#i wonder what dougal would paint??

[kenovele]

Bogs blog 20

Sunday 2nd April 2023

Well another fortnight has passed and quickly at that. At the moment life seems to be speeding by, all of a sudden we are in autumn, cold mornings but beautiful blue days. It is getting harder and harder to get out of bed in the morning and harder and harder to be in New Zealand as I know that in Belgium they are slowly rejoicing the wonders of longer sunshine hours, warmth and flowers while we rug up for darker times. But not all is gloomy, I have been enjoying the colder mornings to go for a run in the mornings, I have been taking Sparrow who gets very excited each morning he sees me in my running gear, I put on his leash and he drags me down the driveway in his excitement to get going, after about a kilometre I am able to pull my shoulder back into its socket as he settles in for the run and after about five kilometres it is me encouraging him, pulling him along so that I feel like I am actually running up hill. Obviously, we haven’t got our running rhythm in sync yet, but regardless I am so loving getting back into my running and having that motivation of taking Sparrow is very helpful.

The start of our week was a nice one, Benoit decide to head down to Te Aroha with me for Monday and Tuesday. We booked a motel (paid by work) and stayed there Monday night. Despite the average weather we decided to be a bit sporty and we headed out for a walk after work. Te Aroha is a unique old town, which is full of historical buildings, quaint old wooden settlers cottages, geothermal spas and huge mountain ranges with a heap of tracks to explore, and even better there is a rock to climb on! Our initial goal was to go check out the rock, but with the quickly fading daylight and our unfamiliarity with the tracks, we decided to keep our walk to a shorter loop. The walk to the rock takes about two hours apparently, so it is definitely a place where you would have to spend the whole day climbing there to make it worth it, but none the less we are motivated to check it out in summer. We walked in a part of the bush that was part of the old gold miners trail, it is full of old tunnels and mines, as well as a very very steep tram way where they used to trolley the mining rocks down to the rivers to pan for gold. It was a neat walk and we both enjoyed being back in the New Zealand bush.

Benoit has been back working for Tilsleys again this week. Once he got back from helping me at Te Aroha, he started work on the painting on another building that the Tilsleys own next door to our office. It was nice to have him around again, and I enjoyed being able to have my 10am coffee with him in the sunshine outside before going back into the office and freezing! Benoit has become the resident handy man, both Bob and Dougal my bosses have asked him to paint their houses and decks and Dougal even has a few building projects lined up for him, and maybe even a cleaning job. So as the tiny house slowly gets closer to its finishing point, it has been good for him to get out and do some other things. He even worked on his physio application a bit this week!

The tinyhouse hasn’t changed much since last week, however we have been working on it this Saturday and we have done a few things after work when we could. We picked up a beautiful red olive plywood to start building the kitchen, we have picked up some sample tiles for the bathroom, we have installed all the doors with their handles, put on all the skirting boards to finish the flooring, and done a bit of plumbing in the bathroom and installed most of our lights! So not much this week but at the same time any progress is good progress, we really are getting close. The end is in sight! Although I am not quite sure what we are going to do with out weekends once the Tinyhouse is done! We still have the feature wall to build, which we will do after we have milled all the wood with Grant next Easter weekend, we still have the stair drawers to finish and the kitchen to build, then all the water and gas connections. So still a long way to go but we are enjoying the process, loving the results, and getting excited about the future.

This Sunday we headed down in a van to Tauranga with a few of my work mates for the Tauranga half marathon, although Benoit and I only ran the 10km! It was a fun day although it did take most of our day, we had to leave at 7am to get there for the 10am start time for the 10km, then the people who were running the 5km did their race at 11am. We brought down my new barbeque and had a lovely lunch of sausages, bacon and salad in bread, Benoit was very happy as he managed to keep all the fat to make himself a so liege syrup fatty bread specials for breakfast! The run was hard, it was stifling hot and muggy and I was knackered, this time I forced Benoit to run with me to keep up my motivation. We managed to do the 10kms in 58 minutes, and I was the 38th girl and Benoit the 60th boy, so not bad at all. By the time we were all fed and packed up and back on the road, it was mid afternoon! But never the less a fun experience, lots of laughs, a nice place to run and good company. Unfortunately Mum was supposed to come with us but ever since Friday afternoon she has been bed ridden with a rather serious covid, yes covid does still exist apparently and poor mum has been sleeping on and off this whole weekend and doesn’t seem to be getting better. Fingers crossed she starts to feel better soon as for her it has been a rather rotten weekend. Luckily neither Benoit, Dad or I have gotten sick.

And that is about it from me, next week – I predict that the blog by Benoit, might once again be a bit late in arriving as we are heading up north for Easter and we won’t be back until Tuesday. We have decided to make the most of the trip and head up on Thursday and back on Tuesday in the hopes of missing as much of the traffic as possible as generally traffic over the easter weekend is a bit of a nightmare. So bogs next blog .. who knows when that will arrive!

Love Kate xxx

[majingojira]

Brief Review of Every Dinosaur/Prehistoric Documentary/Educational Short I’ve ever seen (1923-1996).

And thanks to a certain project, I’ve seen a LOT! 

Evolution (1923) - This is the oldest of the bunch, a silent film.  Mostly it uses modern animals to represent ancient forms, with a few statues and brief animated bits to fill things out. The only real highlight?  Seeing where some of the “film real” segment from Gigantis the Fire Monster comes from! 

Monsters from the Past (1923) - A short documentary with original stop motion (this was pre-The Lost World, so that’s to be expected).  Triceratops, Tyrannosaurus, and Brontosaurus are the key creatures. Included as an extra on the second DVD release of The Lost World. 

Prehistoric Animals (1938) - Reuses footage from The Lost World (1925) for its prehistoric segments. This will not be the last time it happens. 

Prehistoric Times: The World Before Man (1952) - This thing is so quintessentially 1950s, it’s highly riff-able.  It uses a mix of paintings, sculptures and some live animals to represent prehistoric life.  

A World Is Born (1955) - Ya know what Fantasia needed?  Overbearing Narration! That’s it.  That’s what this documentary is.  I saw this thing rebroadcast in the 90s on the Disney Channel, believe it or not. 

The Animal World (1956) - Ray Harryhausen.  Willis O’Brian. Their stop motion segment is the ONLY notable part of this documentary.  This is also the only part that has seen some release in modern times, as a bonus feature on the DVD of The Black Scorpion.  

Prehistoric Animals of the Tar Pits (1956) - Black and white, but also quintessentially 50s and riff-able.  Aside from the bones, it shows some wooden models to represent the animals. 

Journey into Time (1960) - Fantasia this is not, but it TRIES to be.  Lord it tries.  Or, rather, there’s a Fantasia-adjacent thing elsewhere which does the same thing.  Has some unique choices for animals to represent, including showing Permian forms like Scutusaurus and Inostrancevia. 

Dem Dry Bones: Archaeology, Paleontology, Identification, and Preservation (1966) - This was a lucky find, it was on Youtube for half a second.  And not worth digging out, really.  Stuffy, dry, and mildly condescending.  It was still interesting looking at the dinosaur hall of the Smithsonian back in the 1950s. 

Dinosaurs - The Terrible Lizard (1970) - The stop motion here is pretty neat, if slow and plodding, it’s refreshing after all this crap. The puppets for many of these would later be re-used for The Land of the Lost.  Including Grumpy, Alice, and Spot. 

NOVA: The Hot-Blooded Dinosaurs (1977) - Robert Bakker’s first appearance in a documentary.  HE HAS SUCH LONG HAIR!  Not bad, a little dry, with National Geographic titles.  It reminds me of 1990s documentaries, just so show how long it’s taken for various ideas to filter down.  Currently, it’s available on Archive.org. 

Dinosaurs: A First Film (1978) - The art style for this half-animated 70s abomination makes identifying various prehistoric animals almost impossible.  Almost painful to sit through. Stops with the Dinosaurs. 

Dinosaurs: The Age of the Terrible Lizards (1978) - Similar to the above, but available from Rifftrax, so much more watchable.  Also, it’s actually animated!

Dinosaur (1980) - Wil Vinton Claymation with Dinosaurs.  A few edits of this exist, the latter works a bit better, but the original is interesting to track down. Most of the edits are audio only, so you aren’t missing anything.  The dinosaur sin this are top notch for color and design.  They even have Corythosaurus and Tyrannosaurus not dragging their tails! 

Cosmos (1980) - the animated segment covering Evolution is still wonderful if only for the narration from Carl Sagan. 

The Age of Mammals (1981) - A follow up of sorts to Dinosaurs: The Age of Reptiles.  Decent stop motion if a little slow.  Decent variety for the time. 

64,000,000 Years Ago (1981) - A solid stop motion short film.  Still worth checking out for stop motion fans.  Available on Youtube legally! 

Dinosaurs: Fun, Facts, and Fantasy (1981) - Nostalgic for some, but aimed at a rather young audience.  Some interesting stop motion bits in here too... if awkward in that way British stop motion can be outside Aardman Studios. 

Reading Rainbow “Digging up Dinosaurs” (1983) - Definitely nostalgic for me.  Besides, it’s Reading Rainbow!  And opens with a clip from One Million Years B.C.!  What’s not to love?

Prehistoric Beast (1984) - One of the best stop motion shorts on this list.  Included because it INSPIRED a documentary from it.  Phil Tippett firing on all cylinders.  Well worth watching.  And he uploaded it on Youtube himself! 

Dinosaurs, Dinosaurs, Dinosaurs (1985), More Dinosaurs (1985), Son of Dinosaur (1988),  Prehistoric World (1993) - Gary Owens and Eric Boardman have a series of documentaries on dinosaurs and prehistoric life.  The presenters are what really make these work. Colorful, fun, and yes, silly, these still hold a nostalgic gleam for people like me.  The last one has Dougal Dixon talk about his After Man speculations.  Fun times. 

Dinosaur! (1985) - Hosted by Christopher Reeve, this is one of the best documentaries of its time.  Reeves loved dinosaurs and was happy to work on this project with Phil Tippet behind the animation.  Covers a lot in its hour long format, and well worth watching.  Do you know how good this special was?  When Reeve died in 2004, the Discovery Channel (or similar station) re-aired this thing as a tribute.  It holds up that well! 

Tell Me Why: Pre-Historic Animals, Reptiles and Amphibians (1986) - This is something I had when I was a little kid.  Dry, straight forward, a “Video Babysitter” at it’s best. It consists of a narrator while looking at pictures of the Invicta Dinosaur Toys that were also on the poster. 

Dinosaurs! A Fun-Filled Trip Back in Time (1987) - Wil Vinton’s Dinosaurs! tied with a short setup/framing device with the kid from the Wonder Years involving a low-animation music video (this was the MTV age) and a guide through art from various dinosaur books from the 1950s through the 1980s.  Rather meh, but Wil Vinton is why we are here.  This was the only way to get Wil Vinton’s short back in the day, and is the version of the short shown in Museums like The Academy of Natural Sciences.  

Digging Dinosaurs (PBS-WHYY) (1988) - Something I managed to record of TV back in the day, though not much of it, about the uncovering and preparation of Avaceratops. Bone Dry. 

Maia: A Dinosaur Grows Up (1988) - A VHS version of the picture book, with narration and the whole spiel.  Actually not to bad for what it is, but it is what it is.  The art for that book is rather wonderful. 

Lost Worlds, Vanished Lives (1988) - David.  Attenburrough. Need I say more?  Not one of his best, but still wonderful. Hard to track down.  

Dinosaurs (1989) - From the Smithsonian Institute, one of the video followups sold in various museums (I have one from the Royal Tyrell, but haven’t been able to track it down).  Not great, but I’ve seen worse. 

Infinite Voyage: The Great Dinosaur Hunt (1989) - A rather dry documentary, but one I find extremely relaxing and calming.  Very nostalgic for me.  But still dry. 

Vestie Video Sitter: Dinosaurs (1989) - This is for babies. It hurt to watch. 

In November, 1990, Jurassic Park (novel) was released, and thus began the great shift. 

In Search of the Dragon: The Great Dinosaur Hunt of the Century (1991) - a.k.a. The Dinosaur Project, The Great Dinosaur Hunt, The Hunt for China’s Dinosaurs.  Edited into a 1 hour NOVA special from a nearly two hour documentary, all about the joint Canadian/Chinese Gobi Desert Expedition in the 1980s that gave us Mamenchisaurus among many other species.  With another stop in the Arctic for good measure.  Some good stop motion and pencil animation for Troodon round this one out. 

A&E’s Dinosuar! (1991) - There’s so many things named “Dinosaur” that I have to specify.  Hosted by Walter Cronkite, this is rather dry, but still entertaining documentary series has some nightmare-fuel puppet-work.  The ‘sad’ music gets caught in my head sometimes when I think about it.  It is 4 episodes long.  “The Tale of a Tooth”, “The Tale of a Bone”, “The Tale of an Egg”, and “The Tale of a Feather”

T. Rex: Exposed (1991) - a Nova Documentary on T. Rex.  Not too bad overall, focusing on the Wrankle Rex unearthing. Parts of it are available on Youtube, but not all of it.  

The Case of the Flying Dinosaur (1991) - the third in the “NOVA” 91 trilogy, this covers the bird-dinosaur connection as it was still contentious at the time. 

PBS’ The Dinosaurs! (1992) - A gold standard for documentaries on dinosaurs. The hand drawn animation with colored pencil style still hold up today. The narrator has a bit of an accent and pronounces “Dinosaur” oddly, but that is the only complaint I can really give. It has 4 episodes: “The Monsters Emerge”, “Flesh on the Bones”, “The Nature of the Beast”, “Death of the Dinosaurs.”

Muttaburrasaurus: Life in Gondwana (1993) - A half-hour short about dinosuars and mesozoic life in Australia. Solid stop motion animation. Australian Accents makes it fun to listen too.

NOVA: The Real Jurassic Park (1993) - Jeff Goldblum narrates this bit of scientists going on about “But what if we really did it?” Quite fun, lotta fun details the movies and even the books didn’t get into. My favorite bit had Robert Bakker talking to a game keeper at the Rockefeller Refuge in a Louisiana Cypress Swamp about what could happen if they kept a few dinosaur there (Edmontosaurus, Triceratops, and T. Rex).  Namely, he talks about housing ‘about a thousand” Edmontosaurs on the 86K acre facility, with 2 or 3 mated pairs of Rexes.  It’s fun getting numbers like that. 

Bill Nye the Science Guy “Dinosaurs” (1993) - BILL! BILL! BILL! BILL! BILL!  Not a bad kids entry for documentaries. Available from Netflix. 

Paleoworld (1994-1997) - Running originally for 4 years, and being revamps once along the way, this rather dry, “Zoom in on paleoart” style of documentary was a good holdover for bigger things, and covered some pretty niche topics.  Much of the later version has been uploaded to youtube. 

Dinosaur Digs: A Fossil Finders Tour (1994), Dinosaurs: Next Exit (1994) - These films hurt me.  They hurt me so much.  I’ve seen some painful things, but these are hour long tour advertisements for road trips with annoyingly earworms.  Available on youtube, but I ain’t linking anything! 

Eyewitness: Dinosaur (1994) - Not a bad documentary, but I still hold a grudge on it for replacing Wil Vinton’s work at my local museum! Still, it is narrated by Martin Sheen. The clip selection is wide and varied, but we’re still getting The Lost World (1925) footage. 

Planet of Life (1995) - This documentary series is rather dry, but boasts some interesting coverage of topics.  Though some of it’s conclusions regarding dinosaurs are... not great.  Still, the episode “Ancient Oceans” is a favorite of mine. 

