, man. We’re only going so far as Le Havre.”

In three days’ time, Jamie, Mary, and Faith were at the docks ‒ Jamie with his hair recently dyed black to cover his roots and Faith with her red hair tucked under a bonnet and then the hood of her cape as a precaution.

They would need to be allowed past by the Redcoat checking the ship’s manifest, the only hurdle standing between them and freedom. And having spoken with the captain that night in the tavern, they couldn’t fall back on their old gimmick of Jamie-as-a-mute. But this was a calculated risk he knew he would take, hoping that the time and miles between here and Culloden would be enough to shed any suspicion that he might be Red Jamie.

“Name?”

He met the eye of the Redcoat staring him down. “Alexandre Beauchamp,” he said evenly, letting a little bit of his admittedly imperfect French accent bleed into his thick Highlander dialect in hopes that it would at least confuse him. Off the surprised look from the man, he added with an easy smile, “I get that look a lot. My father was a Frenchman but my mother a Scot. Ye can see for yerself which side I favored in looks.” He could hide the red hair, but the towering height, the build of a man descended from Vikings… that could not be so easily hidden.

“And your companions?”

“My daughter, Faith Beauchamp, and Mary Hawkins.”

The man’s gaze flicked between Jamie and Mary, and though Jamie’s heart felt as though it might beat right out of his chest, this conversation was flowing exactly as he’d anticipated. They were almost through.

“And your relation to Mistress Hawkins?”

“My late wife’s sister. She’s accompanying me to care for my child.” It wasn’t terribly far from the truth ‒ and it was a necessity now to be able to explain why Faith called her Auntie Mary.

“And your reason for journeying to Le Havre?”

“My father’s family is there. My grandfather is in poor health and I must return.”

The Redcoat looked him in the eye again and Jamie knew what question came next. “And are you a Jacobite or have you ever aided the Jacobites in any way, Mr. Beauchamp?”

“No.” He was met with a look of vague suspicion and he mustered every ounce of easy confidence into next words. “I am not nor have I ever been a Jacobite, or a Jacobite sympathizer for that matter. And I never aided their cause in any way. I am loyal to the crown.”

The Redcoat quirked one eyebrow at that and Jamie felt his stomach twisting into knots. “They all say that… now.”

But with a quick jerk of his head, the Redcoat dismissed them. Jamie blinked, stunned for a moment that it had been that easy. Because even without proof… the Redcoats could have treated him any way they wanted. That was their claim as victors. They didn’t need a reason to not let him through and that had been the one variable Jamie couldn’t have planned for ‒ the mercy of a Redcoat.

He shifted Faith to one arm and moved past the man, ushering Mary ahead of him up the gangway to the ship.

“Sir! Wait.”

He froze, hearing the Redcoat’s voice ring out. Mary stopped too and whirled around to look back at him. His hold on Faith tightened and he turned slowly.

The Redcoat stared at him curiously.

Jamie forced a smile. “Have I forgotten something?”

“As a matter of fact…” the man held out his hand. In his palm was Sawny, which Jamie had given to Faith to keep her occupied. She must’ve dropped it.

“Ah. I thank ye, Corporal.” He grabbed Sawny and handed it back to Faith. “I would’ve had a verra unhappy child on my hands had that been left behind.”

He wasted no time waiting for a response and turned with Faith to head back up the gangway where Mary still stood. “Let’s go,” he uttered under his breath when they reached her. The sooner they could be at sea, the safer he would feel.

What he hadn’t expected to feel was the loss.

He held Faith in his arms as he stood by the railing and watched Edinburgh fade farther and farther away. Watched his homeland fade away, knowing they’d likely never return.

“Christ,” he muttered, blinking fast against the unexpected sting of tears.

Faith stretched her arm out in front of her, towards land, and waved.

“Ye saying goodbye, a leannan?”

“G’bye,” she echoed in a soft, song-like voice.

Ah but he would do it all again in a heartbeat for her, no matter the cost. It was always for her, for her wellbeing and chance at a happy life.

She grinned up at him ‒ not a trace of sickness, though they’d dealt with the sneezing and runny nose for a few days before she was back to her usual self. “Ken you’re mine, a nighean, but ye dinna have to rub my nose in it that yer stomach is as hearty as a sailor’s,” he teased her before moving below deck, where Mary was waiting. His stomach was already rolling and it was only a matter of time…

 July 1746

Claire was writing a letter to Jenny ‒ an update without much news, but she still wanted to keep Jenny apprised ‒ when Murtagh burst into the room, startling her violently.

“Jesus Christ!”

Without giving her much time to recover, he dove breathlessly into the reason for his unsettling arrival.

“I just spoke with a deckhand down at the docks, just come back from Le Havre.” Murtagh’s eyes were aglow and Claire tried to temper the hope buoying in her chest. “He said he remembers someone that looked like Jamie who booked passage on the ship last time they came through here. Said he was sick as a dog the whole trip… and he had a wee lass with him.”

Claire was trembling and her simple question came out in a frantic whisper. “When?”

Murtagh smiled broadly, his chest still heaving as he tried to get the words out without stopping for a breath. “Just last month. They’re in France, a nighean. We found them.”

She hardly recalled how she went from sitting at the desk to being wrapped up in an almost painful hug from Murtagh, shouting with joy to keep herself from bursting into tears.

“What’s going on?”

She pulled away from Murtagh to see Fergus enter the room, concern etched into his face.

“What happened?” he asked.

Claire couldn’t keep the smile from her face even as her vision misted over with tears. Not just for her joy of being reunited with Jamie and Faith, but for Fergus’s as well. “Murtagh found them, love. We’re going home!”

When Fergus ran to embrace her, she nearly stumbled backwards from the impact of it. She cupped the back of his head and held him tight, rocking slightly.

“We’re going home.”

“D’ye have everything then, Mary?”

“I believe so.”

Jamie turned to help Mary up into the carriage. Upon arriving in France, they’d gone first to Jamie’s Uncle Alexander at the Abbey of Ste. Anne de Beaupré, that being the closest and safest place to turn to. Jamie and Faith meant to stay on at the abbey a bit longer, but Mary needed to return to Paris, to her aunt and uncle who would welcome her into their home until her younger brother arrived.

“Wait. No. I did forget something in my room.” Mary turned and stepped down from the carriage. “I’ll be right back,” she yelled over her shoulder.

“It’s alright, lass. We have time.”

“Jamie!”

He turned to find his uncle exiting the abbey, making a path towards him. “Aye?”

“We’re expecting a delivery to the abbey today. Could you help them unload when it arrives?”

“Aye of course.”

It wasn’t long after his uncle had left him that he noticed the wagon jolting down the dirt road towards the abbey.

Nobody saw what spooked the horse pulling the wagon as it neared the carriage.

It happened too fast, the one horse trying to buck itself free of the wagon, and the team of horses hitched to the carriage panicking as a result.

One moment, Jamie was standing beside a carriage and the next, he was flat on his back with a searing pain in his leg and a crushing weight pinning his body down.

And then it all went black.

[cimerran-714]

Hello! I hope you're doing well. The purpose of this short "composition" is to closely analyze some of the key H/Hr moments in the books (I haven't watched all the movies, so you won't find anything about the films here).

And I know it should be obvious, but I seriously don't mind the R/Hr or H/G ship. It's none of my business. So please refrain from taking anything out of context/misappropriate the things I say. I mean absolutely no offence to any Canon pairings.

Even if you don't ship them, I'm sure you can't deny that both Harry and Hermione have an incredibly close platonic relationship together. I've heard people narrate some of the "finest" H/Hr moments while explaining why they're fit to be soulmates. There's a high probability that you'd come across them when talking to a H/Hr shipper. However, there are a few scenes in the books (which, in retrospect, are really 'sweet') I haven't heard others talk about often.

In this essay, I'd like to share some of the best scenes in the Potter books, immediately followed by an underrated moment.