Once Upon Australia (1995) - The bests stop motion documentary on Australia’s prehistory. Has some humor to is, and Australian fauna that it does cover is solid.  Though finding out how one of the animals is spelled, ( Ngapakaldia) drove me nuts for literally decades. 

Dinosaurs: Myths and Reality (1995) - Like a little more polished episode of Paleoworld, with a lighter-voiced narration, this covers common myths about dinosaurs. Overall, a Meh.  But it has a LOT of movie clips. Which makes sense given it was funded by the Disney Channel! 

The Ultimate Guide: T. Rex (1995) - The Ultimate Guide series of docs were overall rather solid, as was the Tyrannosaurus one.  Stop Motion animation along with puppets and some minor CG help round out the normal talking heads and skeleton mounts.  Along with a solid narrator, it has a real mood to it.  

The Magic School Bus “The Busasaurus” (1995) - The original Magic School Bus was a solid series, and their episode on Dinosaurs bucks trends even the reboot didn’t cover.  The core thrust here wasn’t just dinosaur information, but the idea that Dinosaurs were not Monsters, but animals.  And they conveyed it in a unique way.  

I may do more of these mini-reviews, but there are a LOT of documentaries post The Lost World: Jurassic Park that don’t have as much easy access.  Like, I’ve seen them, but digging out links/citing places to watch them is a lot harder. 

[isitgintimeyet]

Road To The Aisles

AO3

Previous

Chapter 12 and thanks to you all for continuing to read, like, reblog and comment. It is much appreciated.

Special thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge @happytoobserve @wickedgoodbooks for their continued support.

Chapter 12 : An Unexpected Exchange

“It’s pointless for a human to paint scenes of nature when they can go outside and stand in it.”

-Ron Swanson, Parks and Recreation

Claire sat at her desk and eyed her tuna sandwich with distaste. While she had magnanimously agreed last night to let Jamie take dinner leftovers -- a very tasty chilli and rice -- for his office lunch today, she had been hoping that he might have somehow forgotten and made his way to the gym and then work without it, leaving her to claim it (rather than it go to waste). When it was clear that hadn’t happened, she had been forced to hastily make the aforementioned sandwich.

There was a light tap at the office door. A grinning head poked around the door, immediately distracting Claire from her dietary woes.

“G, how you doing? Come and talk to me,” Claire exclaimed.

Geillis strolled into the office and pulled up a chair. She looked longingly at Claire’s sandwich.

“Christ, I’m fucking starving. And I’ve only a banana fer ma lunch.”

Claire pushed the untouched sandwich towards her friend. “There you go. Have that. Now, tell me all your news.”

Geillis took a large bite of the sandwich and munched for a few moments before taking a swig out of Claire’s now cold coffee mug and clearing her throat.

“It’s been a fucker of a morning in the emergency department. We had a chap come in, wouldna talk tae the receptionist or a female nurse. Finally agreed tae talk tae Big Steve, ye ken the guy? The nurse practitioner that does the body building? Weel, turns out he’s come in wi’ a can of body spray wedged up his arse, he couldna get it out. Apparently he’d tried wi’ some kitchen tongs, only shoved it further up.”

“He said…” Geillis took a smaller bite and carried on talking. “He said that he’d slipped getting out of the shower and fell on tae it. Imagine that? And we’re there tryin’ tae be serious while he’s spinnin’ us this yarn. So he goes off tae X-Ray and we’re all placing bets on what scent it is.”

“Is he ok?”

“Turns out it wasna lodged too far up, so Dr. Chris was able tae get it out wi’ no operation needed. And then this chap actually asked if he could have the spray back, as it’s his favourite. Dr. Chris told him it was now classed as clinical waste and would therefore have tae be disposed of ‘in an appropriate manner.’”

Geillis finished her sandwich and looked around for a napkin. Claire passed her a tissue.

“And what scent was it?” Claire prompted, laughing.

“Lynx… Africa. I guessed it. Lucky fer him it was only the smaller size… I mean, the girth on those larger sprays… imagine… no’ even Dougal would --”

“And how is Dougal?” Claire hastily changed the subject. “I know it’s ok from your texts, but what did he say about the whole baby thing?”

“Weel… after all that worryin’ and mitherin’ I put meself through, Dougal was verra understanding about it. I told him straight that I dinna want a baby at the moment, and would likely never want one. So it was his choice… me and no bairn, or no me. And he did the sensible thing… he chose me. The door’s left open, but…”

“And why wouldn’t he? He’d be a fool to give you up.”

“Aye, I ken. I tell him regular that he’s lucky tae have me.”

Geillis delved into her voluminous handbag and retrieved a banana, brandishing it aloft.

“Fancy half a banana? Tae eat? I tell ye… what I’ve seen today… it’s oral consumption only with bananas from now on fer me.”

Claire tentatively took half from Geillis, a worried expression on her face.

“Dinna fash,” Geillis sighed. “I bought it this morning. It’s a virgin banana. I do have some standards, ye ken.”

*************

Jamie and Claire strolled through the park, enjoying the warmth of the summer sun. It was a perfect day, with not a cloud in the sky and only a slight breeze rustling through the trees.

“Do ye think I’ve put enough sun cream on William, Sassenach ? I dinna want him to burn.”

Claire looked over at William, clad in a bright blue romper suit and matching baseball cap and strapped securely onto Jamie’s chest. She could still faintly see the layer of sun cream meticulously applied by Jamie before they came out.

“Think you’ve put enough on for a trip to the equator,” she joked.

“Aye, weel, ye canna be too careful. Shall we head tae the river and look fer some duckies then, ma wee man?”

Jamie took the loud raspberry from William as agreement. He held Claire’s hand as they wandered alongside the river, their companionable silence only broken by William’s excited babbling.

After a somewhat disinterested encounter with the ducks, they settled themselves on a riverside bench to watch the world go by. William tried to bounce, pressing his feet firmly against Jamie’s thighs, eliciting an ‘aargh’ sound from his father.

Claire laughed as she gazed at her two men. She held William’s dimpled hand to her mouth and kissed it.

“He’s laughing at you, Jamie, when you make that sound.”

“Aargh… aargh…” Jamie repeated his exclamation to William’s increasing delight, his chuckles growing louder and louder and joining the laughter from his father and Claire.

“Ah, Claire. I’d recognise those curls anywhere. Your hair is very distinctive, you know,” a voice spoke suddenly, cutting into the moment.

She stopped laughing as she stood up and turned around, patting her hair. Instinctively Jamie stood as well and turned to face the voice.

“Frank… wow, what a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought… have you… are you still down in England?”

“Er, yes. I’m just up here for the weekend. Conference, you know. Just on my way to the gallery, see the exhibitions. You’re looking well, Claire.”

Frank smiled at her, oblivious to the palpable tension radiating from Jamie.

"Thanks," Claire responded politely. "Frank, this is my fiancé, Jamie. Jamie, this is Frank… an old friend."

Jamie extended his hand and enveloped Frank's long, elegant fingers in a bone crushing handshake.

“Pleased tae meet ye.” Jamie’s words were at odds with the look on his face.

Frank raised an eyebrow. “Engaged? Well, congratulations to you both… and a baby? Life has changed very quickly for you, Claire. So, are you at work, or maternity leave?”

Claire looked at William who, lacking entertainment, was simultaneously sucking his thumb whilst trying to pull his cap off.

“Actually, William is my step-son. He’s Jamie’s son.”

“Oh, I see.” Frank’s statement hung in the air.

“We’re getting married in just over three months’ time.” Claire suddenly felt defensive as she remembered Frank’s judgemental nature.

William, having succeeded in pulling his cap off and dropping it, now let out a cry as Claire picked it up and secured it firmly back on his head. The cry was followed by a series of sobs becoming louder and louder.

“I think he needs a nap.” Claire explained over the crying. “We should be heading home. Well, all the best, Frank.”

Frank leant forward and lightly kissed Claire on both cheeks. “Congratulations to you both.”

“Bye then.” Jamie nodded and took Claire’s hand as they started walking away.

The journey home was made in silence, William dozing fitfully in his car seat. Once at the house, Jamie, still silent, took William upstairs and put him down in his cot. Claire pottered in the kitchen, putting the kettle to boil, pulling the cafetière out of the cupboard, opening the cake tin. When she heard Jamie’s steps coming downstairs, she made the coffee and cut two slices of banana loaf. Each action precise, deliberate and calm, which was exactly what she wasn’t feeling.

“Jamie, come and sit down.” She placed a mug of coffee and slice of banana loaf in front of him as he slumped at the kitchen table.

“Right, so, what is the matter with you? You’ve had a face like a slapped arse ever since we bumped into Frank in the park. It’s to do with him, isn’t it? And don’t try to tell me nothing is the matter. Sulking is not a good look on a thirty-three year old man, you know.”

Jamie was quiet for a moment, fiddling randomly with the baby monitor. Finally, he placed the monitor on the kitchen table, took a large gulp of coffee, screwing up his face as the hot liquid hit his mouth, and sighed.

“Aye, ye’re right. ‘Twas partly yer man. When ye said William was yer ‘step-son’, I could see Frank, I ken what he was thinking. He was looking at me, judging me, thinking I was some serial shagger hopping from bed tae bed… mebbe even wondering if I’d be faithful tae ye.”

Claire came and sat at the kitchen table with Jamie.

“First of all,  what does it matter what Frank's opinion of us is? He’s not part of our lives. And if we’re talking about serial shaggers, I could tell you a thing or two about him. So what if he wonders about you being unfaithful? No one we know or care about would ever think that.”

“Second of all,” Claire tapped the kitchen table with her forefinger emphasising her points. “Are you unhappy because I said William was my step-son? You didn’t want me to lie, did you? Let him think I was William’s birth mother?”

Jamie lifted his eyes from his mug of coffee to look at Claire, his cheeks reddening slightly. “No’ lie as such, but ye dinna have tae say anything.”

“To make you feel better, to not be judged by Frank? What does that even matter? Or did you want to prove a point to Frank?”

“Ye dinna understand. It’s no’ jes’ tae do wi’ Frank… it’s like… when we’re in the park or some such place, and I see all the families around us, playing and laughing, I like to think, or pretend, that there is nae Geneva, nae leaving ma son fer half the week. I dinna like tae be reminded. I like tae think that we’re a family jes’ like those around us.”

Claire pulled her chair closer to Jamie and reached across to stroke his auburn curls. He inclined his head and closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her nails, now lightly scratching his scalp.

“You are a silly, silly man. We are a family just like those around us at the park… there’ll be every variation of family there… half siblings, step-parents, step-children, single parents, adopted children, fostered, raised by grandparents. And you know what, when it comes down to it, it’s all family. And that’s what matters.”

“Aye, I may be a silly man, but I ken that ye, Claire Beauchamp soon tae be Fraser, are a fine woman that I’m no’ sure that I deserve.”

“Well, I’m not sure either that you deserve me, but…” she replied as she moved to stand between his legs. “... you can try.”

Jamie’s hands settled on her arse as Claire bent her head to kiss him. As the kiss deepened, her hands snaked around the back of his neck, pulling him tighter to her.

The sudden cry from the baby monitor broke them apart.

“He’s no’ got the best timing,” Jamie laughed. “Guess he doesna want his old man having fun.”

Claire breathed in his ear. “Later.”

“Later,” Jamie agreed.

[desperationandgin]

Strawberry Wine (Part 1, Chapter 10)

Rating: Mature

Author: desperationandgin

Previous Chapter

Also Read On: AO3

Summary: Claire and Jamie settle in their separate locations and write to one another.

Chapter 10: Kisses With Dreams

September 1, 1938

Jamie,

I promised I would write the moment I moved into my dormitory, and I can assure you that my unpacked suitcase is at the foot of the bed. Thank you for the surprise photographs of us in my purse; I hadn’t realized your father took any at the gathering, though I’ve never been more grateful. I realized belatedly that while I had two wonderful photographs of you, I didn’t have any of us together. It caused a tearful moment on the train. Fortunately, there was a kind Reverend sitting beside me; he distracted me with his own recollection of Jacobite history. It was interesting, but only made me want to return to you more.

I’m no stranger to new beds in unfamiliar places, though this is the first time I can’t unloosen the knot that’s formed in the pit of my stomach. I’ve never missed someone before, with so much of myself. That last kiss at the station, in front of God and everyone no less, will have to get me through until December, won’t it? I think even Jenny blushed.

I hope you’re settling alright. Were you and Ian able to share an apartment as you’d wanted? Do you have a wonderful view? By the time you receive this, you’ll have started your classes; please tell me how you’re finding them, and I’ll let you know how school is here, as well, in my next letter. We begin on Monday, and I’m not sure if I’m worried or if it’s just nerves causing me to doubt myself. What if I’m not capable enough when it comes to real-life scenarios? What if I have the drive to help others, but am rubbish at nursing?

I already know you’re shaking your head in protest. It’s nerves, and by this time next month, I’ll be settled and things will be fine. That is what you were going to say, wasn’t it?

In half an hour, I’ll have to attend an informal dinner to meet my fellow classmates, so I suppose I should at least unpack a suitable outfit. I don’t want to stop writing; if I stop writing, then I’ll have to face the fact that you’re not really here, listening to everything I’m telling you.

Sorry for the smear of ink. I’m homesick, I suppose, only you are my home, and I already miss you desperately.

Please give my best to Ian. Write soon, and put me out of my misery.

Yours,

Claire

The weekend before I left for London, Brian hosted a two-day party of sorts for all the tenants he rented land to. It was grand and festive, with enough food to feed an army and no shortage of laughter. Old friends arrived, including a delightful man named Mr. Raymond whom I could remember cropping up throughout my childhood; someone who brought me rare toys and exotic candies when visiting. He hadn’t expected to see me, I knew, but still managed to gift me something unique: a dragonfly encased in amber. When I tried to find Jamie to show him, he was busy watching his father, gaining real-time experience as the future laird of Lallybroch. I was captivated by him, the way he drew people in. His eyes seemed to meet every single person’s in the room when he addressed the group at large, and he always seemed much wiser than his age suggested.

Privately between us, the things that could come out of Jamie Fraser’s mouth were like lines from old, romantic poems. Sonnets written in 19th-century fields of heather. The best part was that he always spoke true. He meant those fantastic things he said, and it made me love him all the more.

The first night of the festivities, we’d stolen away to a hayloft, drinking pilfered Drambuie straight from the bottle.

“Did you know this is the secret drink recipe of the Bonnie Prince Charlie?” I’d asked slowly, my speech a bit languid in my not-quite-drunkenness.

“Oh? I only ken my uncle Dougal enjoys the drink verra much, it’s why there’s so much of it for the weekend,” Jamie’d informed me before taking another swallow from the bottle.

“Well, when he escaped to the Isle of Skye, he was offered protection by – oh, which clan was it?” Pausing, I’d looked out at the sky, squinting before remembering. “Clan MacKinnon! Clan MacKinnon sheltered Prince Charles, and as thanks he gave them this very recipe.”

I had been given a kiss for my useless historical knowledge – and a bit more.

Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I sealed the envelope, fished a stamp out of my handbag, and neatly scrawled Jamie’s address, plus my own. It took a half-hour to settle on a suitable dress for supper, and I made my way downstairs, intending to keep to myself. Taking a seat at the far end of the dining room table, I listened as the rules of the dormitory were laid out (no non-familial men in our rooms unchaperoned, period. No alcohol except for one glass of wine with supper) and studied the other women. All of us seemed to be about the same age, and the one next to me leaned over to speak.

“What do ye think, could we sneak a flask in our brasseries and get away wi’ it?”

My eyes widened first at the accent, and then at the suggestion.

“You’re Scottish?” I asked somewhat dumbly.

“Aye. What gave it away, the accent or the flamin’ red hair?”

I couldn’t help but laugh, though I stifled it quickly to avoid the attention of Mistress Hildegarde.

“My name’s Gillian,” my new acquaintance introduced herself. “We’re roommates, you and I. I was down the hall when ye were comin’ out of the room earlier.”

She had hair not quite as red as Jamie’s, a fair complexion, and definite mischief in her eyes.

“Maybe down my knickers,” she mused, and I hid a laugh behind my napkin. While eating (an unfamiliar to me meat dish and potatoes), I decided if I was to live here for four years, perhaps befriending at least one person would be nice.

I was proven correct over the next few days; Gillian was smart and took good notes, but had a penchant for knowing when to throw down our study materials and go out for a drink. On a Friday evening after the third week of classes, we were planning to go to the cinema until the mail call happened.

“Ms. Beauchamp, one letter, one parcel.”

When Mistress Hildegarde said my name and I saw the handwriting on the envelope, I apologetically canceled my plans with Gillian and ate my supper in record time before racing upstairs. The package was a square box, and I put it aside in favor of reading Jamie’s letter first.

September 17, 1938

My own,

You are correct; I was shaking my head at what you said of yourself. And was I right? Was it nerves and are you settled? I know you can do anything, and I am eager to read all about your classwork. Your roommate as well, is she a nice lass?

Ian and I are faring well and do share a small apartment. He’s writing to Jenny now as I write to you. A few things are as I thought; the Latin exams will not be very easy to pass with top marks. I’m not sure speaking Latin will come up much in daily farm life, but I suppose for Mass it will be nice to know exactly what is being said. At least it may be something that could impress Father Bain.

Hopefully, the parcel I’ve sent along makes it as well. Inside is a wee bit more than chocolate, all things I thought you might enjoy. I had the idea, as well, to take a flight to London before Christmas, then together we could go to Scotland for the holidays, perhaps even spend a night in Edinburgh before going on to Lallybroch. We can work out the details a bit closer to the time, it is only that I’m eager to see you now. Being apart from you feels as though something is missing – even at Lallybroch I felt it, on the days we weren’t able to see one another save for breakfast and supper, only not as keenly. I miss you, Sassenach, down to the very marrow of me. I’m glad you have photographs; I have one of you in my back pocket always. Sometimes, I need to see you.

Do not weep, lass. Soon, it will only be the two of us.

The next few months will go by in record time, though perhaps I will be able to find a way to see you sooner. I love you, Claire, and you’ll do well to remember it. Write to me soon, a nighean.

Yours always,

Jamie

His name was a flourishing signature, and down in the very corner of the page, he’d drawn a small heart. Touching it with the tips of my fingers, I smiled softly and read the letter again. It was comforting to read something so normal, that everything was going perfectly well so far. Folding the letter and tucking it back into the envelope, I tore the parchment paper off of the box next, removing the lid. Inside was something wrapped in pale pink tissue, and when I unwrapped it, found four white handkerchiefs with lace, scented to smell faintly of roses. They were beautiful, and only after closer inspection did I realize my initials were embroidered in the corner, though not CB.

CF.

After taking a moment to whisper my name with his aloud, I tucked one into my purse, another into my coat pocket, and slipped the other two into my dresser. Digging through the rest of the contents had me finding all sorts of different chocolates, beautifully hand-painted postcards of Parisian landscapes, and a book: The Postman Always Rings Twice. There was another note, written on the inside of the cover.

Sassenach,

I wasn’t sure if you’d read it, but you mentioned wanting a good mystery novel to puzzle out. This one is controversial, if you’ll remember. I read it, and I can see why Boston went up in arms. Don’t go getting bawdy ideas.

–JAMMF

I laughed aloud at his last sentence and laid the book to rest on the nightstand. Looking at my bounty, I quelled the urge to write back for a mere twenty minutes before sitting down at my desk once more. I went on about my schoolwork, about the things I was learning and told him about Gillian, then reassured him all was well and I had indeed settled. I promised to write more once I’d finished the novel, then changed into my nightgown early, tucking into the book. Hours later and over half-way through, Gillian returned home, letting herself in and flopping down on my bed across my legs.

“Have fun?” I asked, putting down the book for now and stretching.

“When isn’t watching Fred Astaire a delight? Though, it wasna the best of his films, ” she informed in response, filling me in on the plot of Carefree. I half-listened, my thoughts on the book, which she called me out for.

“Where’s yer mind, Claire? Surely a book cannae be that good that ye–” Her gaze drifted toward the box, eyes wide by the time she looked back to me again. “Is that from yer fella, then? Let’s see, what did he send?”

As I proudly showed off my bounty, she touched the embroidery on one of the handkerchiefs. “Yer wee fox cub truly wants ye, I’m jealous. Does he have a brother, by any chance?”

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. “Only a sister.”

“Is she available then?”

We laughed at the joke together before scrubbing our faces and turning in for the night, a picture of Jamie tucked under my pillow.

The weeks rolled by, my latest letter arriving on October twelfth. It was short, mostly about how hard he’d been studying and all of the places to eat he was eager to take me to. There was no parcel this time, but he promised something would arrive in time for my birthday.

On the twentieth, I could hardly sit still in my classes, eager to get home and see what had arrived for me. As soon as my day was over I raced to the dormitory, calling out even as I opened the front door.

“Mistress Hildegarde, have you got any parcels for me?”

Her voice rang out from the parlor. “Yes, I would say so, Ms. Beauchamp. Come, it is here, with me.”

Removing my hat and placing it on the hook near the front door, I was pulling off my gloves as I entered the room and paused in shock. “Wot?”

“Mind the rules, my dear,” Mistress Hildegarde reminded on her way out of the room, and I merely nodded, a slow smile spreading so wide it made my cheeks hurt.

“Happy birthday, Sassenach.”

NEXT CHAPTER

[josephmyplace]

ART EVALUATION - MULTIVERSE ASSIGNMENT

themes of the assignment

The multiverse assignment took us through a variety of artistic styles, drawing, printmaking, typography and collage, but there was also a narrative element introduced through the penguin book, we were tasked several times to draw inspiration from narrative elements from the book, or to depict scenes from it, this I felt was similar to fine art, however while on the computers we worked on 'postcards' (personally though I always felt their purpose was more like covers for our books), which again had inspiration taken from the book, this reminded me of graphic design; we were attempting to express a product through a visual means.

the three ‘postcards’ that had text added to them, overall i find that the first one below is my favorite, the central image i feel is a strongly emotive one, figures shrouded in darkness, almost in solidarity over some tragedy, which is why i annotated it “a reminder of better days”, as a reference to how i felt the image was tragic. 

this image i annotated it with words associated with god, the drawing i used because i wanted it to resemble an old medieval representation of an angel, which i feels far more visually interesting, and below it is the shattered sky and broken buildings, riven by strange flames, all part of the ‘wrath’ and ‘profound fear’.

here was see the hand receiving what should cause ‘the rapture’ i used the sun as the object because i felt as though the sun’s connection to the heavens, and it being unreachable was going to add to the piece. i also inverted the colours of each of the annotations, to draw contrast between the statements.  

This all being said I'm confused over how the multiverse plays into this, the assignment was about creating art based around a narrative, not around other universes.

Two artists I felt influenced the art I made during the assignment were Brooks salzwedel and pokras lampras, Brooks' art I have already examined, still,  he depicts floating land masses, and strange forested scenes obscured by mist, while pokras lampras is an asemic writing artist, his particular

Brooks salzwedel

style was structured and merged aspects of Cyrillic, English, Greek and Arabic creating an interesting visual style.

Pokras lampras

What did we learn in lesson

This assignment did not focus on new artisic methods (in comparison to the last unit we learnt screenrinting, intaglio, chalk, graphite etc.) but rather ways to express ideas through it, in this case through the aforementioned narrative.

Animation:

animation is relatively simple, animations are composed of several frames, then the amount of frames per second will determine how the animation plays put, generally the higher frame rates are used for smoother, more high effort animations, 24 fps (Frames Per Second) is industry standard.

In a programme the last frame can be viewed to better let the animator decide where they want to go with the animation.

Light box art:

our light box art used tracing paper, each piece of paper was drawn on, the penned, the most 'misted' paper would be at the back, giving an impression of dictance, the paper in fromt would similarly appear closer to the veiwer.

Though as for what we used, screen printing, digital, painting, drawing were all used, of note was the continued use of animations in digital atr.

the use of light boxe was interesting particularly the use of layered tracing paper to create a obfuscated image, though I personally wonder how I could use them in my own art.

Out of lesson

digital art became my focus, I've found my transition from traditional methods difficult, lines are less stable, and dealing with  confusing interfaces has proven itself difficult.

The quality of my artwork has been reduced as a result, but this is expected when moving to a new, unfamiliar medium.

Though digital art has allowed me to use colours freely, which again is difficult, as I never developed any real sense over how to use colours using traditional drawing methods.

Inspiration

Additionally I asked each individual artist the same three questions about their work, which were

what is your source of inspiration? (meaning what initially inspired you and what continues to)

how did you start? (what did you draw initailly, when?)

what processes and materials do you use?

void_illustration - Richard Saunders Illustration

Richards art either is obviously biological, where a creature is depicted, or has a distinctly biological edge to it, metals seem to bend,twist and stretch like flesh, nothing seems to be truly just a machine or device, rather every ridge, bulge and groove hints at a more organic truth to his figures and objects.

1. im inspired by so many things, its good to pull from a wide range of inspirations.

2. Ive been drawing for a long time, im not professional but im hoping to change that, most of my work forms into narrative universes and then develops on from there.

3. For materials I use a range. My 'bio warrior' series is mainly pencil sketches with marker colours and white paint pen highlights. My brown paper dragons are watercolour on strathmore toned tan paper, lined digitally, though I will layer them up further with paint and markers.

Fuelstains - Nikolay Georgiev

His work similarly to Richard's trends to directly be a creature or rather, monster, these organism often have strongly textured skin, often appearing to have many grooves, showing the musculature underneath, then there are his mechanical pieces, either directly depicting a machine of some kind, such as a robot, or depicting a human who has been massively altered by technological augmentations.

1.I was initially inspired by comics, as a kid, stuff like spiderman, bat man and transformers, but later on it could be anything that inspires me.

2.I started in primary school and it was mostly superheros or stuff from movies.

3.Pencil, ink fineliner, brushpen, watercolour, ballpoint pen, digital.

Milesr.art – Miles R art

miles' art focuses on creature drawings, particularly drawings of alien life, creating some truly bizarrely fascinating, most bearing little resemblance to earth organisms, if any. Another aspect of Miles' work that I appreciate is that it seems grounded, the animals, in spite of their bizzarreness still seem like they could exist.

1.some of my biggest sources of inspiration:

- C.M koseman, Brynn metheny, and dougal dixon are some of my most inspiring artists

-just thinking about the natural world in general like on our planet

2.what initially inspired me to draw and that goes into number 2) in kindergarten I saw some kid drawing a honey comb pattern with neon markers and was like huh okay im going to do that but better.

And I always drew monsters and characters, always becoming more based on science overtime, and here I am now.

3.Now I exclusively  make finished things digitally with my ipad pro and apple pencil using procreate, but I often make sketches on post it notes with just regular pencil. In terms of processes I feel like I just do what I do it, its hard to define ones process.

[convivialcamera]

On Deadline: Jump

Previously

My entire universe had shrunk to the tip of a pin.

Every atom in my body was attuned only to the spot where Jamie’s blunt finger was delicately but insistently caressing my clitoris as I lay spread before him, feet dangling off the side of the bed and into oblivion. My blood rushed and my skin heated. My entire body tensed in a desperate attempt to keep still enough that the sudden jerking of my hips wouldn’t dislodge his finger. I held my breath deep in my lungs, straining, wanting, needing, burning.

Elbow tucked into my side, I reached up and grabbed at my shoulder, digging my fingernails into my collarbone in a last-ditch attempt to hold on.

And then, the chaos I was reigning in broke free. I exhaled on a small moan, and as I sucked in air the first wave of release hit me. After that I was lost.

When I came-to moments later, Jamie was gently running a finger down the inside of my splayed thigh and grinning like a cat that got the canary.

“You’re way too easy,” he said, a smirk barely concealed in the corner of his mouth.

“Shut up.” But I couldn’t help but grin myself, buoyed by the pleasure and contentment of orgasm. Jamie curled up beside me, resting his red mop just above my navel. I ran my fingers through his curls and caressed the curve of his ear. We stayed there, silent, for a long time.

As I gently floated in a state of semi-consciousness, Jamie’s breath tickled my stomach. Through the fog, it occured to me that he was talking. 

“...that we could hit this wine bar later,” he said, “and maybe make a night of it.”

“What? Like a date?” I raised my head to look at him, propping myself up on my elbow.

He twisted his neck to look back at me. “Yes, like a date.” 

I flopped back, a silly, wide smile overtaking my face. “Alright, then.”

I had the day off, having worked the Sunday before, but Jamie soon slinked away from my bed and back to the newsroom. I languished between the sheets, carefully cataloging every single moment that had passed between us. There was an easy intimacy between us that went beyond all the sex or even our shared profession, and I admitted to myself that I reveled in it.

I spent the day napping, mostly, although I did run out to buy a vacuum, since I had left the marital vacuum with my almost-ex-husband. I was loathe to think of Frank, I smugly told myself, as there really should only be two people in a new relationship. I tried to put him out of my mind, but he lingered. Why had I fallen in love with him? I wondered as I stood in front of the vacuum display, comparing models. What had made Frank stray? I pondered as I paid the clerk and lugged my purchase out to my car. Was it my work, or was it something irreparably wrong with me? I questioned as I drove back to my apartment. I didn’t have any answers, but something told me that with Jamie, everything was different. 

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Beauchamp, or maybe you just like fucking him, I thought.

By the time Jamie arrived at my door that evening, beautifully windswept from his ride over with just a hint of helmet hair, I had showered, shaved, plucked and primped within an inch of my life. To my distinct pleasure, my date looked like he had been temporairly struck dumb.

“Dude, it’s just a nice top.” I handed him a bourbon, neat, as he openly stared at my chest. It was a vibrant red and rather more low-cut than what I wore on assignment. 

He sucked down the drink like it was water. “Is that what you call it?”

“Yep.” I sipped my own drink like I had all the time in the world. I raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to say anything else about it. He immediately recognized the challenge, and demurred with a shrug. 

“You ready?”

“Yeah.” I glugged down the last of the bourbon and grabbed my black moto jacket. “Let’s go.”

The bar was in an old candy shop in a small historic district downtown Leoch. The walls were brick with the paint flaking off, and it was filled with little nooks and industrial furniture and illuminated only with candles. A sprightly little hipster seated us at a tiny table beneath an arch in a secluded corner with a single votive candle and two of the tiniest glasses of water I’d ever seen. Menus were attached to clipboards, and I studiously examined mine, avoiding Jamie’s gaze. 

I picked a pinot noir at random when the server came around, while Jamie ordered a sweet rosé and the biggest cheese plate on the menu. 

“It’s refreshing,” he said at my smirk.

“I’m sure.” I swirled my own wine and took a sip. The alcohol rushed through my bloodstream and heated my stomach.

Jamie rolled his eyes at me, and put his hand on mine. “It’s easier if we touch, isn’t it?”

It was a startling observation. I squeezed his hand, and felt the nervous energy between us dissipate into the ether. 

“Well, why don’t you tell me something about yourself?” I asked.

“What do you want to know?”

I cast about for a subject while I cut a hunk of Brie and smooshed it into a slice of baguette. “What’s your family like? Other than your uncles,” I qualified quickly. “Like, your mom and dad.”