Let's dig in.

Best moment:

The hug in Philosopher's/Sorceror's Stone.

Ah, isn't it obvious? This is certainly one of the finest moments that kickstarts the strong dynamic between Harry and Hermione. I really like this scene. It's powerful on a number of levels.

Romione shippers tend to provide a parallel to exemplify the attraction between the remaining members of the Golden Trio (Hermione apologizing about Scabbers and sobbing onto Ron's shoulders). But in my eyes, there's certainly something different about her hugging Harry.

Firstly, we've got to consider the context. When Hermione embraced Ron, it happened on the second page of a different chapter. On the contrary, anything that occurs at the end of any chapter/book sticks in our minds for a long time.

I'm going off on a tangent here, just to make sure you get the point. This trope (though I'm not sure I can it that) happens a lot of times in the Harry Potter books.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley... He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter -- the boy who lived!"

This scene hits home for a lot of reasons.

Look, most of us can't help feeling sorry for Harry here. His parents are dead, which (as McGonagall claimed) is a horrible thing to have happened. We've also seen at the beginning of the book that the Dursleys hate the Potters.

It's distressing to realize that a one-year-old is about to be raised by a family who doesn't like him at all.

And the fact that the entire wizarding world is celebrating Volde... sorry, You-Know-Who's downfall, while the boy sleeps on innocently (without any knowledge of what's just happened), is even more saddening. No, he simply couldn't know what'd happened to his life, that witches and wizards all over the country are toasting him.

It's bittersweet.

Moving on:

Deciding that he'd worry about the Hogsmeade form when he woke up, Harry got back into bed and reached up to cross off another day on the chart he'd made for himself, counting down the days left until his return to Hogwarts. Then he took off his glasses and lay down; eyes open, facing his three birthday cards.

Extremely unusual though he was, at that moment Harry Potter felt just like everyone else -- glad, for the first time in his life, that it was his birthday.

This is, yet again, another 'Aww' moment at the end of a chapter. How can you not feel sorry for Harry? Most thirteen-year-olds have already enjoyed a lot of birthdays in the past. But for him, it's something new.

He's glad that it's his birthday for the first time. If I didn't know better, JKR wants us to sympathize with Harry.

And here's a final example:

Harry spun around to see Hermione pointing her wand at Ron, her expression wild: the little flock of birds was speeding like a hail of fat golden bullets toward Ron, who yelped and covered his face with his hands, but the birds attacked, pecking and clawing at every bit of flesh they could reach.

"Gerremoffme!" he yelled, but with one last look of vindictive fury, Hermione wrenched open the door and disappeared through it. Harry thought he heard a sob before it slammed.

I do feel for Ron, getting attacked by a flock of birds was certainly uncalled for. But don't you get the point? The "sob" momentarily diverts our attention towards Hermione.

"Poor Ron, that must have hurt... oh, dear, Hermione's crying."

I think you know what I'm talking about. It's the same thing that happened when Hermione embraced Harry and called him a "Great wizard."

Yes, the H/Hr hug doesn't occur at the last line or anything, but it's certainly just a page before the chapter ends.

"But Harry -- what if You-Know-Who's with him?"

"Well -- I was lucky once, wasn't I?" said Harry, pointing at his scar. "I might get lucky again."

Hermione's lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her arms around him.

"Hermione!"

"Harry -- you're a great wizard, you know."

"I'm not as good as you," said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of him. "Me!" said Hermione. "Books! And cleverness! There are more important things -- friendship and bravery and -- oh Harry -- be careful!"

That's one reason why it's meaningful!

Also, note that Harry's just about to face the 'Big Bad' (at a moment when 'Danger lies ahead of them and safety lies behind'). No one's noticed them hugging, too.

And it wasn't in front of the Portrait Hall or anything, either.

It was deep beneath the ramifications of the castle. It was (probably) around midnight, too.

The situation (arguably, the fate of the wizarding world rests on Harry's shoulders now).

The dialogue ("You're a great wizard, you know" instead of "I'm so sorry about Scabbers")

The atmosphere (It was late at night).

The fact that they were just kids.

All of these make the hug so powerful.

Oh, and it was the first book in the series. 2- Underrated moment:

Harry (and yes, Ron too) saving Hermione from the troll.

What's interesting here is:

1- Harry was the one who immediately thought of Hermione after Dumbledore ordered the Prefects to take everyone to their dormitories (Not Ron).

2- Harry isn't smug about having just saved a stranger's life.

A stranger, moreover, who was considered "interfering".

On the other hand, Ron is a little git.

They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions. As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry suddenly grabbed Ron's arm.

"I've just thought -- Hermione."

"What about her?"

"She doesn't know about the troll."

Ron bit his lip.

"Oh, all right," he snapped. "But Percy'd better not see us."

It's pretty obvious that, if given the choice, Ron would rather not go after the girl he'd teased in class.

Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: He took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll's neck from behind. The troll couldn't feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry's wand had still been in his hand when he'd jumped - it had gone straight up one of the troll's nostrils.

Harry's saving both of their lives here (while endangering his own).

Remember that he's only eleven.

"We should have gotten more than ten points," Ron grumbled.

"Five, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's."

"Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron admitted. "Mind you, we did save her."

"She might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with her," Harry reminded him.

Ron thinks they were doing Hermione a favour. Harry, however, is a tad more level-headed. And sensible.

Also, it's somewhat of a stretch, but I believe it proves the point that Harry's true nature is like his mother's (James Potter had boasted around after he saved Snape's life).

Yes, I know it's such a cliche, but Harry is pure at heart.

3-Best moment:

The "mythical" Hippogriff ride:

Now, I've personally never thought much of it. It's a good chapter, yes, but bringing animals into a Shipping war is just... meh.

It's the trust that Harry had in Hermione (when she pulled out the Time turner) that interests me.

Anyhow, it's a pretty common argument posed by H/Hr fans.

Quoting from Wikipedia:

In some traditions, the hippogriff is said to be the symbol of love, as its parents, the mare and griffin, are natural enemies. In other traditions, the hippogriff represents Christ's dual nature as both human and divine.

It occurred in the wee hours of the morning, so I suppose it does have a slightly "mythological" (I can't think of a better word) feel to it.

Again, I'm not sure I can call it my favourite part of the book, especially as Hermione wasn't enjoying riding on Buckbeak.

Underrated moment:

Having fun talking about Filch and Madam Pince.

Enjoying the fact that they could speak normally again, they made their way along the deserted lamp-lit corridors back to the common room, arguing whether or not Filch and Madam Pince were secretly in love with each other.

For Romione shippers who believe that Harry and Hermione are "boring" together, it's a rude awakening.

No, the "arguing" doesn't mean they were actually in a disagreement. It's clear that both of them were having fun.

Enjoying their time, in fact.

It's one of the few 'Harmony' scenes in Half-blood Prince.

I do not believe that either of them was consciously aware of their feelings towards each other, either.

And if it's just a coincidence that they were enjoying talking about being in love, it's certainly a bizarre one.

4-Best moment:

Visiting Godric's Hollow together

"'The last enemy that shall be defeated is death'..." A horrible thought came to him, and with a kind of panic. "Isn't that a Death Eater idea? Why is that there?"

"It doesn't mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry," said Hermione, her voice gentle. "It means... you know... living beyond death. Living after death."

But they were not living, thought Harry. They were gone. The empty words could not disguise the fact that his parents' moldering remains lay beneath snow and stone, indifferent, unknowing. And tears came before he could stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing on his face, and what was the point in wiping them off or pretending? He let them fall, his lips pressed hard together, looking down at the thick snow hiding from his eyes the place where the last of Lily and James lay, bones now, surely, or dust, not knowing or caring that their living son stood so near, his heart still beating, alive because of their sacrifice and close to wishing, at this moment, that he was sleeping under the snow with them.

Hermione had taken his hand again and was gripping it tightly. He could not look at her, but returned the pressure, now taking deep, sharp gulps of the night air, trying to steady himself, trying to regain control. He should have brought something o give them, and he had not thought of it, and every plant in the graveyard was leafless and frozen. But Hermione raised her wand, moved it in a circle through the air, and a wreath of Christmas roses blossomed before them. Harry caught it and laid it on his parents' grave.

As soon as he stood up he wanted to leave: He did not think he could stand another moment there. He put his arm around Hermione's shoulders, and she put hers around his waist, and they turned in silence and walked away through the snow, past Dumbledore's mother and sister, back toward the dark church and the out-of-sight kissing gate.

If it was intended to be a totally platonic visit, why a pose that's very romantic? Also, as someone else had mentioned in their blog, Harry rarely (if never) initiates physical contact with anyone.

There's also a kissing gate present in the Church.

It seems as if JKR has got a flair for writing co-incidences that further cement the H/Hr relationship.

Underrated moment:

Ernie Macmillion's change of heart:

This is simply beautiful, and even more so as Macmillion was aware that Harry can speak Parseltongue (an ability commonly associated with Dark Wizards).

What happens when students are mysteriously turning into stone, and you figure out that one of them was "egging on" a snake during a duelling club? A boy, moreover, who dislikes the Muggles he lives with? Someone who managed to defeat Lord Voldemort himself?

Hmm...

The logical conclusion would be that Harry's got a hand in it. Ernie believed that Harry Potter was the one Petrifying everyone, even a few weeks/months after the attacks stopped.

What takes the Hufflepuff to bring him to his senses?

The fact that Harry would never harm his Muggle-born friend.

I know it's a little thing, but it shows that the whole school (indeed, Ernie belonged to a different House) was aware of how close Harry and Hermione were together.

Note that he'd apologized immediately after a double-attack.

"Harry, harm Hermione Granger? Impossible!"

Macmillian was the one being paranoid, and told tales about Harry to Hannah Abbot.

And yet a single thing changed his mind completely.

To wind up, I'mma give you another part from the first book:

It was as though an iron fist had clenched suddenly around Harry's heart. Over the rustling of the trees, he seemed to hear once more what Hagrid had told him on the night they had met: "Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die." "Do you mean," Harry croaked, "that was Vol-" "Harry! Harry, are you all right?" Hermione was running toward them down the path, Hagrid puffing along behind her.

What's noteworthy is that Hermione apparently doesn't care about staying close to Hagrid and protecting herself. She's so worried about what's happened to Harry that she's rushing along in front of Hagrid.

Throughout the books, you can see Harry being protective of Hermione.

The feeling's mutual ;)

[adsosfraser]

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Nine

Read on AO3

Jamie woke that morning, to his wife tangled around him. The singular thing driving him was between his legs. He kissed her neck and tugged at her skin with a sharp sting. Claire stirred and smiled up at him. Gathering her bottom lip between his teeth, his hands meandered down her shoulders, to the slope of her breasts, to her abdomen, and finally lifted the plump piece of flesh that he loved so much. 

 “Is this real? Are you real?” 

 “Would I do this if I was only a dream Sassenach?” He pinched the backside of her arse and grinned. She yelped in response and swatted his fingers away from the now stinging flesh. 

“You’re real.” She smiled and placed her palms on either side of his jaw. 

 “I’ll prove just how real enough I am lass.” He smirked and moved his hands away from her backside, further down to cup between her legs. 

 “Jamie. Stop.” Claire panted out. 

 “Have I hurt ye, Claire?” He immediately pulled away, hovering over her and softly brushing her sides. 

 “No, but there are some things I need to tell you… before we’re intimate.” 

 “Is this about Frank?”

 “What? No! Why on earth would you be thinking about him?” 

 “Well did ye?-” 

 “Once. But I didn’t encourage it.” Her lips tightened into a line. “This isn’t what I wanted to talk about Jamie.” 

 Before he could eek out a livid response, Claire jumped out of the bed towards the corner of the room. Pulling out a small silver box inside her leather bag, she plucked out a dome-shaped cup. She had two more tucked away in the small metal tin. Her hands then grabbed purchase of a small vial within her medicine bag. The objects flew onto the bed and she plopped down next to Jamie. 

 “This,” she pointed to the vial, “is a concoction of fennel and posies.”

 Jamie had grabbed the odd rubber cup and rolled it between his fingers. Claire swatted it out of his hands a little annoyed at her husband’s dirty fingernails; she would have to clean it again. 

 “And this,” she waved the small cup in front of his eyes, “is a diaphragm. Some call it a ‘womb veil’. These are all forms of birth control.” 

 “Birth… control?” He rolled out the syllables in his last word. 

 “Yes, preventative measures to avoid pregnancy.” 

 “Christ, ye would kill a bairn!” He immediately regretted his words as his wife recoiled and her eyes betrayed the hurt inside of her. 

 “No, because there would be none in the first place. It stops the sperm- seed from ever even getting into a woman to create the baby in the first place.” 

 “But surely God-” He spoke more softly. 

 “Would want me to use it.” Tears pricked at her eyes. “Jamie I’m not… I’m not ready.” Jamie shifted to hold his wife closer as the atmosphere changed from playful to sombre. “I couldn’t go through that again to not have my baby in my arms. I truly think it would kill me, it almost did.” 

 His heart softened at her admission and he knew he would do whatever would make her safe and happy, even if it meant a life of celibacy. But he hoped to God it would never come to that.

 “I dinna want ye to bear another child. I wouldna risk your loss Sassenach.” Jamie carefully pulled a curl away from her eye. “Not for a dozen bairns. We’ve Fergus and our nephew and nieces- weans enough. And our two beautiful lasses are wi’ God. So,” he paused to blink away the moisture in his eyes and swallow down the tightness of his throat, “if this wee diaphragm,” he rolled the word around his tongue, ”and posy is what’ll help ye I’ll gladly pick it fer you every day if that’s your wish.” 

 He picked up the diaphragm from her hands again, inspecting it more closely. “How does this wee thing work?” 

 “Well, I place it inside me so it covers my cervix, it should rest comfortably against my pubic bone.” 

 “Ye put that… inside ye?” He was completely disturbed by the thought. 

 “It’s not like there hasn’t been anything in there before, and I’d dare say it was even larger than that ‘wee thing’.” She grabbed a healthy hold of him to emphasise her point. 

 “Aye, that it is.” He looked down with pride and she rolled her eyes at him, but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. 

 “I’ll have to take the herbs one more week, to be safe. Can you wait for me?” 

 “I’d wait forever if it came to it, fer ye Sassenach, always.” 

 “Well, and we can always do other things.” She flipped Jamie to his back and her head travelled down his body to the curls nestled atop his pubic bone. “So long as you don’t, ‘spill your seed’ inside of me. Well inside my-” 

 He expressed his agreement with a loud grunt. 

 Six days later, Jamie was practically jumping in his skin with anticipation. He had gone back to the cave, much to Claire’s dismay. Instructing her to stay at Lallybroch, he wasn’t surprised when her head of curls popped into the shadows of the fire in his small sanctuary. He was very attentive, eager to make sure she kept up her steady intake of fennel and posy. They spent most of the days cuddling together and ignoring anyone else but themselves when he wasn’t out hunting for food. Most of the food was sent off to Lallybroch through Fergus. She didn’t want to admit it, but they were both avoiding their family’s disorderly presence and unanswerable questions. Fergus stopped by frequently and Claire was glad of the company while Jamie was off. Claire spoke to both Jamie and Fergus about her many childhood adventures; those stories were safe from the fresh pang of loss she had endured. But Jamie finally put his foot down on the final night when Claire got a crick in her neck and returned her back, but her wee hands gripped him hard into their bed. There would be no returning to the cave. 