“My parents are dead, Claire.” He said this softly; it pained him to tell me. 

“Oh.” I exhaled. “Mine too. Car crash when I was five.” It was an old wound but a deep one that still ached when pressed. The warmth of his hand sustained me. He paused, as if deciding. When he opened his mouth to speak, I blurted: “You don’t have to tell me.”

“It’s OK. My mom died when I was eight. And Dad, he had a massive stroke my first year of college.”

“Sucks,” I said without thinking. Jamie gave me a look that clearly said “duh,” and I giggled. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“I think you’re the only one that could have said that to me and not get punched in the face,” he said contemplatively, drinking his wine. “Because you know what it’s like.”

I gave him my own look. “It’s a shitty club.”

Jamie loaded a baguette slice with blue cheese and a dried apricot and stuffed it in his mouth. “You told me a while back that you’re not from anywhere. What the hell does that mean?”

I smiled. I had told him that the day we met, the first time he called me Sassenach. “My uncle raised me. He was a photographer too — on staff at Nat Geo.”

“Holy shit.” 

“Yeah, and in, like, the ‘80s, when the job was basically globetrotting with a camera. I refused to go to boarding school so I went with him, just about everywhere.”

“You come by all this naturally?” Jamie waved at me, indicating tip to toenails.

“Sure. All my belongings fit in a duffel bag and I didn’t go to a real school until college. So, yeah, I’m not really from anywhere.”

“That’s a hell of a childhood. I just grew up on a farm.”

“Like, cows and corn fields?”

“And horses,” he said.

“Race horses?”

He blushed. “Some. My sister Jenny and her husband breed and train them. She breeds merino sheep too.”

I could tell he was downplaying the race horses. “Are you and Jenny close?”

“As close as we can be, since I live here now,” Jamie said, but he evaded my gaze, which made me think there was more to that story. I itched to press him further, but didn’t want to bring the specter of tragedy back into our conversation so I turned to lighter things. 

I told him about my uncle, Quenten Lambert Beauchamp, the archaeologist-turned-photographer who raised me, and my wandering childhood that spanned six of the seven continents (we went to Antarctica, but hadn’t made it to Australia). As I talked, Jamie listened intently, asking questions now and then, especially about Uncle Lamb’s assignments. As the cheese plate slowly disappeared between us and another round of drinks arrived, Jamie spoke of his sister and her husband, who was also Jamie’s oldest friend, and the trouble they got into as kids on the farm. He was a born storyteller, charming and funny.

I was telling Jamie about the time Uncle Lamb locked me in a temple to the Roman Goddess Vesta when I was 16, when Jamie’s eyes suddenly went wide and his ears turned so crimson I could see it even in the dim candlelight of the bar.

“Don’t turn around, but I’m pretty sure Geillis just walked in,” Jamie said in a low voice, as if he was afraid speaking her name aloud would summon her to us.

Unable to help myself, I peeked over my shoulder, and sure enough I could see Geillis’s bright blonde curtain of hair as she chatted with the hostess and was led to a table for two on the other side of the bar. I turned back and rolled my eyes at Jamie to tease him a bit. “Yep, that’s her. What of it?”

“Don’t you think it might not be the best idea for the entire newsroom to know we’re, you know…” He made an indistinct noise in his throat that made his meaning perfectly clear.

I raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, deciding if I should say the thought that immediately popped into my mind. “I’m sorry,” I said, the devil on my shoulder winning out. “I watched you slobber all over an intern in front of the whole staff and you’re worried about being spotted having a glass of wine with a colleague?” I smiled innocently at him.

Jamie opened and closed his wide mouth a few times, flabbergasted. “Geillis is an opportunistic gossip.”

“I don’t have anything to hide.”

“And anyone who saw you in that shirt would know this is more than a glass of wine.” He suddenly looked smug. 

I began to roll my eyes at him, but I was distracted by a tall man with dark hair and strong bones walking into the bar through the back door. I leaned back, and pulled Jamie into the shadows. Dougal MacKenzie made a beeline for Geillis’s table, and Geillis smiled broadly when she spotted him. 

“What are we looking at?” Jamie whispered in my ear, sounding bewildered.

“Any reason why your uncle is macking on Gellis at the most romantic spot in town?” I whispered back, as we watched our boss greet our colleague with a very familiar kiss and sit down.

“Can’t think of any, other than the obvious,” Jamie said. “Maybe we should get out of here.” He flagged down the server with one hand, and ran a suggestive finger up my thigh under the table with the other.

“Maybe head back to my place?” 

“I’d like nothing better.”

[generallynerdy]

Adore (Theseus X Half-Mermaid!Reader) Part 2

Part 1

Summary: Being half mermaid is a bit of an issue when it comes to communicating with humans. You can grow legs and walk perfectly on land, but only speak Mermish above the water. When a handsome stranger wanders into your place of residence, Newt Scamander’s basement, your inability to speak his language is more than inconvenient.

Key: (Y/N) - your name, (f/c) - favourite colour

Warnings: cursing probably, The Scamander Brothers Are Too Good And Pure, Crimes of Grindelwald? What’s that? (in short, fuck canon)

Word Count: Part 1 - 1909, Part 2 - 2166, Part 3 - 2051

Note: hhhh did u say fluff here i’ll shove it down ur throat

You intrigued Theseus more than he cared to admit. He could barely go a day without thinking of you and the way you insisted on speaking to him, even if the way to do so was inconvenient. He wondered if you were intrigued by him, too. That was nonsense, though. He was just another of the many humans Newt had introduced you to, right? He was nothing special, not at all, and especially not compared to you.

Just knowing you would be there led the head Auror to visit Newt more often. This did not go unnoticed by his little brother, who said nothing for both of their sakes.

The second time Theseus visited, you couldn’t wait to introduce him to the Kelpie. He remained cautiously on the stone walkway, but was brave enough to let his legs hang over the side. The two of you couldn’t talk, but he did a little, since he knew you could understand.

For nearly an hour, you showed him all the Kelpie’s tricks. The Kelpie was slightly uncertain about his presence, even splashing him a few times, though he laughed it off. In fact, he was smiling almost the entire time.  Before Newt could wander back around, Theseus was making friends with the water demon, who you convinced to approach the wizard. With a single nuzzle into his hand from the Kelpie, Theseus was sure that the creature wasn’t all that bad.

The next time the Auror came around, Newt was with him. They were relaxing on the stone walkway, Theseus telling his little brother a story from work. Halfway through, you came swimming up and Newt translated for you, telling him that you wanted to hear the story, too.

You had always been curious about human happenings and culture, but Theseus’s story was even more interesting to you. After meeting him, you had asked Newt what his job was. Was he a magizoologist, too? As it turned out, he was some sort of leader in the government, though the concept was hard to grasp. You were intrigued and noted to ask Theseus more about it if you had the chance. Well, there it was.

You and Theseus were so involved that neither of you noticed when Newt slipped away to talk to Queenie, who had also dropped by.

“I think that’s the most I’ve ever seen your brother visit in a month,” she told the wizard with a giggle once she read his mind. “I thought that, too. He really likes her, huh?”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Newt told her with a small smile.

She raised her eyebrows, “Oh, yeah?”

He laughed to himself before telling her. “She called him pretty, even for a human.”

They shared a laugh, though they were careful not to be too loud and draw your attention away. Newt doubted that was possible, seeing as you were listening to his brother intently, having even raised the water levels so you could rest your elbows on the ground. Meanwhile, Theseus gesticulated wildly as he spoke, which only made you more interested. It was quite the sight to behold, a mermaid and a wizard having half a conversation.

It wasn’t long before Theseus was a familiar presence in the basement. Even the creatures started getting attached to him, which you thought was hilarious. The more often he visited, the longer you two spent together. Most of it was spent on land, walking and interacting with creatures as he told you stories. A lot of the time, too, was spent relaxing by that stone walkway, you in the water and Theseus on land.

Much to your delight, the Auror spent so much time around you that he even started picking up some Mermish. He could understand little phrases, mostly conversational things. Newt would even instruct him on some of what you said, though he preferred encouraging Theseus to go underwater and speak to you in perfect English.

For some reason, his brother was nervous to do so. You never picked up on this, but it left Newt distraught. How could the two of you ever get anywhere if Theseus was the only one talking?

In your mind, it was just Theseus becoming comfortable with you. It took time for you to adjust to humans and their way of life, so you thought it must be the same for the wizard. It went something like that, but, honestly, he was just the slightest bit terrified of the emotions he felt when he was around you. He’d never felt so...light-headed? Sick to his stomach? Something like that, though with a more positive connotation. Newt would probably describe it as having Billywigs flying about in his gut, which didn’t sound any more enjoyable.

Days and days went by, with Theseus finding he knew more about you than he believed. You didn’t have to talk for him to understand you. It was in the way you listened, in the way you interacted with everyone and everything around you. The realisation that this was the closest he had ever been to another person, or at least to understanding them, nearly killed him on the spot. You were really something else.

He started to ask you questions -- yes or no, of course. He asked you about your home, about yourself. He did the best he could and that was what counted. Sometimes, if he had a really pressing question, Newt would be called over to translate.

Once when Theseus visited, you could tell it had been a rough day at work. He laid down on the stone walkway and watched you feed the Kelpie. The next time you looked over, his eyes were closed and he was laying on his side, faced toward you. You smiled to yourself and swam until you were right in front of him. Remaining quiet, you tilted your head and observed how stressed he looked.

You wished more than anything that you could sing for him, but he would only hear a nasty bout of screeching. Humans couldn’t hear the true beauty of mermaids’ songs outside of the water.

However, there was a universal form of music. Humming sounded the same in Mermish as it did for humans, since both species used similar body functions to do it.

So, you started to hum a pleasant tune, leaning onto the stone walkway since the waters had been raised earlier for you to talk to Theseus. You leaned onto your arms as you hummed, staring at the odd human who had become your friend. As you continued your little musical piece, you noticed his face loosen, getting suddenly less tense. He even looked...peaceful.

This was another one of those moments when you realised just how pretty he was. You couldn’t help reaching a hand forward to brush a lock of his hair back, not wanting it to tickle his face.

You let your hand rest there for a moment before drawing it back, a little giddier than usual. You didn’t know why you felt that way, so happy after just a second of interaction. You didn’t know what it was about Theseus that gave you these tiny minnows in your stomach. Not literally, obviously, but it felt like that.

Eventually, the exhausted man started to snore lightly, drawing the attention of many creatures. You waved most of them away, telling them to let him sleep. Dougal the Demiguise, however, only left for a few minutes before appearing again with a messily folded blanket. It wasn’t cold in the basement, so the sweet creature put the cloth under Theseus’s head, that way he wouldn’t be too uncomfortable on the stone walkway. You thanked him quietly and he left again, waving as he did.

Newt didn’t return home until late that evening and, when he did arrive, he found both you and Theseus asleep. The Kelpie had kindly supplied you with his back as a place to sleep and, unlike the two of you, was still awake.

The youngest Scamander could hardly believe his eyes, thinking the sight before him was too perfect not to get a picture. So, instead of waking you up, that’s what he did. He took a picture of a half awake Kelpie protecting a slumbering wizard and mermaid. The picture wouldn’t develop for a few hours, so he stored it away in his office.

When Newt returned to the place you were both asleep, he woke his brother and helped his older brother sleepily climb the stairs to go home. Your presence right by Theseus did not go unnoticed by him, even in his exhaustion.

It was a while before Theseus came to visit again. You were almost panicked about it, but Newt reassured you that he was just on assignment from the Ministry. Nearly a week went by when both brothers appeared on the stone walkway, waving you over to them.

You swam over instantly, chattering excitedly at Theseus. He laughed, “Good morning, (Y/N). How are you?”

I missed you! Are you alright?

Newt translated. “She missed you and wants to know if you’re alright.”

“I’m fine, really,” he told you, though you eyed him doubtfully. He smiled in an almost sheepish way, something you swore you had never seen him do. “I actually have something for you.”

He and Newt sat on the ground so they were at the same level as you. From behind his back, Theseus revealed a large conch shell with bright blue and green hues painting the outside. You gaped and he handed it to you carefully, a grin on his expression.

“It's not just a shell,” Theseus said. “Put it up to your ear.”

You tilted your head and raised your eyebrows, but did as he asked. Once it was against your head, you could hear the soft crash of waves. It was nothing special, you thought, until a new sound broke through. The singing of many voices rose above the waves and you instantly recognised the song. It was a Mermish song, but you were hearing it as a human would under the water, how you would hear it on a regular basis.

You gaped at Theseus and Newt, who laughed at your gleeful expression. In your excitement, you flipped under water and rose back up with a laugh.

Thank you! You said, knowing Theseus would understand that little phrase. But then something slipped out of your mouth that you had no control over. Well, everyone had control over their words, but it seemed you had lost yours for a minute. You swam in front of Theseus and said; I adore you!

It wouldn’t be so odd of a thing to say after receiving a gift, at least for humans. The translation of that phrase from Mermish, however, was an odd thing. The phrase you just used was most often used for romantic partners, not friends.

Newt raised his eyebrows and glanced between you and Theseus. Before he could speak a word, you splashed him with water. He smirked and chuckled, raising his hands in defense.

“What -- what was that?” Theseus looked between you two. “What did she say?”

Luckily, Newt was kind enough to pretend he hadn’t heard what you said exactly. “She loves it, Theseus. Really.”

It was true. You did love the gift. But you loved the one who gave it to you even more.

Newt? You asked as soon as his brother was gone.

“Yes?” He glanced up from observing the baby Occamies to answer whatever question you had.

Humans… you flushed. Humans experience love, don’t they?

He gave you a small knowing smile, “Yes, they do. Are you asking for someone specific, or--?”

No! You sputtered, but were clearly a terrible liar. There was a moment of silence before you asked another question. How do I know if a human is in love?

“Well…” Newt had to think about it. “It’s different for every human. Some people show their love in touch, in service, in...gifts.”

Stop it, you said, elbowing his side.

He laughed again before answering you seriously. “You know how Tina and I act different around each other than with everybody else?”

Suddenly, you realised it. Oh! You two are in love! I can tell if they act like you and Tina!

“Something like that to start,” he suggested, “But don’t rely on it. Tina and I are strange.”

Do you think, you grabbed his arm to stop him from walking too far away. Do you think Theseus is in love?

Newt smiled his signature little grin as he tilted his head at you. “With you?” When you nodded sheepishly, he grabbed your hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Yes. Yes, I think he is. And I think you love him, too.”

I think so. You nodded again, looking at your feet.

“Well, I don’t mind,” Newt said cheerfully, your arm linked with his as he started to walk again. “I think the two of you are very sweet.”

Adore Tags: @marsbars101, @abovethyfold

Masterlist

[inkstainedfanfics]

I Lived

Summary: As Newt ages, he learns that fear is nothing but a barrier to happiness.

Word Count: 2,268

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Note: I wrote this for my secret santa @jclements919  via @fantasticsecretsanta I hope you enjoy this! It isn’t solely fixated on his creatures, but I did try to incorporate them, and it’s about the fluffiest thing I’ve written! If you squint + listen to it while reading, you can see the inspiration of I Lived by OneRepublic in it! You have an awesome taste in music, and I hope you’re doing amazing and having a lovely holiday season! Be sure to stay in touch :D​

Theseus notices before anyone else. “Newt? Are you all right?”

Newt startles, jumping the slightest. “What? Sorry. I’m fine, thank you.”

The family room couch groans as Theseus sets his book aside, leaning forward, that smile Newt knows all too well making an appearance. “You are not. There’s something wrong. It’s a girl, isn’t it?”

Newt’s cheeks flush a deep red and he runs a hand through his mop of red hair, stuttering and stammering an excuse to Theseus, an excuse his older brother refuses to believe.

“It is, isn’t it? Ha! I knew you’d find someone one day, little brother. So, who is she? Does she go to Hogwarts? Or did you meet her through your letter campaign? Hm? Did she care for creatures’ plight like you?”

Newt drops his face into his hands. “Merlin, Theseus, please don’t tell mum. She’ll never stop talking about it.”

“Come on, you have to tell me.”

“Swear you won’t tell her?”

Theseus rolls his eyes, impatient with his little brother’s somber nature. “Fine, yes, I swear I won’t tell anyone. So come on, who is she?”

“Well,” Newt glances at the hall, listening for the familiar sounds of clanking pots that tell him his mother is too busy with supper to worry about her boys. When he hears them, he relaxes, leaning back against the worn couch and adjusting his glasses. “She’s in my potions class this year.”

“And?” Theseus prompts, impatient for details. “What’s she look like?”

“She’s… cute,” Newt murmurs, hardly able to contain his smile.

“Oh come on, you think she’s the most beautiful girl, don’t you?” When Newt says nothing, Theseus scoffs. “Such a romantic, aren’t you? Lucky that. Girls love it.”

Newt shrugs, tugging the sleeve on his cardigan down. “I don’t know. I can’t… can’t really ask her out now, can I?”

“Why not?”

“Well she’s… amazing.” He swallows, feeling like a fool here in front of Theseus, but it doesn’t matter because the boy’s too excited about the gossip to rest now. “I’m less so.”

“So? She probably thinks you’re great too. Listen,” Theseus glances over his shoulder before leaning in and whispering, “you just gotta ask her out when no one that can tell mum is around. That way, you can avoid dragging her to a family supper until you’re sure she’s great.”

“I don’t know…”

Theseus shakes his head. “You can’t be scared of everything, Newt. How’re you going to live if you don’t do anything?”

“I do things!”

“Like what?”

“I started a club at school and head my own experiments.”

Theseus rolls his eyes. “Yeah, excuse me for not considering those. Seriously, Newt.”

“I am. You’re the one that doesn’t do anything.”

Theseus scowls. “What?”

“You just stand around. What do you think everyone would say if I told them what you named your hippogriff?”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I bet they would think it’s hilarious.”

“Newt—”

Whatever Theseus is about to say is cut off as Mrs. Scamander rounds the corner, dish towel on her shoulder, hair tugged back into a tight ponytail. “Boys, wash up. It’s supper time.”

Theseus glares at Newt one final time before whipping back around and darting to his feet. “Newt has a girlfriend, mum!”

“Thesues!” Newt bellows, leaping to his feet and chasing after his brother, ignoring his mother’s gleeful calls to invite her over.

Merlin’s beard, he’s dead.

Theseus stands at his brother’s right-hand side, grinning that grin that had drawn in every woman he’d ever met. He’s flawless in his black tux, hair slicked back, silver watch around his wrist glinting in the sunlight that pours through the stained-glass windows that hang above everyone. Newt himself is bathed in a golden light, courtesy of the crown shape within the window.

He sucks in a deep breath, hands trembling the slightest in his pockets. Others fill the area, their murmurs reverberating, filling the small room with an energy that only nibbles at Newt’s, feeding his terror, worsening his anxiety. Merlin’s beard, what’s he doing here?

Theseus reaches out to clap Newt on the back. “Wait til you see her. You’re gonna die.”

Newt half-laughs, withdrawing his hands to clasp his wrist and search for a pulse. “I think I may before she even comes out.”

Pickett pokes his head out of Newt’s pocket, jabbering about how hot it is in there and how noisy everyone’s being.

“Yes, Pickett, I know. I’m excited too,” Newt mumbles, reaching up to fix his tie for the millionth time. Theseus just chuckles.

“Relax, Newt. She’s not going to change her mind now.”

Newt absentmindedly raises his hand to his lips, thumb nail landing between his teeth. “But what if she does? What if… what if she realizes she can do better? What if she wants someone more stable? What if I’m not good enough?”

Theseus raises his eyebrows, openly grinning at his brother’s terror. “Newt, I promise you that won’t happen. She’s head over heels for you, and rightly so. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else listen to your rants on erumpent mating patterns. Trust me, she’s the one for you as much as you are the one for her.”

Newt chews on his nail still, ignoring Pickett as he clambers up his shoulder. “But, what if?”

“When have I ever been wrong?”

“Plenty of times. Remember that time you told Molly Henderson she’d be fine drinking whatever Edward brewed?”

Theseus scoffs. “She was fine in the end.”

“Most people don’t like boils,” Newt quips, eyes focused on the closed doors at the end of the alley.

“Well, that’s not really the point of what I was saying.”

Newt shifts from foot to foot, shaking his head. “You never make sense, Theseus. Never have.”

“You’re together because of me. I was right back then, wasn’t I?”

Newt just scoffs in response, too nervous to respond. Only a moment later, the organ purrs, playing music Newt had heard many times before.

He’d just never been at the front of the aisle when it played.

Bridesmaids that you invited and groomsmen Newt knew more through Theseus than anyone march down the aisle. Jacob helps Queenie down, stopping only to pat Newt on the shoulder, nearly sending Pickett tumbling to the ground. The small creature grumbles, but the noise is lost on Newt as you round the corner, stunning as always, but now… now he doesn’t know what to say.

“Wow,” he breathes out, and Theseus nudges him with his elbow.

“Told you.”

“Shut up.”

But Newt says it with a half-smile, concentrated only on the way you look, the way you shine in the colors, drenched first in blue then red then purple then finally, as you climb the three steps to stand in front of him, gold.

He swallows, fighting and failing to contain his smile. “You—You look lovely, dear.”

“Not too shabby yourself, Mr. Scamander.”

His heart goes into overdrive, entire world glowing around him as the priest begins his speech, begins the blessings and says the words he needs to marry you.

Newt doesn’t really listen. Even when Pickett crawls over his sleeve and clambers onto your shoulder to grab your earring, Newt’s not bothered. It’s perfect. As perfect as can be. For the first time in his life, Newt feels fully and truly alive.

“Forever?” You murmur, grabbing his hands, holding them in yours and Newt can’t breathe.

“Forever,” he murmurs back, knowing with every beat of his heart that he will spend the rest of his life at your side trying to make you smile.

Newt’s fingers are linked with yours, tugging you forward, back to the apartment, to the case.

“Newt,” you giggle, “what are you in a hurry for? It’s only been a couple weeks.”

“Come on, love. I’ve something to show you.”

“What is it?”

He glances back over his shoulder, heart soaring at the sight. It’s been a month that he’s officially been yours—and the eleven years before that when he was unofficially yours—and still he finds himself struck down by how beautiful you are, that glimmer in your eyes, that carefree smile, that wondrous, heart-stopping laugh. How he lived before such a love is beyond him.

But you’re here now, at his side, panting the slightest from rushing up three flights of stairs, hands on your knees. “Well, what is it?”

Newt unlocks the door and leads you inside, into the bedroom, down the case. Theseus and Queenie had managed to convince the two of you to leave it behind for the honeymoon, but it had been an antsy two weeks, both of you excited to return to two different reasons.

You simply adored the creatures, loved wandering with them, playing with them, helping them when they were injured and reading to them when they were tired. Newt found it precious, not that he was allowed to admit that anymore after one too many embarrassed glares from you. Still, he would sneak to the area where you were reading to the mooncalves or occamies and listen, an unavoidable smile painted on his face.

His reason was far more devious.

Theseus greets you both when you climb inside. “Well there’s the two lovebirds. I was wondering if you’d come back.”

“What else would we do?” You ask, eyes darting to Dougal as he putters around the workspace.

“Oh I don’t know. Run off to Italy? Spend your time delving into ruins in Romania? Risk dragons’ fire in Russia?”

“As if,” you say, rolling your eyes.

Newt swallows the nerves growing in his stomach. “Love, if I may interrupt…”

You spin to attention, grinning up at him. “Whatever you want, darling.”

Newt’s cheeks flush as Theseus whistles. Bloody brothers. “I had a lovely time on our… trip,” he hesitates, a glare cast at Theseus to convince the bothersome man to shut up for once in his life, “and I know that we promised not to get each other anything else, but I did.”

“Newt! You knew the deal.”

“Yes, but how could I resist?”

“Whatever it is, I’m not taking it,” you say, clearly adamant in your decision. “You know the rules.”

“Okay, but how,” Newt stretches behind Theseus, reaching for the tiny tree he’d bought and shipped only a week earlier, “can you resist giving her a home?”

You stop your protests short, eyes bulging. “A bowtruckle?”

“She refuses to imprint on a tree. In fact, she’s fixed on staying with me, but Pickett’s already a jealous bugger, so, if you’d like, I thought you could bring her with you. She’s quite kind and observant, and I’m sure she’ll be a wonderful companion when I’m not around to bother you.”

“You’re sure? She doesn’t want to be with the others?”

“They’ve taken to a bit of a civil war.” He sighs, exasperated with his creatures. “Maybe you can bring them peace. You’ve always been better with them than I.”

The knot in Newt’s chest unwinds as you light up. “I’d love to. I always told you that you’re too stern on them. They just want to swing around their tree, not listen to lectures.��

Theseus laughs, “He’s always been like that, you know. Too serious. I’ve always told him to lighten up. You know, he was terrified to ask you out. Shook like a leaf just thinking about it.”

“No way. Newt?”

Newt just reaches out to squeeze your hand. “Utterly terrified. But it was worth it.”

Theseus offers to lead you to the tree as Newt finishes some cleaning, and as he watches the two of you walk away, laughing and joking, he feels his heart swell. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be than by your side. With a final smile to himself, he turns back to his work desk, clearing away months of old notes and menus and brochures. He’d been terrified so many years ago, but it’d been worth it. Now he has the love of his life by his side as he works toward his dream career. In his wildest dreams, he never would’ve dreamed himself so happy.

He finds you later, curled up against an erumpent, playing with the niffler and charming a tea cup to float around for Dougal to try to catch. Your bowtruckle is resting on your shoulder, watching the niffler with a suspicious glance.

Newt stifles a laugh, dusty boots knocking gravel away as he steps to your side. “May I join you?”

“Of course. Here.” You scoot over, making room for Newt. He pats the erumpent’s back once before falling onto the spot next to you, arm winding around your waist.

“Having fun?”

Dougal stops chasing the tea cup, so you let it settle in the grass, turning your attention to Newt as Dougal wraps his arms around Newt’s neck. “She’s a sweetheart, you know.” You nod at your shoulder. “So kind. The others pick on her, though.”

“But you’ll set them straight.”

“I’ve already started. I told them if they don’t be nice, I’ll move their tree into the shadows. They weren’t very happy about that, but I think it might have worked.”

Newt leans over to press a kiss to your temple, smiling into the kiss. “I love you so much, dear.”

“I love you too,” you say with a laugh. “What prompted that?”

He bumps the top of your head with his nose, eyes shut as he soaks in this feeling, this moment of peace, this pure bliss. He can hardly contain his joy, feels like he’s about to fracture apart, but he just kisses you once more. “You, love. You.”

[chrysaliseuro2018]

Cappadocia Capers

Today we visit the wonders of Cappadocia. Over breakfast Genevieve reported back on the balloon flight. Apparently is was fabulous if a little crowded in the basket with upwards of 20 people jostling for best positions. But she was glowing about the experience. Did we have a little balloon ride envy? Maybe a little bit but comfortable with the decision having both ballooned previously and the cost of €175 each (total $550+) was going to knock the budget around a bit.

Several stops were made during the course of the morning to view various sections of Cappadocia. It is an amazingly weird and wonderful sight. This natural phenomenon was caused by ancient volcanic eruptions blanketing the area with thick ash which solidified into a soft rock called tuff - something a little contradictory there I feel. Anyway, over thousands of years wind and water have shaped the landscape forming hills and mounds, lumps and bumps, crags and scrags, big and small, fat and thin. Some of the mounds, so charmingly called fairy chimneys are tall, tapering to skinny then topped with a fat blob. The area stretches into the distance and just when you think you have seen them all there is another vast plain of nobbles and bobbles. Plus many have been carved out and used as homes. Imagination is the key and we were encouraged to use it. The shapes and figures to be ‘found’ were so varied; a man in repose on a chair, kangaroos galore, a camel, birds, a buffalo. We all delighted in letting the mind go into creative free fall.

But while our imagination was busy seeing things in rocks Nahjo’s was centered on his commissions from shopping outlets cutting short our visits to some of the sights. As with all tours it was announced we would be going to the dreaded factories. First stop was the ‘Hi tits keramics’ (sic) . With a name like that I was immediately interested and Chris was definitely on board. And sure enough there on the factory was a sign ’Hi Tits’. Unfortunately high tits weren’t part of their range. Dougal finally worked out what was being referred to was in fact Hittites the ancient people who occupied Turkey (then Anatolia) prior to 1700 BC.

On approach we were given our time allowance of 40 minutes which seemed excessive compared to the 15 minutes at the rock formations. At this point Chris complained about the time imbalance which while didn’t reduce the time at the keramic factory seemed to result in longer visits to the next rock ‘panoramas to make some pictures’.

Trudged into keramics factory with Nahjo looking for a volunteer to spin some clay on a wheel. Needless to say Mr Russia was an enthusiastic rapid-fire volunteer. The gig was his. First we watched the pro then Mr Russia did his bit. Mrs Russia and son seemed mightily impressed. Next the showrooms and all the painted keramics. One design was supposed to be so intricate that only 5 master potters were skilled enough to create it. Dougal noted that these guys must be prolific considering the number of that design for sale. Mr Russia was convinced and bought one. Meanwhile Chris took a shining to an urn, entering into half-hearted negotiations while the group began heading out to the bus. Dougal noted that considering Chris’ earlier time objections he would lose all credibility if he was last out. Fortunately he joined the rest of us as we loaded back onto the bus with the keramics staff hot on his heels reducing the cost with every step. No deal.

Following some more visits to other sites with some amazing formations (they are so intriguing and oddly beautiful) it was time for the Open Air Museum. This site is a religious precinct containing a number of churches, chapels (or shapelles according to Nahjo) and a nunnery. Most of the churches belong to the 10th, 11th or 12th Century. Each chapel was cut into the rock with layers of decoration. Latter more intricate paintings had flaked away on some walls and ceilings revealing more rudimentary red paintings on the raw walls. The most magnificent one was apparently the Dark Church that Doug, Gene and Chris raved about. Apparently the paintings in there were the best preserved of all due to minimal light exposure. My claustrophobia got in the way of me visiting it. There were also some other ‘caves’ which were home to kitchens with adjoining dining area housing a table that would easily accommodate the largest of families at Christmas. Overall it was a fabulous museum and not overly crowded. Sadly no photos allowed.

Next the leather factory which was the same if somewhat provincial version of the one Chris and I had seen on the previous tour. Less glamorous models, no dimmed lights but the same deafening music. Dutifully followed the boss into the display rooms. Gene and Doug had no interest while at Chris’ persuasion I tried on a few things. Helps to be not really interested as the price plummets commensurate to lack of interest. One suede jacket dropped from starting price of $500 to final price of $250. Being the proud owner of new leather from Istanbul I didn’t need another no matter how cheap. Needless to say Mr Russia bought one for himself. Nothing for Mrs Russia.

By now it was about 2pm with Nahjo telling us the restaurant would be too busy so we wouldn’t be eating until 2.30. More rumblings from Aunty Margaret and Tina who were clearly unimpressed. So it was into the sweet and nut factory across the road where we all stuffed down samples to take the edge off our appetites. Finally Nahjo deemed it ok for us to head for lunch only to find out the kitchen closed at 3pm and it was nearly that now.