 Claire wrapped a shawl around her and tiptoed to the window. The sunrise was almost over, bringing with it an unusually bright and cloudless day. She peeked down across the courtyard, and her blood turned cold. Jamie was pulling up his breeks over his sark. Without hesitation, Claire shoved Jamie into the small wooden closet of the Laird’s room and quickly pulled the laces of her skirt and bodice. Not a moment later, the door banged open to the sight of a pock-marked redcoat. His eyes scanned the room and landed on the closet. 

 “Where is he?” 

 Claire played dumb, not willing to speak to reveal that her accent would be the same as his. That would raise even more questions that she couldn’t possibly answer. The only thing she could think of at that moment was to play into the delicacy of her gender and faint into his arms. With an overdramatic flare of the back of her hand to her forehead, she slumped onto the floor. 

 Her prone position reminded her of another stiff surface. A cold metal sheet, uncaring hands, and a pressure in circles on her temples. Panic squeezed her throat and veins.

 “Captain! This woman needs assistance up here!” 

 But it was Jenny who appeared at the door, not the Captain. 

 She gathered Claire onto her lap as best as she could being so far along in her pregnancy. “Oh no! My puir cousin! Ye see she had a great fall one day. The tragedy took her speech and now she has spells such as these all the time. I’m heart sorry ye had to see that Corporal…?” Claire relaxed into the familiar arms, so different from the ones that had restrained her.

 “Lieutenant Wilson.” He puffed out his chest.

 “Weel, Lieutenant, as ye can see my cousin Mistress Malcolm has taken up residence in this room recently. Bless her soul, the accident that stole her speech took her husband as well.” 

 The redcoat placed his tricorn over his heart and bowed his head. “Terribly sorry madame. Thank you for your cooperation.” 

 “O’ course, now away wi’ ye, we must prepare yer meal.” 

 Jenny was panting and gripped Claire’s hand when the soldier whipped out of sight. Liquid seeped down her skirts and to the stone floor below. “Jenny-” 

 “We must tend to the redcoats first.” 

 “No. Jenny. You’re only eight months along. We need to see to you immediately.”  

 “The Lieutenant-” 

 “Can go hang. Ian and Mrs. Crook will see to them.” 

 Jamie slipped out undetected down to the root cellar.

 Jenny cursed, screamed and paced around her room. The midwife was impossible, refusing to sanitise properly before touching Jenny and Claire finally kicked her out. No woman like that would be touching her sister nor her future niece or nephew. Jenny slumped into the bed with Claire’s help when her labouring was over. Caitlin Maisri Murray was impossibly tiny when she met the world. No screams wrenched through her tiny lungs and Claire was immediately pressing the child to her thigh. Her forefinger and middle finger pushed into her chest and she breathed into the limp body. Finally, her chest heaved two minutes later, and her loud banshee shrieks filled the room. Her niece was a fighter. With her help, she would weather her first days, which would soon turn into thousands. 

 She had taken up massaging the baby girl to soothe her traumatised muscles from the hard birth. Claire cradled her niece’s turned head carefully in her hand and propped her stomach on her legs. Her hands began to deftly massage the exhausted baby’s back, legs, and arms, and once she was finished she gave a small peck to her wee nose. She still had a lot of growing to do to recover, but Claire was certain she would become a scraggly and loose-toothed toddler and a beautiful teenager before growing into the mature young woman she could envision her as now. Opening her bright eyes, moisture gathered at the corner of her aunt’s eyes in reaction to the brilliant colour. They were so like Jamie’s, and she knew not all babies kept their original colour, but she hoped. Would her daughters’ eyes have looked like this?

  The men had all dispersed for drinks in the Great Room downstairs and Claire brought Ian over to the side to share the great news. She signalled with her hands to keep up the pretence of her muteness but whispered quietly with nearly closed lips as well to Ian. The Captain, Claire presumed, sauntered over to her and held out a paper. Laird MacKenzie sprawled across the material in an adolescent scrawl. 

 “A letter for your Mistress. We thank you for your hospitality and wish her congratulations.” Claire nodded and tucked the paper into the pocket beneath her skirts. 

 It was dark, the middle of night, and Jamie snuck back in when the redcoats mounted their horses. He fell asleep immediately tucked into his wife. She grabbed the small grey tin from within her leather bag and pulled out the diaphragm. She adjusted it inside her until it laid comfortably and sighed. It had been days since her return, filled with distress and sickness, panic and dismay, and the events of the past few months had come crashing down upon her once again. She needed her husband. Crawling over him, he woke from his slumber. He grinned up at her and slowly came back to reality. 

 “Thanks to yer quick-thinking Sassenach, not only was my life saved but my wee niece and all in Lallybroch.” 

 “You saved my life James Fraser, on more accounts than one. I thought it might be fair for me to return the favour.” Claire smirked and rolled their bodies so she straddled him. “And not only that, I want to protect you forever Jamie. To see you safe until we’re old and grey, with an army of grand nephews and nieces, and the grandchildren Fergus will bless us with, to surround us. You can’t get rid of me ever again.” She softly kissed his forehead, along his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and slowly brushed her lips against his eager ones.

 “Och, Sassenach. Stuck with ye for life? I can think of worse.” He stared back at his wife with mischief in his eyes and adjusted his body so they were both on their sides.

 Claire rolled her eyes as she lightly slapped his arm. She leaned even closer to him, which seemed impossible with their skin flushed up together already. Her thumb trailed a line across his bottom lip and she replaced it with her own mouth. 

 “Make love to your wife.” She whispered, obstructed by his lips but he heard her like his life depended on the very cadence of her voice. Claire let go of his lips to kiss the spot behind his ear that made him squirm. “Make love to me Jamie.” 

 Their lovemaking was frantic, both seemingly clawed to possess every inch of skin.

 When they laid dazed on their backs, recovering from their post-coital bliss, Jamie lightly pressed his fingers onto the fading burns on her stomach and traced up to the two identical circles on her temples. Her hand found the healing scar on his thigh and she stroked over the raised skin. She looked at the large gash across her husband's thigh, still red with the newness of the injury. 

 “How?” 

 “Culloden.” He gritted out. “How?” 

 Her hands guided his towards her stomach. “The stones.” Now, her temples. “Boston.” 

 She didn’t want to discuss it any further, just as he was reluctant to share the details of that dreary morning on the moor. She neglected the scar on her breast and he didn’t push any further for her to speak on it. Would he feel ashamed of her truth? Of course, he wouldn’t, but she did. It was difficult for her to think back on. Speaking on it would make it true, so she kept those memories locked tight in her brain. Maybe, with more time she could heal, and she would share everything with him completely like they once had been. 

 “Boston?” 

 “Danvers State Hospital to be specific. Or as some call it- will call it the State Lunatic Hospital at Danvers. Frank put me there when I-“ 

 “Frank did this to you?” Jamie’s teeth clenched in anger and Claire could feel the heat radiating from his skin onto hers. “If he were here, I’d fight him fer ye Sassenach. I should ha’ never sent ye to him.” 

 “You couldn’t possibly have known. You were doing what you thought best, with the information we had at the time.” 

 “What is it, that left these scars on your puir heid?” 

 “They’ll fade. Soon there won’t even be a scar, I’m sure.”

 “I dinna care about how they look on ye Sassenach, I care that ye went through pain to have them, I would ha’ gladly taken it myself.” His eyes were glossy as he implored her. “Now tell me.” 

 “In the asylum, they had these new treatments, electric shock therapy. They place these two rubber circles wrapped in like socks or something attached to a headband on your temples, and send volts of electricity through your brain. Like harnessing lightning right to your head.” His grip tightened, appalled at his wife’s description. “My mind was hazy for days, I couldn’t do much but stare listlessly at walls. I saw Fergus then, on the first night following the treatment, though I’m not sure he saw me.” 

 “He yelled out fer ye, almost at the same time every week.” 