This played into our hands beautifully having not forked out for another abysmal lunch. Trouble was the poor local cafe we descended on was a one horse show that couldn’t cope with the sudden surprise influx at 3pm. Koftas were raw and chicken dry but we had a good laugh about it.

Nahjo’s on being asked cultural questions along the way had advised he would be answering them later. Well the time had come. This was Nahjo’s biggest moment of the tour. He was to play leading man in his own cultural play. We were taken into a local’s home built into one of the rock pinnacles. (Unfortunately we didn’t get any information about the home although the bloke who lived there spoke good English). A little claustrophobic for me so I headed for the window seat and quietly observed the performance that followed. Nahjo took the role of a suitor about to be introduced to his new partner’s family. Everyone was assigned roles as mother, father, grandparents, sisters, brothers, cousins or friends of the sweethearts. (Think he could see I was unimpressed as I only got to be a distant cousin as an after thought). But we were all supporting roles to Nahjo’s cameo. He clearly relished being lead actor, director, script writer and narrator remaining front and center the entire interminable performance.

At last when it was over we were released to the balcony where we enjoyed chi. But we left with our sum of knowledge about the underground houses unchanged. (How did they hollow them out, how old was the one we were in, how long had the gentleman lived there, does he own it or does the government etc...who knows?)

Finally returned to the ‘Special Class’ hotel in time for dinner and for those who had opted in for the Turkish night (interest level zero for us 4) to doll themselves up for €30 of guaranteed belly dancing and bottomless glasses. Aunty Margaret, Tina and Holly headed out in their party frocks ready for a big night. And my bet is Mr Russia would have been first up to gyrate with the dancers.

We bypassed dinner at the hotel instead opting to eat at a local cafe in town. Lentil soup (a Turkish favorite) Koftas - cooked this time - and stuffed zucchini were excellent. The wine apparently was not.

The tour while not 5 star, 4 star, 3 star and arguably not even 2 star was a whole lot of fun. Many laughs were had and in years to come we will enjoying reliving it as it’s often the dodgy holiday events that live with us the longest.

Tomorrow the tour returns to Side via another couple of factories while Chris and I and later Doug and Gene catch flights to Istanbul. From there Chris and I leave Turkey for Malta and Doug & Gene return to Canberra.

[betweensceneswriter]

Second Wife-Chapter 5 : Visions of Leoch

Second Wife Table of Contents

Second Wife on AO3

Previously -  Chapter 4 : A Woman’s Duty “Women generally do not care for it,” –Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser

“Da—Jamie, I mean—he’s kind, I think; he always was to Joan and me.  But I’d see, when he’d lay his hand on my mother’s waist and try to draw her close—she’d shrink away from him.”  She gnawed on her lip some more, then continued.  “I could see she was afraid; she didna like him to touch her.  But I couldna see that he ever did anything to be afraid of, not where we could see—so I thought it must be something he did when they were in their bed, alone” (Voyager, 583).

     Laoghaire’s home in Balriggan had been without the care of a man for years, and Jamie had much to occupy his time.  He set himself to work with determination, fixing windows and straightening sagging doors, checking the roofs for leaks and applying new shingles where they were needed.  He scraped out the chimneys and replenished the peat supply.  Laoghaire had kept her garden up, but he reinforced the fence to keep out the neighborhood dogs and wandering deer.  And he made sure the ground was ready for planting grain and potatoes come spring.

     The work was satisfying. His favorite time of the day, though, was after he had come in exhausted and eaten the evening meal prepared by Laoghaire.  She was an excellent cook, taught well by her grandmother, Mrs. Fitz.  With a full belly, he would build up the fire, and then Joanie would sit on his lap and Marsali would curl up next to him, with Laoghaire knitting in her chair by the fire.  Then he would tell them stories, or read to them from the books his tutor had introduced him to many years back: the Bible, Homer’s Odyssey, and Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales. 

     And when Joanie fell asleep on his shoulder, her fiery hair blending with his, he would shut the book and carry her upstairs to lay her on her bed.  Sometimes she would awaken and sleepily blink her brown eyes at him, whispering “Good night, Daddy,” but even when she slept through the transfer to her bed, he felt a warmth flood his soul that partially filled that cavernous hole deep in his heart.

     After their atrocious failure of a first night together, Jamie managed to express that he was much older than Hugh and Simon had been, and that he really didn’t need anything but once a fortnight.

     It wasn’t all bad.  Out of the bedroom, Laoghaire felt comfortable, familiar.  So much had changed in the last 20 years; so little that was familiar remained.  There were faces he missed: Colum, Dougal, Rupert, Angus, Murtagh.  And Claire.  They were all gone.  But seeing Laoghaire roused memories of Castle Leoch that hadn’t come to him for years.  She was like a painting of a place and time long forgotten that stirred up strong recollections.

     It was perhaps a bit disturbing that he would look at Laoghaire, and instead, remember Claire.  

     It seemed like Laoghaire was always crying, but she would never tell him why.  Once, she was bent in front of the fire, stirring a pot, and weeping.  The sight transported Jamie to a room at Leoch, another fire, another pot, another weeping woman.  He closed his eyes then, and he could almost feel Claire, in her thin, strange little shift, pressed against his bare chest, shaking with grief over her husband.  He had awkwardly crouched in his kilt to hold her, and she clung to the arm he wrapped around her, as he whispered to her and stroked her hair.  He had already developed a sense of affection towards the Sassenach woman, with her fiery ways and her bold tongue.  She had impressed him with her medical knowledge and her compassion; she had just seen his back, and yet he felt no shame in her presence.  As he held her, he had wanted to wrap her up in his plaid, to take her to bed then and there.  And for a moment when their faces were inches apart, he could sense she would have responded, that she would have been comforted by the warmth of his body.  But Laoghaire would never be comforted.

     Jamie would see Laoghaire for a second in the morning, her blond curls around her shoulders before she pinned up her hair, and then he would turn and see Claire instead, giddy and tipsy with Colum’s Rhenish, listening to Gwyllyn the bard, completely unaware of how smitten he was with her.  He would see himself walking her back to old Davie Beaton’s surgery with the excuse of making sure she got home safely; when what he really wanted was her alone.  The way she untied his cravat and with her soft hands lifted the edge of his shirt and touched his shoulder to check on his gunshot wound made him catch his breath and will himself to keep his hands off her.  He had told Claire the first day at Leoch that she need not be scared of anyone while he was around.  But at that moment, he was a little scared of himself.  Did she notice him devouring her with his eyes, willing her to become his?

     Jamie might see Laoghaire lacing up her corset, and though the face and body made him remember a girl by a river, his mind would walk him away from the river, back through Leoch, and down a dark hallway, to Claire in their bedchamber, beautiful and bereft, sitting in front of the mirror.  He would feel the pain of wondering if she would ever forgive him, if they would ever be close again.  In his mind, he would again take up his dirk and pledge his fealty to her, and she would forgive him, with a caveat—that he would never raise a hand to her again.  Sometimes it hurt too much to stay past that moment, to remember their desperation to possess and invade each other; to truly become one flesh. 

     But sometimes he had to see it through to the end, to remember that it had happened, that Claire hadn’t been just a fantasy, a faery in his life for only three years, now haunting his dreams for the last eighteen.  He needed to know that passion and love truly were possible.

     He tried, by God, Jamie tried.  He tried platonic affection during the daytime, and Laoghaire would pull away from his hand on her waist.  This was odd to him, as he was accustomed to embracing and kissing his sister Jenny on the forehead, and Joan and Marsali seemed to thrive when he would hug them or kiss them when he tucked them into bed.  They would be in raptures if he brushed and plaited their hair for them, which he would sometimes do just to have the warmth of them close to him.

     The girls came to love him, and he to love them.  But not Laoghaire.  Jamie paid her compliments, brought her gifts, picked her flowers.  He worked harder to please her, farmed their land and worked for wages at the neighbor’s, bringing home the money to her.  He perceived her needs before she asked, keeping the wood and water stocked.  However, nothing seemed to thaw Laoghaire’s response to him.

     Jamie began to wish he had said he didn’t need to be with her but once a month, because as it approached the two-week point, he noticed Laoghaire stiffen whenever he came near.  It was such a marked reaction that a few times he had looked up and seen Marsali watching them with a look of curious concern on her face.  What impression was the lass getting of marriage?  Jamie wondered. 

     He tried, twice, to approach Laoghaire with no thought for his own pleasure.  One night he had whispered to her, “Please, may I touch you?”  She allowed him to fondle her breasts, but when he tried to cup his hand on her, down there, she froze, clamping her legs so tightly together that he couldn’t even fit a finger between them.

     And one morning, seeing the spill of Laoghaire’s curls on the pillow, her face so fresh and rosy in sleep, and her shift rucked up by her tossing and turning in the night, Jamie thought he might try to pleasure her with his mouth.  But when Laoghaire awoke, she thought a rat or other vermin was in the bed trying to eat her, and she screamed and kicked so violently that Jamie was thrown off the bed and suffered a black eye.   

     After that, Jamie determined that if anything was to occur in their bedchamber, it would have to be at Laoghaire’s initiative. 

     And so he threw himself into the purposes he did have.  Being a father, working with his hands, making the land produce food, and providing for his family.

On to Chapter 6 : The Curse of Eve Poor Jamie—he lives in a home with three women!

[jeremystrele]

A Stylist’s Good Room In South Yarra’s Most Coveted Apartment Building!

A Stylist’s Good Room In South Yarra’s Most Coveted Apartment Building!

The Good Room

Lisa Marie Corso

Assortment of vintage chairs collected by Heather. Vintage table from Leonard Joel. Rec chair bought’years ago’ from Chapel Street Bazaar, then reupholstered by Robert at Upholstery Direct in Preston. Vintage brass ‘Semi’ pendant by Fog & Morup from Angelucci 20th Century. Pineapple light on balcony is  1950s Murano glass from Nyary in Albert Park. ‘Ikebana’ vase by Jaime Hayon from Cult. Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

Stylist and editor Heather Nette King in her favourite room in the house! Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

Light fitting by West Elm. Bust from Capocchi. Gifted mirror. Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

Cushions Heather had made in Timorous Beasties fabric she sourced. Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

Mario Bellini for C&B Italia sofa from Castorina & Co. Featherston lounge chair by Upholstery Direct in Preston. Light fitting by West Elm. Rug by West Elm. Vintage poster from Vintage Posters Only in Armadale. Blue pillar painted by Heather. Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

Featherson lounge chair Heather found for dirt cheap at an op shop, reupholstered in purple by Upholstery Direct in Preston, cushions she had made in Timorous Beasties fabric she sourced. And of course, Dougal the family dog! Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

Artemide ‘Nesso’ table lamp. Buffet from Canvas & Sasson. Framed print (top left): ‘With You I Create’ from Atley & Co. Unframed print below from Vintage posters only. Table from Leonard Joel. Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

Looking through ‘The Good Room’. Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

Artemide ‘Nesso’ table lamp. Buffet from Canvas & Sasson. Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

Artemide ‘Nesso’ table lamp. Buffet from Canvas & Sasson. Large artwork ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’ by Arite Kannavos, a gift to Heather from her family. Framed print (top left): ‘With You I Create’ from Atley & Co. Unframed print below from Vintage posters only. Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

The stained glass window that captured Heather and Jeremy’s hearts! Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

This glorious stained glass was salvaged by the architect Howard Lawson from the tip site of a former Toorak mansion! Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

One night sometime in the 1990s a young couple named Heather and Jeremy went to a party at South Yarra’s Beverly Hills apartment complex. There was music, some fizz and a few Neighbours TV stars. Almost 30 years later, Heather and Jeremy would return to the same complex. But this time, as its newest residents!

The Beverly Hills apartments were designed by architect-builder Howard Lawson in 1935, who wanted to bring some of that 1930s Hollywood glamour and Spanish Mission style back to Melbourne. His idea was to create a place for communal living, where people could connect and live in close quarters.

“The apartments were built during the Depression-era and the ‘Whelan the Wrecker’ period, where lots of Toorak mansions were being torn down because people went broke,” explains Heather. “A lot of Beverly Hills is actually built from recycled brick and stuff Lawson salvaged from these demolition sites headed for the tip.”

Heather and Jeremy became reacquainted with the apartment complex around two years ago, when they were looking to downsize from the family home they previously shared with their two daughters, dog and cat for 20 years. “We’d joked for 20 years that we’d renovate and when we were finally a position to do so, the girls had grown up and we were ready for a new adventure,” says Heather.

“I Googled ‘older style apartments in Melbourne’ and an ad for this place came up, we took one look at each other and were like, yes,” she describes. It was the arched stained glass window that hooked them. “We knew we were in big trouble, we really wanted it and had to act quickly to make it happen.”

Now, after living in their apartment for the last year and half with their daughter Allie, Dougal the dog and Sugar the cat, Heather is dead serious (with a smirk) when she tells me: “I’m never moving again.”

Onto their good room, and Heather tells me “it’s THE room of the house”. The open-plan living dining area is very much in its original state, except for its colour – now a beautiful deep, dusky grey. “Choosing a colour was the hardest part because I knew we would be spending so much time here,” confesses Heather. The room is filled with the family’s treasures from their old home, including a much-loved Arite Kannavos abstract painting (given to Heather by her family as a birthday present), and a few new additions, including the Featherston lounge chair Heather found dirt cheap at an op shop, new lighting fixtures, and what she describes as her “first proper grown up couch” (a Mario Bellini for C&B Italia sofa) and floor-to-ceiling Italian ‘Grazie Zia’ vintage film poster.

But the ‘stuff’ isn’t really the reason why this room is so dear to Heather. She loves the character of this space, not to mention the seriously swoon-worthy views. “The first night we moved in, we took off the curtains and saw this view to the city all lit up, of course I cried,” she says of the moment she knew she was home.

Heather loves the neighbours too, and the feeling of belonging to this intimate community – she often leaves the windows open and chats to those passing by. “I garden lots too, and our friendships grew from hellos, to my name is, to swimming laps in the pool with each other in the mornings.” In Heather’s experience, Beverly Hills residents really care about each other, and the history and preservation of the complex itself.

Sitting in her ‘good room’ comfortably at ease, it’s easy to see Heather’s found her happy place. “This is the room where we come together – mostly the three of us – but I did manage to squeeze in 50 friends for my birthday party last year! It was tight but very good fun.” And in case you were wondering, no Neighbours stars were in attendance, instead just the good, real and regular live-next-door kind.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Can we please have some more "Our story?"

What happens after Claire calls Jamie in “Our story?”

anonymous asked: When will we get a continuation of “Our Story”, this is a really great fic and I can’t wait to discover if Jamie and Claire will finally meet after all these years apart. Thanks to all the writers, you’re each doing a terrific job with your own world and creation. Keep up the great work :)

[December 24th, 2007]

When another deadline flies by, Jamie is flying at 10,000 feet, Boston-bound with a mouthful of pretzels. He can almost see Geordie in his Glasgow office, fat fingers typing misspelled threats into a text: droppING representaton, beach of contract, an etc. etc. dripping with career-ending venom. But no matter. How could anything matter, when the sea is a sheet of blue glass below? When a woman—his woman—is waiting for the sound of his knuckles on the other side of her door?

Later that evening, Jamie’s rental pulls up outside Claire’s home. He does not move from his seat, but waits, wanting to see what fragments of life he can snatch from the trees, the waft of peanut butter from the swaying pinecones. The house is large and painted brick, with a mismatched patch of white above the garage. Roman Column instead of Lily of the Valley. (He imagines a man, Frank, on a ladder; Claire looking up, shielding her frustration from him and the sun). The grass is freshly cut, and Jamie knows that if he wanders to the back, he will find a garden. Marigolds sleeping until spring.

Jamie thinks, with a certain sense of awe, This is the place. This is the place and that is the yard and that is the door. Inside, there is the kitchen where she has eaten breakfast, the table where she’s done her taxes, the mirror that has fogged with her breath when she leans close. (He remembers being that close, once.)

Finally, he gets out of the car.

The slats of thin metal clank when Claire pulls at the blinds. She sees Jamie striding up the pathway, looking as impressive as he does on glossy paper, or in the intricate webbings of her late-night brain. She smooths her curls and her skirt to tame whatever has burst inside her. (Loneliness, that old friend—just a puff of smoke.)

The first thing Claire says when she opens the door is, “You broke your nose.”

There is no intonation at the end, implying doubt, or criticism (“You broke your nose.”). Rather, there is only quiet evidence that Claire has not forgotten, still knows Jamie and the once-sharp bridge of his nose, through and through.

And Jamie, seeing Claire, says, “Aye, and you’ve gone a bit gray.”

Similarly, it is not a question or an insult (he thinks she looks wiser, wants to see what she’d look like in all white), but merely a quiet recognition that time has passed, they are older, and he does not care.

“I’m assuming there’s a story to go with it.”

Claire squints, trying to mine the story from his face. The possibilities: a horse, riled by the teeth of flies. An angry lover, whose palm soars, its heel shoved outwards and up. It’s unsettling, almost, how Claire can only fill these blank spaces with assumptions.

“Aye, there’s always a story,” Jamie says.

With her face pinched this way, Jamie can read the years in the crinkles of her forehead. He sees the spot where the furrow is at its deepest, the place where she probably wonders, “What other parts of you have broken?” He wants to put his lips there, tell her about every splinter and fracture without speaking them aloud. 

Claire’s eyes travel downwards until they sparkle. Apparently, she has found something in the cut of his jaw because she puts a hand to her chin, saying, “I’m going to assume…an unfortunate encounter with a mountain lion? No. A bear. A grizzly. Are there grizzlies in the Highlands?”

“Nay, unless ye count Rupert,” Jamie replies and, as if on cue, a roar comes from a nearby porch. A man staggers towards an idled taxi, all hairy haunches and pale flanks in the streetlight. “Merry Christmas!” he shouts to no one, voice ringing with booze. He draws up when he spots Jamie and Claire across the way, and his lips are spit-shined when he puckers them, cooing, “Now kissssssssssssss!”

Jamie laughs quietly, so that Claire must work to hear it once the engine putters awake. (When she moves a bit closer, she does; decides it is still the best thing she’s ever heard.)

“Well, there appears to be a small population of them in Boston,” she jokes. “Now’s your chance. I’ll hold those flowers while you two go at it.”

Christ, he’d forgotten the flowers. 

“Thank you,” he says, placing them in her arms (the pulse of an old grief when she cradles the roses). “Make sure ye dinna crush them, mind. The woman I’m taking to dinner wouldna appreciate crushed flowers.”

“Better crushed flowers than a crushed date. Not much you can do with that.”  

Whether either of them realizes it, the four feet between them have become one, and if Jamie were to extend his arm, he could wrap it entirely around Claire’s waist. Instead, he jerks his head towards the car, and she follows him.

“But if a ghastly beast did break your nose, I’d love to hear about it.” 

“The story’s not as exciting as all that,” he replies, opening the passenger door, taking an extra second to admire the clumsy way she ducks inside. “Just a rugby match against the Mackenzies.”

“Beasts enough,” she says, once he’s in his seat. “Was it worth it?”

Already, the new-car smell has been replaced by hers: that fertile spring scent, moss and rain and opening flowers. Jamie rubs his nose and wonders if, after all these years, Claire’s green thumb would set it straight by simple touch. Crunch, click, wholeness.

“A broken nose in exchange for Dougal on his arse, doing the splits for all king and country? Worth it, I’d say.” 

“Oof.” Claire cringes. “Think I could die happy without that one.” 

“Aye, there’s a few other things I’d rather see…” Suddenly bold, Jamie lets his words become a suggestion. A flush blooms across Claire’s cheeks as she reaches toward the dashboard. 

“Easy there, lad.” 

Jamie notices how her fingers waver in the air, seem to yearn for the knob of his knee. But Claire freezes, suddenly self-conscious, and only turns the radio dial. When Joni Mitchell sings through the speakers, she hoots, “You’re still listening to this stuff?”

“Always,” he wants to say. 

“Better than what’s on nowadays,” he says instead, tapping the cracked CD case on the consul. “And my iPod broke.” 

“Broken nose, broken iPod…” Claire looks out the window and hums. (What other parts of you have broken?)

It’s as though the music is dragging them from Jamie’s car, pushing them into a crooked Edinburgh flat where a needle crackles and the record spins. The soundtrack of their newlywed bliss, “Blue”—forever playing in tune with the creak of their cot, the groan of the pipes behind their heads. Lying awake at night, they had dreamt aloud of the 70’s—of history—believing they’d both been born late, two souls adrift. (“If you could be anyone, who would you want to be?” they had asked each other. But whatever time or place, the answer was always, “Yours.”)

“So where exactly are you taking me?”

“That’s for me to ken and for you to find out.” 

“I do hope it’s at least remotely interesting,” Claire replies. 

“Jury’s still out. Awaiting yer judgment.”

“Hope you remember I’m a difficult one to please.”

“Not as difficult as ye think,” he says. Another suggestion. Suddenly, Claire remembers bubble wrap and a weightlessness where there was nothing but the flutter between her legs. Jamie remembers her face, gone slack, and her heavy-lidded sighs above him.

“No,” Claire says, “maybe not.” 

And when she smiles, it is just as Jamie remembers (the most beautiful, the best thing). He feels himself wrap and wind, like a red string, around her finger.

Jeanne’s, the place is called, a tiny French joint where a glass of water costs $2 and the tablecloths feel like spider silk. It is a short walk from Jamie’s hotel and a much longer drive to Claire’s home, out in the suburbs. Both of them silently agree to ignore the implications of these distances, shunting away thoughts of alabaster shoulders and muscled calves under a hotel bedspread. 

“So tell me,” Claire says, their meals ordered, “why this place?”

“You have to promise ye won’t laugh.”

“Promise,” she says (though she will giggle halfway through, a teenager’s star crossed giddiness). “I won’t laugh.” 

So this is what Jamie tells her: that he’d once looked up restaurants in Boston, and found this one. That he’d used it as a reference—a stage set in his mind, which he could place Claire easily inside, see her occupy. That, in knowing the menu and the wine list and the painting near the bar, his memory of her could be something more than memory. Something just short of real because there she’d be, ordering from the menu and the wine list, sitting beneath the painting that he’d memorized from the bookmarked Yelp page. (This, Claire understands. It’s why she used to read the articles, why Frank shredding her collection seemed like the greatest theft.)

There’s a synchronicity to their movements as they eat. When Claire reaches for the salt shaker, Jamie’s hand is already there, passing it to her. And when Jamie spills his whisky, Claire is already advancing with a napkin, blushing as she grazes his lap and feels a hardened promise in his trousers. At one point, there is a crumb at the corner of Claire’s mouth, and Jamie does not feel shy about telling her it is there, about flicking it away with his finger (but God, does he wish it was his tongue) when her own cannot seem to find it. 

“There.” 

They talk about everything: Sorcha the horse, the online forum, Laoghaire, Frank. The random moments when they were reminded of each other: a particular slant of light on a penny, a navigation system set to British English. They smile, they laugh, and begin to think that a span of fifteen years is no significant thing. No time at all.

But for all their honesty, they are skirting around the great, fat elephant. It squats in the middle of their table, fattening itself on the bread basket, until it grows too large to ignore. A breathing wall that Claire considers hopping, sticking one brave limb over the edge; testing, testing. Are ye sure about this, Claire? 

Their conversation halts when a fight breaks out beside them. A couple, much younger than they, lips curling with their fists. Everyone—Jamie and Claire included—braces for the smack of a cheek or the slosh of drink, but a waiter intercedes and guides them out. The combatants rush into the night, huffing a trail of hate that only lovers know.

Claire seems to wilt then, her shoulders and eyes lowering. The last bite of coq au vin is left untouched.

“I suppose we should….” She pauses, bullying a lone mushroom onto the table. “We should talk about some things.”

It is then that Jamie realizes what is to come and that—no matter how hard he wishes it wouldn’t—it must. He straightens himself in his chair, gives a noncommittal, “Mmm.” And only after Claire’s lips tremble does he realize his mistake: like so many years ago, he has not said the right words. 

“Ironic,” she says. “You seemed to have a lot to say about it in your books.” 

He stares at his plate. 

“You’re not going to say anything?” 

“Not here, no.”   

“Ever?” 

Jamie’s gaze falls further, to the floor. The hardwood is darker than in the pictures, he thinks. More mahogany than chestnut. Suddenly, he feels betrayed, like his picture-perfect stage was built from rotten planks all along.

When he finally looks up, he sees Claire’s empty chair, spots her back as she spins through the revolving door. 

“Wait!” he shouts (A word! A word!). He slams $100 onto the table and weaves his way to the entrance, rattled nerves rattling wine glasses. Once he’s outside, he finds Claire leaning against the building. Eyes like smothered coals in the full dark. 

“Mo nighean—” 

“Don’t say it,” she barks, so fiercely, that he shuts his mouth. “You don’t get to say that. Not yet.” (He had forgotten her fury, how her tiny body could hold so much of it, wield it carefully or recklessly whenever she wanted.) “You know, I’ve never heard you say her name since that day.”

Jamie thinks his gut has been sliced open. Believes that, if he looked down, he would see his liver, his intestines, his kidneys—a collection of his organs—soaking into the sidewalk. Streams of his blood trickling into five letters. 

No, he hasn’t said it. Can’t.

“Of course I remember,” he grumbles.

“Then what else do you remember?” she asks, but she gives him no time to respond. “Do you remember that morning, Jamie? The half-empty church? The too-full cemetery?” She shakes her head, laughing. “No, you wouldn’t, would you? Because you weren’t there.” 

“How was I to know what to do?” he yells, his own grief-rage pouring out. “I was 23, just a kid!”

“And I was your wife. You know, that person whose side you promise to stand by? But you weren’t standing by me, Jamie. You were in a bloody prison cell.”

“I did it for you. For her! We had no money, and I thought—”

“Which part did you do for us? The prison part? The not being at the funeral part? The let’s-just-make-another-child-and-things-will-be-better part?” 

“Jesus, Mary, and Bride. I’m trying to explain myself so that you can understand, if you’ll only give me the chance.” 

Claire takes a staggering step forwards, drives her index finger into his chest. She cranes her neck to look at him, unafraid. “No, I want you to understand first. I want you to understand what it was like, standing there, surrounded by “Beloved Mothers” and “Devoted Fathers.” All these people who’d lived long enough for that kind of stuff.”

She whirls away again, caught up in memory.

“And the priest, the damn priest! Jamie, he couldn’t even say your name right. Faith Eraser. Like some sick joke. I didn’t know who I hated more. Him, for not being able to pronounce it right. Or you, for having that stupid name.” She pauses, catches her breath so that her words don’t break when they hit the air. “In the end, I remembered: it was you who I hated more. Because at least the priest was there.”

“You’re the one who left. You’re the one who didn’t even try.” 

“I tried. I—” 

“Nay, give me just one second, because I think you’ve got it in yer head that ye somehow own this grief. The grief of—” He swallows. “Of Faith. But ye don’t. Ye werena there when I finally took the crib down, or when I brought all the wee clothes to the charity shop because I couldna look at them. I pretended—Christ—I pretended they were my niece’s because I couldna allow myself to think I had a daughter. That I was ever a father.” 

“You were a father. You still are.” 

“Aye, I ken that now,” he says. “It was too painful, though, at the time. To think of what I had, to remember what I’d lost. And then there were the phone calls, all the questions: Where’s Claire? Is she all right? When is she coming back? The worst of it all, really, because I didna ken the answers. Wasna sure you’d ever come back.”

Claire looks down, but he can see the beads on her lashes, the thin stream flowing down her neck, inside her collar.

“Why did ye leave? How could ye leave?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “Back then I thought I did. You couldn’t look at the crib or the clothes? Well I couldn’t’ look at myself, or you, without seeing her. Remembering everything: how she felt, what she smelled like. What it was like to hold my entire heart in my arms, just for a moment, and then watch it break.” 

(She wants to tell him about the butterfly ears and about the sheets—Please, please just to remember—but is afraid of them, even now.)

“The day I came home, she was everywhere—on the walls, in the little flower mobile—and you weren’t. And then when you were, I would look at you and there’d be a split second, just a blink of time, where I’d forget. Because how could she be dead if she was still there, in the bones of your face?” Claire is sobbing now. Streaks of mascara under her eyes and snot from her nose. (Grief: such an ugly, ugly thing.) Jamie steps forward, waiting for her to shrink away, but she doesn’t. Welcomes his arms. “The moment after that—where I remembered again—was more painful than anything else. Y-y’know?” 

“I understand, Sassenach. I do.”

“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I—I don’t think I should have left. Jamie, I really shouldn’t have left.”

“I’m sorry too. And I wish you hadn’t.” 

“God, we fucked everything up, didn’t we? Made a real fucking mess.” 

“Aye, perhaps we didna do—or say—the right things. But it’s nothing we canna fix.”

Claire’s laugh is mirthful when she says, “Fix? How can we ever be the same?” 

(Jamie was asked a similar question, years before, in a cabin up in the Grampians. He had doubted it too, then, thinking of nothing more irreparable than a speechless husband, a fleeing wife, and a baby who never cried. But that was long ago and before this night, where he is hugging Claire and feeling a ring beneath her blouse.)

“We can’t, Sassenach—but I dinna want to be the same. I dinna want to make the same mistakes.” His head bows, an oath. “I willna make the same mistakes.” 

“You’re really willing—”

“Yes.” 

“And even though—“

“Yes.”

“Will you stop bloody cutting me off?”

Jamie’s silence. Claire’s pointed look.

“Oh sorry. Wasna sure if ye were going for a dramatic extended pause or no’.”

Jamie grins, and it pulls at the corners of Claire’s mouth.

“You’ll forgive me?” she asks, then. Shy. “And trust me enough to know that I won’t run off? Because that’s what I do, Jamie. I disappear.”

“And I get too quiet, and I dinna say the right things—or anything—when I should. Too prideful, too ashamed.” 

“But you do, eventually. Say the right thing. The perfect thing.” 

“And you come back, Sassenach. Eventually.” Jamie tweaks her chin, brings his forehead to hers. “Can ye no’ see it? You are my courage, and I am your conscience. We canna be whole if yer no’ here to bring the words out of me. If I am no’ here to bring ye home.”

Claire rubs a sleeve across her eyes.

“Bloody writer,” she chokes, and he kisses her. (A second passes where they are 21 and 22 again, two young things dashing through the streets of Edinburgh. All this life ahead of them.) When Claire tries to break apart, he keeps her to him as if wanting, somehow, to fall into her.

“Are you going to write me into your bed tonight?” she asks, breathless.

“Is that a proposition?” 

“Merely the question of a curious reader.” 

“I thought I might drive ye home first and see where the story takes me. Dinna like working from an outline.”

“All right. Spontaneity’s nice. I like a good plot twist.”

“Are ye ready, then?”

Claire reaches for his hand, and he gives it to her. Jamie squeezes, she squeezes back. She leads him toward the car. He follows, holding the keys and her heart. 

“I’m ready,” she says. “Take me home, Jamie.”