 “Oh.” It felt better to know those nights he was truly there. “I was in there for little over a month, so I only had to endure it two times- wait no three, I think. I was a lot luckier than others, who were prisoners there for years on end. I shiver to think what that would have been like, a prisoner to your own mind and unable to say no to your jailer, or even saying no but them being apathetic towards your plight.” 

 “Fer all ye speak o’ the future, it doesna seem much better than now.” 

 “It’s true, some people use their innovations for evil then, that’s why the war I was in started. Evil exists in any time, in any place.” 

 “Weel I’m glad yer here in my arms, away from those mad bastards, and I know I can be there to fight anyone who wishes ye ill.” Her thigh began rubbing between his. 

 “I am too Jamie. So much.” 

 Laird and Lady clung tight to each other in their bed, in their home knowing they would have to leave tomorrow.

[firstfrostfall]

A Cold Lament - Chapter Four

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

Anna knew what business the Shelby’s were in. They were gangsters, plain and simple.

There was an earlier time in her life where even the very idea of that particular business frightened her. But things were different now. She was different now.

Really, nowadays, she was content to live and let live. She didn’t care much for what other people did, or how they made a living, as long as she could exist somewhat peacefully. That was all she wanted.

When she arrived in Birmingham, most of the men were away at war, meaning that most gangs in the area were few and far between, including the Peaky Blinders.

Her first run-in with a Blinder wasn’t until a few months after the fighting had ended, and the men suddenly returned home en masse in the early days of 1919.

It was also around that time where Anna attempted to forge a rebellious streak for herself. She had been cooped up inside of their tiny home almost all day every day with her cousins, save for a few trips to the market and back, of course. Her aunt worried too much to let her niece venture off in the city by herself.

But Anna craved for the opportunity to prove to her aunt that she was just fine. That she could go about the city on her own. Back in Eastcliff, she was able to come and go from her home whenever she pleased.

So, one night, Anna decided to sneak out.

It was late, too late. Late enough that midnight had long already passed, and the wee third hour was just moments away from ringing. She climbed out of their first-floor kitchen window and, rather unceremoniously, tripped onto the sidewalk (she had a terrible bruise on her hip for days after).

She wandered from street to street, gawking at how ominous the neighborhood looked in the dark. Even under the shroud of night, the sky was still laced with a thick layer of smog from the factory chimneys. She couldn’t help but smile at how good it felt, the cool night air, that buzzing sense of stolen freedom.

At some point, however, she had gotten herself lost, despite the fact that she had been living with her aunt in the city for a little over a year. Fortunately, she knew the area well enough that she could at least find the grocer, and from there, she would be able to find her way home.

It was a fine and dandy plan until she took the wrong turn down the wrong street, which led her through an alley, where she stumbled upon something that was surely not meant for her eyes.

She watched as a man in a flat cap beat the living hell out of another individual. A few others stood by and observed, all wearing similar caps. A lump formed in her throat as she stood there, the sounds of the beaten man begging for mercy ringing in her ears, the rusty color of blood on the assailant’s knuckles. She surely felt her heart stop beating when the man removed the cap from his head and began swiping at his victim’s face with it, his cries growing louder with each slice.

There’s something in his cap, she thought, there must be a blade in his cap.

Anna knew this city was different from Eastcliff, of course, but she didn’t think she would see something like that with her own eyes. She wasn’t going to scream but placed a hand over her mouth anyway. In situations like that, you can’t scream. Instead, she backed out of the alley slowly, and then ran to the grocer, and ran home. She fought back the tears that welled in her eyes.

When she finally got home, her aunt was frantic, frightened, afraid. Apparently, one of her cousins had snitched on Anna’s master escape plan, and her aunt was moments away from ringing the police. Her aunt sobbed with relief when her niece came barreling through the door, and then, as any parental figure would, she got mad. Her aunt asked her a million questions. What were you thinking?! I thought you were smarter than this, Anna. It’s dangerous out there, especially at night.

Anna started crying and told her what happened, what she saw. Her aunt had wild eyes and kept asking about their caps.

Her aunt then explained who the men in the flat caps were. Gangsters, part of an even larger organization. The Peaky Blinders, she called it.

They were big in the city before the war, but most of them were shipped off to France, and now that they were home, they would be big again. She told Anna that they were in a gang, yes, but they were good to the little people. They would offer protection for a price. That they were more than just a gang, they were a business.

Anna thought she was going to throw up. She couldn’t shake the images of the weeping, bloodied man in the alley from her mind. She had only read about gangsters in books or heard about them in stories her grandfather would tell about times where he had to take the train into the seedy parts of London. There weren’t any gangsters in Eastcliff. No, certainly not.

The same few questions gnawed at her stomach in the days following the attack.

They were good to the little people, offering protection for a price. That phrase made her resent her aunt for a while. How could she be justifying the actions of an “ organization” that brutalizes people? What good would come from beating a seemingly helpless man within an inch of his life?

However, as time passed, Anna learned that the world was a little grayer, and a little bleaker, and a whole lot darker than the breezy seaside town that she grew up in. The world wasn’t just good or bad- it was a terrifying mix of the two. She felt painfully naive and then accepted the notion to live and let live. She had bigger things to worry about than what gangsters did in the city. She had to help make ends meet with her aunt. At the very least, the gangsters weren’t stealing food from their table.

The day before her first shift at The Garrison, her aunt sat her down for tea and gave her a stern warning.

I didn’t want to scare you before your interview… but these people are serious, Anna. Polly is a friend, and I know that no harm will come to you. You’re good, Anna. I know you’re good. Remember when I told you that the Peaky Blinders look out for the little people? This job is an example of that. Mind your own business, be respectful, and speak when spoken to.

When she got the job through the Shelby’s, whom she now knew were the heads of the Peaky Blinders, she realized that maybe her aunt was right. That they were good to the little people. And after meeting Polly, she believed that even more. She was kind.

But there was another thing Anna remembered about them, too. That they were good to the little people for a price.

What would her price be?

She started to notice the flat caps more and more, like the one Mr. Shelby had sitting on the booth beside him during her interview.

On her first day at The Garrison, Harry gave her a similar warning, too.

She knew the deal, speak when spoken to, keep to herself. Although, she supposed she was pushing it with Mr. Shelby. In fact, she was still reeling in embarrassment over telling him to call her Anna.

Perhaps the rebellious streak still lived inside of her. Like a little bird trapped inside of a cage, vigorously flapping its wings and cawing, desperate to come out. She felt like a mystery, tucked away in her aunt’s house, and now in her own lonely flat. She hoped this job would change that.

But then again, she was content to simply let things live and let live.

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A little over two weeks had gone by since her first shift. Anna wasn’t an amazing barmaid (by any means), but she was getting the hang of things. Slowly, she was getting the hang of things.

Polly would come in to say hello, or rather, check on her, usually before an evening mass where she would see her aunt at church. Always asking if she was getting home okay, or if anyone was giving her trouble. Anna told her she was fine each time, like clockwork. She really was fine, nothing she couldn’t handle (yet).

One evening, a young man, who was more of a boy really, came rushing into the pub asking for Harry. He wore a flat cap that was far too big for him, and his eyes were as wide as saucers. Harry spoke to the boy quickly, his own cheeks turning beet red by the end of their conversation.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and tossed a stained rag onto the bartop with an audible sigh.

“Is everything alright?” Anna asked in passing, glancing at him from the corner of her eye while she poured a drink for a patron.

“Yes, yes,” Harry’s voice trailed off, clearly preoccupied.

She didn’t want to pry, so she simply nodded, and continued on with her work. Harry paced back and forth for a bit, opening and closing his mouth quickly to speak each time he walked past her.

Finally, he started talking.

“Do you think you can close up tonight?”

The question tinged that hidden rebellious streak in her, the tiny bird inside of her chest started fluttering its wings.

“Of course, I can take care of things from here.”

Harry's shoulders sagged in relief. As he untied his apron, he gasped. “But can you get home by yourself?”

Anna nodded, a little too fiercely, and cleared her throat. “Without a doubt.”

He stared at her for a few moments too long, skeptical, before continuing to untie his apron and folding it over his forearm. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

She flashed him her best smile, but he still looked hesitant. “Mrs. Gray said I was to escort you home.”

Anna waved a hand at him. “It’s just one night. I know the way home from here like the back of my hand now.”

That response was good enough for him it seemed. He nodded and took hurried strides toward the back room. Anna exhaled a sigh of relief. The bird inside of her started cawing.

Much to her relief, the rest of the evening was fairly slow. She assumed it was because the weather was so cold. Cold enough that not even the thirstiest man would venture out of his home for a beer tonight. Only a few regulars here and there, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. In fact, she only spilled one drink and managed to keep her blouse clean. It was a new personal record.

When the sky grew dark and the night was waning to the early hours of the morning, she tucked a butter knife into her apron. She felt silly, of course, but it was better than nothing. Perhaps she could whack a potential assailant with the mop from the back room.

There was about half of an hour left until close, and Anna kept herself busy by trying to work out a scuff that was on the floor. She tied her hair back into a tidy bun at the nape of her neck and scrubbed at the floor. Her wrists ached.

“Good to see you’re keeping busy.”

Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest. She gasped, rather unceremoniously, and dropped the soaked rag to the floor with a smack.

A pair of glossy shoes were in front of her. Slowly, she trailed her gaze up past a sharp tweed suit, only to reveal that it was Mr. Shelby who towered above with a perfectly balanced cigarette between his lips. His nose and cheeks were tinged red, and the collar of his winter jacket was pulled up close around his neck. A testament to the weather that evening.

“Oh, it’s just you.” Anna sighed with a wry chuckle, wiping a forearm across her brow with a sigh. “You gave me a fright.”

“Where’s Harry?”

“He had other business to attend to,” She said as she dropped the rag into the soapy bucket. “He won’t be back this evening, I’m afraid. I’ll be closing up.”

“You’re closing up alone?”

Anna simply nodded. “I meant to lock the door, I must’ve forgotten. I was too busy working out that scuff on the floor.” She gestured to a particularly polished plank on the floor. “I’m quite pleased with myself.”

Mr. Shelby, on the other hand, didn’t look nearly as impressed as he stared down at her, his eyes piercing as ever. She grimaced, realizing that she was still sitting on her knees with the sleeves of her blouse pushed up around her shoulders. Not ladylike at all.

She cleared her throat and stood up, patting out excess dust from her apron. In the process, she felt the outline of the butter knife in her front pocket. She felt her cheeks grow warm, her pathetic attempt at self-defense with a knife that could barely cut a loaf of bread would have been embarrassing to explain. Forcing a smile, she reached for the bucket and lugged it behind the bar. “Can I get you a drink in the meantime?”

He nodded and jerked his chin to a specific bottle.

The pub was silent while Anna fixed a drink for him, the only other noise came from the wind outside that rattled the windows.

“Is he coming back to walk you home?”

Anna shook her head. “He offered, but I insisted that I could do it myself.” She corked the bottle. “It’s just one night.”

Mr. Shelby clicked his tongue against his teeth, a smirk quirking at the corners of his mouth. “What about Polly’s instructions?”

“He seemed to be in quite the hurry, I didn’t want to trouble him.” She slid his drink toward him with a smile. “It’s one night, and far too cold for anyone to give me a hard time.”

Mr. Shelby hummed in response and took a sip of his drink. She didn’t want to hover while he was drinking, so she gave him a curt nod and continued her work around the bar. Sweeping the floor, wiping down tables, cleaning soap scum from glasses. It was all very monotonous.

Without turning toward her, he placed his cap on his head and said, “I’ll walk you home.”

“Oh, Mr. Shelby,” She blinked, pausing mid-sweep. “It’s too cold.”

“You said you live nearby, yeah?”

She nodded when he glanced at her from over his shoulder.

“Then you’ll be on the way home for me,” He said dryly. “Polly’s instructions are something to be followed.”

“Well, that is incredibly kind of you. Thank you. I just have a few more things to clean, I’ll be quick.” Anna laughed under her breath, returning her attention to the broom in her hands. When did she start gripping it so tightly?

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Mr. Shelby walked a few steps ahead of her the whole time. Normally, Anna would have felt funny in the silence, she hated it, but it was far too cold to even pretend to be chummy. So, she happily trailed behind him, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her coat.

“Right here,” She pointed to the building in front of them. It was dreary and gray, even in the hazy orange light of the street lamps.

They stood in the damned silence for a moment, before Mr. Shelby cleared his throat. “You live there alone?”

The question was slightly off-putting. Employer or not, being asked that question so late at night by an almost stranger was certainly... uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Anna answered quickly. “I used to live on the next street over with my aunt.”

“I live around there.” He motioned to the other street with the jerk of his head.

“Whereabouts?”

“Watery Lane.”

“I’ll be,” Anna replied, warming up. Perhaps pretending to be a little chummy wasn’t too terrible after all. “I suppose that makes us neighbors, doesn’t it?”

He hummed in response, never looking directly at her, instead, his eyes were fixated on the building in front of them.

Sensing that the conversation was ready to come to an end, Anna took a few steps backward toward her flat.

"I won't keep you any longer. I'd invite you in for tea, but I suspect I'd be poor company. I could fall asleep at any moment." She felt stupid, filling the silence when it didn't need to be filled.

He tipped the brim of his cap to her.

“Thank you for walking me home, Mr. Shelby.”

“It was no trouble.”

A lie, she thought. It was late and dark and cold. It was certainly trouble for him. But, she appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

Anna stopped short on the front steps when she heard him say her name.

“Goodnight, Anna.”

As she turned around to look at him, he was already walking away.

Hell, she didn’t even know his name.

[secret-engima]

spideypoolalways

Does Regis ever ask how Titus has papers for the boys? Whats Cor or Clarus' PoV of this? What are some things (fluff or humor) that the boys get up to? Because I can see them getting adopted into the Ulric Clan because of shenanigans and Nyx going 'Yes, these are my people' since LCs just remind me of Ulrics with magic. And how do the Galatians take to the nephew of the Nif Chancellor and clone of the Crown Prince? Since I'm imagining that Titus told some of them and the

spideypoolalways

rest are guessing anyway. And does everyone assume that Noctis and Nox's magics resonated since they're kinda sorta close to each other/are the same person? How does Regis take the news that the only reason that Noctis got healed is because Nox pretty much felt everything Noctis did? /Both/ of his sons were basically attacked by a daemon and he only knew about one of them at the time and didn't do anything to calm or reassure Nox? (Clarus: Only because you didn't know

spideypoolalways

About him, Regis. Regis: Thats no excuse, Clarus.) Does Iris get to be a Shield or did Nox latch onto Axis or one of his kids? Does Acastus find Prompting and drop him off with Noct/Cor? Does Nox hang out with Noct, Ignis, Gladiolus and Prom all the time or does the memories act up enough to make him feel weird about it? How does Regis take his brother and son's Sick Days? What about Dissidia? The 3 youngest Royals getting snatched and the group watching on Crystal

spideypoolalways

Vision? Dad Titus/Regis freaking out over their kids having been summoned to a death match? And how exactly does Titus see the boys? Sons, brothers, cousins? Oooh, more Trauma. Noct, Nox and Acastus w/others playing and end up in the Crystal room. Cue the boys lighting up, maybe passing out because the magic hits their young system really hard (its why Royals aren't supposed to be Presented until 18) and everyone freaks out, and news makes it to Regis and Titus that they

spideypoolalways

Are in the infirmary and the gist of what happened via panicked guards and rush there immediately and are jumped by panicked kids talking and crying about what happened. I didn't realize I had so many questions. But now I need to know. 👀👀 Please!🙏

spideypoolalways

Oh! Just remembered a little more! Does anyone pick up on the people/places that he shouldn't know? Do they assume that Nox got some of it from Noct, like with the Marelith? Or are they assuming LC/ Oracle DNA mix?

Me: Yes, Regis asks about the papers and Titus doesn’t OUTRIGHT admit he did an illegal but he does grudgingly explain that he needed papers in case the NIfs came looking and he ... knows ... a few people who can help ... “recreate” papers for refugees who lost theirs in whatever fire or tragedy drove them from their homes.

Regis mulls over that for ten long seconds then blatantly pretends he never heard it in the first place. Those “people” likely saved the life of his son and half-brother, he can let it slide this once.

I need Nyx Ulric to adopt these two now JUST so Nyx can tease that he’s related to Captain (then later when he learns that they’re Lucis Caelums he can quietly die in a corner because OH NO HE’S RELATED TO THE KING). Not sure how or when Nyx adopts them, but he absolutely does.

It probably happens when he's just a wee bit sloshed. Not enough to be incoherent or insincere, but enough that he doesn’t feel any fear offering to adopt the pair while babysitting them because Captain had to work late and Nyx is off the combat roster until his ankle heals. Once he’s sober he is a Panic™, but Captain takes it surprisingly well and Nox loves his new braid. Acastus just looks Amused™.

Lib slaps Nyx over the head because IDIOT THINK THIS STUFF THROUGH then gives him another drink because TWO MORE ULRICS. It’s a good thing Nyx is an Ulric Keeper in this AU, because he can teach them most of the Ulric Clan stories and dances and make them proper Ulrics.

Acastus loves introducing himself as Acastus Ulric Drautos, both because it’s fancy like “Lucis Caelum” is and also because it made both Titus and Nyx spit their coffee the first time they hear it.

The Galahdians ... have mixed feelings at first. But the predominant one is that it doesn’t matter that this kid is clearly related to the Chancellor (at first they all think the Chancellor bedded Captain’s Aunt, since they don’t know about the LC blood, and that’s why he looks like Ardyn) because Captain has clearly staked a claim on him. Galahd (in my HCs) is a Very Adoption Heavy culture and big on judging people by their current family rather than any previous blood ties, so ... mostly the Chancellor thing gets intensely ignored. Acastus isn’t an Izunia, he’s a Drautos (and then later an Ulric). So they will treat him as such.

But in private there is some debate on exactly what happened, for the Chancellor to vanish around the time his ... relation (son? They mostly assume son), shows up in Drautos’s care.

No few number of them think Titus stumbled on Ardyn with the two kids and killed the Chancellor to save them.

For Nox ... the Lucis Caelum blood is basically impossible to hide. This boy LOOKS like a literal carbon copy of the Prince but younger and he’s young so his control over his magic is ... not. Not that good. Especially not when there’s so mUCH of it.

All of Galahd listened to the Glaive who was on babysitting duty when Nox had a rare tantrum and skewered the wall with ghostly blades and all privately, immediately agree to Never Tell Anyone. Ever.

Well. To be fair, they do debate whether they have a duty to tell Regis, but again the Adoption Culture comes into play and they decide it’s up to Titus to spill that secret. A few Glaives do ask Titus about it (Titus nearly has a heart attack because SINCE WHEN DID THEY KNOW) and when they ask if they know who the mother was, Titus looks very grim and very, very quiet for a long time, then admits:

There is no mother. There never was.

They stare at him in confusion until Acastus, lurking nearby with too-sharp eyes, gives a smile that could cut and says brittlely that “amazing things that can be done with science these days you know. Truly amazing. Why, get a blood sample and a tank of the right solutions and you could probably grow anything you wanted”.

The Glaives are Horrified™. So is the rest of Little Galahd when it gets around and then is made a Clan Secret by all the Clans unanimously. The secret never leaves the borders of their little slum.

Also yes, people assume that Noctis’s and Nox’s magic resonated because Nox is a clone and it freaks them out.

Regis is Such A Guilt when he finds out how Acastus knew about Noctis’s injury. No it doesn’t matter that he DIDN’T KNOW NOX EXISTED. One of his son’s (his FIVE YEAR OLD son) was suffering. Was screaming in agony and terror and Regis didn’t do a THING about it and no amount of logic can make that better.

Nox latches onto Axis’s triplets in this AU so while Iris will be best friends with him, his Shield, Hand, and Sword are actually all made up of Axis’s three kids. Axis is a BIT of an internal Scream when Nox is at the age people start making noises about him building a Retinue and taking Iris as his Shield and Nox goes, “NO. I have a Shield already! A Hand and Sword too!” And stuff spirals out to reveal Axis as Clarus’s kid (Clarus takes it much better than Axis thought he would, tho Axis didn’t expect to see Lord Amicitia go deathly pale and sit down hard in the nearest chair).

Honestly Iris might be the future love interest in this AU you never know. It would be hilarious if nothing else.

Bold of you to assume Acastus didn’t find Prompto early and bring him home to NOX because “Look Beloved Nibling I Found You A Friend!”. Prompto is a confusion because Nox is like- 4 at the time. But Prompto likes babysitting and playing with Nox and hearing Acastus’s stories and Titus just kinda- sighs his way through the playdates until he realizes that Prompto has been staying in his house for about two weeks with no sign of the parents.

Titus, after much snooping later, sitting at the kitchen table of Grandma Ostium quietly pulling his hair out: HOW DO YOU ADOPT A THIRD CHILD. DOES IT COUNT AS KIDNAPPING IF THEY COME OVER AND STAY WITH YOU FOREVER AND THE LEGAL PARENTS NEVER NOTICE. ACASTUS WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME.

Acastus: I regret nothing. Do you want me to fake Prompto’s death? I’m sure there’s enough Prompto’s out there that nobody will notice if you gain a nephew called Prompto Drautos.

Titus, holding his face in his hands while Grandma Ostium laughs at him in the corner: NO, ACASTUS. DO NOT FAKE THE DEATH OF THE CHILD. How do you even know how to do that? Nevermind I don’t want to know.

Roughly a year later when Everything Gets Revealed, Titus and Cor: *intense staring contest over Smol Blond Child*

Cor: You don’t know where he-

Titus, growling like a cranky Behemoth that might very well bite off someone’s head: He’s a Niflheim created clone. I know.

Cor: ....

Titus: He's been living in my house for a year. I’ve seen the barcode. It’s not like I wasn’t raising one already.

Cor: His legal parents-

Titus: Is me. The Argentums were emotionally neglectful and didn’t even notice when he hadn’t come home for a week and a half.

Cor: *guilty angry silence*

Titus: ...Kid could use an uncle. If you want to man up and be part of his life.

(hgfhg this is post is getting long Imma try to speed through the last questions a bit)

Yes, Nox hangs out with the Chocobros when he can because he adores them (especially Brother Prompto and Team Mom Iggy) but he also has his own friend group in the Little Galahd community so it doesn’t strike anyone as odd really. Nox is a naturally loving child for all he’s shy and Iggy and Gladio are Noctis’s friends and Prompto is his adopted brother (and later Noctis’s best friend).

Regis does Not take the Sick Days well. It makes him alarmed and angry because Lucis Caelums aren’t supposed to get sick days from their own magic and it speaks of BAD THINGS that both of the presumably experimented on and tortured LCs have them.

I’m going to have to come back to Dissidia another time (someone remind me) because this post is too long to ramble here but it would be- it would be Great. Honestly. It would either be the 3 littlest, just Acastus, or just Acastus and REGIS for some brotherly bonding and any of them would be Great and Chaotic. Crystal-o-vision absolutely happens.

The Crystal Room is under 24 hour guard so I don’t think the kids could wander in by accident, plus Acastus would actively avoid the area because of his Trauma.

Now Acastus being presented when he turns 18 on the other hand... >:))))))

Short Version: Much shouting, much alarm, much angst from Regis and Titus and everyone and also the first Sick Day Acastus has had since he turned 17 and by far one of the worst he’s ever had in his (second) life.

I might to a longer version later but not right now.

For Nox’s oddities and odd knowledge they kind of assume both? At first they think it’s just him resonating with Noctis so deeply that there’s a transfer (cue angst from Regis because what is going to happen to Nox when Noctis fulfills his destiny as Chosen King???) but then when Nox starts knowing stuff Noctis doesn’t/can’t know, they start to wonder if the scientists ... Tampered with his DNA. If they got their hands on Noctis’s, which should have been impossible, then it’s not all that out there they got their hands on Oracle DNA.

Sylva is ... very alarmed and very confused when Regis secretly contacts her on a secure encrypted line to ask if there were any ... symptoms to look for in an Oracle child. Because- yes there were but WHY DO YOU NEED TO KNOW?

Regis: they wouldn’t happen to be *lists very specific things*

Sylva: ....Have you seen any Messengers nearby lately.

Regis: Carbuncle, a black puppy that disappears into thin air, and a bird woman who can summon wind storms. She calls herself Garuda.

Sylva, having a minor crisis behind her Queenly Facade: I am Very Sure I only have two children so please explain this. Right Now.

Regis: Well............. NiflheimclonedmysonandIthinkmixeditwiththednaofyouoryourdaughterandhehasseerpowersandImayormaynotbepanickingrightnowpleasehelpme.

Sylva, slowly running that over in her mind and figuring out what Regis just said:...

W H A T.

XD Honestly Niflheim might invade Tenebrae only to find the royal family gone because Sylva coincidentally packed her backs and took her and her children on a secret trip to Lucis to have a look at Nox, then since they’re there when Niflheim invades and a spy gets word on what just happened Sylva and Co just- stay there. Oracle Mom Death averted.

Also they absolutely think that it’s Luna’s DNA they used to make Nox because of how instantly Nox gloms onto Luna like a limpet- JUST like he did with Noctis and Regis, and how Luna gets this dazed look in her eyes as their magic tangles and she whispers, “I ... I know you. I know you, don’t I Little Prince? I met you in a dream.” Luna starts crying softly as she pets Nox’s hair and when Sylva asks in alarm why she’s crying, Luna blinks and whispers, “Because he was crying in the dream, and I couldn’t comfort him.”

Acastus lurks in the shadows, watching it all with ... very mixed feelings.

Oracles. He could have gone his entire second life without meeting anymore Oracles. Aera she looks so much like you is that what our daughter would have looked like and oh astrals I KILLED her. I killed the girl with your eyes and your smile and laughed about it later.

[poison-rat]

Anaroyality (Virgil x Roman x Patton) My cousin asked for this btw! (By the way)

This is going to be the last of these prompts I do. I'm getting a little bored of these particular questions. I may reblog some new ones later and I'll try those instead because I really do love talking about my ships and my HCs.

I think this is the first time I've talked about Patton?? I love the happy, bubbly Patton that comes with more fanon than canon, but I love Patton. Anaroyality is also a ship I haven't touched before. I kind of ship Moxiety and Prinxiety, but I haven't combined them before. So I hope this comes out good! Also you didn't specify which set so I did the first one instead.

Who is the most affectionate?

People always assume Roman would be, being the romantic type and all, but it's actually Patton. He's considered the heart of the relationship. He loves giving hugs and kissing their heads, holding their hands, and kissing their cheeks. He’s also a verbally affectionate person. He loves to give them nicknames and tell them how cute or pretty they are or how good they are at their hobbies. Virgil always gets so flustered, hiding in his hoodie. He loves it tho. Roman gets blushy and his ego inflates a little and he flaps a bit when he gets overwhelmed.

Who initiates the handholding?

Most of the time, it’s actually Virgil. He gets overwhelmed by the world quite often, and with two extroverted boyfriends, it balances things out when he can just walk up and hold their hand and feel like there’s this barrier between him and the world, that he’s safe. Other than that, it’s Roman, holding hands or arms or wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Who worries more for the other?

Virgil worries about them all the time. Roman hangs out with his wild brother or goes off on his ‘adventures’ for several hours or even days. Patton is more of a homebody, but Virgil always worries something will go wrong at home. So Virgil hangs out with Patton regularly to ‘protect him’. Patton doesn’t see what the big deal is, but he’s happy for the company.

Who is more likely to ask for help?

Patton is very quick to ask for help. Virgil and Roman will be arguing for hours if Patton doesn’t ask for help. Imagine they’re in a furniture store and Virgil wants to look at sectionals. Roman would prefer a reclining couch. Patton has no opinion because both are good. They argue for about ten minutes before Patton wanders over to an employee and explains what they all want. Employee helps them find the perfect mix of the two and they leave with a nice sectional that has recliners in it. Virgil and Roman still bicker but they know for a fact that without Patton, they would still be arguing in the middle of the store.

Who is the one always losing the keys?

Patton misplaces things all the time, so he has this little keychain that allows him to track his keys, phone, wallet, and other such items. Of course, he loses the keychain too, so now Roman holds onto the keychain.

Who leaves little love notes for the other?

Roman loves to leave notes all over the house that usually stay hanging up until they lose stickiness and drift off. When he gets particularly inspired, he writes a whole letter. Virgil keeps them pressed in with his books, taking them out when he’s having a bad day. Patton has a scrapbook of their relationship and puts his letters in the back of it.

Who can’t sleep unless the other is there?

They can all sleep fairly well without the other, but they have some difficulty. Virgil sleeping alone, he can’t get tired enough to fall asleep until the wee hours of the night. Roman alone, he tosses and turns a lot. Patton alone, he wakes up very easily. A car drives by just too loud and he’s up.

Who is more likely to propose to the other?

Roman plans a whole romantic night out to propose to them. He’s been planning a proposal since he was a kid and he’s not about to change it just because he now has to plan for two boyfriends instead of just one.

Who introduced the other to their family first?

(Taken from AU. Virgil has stepdad he hates and mom he loves. Patton has his mom who he adores. Roman has Remus and his mom, both have good relationships with)

Roman introduced Virgil and Patton to Remus first, mostly because they all live together. He also told his mom shortly after because he was just so excited. Patton was shortly after. He hates keeping secrets from his mom. Virgil was last, not telling his stepdad and only telling his mom a year or two down the line. She supports and loves him, glad he’s happy.

Who is more likely to play with the other’s hair?

Roman loves the feeling of hair running through his fingers and will sit there with both of their heads in his lap as they watch a movie and just pet. Sometimes he braids their hair and makes it pretty, which both of them love. It tends to put Virgil to sleep and Patton very relaxed.

Who makes sure the other has meals/stays hydrated?

Patton is the dad friend and will always make sure they’re fed and drinking water. Virgil puts up a fight, playfully so, but always listens to Patton because he loves him.

Who is more likely to stand up to anyone for the other?

Roman puts up with nothing. He will defend his boyfriends to the death. Virgil doesn’t do it often, but if someone is bothering one of his boyfriends and they aren’t able to defend themselves, he will.

Who is the most likely to prepare a surprise for the other?

Roman prepared surprises for every special occasion or even just a random Tuesday. He loves to shower his boyfriends in love and will do anything to make them smile. Virgil finds it embarrassing but Patton loves them.

Who makes the other pinky promise not to do certain things?

Virgil is a stickler for pinky promises. Patton loves doing it because it’s such an easy way to make sure they stick to promises.

Who puts a blanket over the other when they fall asleep on the couch?

Virgil and Roman will doze off anywhere and Patton always makes sure he has a throw blanket nearby to cover them up. He also has a hundred photos of them snuggling in his phone.