(At her doorstep, Jamie will give Claire a Christmas gift: a vase wrapped in old hopes, tied up with a sweater ribbon. Because of this, she will say, “Want to come in?” and will allow him to shuck his shoes on the rug, kiss her in the moon-drenched foyer. It will be immediate—the dissolution of their separate mouths and the resurgence of a familiar knowledge—once Jamie’s shirt parts and Claire’s skirt drops. Blue stripes and liquid gold on the floor.

She will let Jamie lay her down—gentle, so gentle—in front of the fireplace. And Jamie will bend—reverent, so reverent—and lick the pale tributaries of her inner thighs, inching towards the most tender part of her. “Please,” she’ll say, and he will make her say it again.

“Please.”

There are old lines. Ones they will know, remember as a soft curve or a particular bulge of muscle. Theirs to re-meet, reclaim and own.

There are also new lines. They will cut their teeth on them, tasting each other’s now-bonier spines or the looser skin of their upper arms. Jamie’s hands will still be larger—so much larger—than hers, and he will grasp the soft side of her knees, spread, and sink. “God,” Claire will think he says, and then wonder if he’d ever prayed in an empty church. Found some kind of grace in religion, as she had done, during those lonely, intermittent years.

Claire will kiss Jamie’s jawline, remembering that he likes it. Jamie will nip Claire’s neck because he knows it makes her shiver. And they will both be happy when they see that they’ve remembered correctly, that he does, yes, still like it when she kisses his jawline and that she does, yes, still prickle with goosebumps when he nips her neck. Please. God.

Jamie will begin to move faster, pushing Claire up and up until stars fall into her open mouth, then pour out again onto his shoulder. The bite marks there will glisten. 

Not long after, Jamie will follow, the fullest kind of breaking. And this time—oh, oh, oh this time—she will hear his whisper. Not “God” at all, but: 

“Claire.” 

And maybe, she will think, her cheek finding his steadying beat. Maybe this is what God is. The sound of your name in a lover’s mouth. Your face inside his heart.)

[brightlyburning1]

the gentleness that comes (2/?)

Percival Graves, retired dominant sex surrogate, is drawn back into the world of surrogacy as a favor to Newt Scamander. Newt's patient, one Credence Barebone, is recovering from his sheltered and abusive upbringing - after nearly burning down half the town in his escape. As Percival helps guide Credence through discovering his submissive side, he finds himself falling for the younger man - but those feelings must be hidden, lest he betray everything his profession stands for.

Here is chapter two! Or, if you prefer, you can read it on AO3, here .

"Percival!" Newt calls from the window of his battered Mini Cooper, waving, as though Percival doesn't possess ears to hear. Newt's auburn hair is as riotous as ever - unlike Theseus, who had kept his hair military-short until it fell out, and then there was no reason to care.

'Stop. Stop thinking about that.'

Percival hefts his briefcase, jogs down the steps, and crams himself into the passenger seat of the Mini, dislodging a stuffed iguana with a nametag proclaiming it 'Pickett.'

"Afternoon, Newt," he starts to say, only for thick drool to land on the shoulder of his gray Henley. Fuck, he quite likes this shirt.

"Afternoon, don't mind Dougal-" Newt steers the Mini, which is putting up an alarming racket, out into traffic and eastbound.

"Newt," Percival says, fishing a wet wipe out of his briefcase and scrubbing at the stain, "you have met Dougal, yes? He's not the sort of creature one 'doesn't mind.'"

The Irish wolfhound in question groans into Percival's ear from the backseat as Percival reaches back to scratch behind his ears, knuckles brushing the stiff red vest proclaiming him a therapy animal.

"Did you see the NDA?" Newt merges at unreasonable speed, one-handed, the other hand occupied with a mug of tea.

"It's intense." Which is a low-key word, all things considered; the NDA had been nearly half an inch thick. "How dangerous is he?"

"Who, Credence? Not at all."

Percival raises an eyebrow. The footage had blared across the country: flames consuming the Second Salem compound in the dead of night; Mary Lou Barebone, in a nightgown from her wrists to her ankles, trying to turn away the fire department; Mary Lou threatening them with God's vengeance and Grindelwald’s, her new spouse, and considering the rumors of his wealth and power, Grindelwald's vengeance may well have been worse; coughing children, malnourished and flinching, stumbling into the floodlights; a small girl, eyes wild and rolling in a soot-stained face, writhing in the firefighters' grips and howling for Credence, Credence, Credence.

At last, out of the roiling clouds of smoke, a firefighter, stumbling, her arms cradling thin limbs that stank of gasoline, a slack and blue-tinged face. The firefighter falling. The girl, Modesty Barebone, breaking free, running to shelter in the shadow of Credence's body beneath the flames.

"You're saying this about a man who nearly set the National Forest on fire." Though, to be fair, Percival would probably have done the same, had he grown up among the Second Salemites: rigid, unyielding, utterly joyless and practical in the worst sort of way.

"Yes." Newt takes an off-ramp down into a quiet residential neighborhood, the Mini Cooper jolting when it leaves the ramp. "But there is a great difference between a man who does terrible things to escape and one who does them to harm."

"I'm aware, Newt. My cop training hasn't left me yet." To say nothing of Theseus, who had spent a good three week stretch emotionally savaging everyone around him, trying to escape their attention and affection, trying to spare them the loss.

Newt grins in the corner of Percival's gaze and drains the tea. "Apologies." A stoplight; the Mini Cooper, idling. Newt turns to stare Percival full in the face, and that in itself is so rare as to have Percival's full attention. "Credence had no homicidal intent or thoughts of violence."

"Then why burn it down? My contacts in the department weren't willing to share much." Not that they, technically, are ever supposed to share the details of an ongoing investigation, but this level of secrecy is unusual.  

Newt turns, gray-blue gaze sliding away from Percival, and accelerates. "Credence and the children at this Second Salem compound fell through every crack in every system: Department of Children and Families, the police, the schools, the hospitals. DCF’s foster system was overloaded, so someone like Mary Lou, willing to take in as many as they gave, seemed a godsend, and she sailed through the approval process. Add in waivers for medical care due to personal beliefs, waivers for public education due to religious beliefs, the fact that the congregation moved whenever the law became too involved, the fear of crossing Grindelwald-"

Gellert Grindelwald, the city's wealthiest property developer, half the buildings they pass by built by or owned by him. Makes sense, in this small city, not to cross such a man - Percival met him at a gala honoring the police force, and even at that first meeting felt queasy in his presence.

"At various points over the past nineteen years," Newt turns the car towards Kowalski's Bakery, "the children's social workers were called out to do wellness checks. Citizens concerned by how Mary Lou used the kids for canvassing called the police. Credence, himself, at one point after he presented as a sub, called the police. Just like every time the authorities checked on Second Salem, Mary Lou steered the conversation, placated the fears, and got them back off the property. Then she went after Credence with a whip."

God. Nineteen years of waiting for help to come, of dreaming of escape, only to see it slip through your fingers every time. No wonder the young man struggles with trust, if all he's received from authority figures is suffering or ignorance; no wonder he apparently yearns for someone to help him feel safe.

"Was Mary Lou's animosity towards him purely based on his submissive status?"

"No, though it intensified after he presented, and when his sister Modesty presented as a dominant, Credence had to get attention from the authorities before Modesty also came in for abuse." Newt swallows visibly, eyes bleak, and Dougal lays his mournful head on Newt's shoulder. "Or before Modesty was sent off to some other Second Salem congregation to be separated from her brother's 'foul perversions.' Time was short. Help was short. He made the best choice he could, given what he knew."

A choice that landed Credence in jail while they processed the crime scene, the children scattered to various therapeutic foster homes, and now has him waiting to be called up as a witness in the ongoing criminal trials of Grindelwald and Mary Lou.

"So once they released him from jail, that's when you met him?"

Newt parks in front of Kowalski's bakery, unbuckles himself, and fishes in the piles in the backseat for his satchel. "Yeah; seems like poor recompense for nineteen years of suffering due to willful blindness, but DCF is paying for all of his and the other witnesses' treatment and reintegration into society. Tina knows one of the children's new caseworkers, and since Tina likes to talk up her sub-" he ducks his head, grinning, a flush staining his cheeks and traveling down his neck, beneath the thin blue leather collar, "-I wound up a consultant."

It takes a moment for them to all extricate themselves from the backseat, but eventually Percival and Newt and Dougal are all free on the sidewalk before Kowalski's, Newt completely ignorant of the black fur covering nearly every inch of his corduroys.

"And since Credence said he wanted to explore his sexuality, I got in touch with Seraphina, and-" Newt gestures at their surroundings, "-we're here."

"Anything I should know?" Percival follows Newt into the building and up the staircase. Dougal's tail whacking into his knees as they climb.

"Not that you would, but don't treat him like he's stupid or a child; he's quite clever, really, just sheltered. He probably won't offer a handshake, so you're better off waiting to see if he initiates. Other than that, can't think of much for a first meeting."

Newt stops before the door above Kowalski's - a deep green, the paint peeling about the edges - and knocks, three fast raps.

A shadow moves behind the peephole, and Percival squares his shoulders, settling into his skin again, projecting calm confidence. The click of locks, and he looks Credence Barebone full in the face.

He's practiced at hiding his initial reactions to clients - he's had to be, when he's worked with clients who are quadriplegic, dying, all types of bodies and abilities - but even then he has to swallow down the rumble building in his chest.

Credence Barebone is exquisite, there's no other word for it - and Percival is lucky to have him first, to teach him what he needs to know to be safe, because he will have suitors aplenty. Feline eyes, near-liquid in their darkness, that flicker over him and Newt and Dougal, then drop in silent submission, eyelashes the color of soot falling upon knife-sharp cheekbones, their paleness begging for a thumb's caress. The cut of his black hair does him no favors, but given time and patience, those thick strands could be made beautiful. The breadth of his shoulders, tapering down to a narrow waist where one's hand could rest-

"Hello, Newt, Dougal," Credence says, his voice low, hoarse, as if he rarely speaks. "And you-?" His gaze flicks up to Percival, who offers a faint smile.

"Percival Graves, the surrogate partner." He doesn't offer a hand, and Credence makes no attempt. "Pleasure."

"Oh-" it's more an indrawn breath than a word, and Credence seems to hunch into himself, as if to hide, but his gaze looks Percival over from feet to head, the barest hint of a flush stealing across his cheeks. Anxious, no doubt, but not frightened - Percival can work with that.

Credence steps back for the three visitors to enter the apartment. It's Spartan, to say the least, but not surprising; he likely never had much, and what furniture he has must have been provided by DCF or the police department. The couch Credence gestures for them to sit on is an unflattering shade of beige, and Credence perches at the edge of a rickety kitchen chair. He clasps his hands together, a subtle tremor drawing Percival's attention to the faint red of a scar tracing over the side of one palm.

"Shall we go ahead and get started? I've explained some of what Credence can expect from me in our relationship, but I'm sure there's still some questions he might have." Newt unclips Dougal's leash and busies himself removing paperwork from his satchel.

Percival holds Credence's gaze, searching for signs of panic or confusion. "So, you've met Newt. He's the therapist, and I'm the licensed dominant surrogate partner. Together with you, we form what's called the therapeutic triangle; what that means is that we all agree when to move forward in treatment, when to end therapy - unless you decide to end the contract - and how to help you achieve your goals. First and foremost, your safety and confidentiality is paramount; nothing will be shared outside the therapeutic triangle, and nothing occurs without your permission."

A muscle flickers in Credence's jaw, and Dougal pads over to shove his head between Credence's hands, breaking apart the anxious twist of fingers. Another glimpse, then, of terrible scars, hidden quickly in Dougal's dark fur, and Percival's chest aches with pity.

"How long will it take?" Credence's gaze flickers to Newt, who's looking through notes. "For me to meet my goals?" His fingers dig into Dougal's fur, thumbs stroking over the dog's ears.

Newt waves for Percival to keep going, so he does. "It's different for each client, but the standard is that the client meets with the therapist for one or two hours a week and the surrogate for one or two hours a week, separately. Most clients I've worked with have felt able to end the relationship and try dating after about thirty weeks."

"Speaking of which!" Newt flips to a sheet in Credence's file, his spidery handwriting spilling over the page. "Have your goals remained the same? Not feeling afraid of your orientation, being able to communicate needs and boundaries, being able to submit?"

"Yes, please," Credence says, his voice near-trembling, Dougal patient as his fingers twine into his fur.

That soft 'please,' those eyes flickering shy glances at Percival's hands, his briefcase - this young man will make some dominant proud one day.

They schedule the sessions, and Newt takes over for a bit, discussing Credence's progress with mindfulness practices, meditation: the standard routine for someone beginning surrogate therapy.

"Here's the contract attesting to the boundaries I have." Percival draws it from his briefcase and hands it over along with a pen. "There's my work phone number; if while you're working on an assignment for Newt or myself, you have questions or concerns, you can text me there. You have a phone?"

"Yes," Credence says, his lips almost shaping the 'sir.' Oh, he's a sweet young man, so obviously in need, so easily hurt; thank God for Newt and Tina, who recognized his vulnerability and connected him to people who would not use it against him.

"The rest is standard; you won't see me outside of our scheduled sessions, and once our therapeutic relationship is over, you won't try to seek me out further, as my job is not only to model the beginning and middle of a good relationship, but also its ending."

Credence reads the contract slowly, mouthing the words to himself, a furrow setting in his brow that Percival could smooth away with a thumb, a kiss. He nods as he finishes, then signs at the bottom, passing it back to Percival. Their fingers brush, and Credence swallows, a faint tremor shaking him.

"Now, as this is mostly about introductions and paperwork, our time is almost up." Newt breaks the sudden connection, stuffing papers back into his satchel. "Percival, you have an assignment for him, correct?"

Percival turns and pulls the last things out from his briefcase: two dice and a thin black leather band. He places them on the coffee table, amused and affectionate when Credence's attention goes to the simple cuff, naked need passing across his face.

"This one is simple. At some point before I see you next, I want you to spend half an hour or so with the dice and the cuff. You don't have to put the cuff on if you are uncomfortable; simply have it near you. One die lists sensations, such as scratching, tapping, et cetera. The other lists body parts. I want you to use the dice and explore how you react to the sensations you give yourself: what you enjoy and what you don't. Please write down any strong reactions. Additionally, I want you to write down the thoughts that come into your mind when you look at the cuff or wear it, if you feel ready for that. Understood?"

Credence nods. "All right. Thank you."

"No need," Percival says, standing. They make their goodbyes, Credence again offering no handshake, and he and Newt and Dougal leave the apartment.

Driving away, he looks into the rear view mirror, and spots a pale face in the window above Kowalski's, two dark feline eyes, and in Credence's hands, a thin black leather band.

[owlish-peacock36]

Bid Ye Soft Farewell- Ch. 3

Finally! This past week has been hectic, but I hope that you won't have to wait that long for another chapter again! At least for a while. 

A couple of things first. One, I would like to give a shout out to my significant otter for helping me get from point A to point B in this chapter. Just want to brag on him for a second. Also, I've created a fanfic archive page for my fics. You can find it here. I know there isn't very many at the moment, but there will be! Like I've said before, I'm a Tumblr baby, so if there are any issues with it, just let me know! 

Now, on with the show!

Chapter 3: The Storm and the Shadow

With morning came the glowing sun, and a hangover shared by all the men. Jamie himself was squinting in shimmering light, eyes blurred and head heavy. Made even worse by the fact that he had to perform double duty; every man did. And they would still be off schedule, if what Dougal said was to be believed. A week until they reached Port Royal.

           The only man who was seemingly in perfect spirits was Rupert. He could drink a man to his death.

           “Oh, lads! IN AMSTERDAM THERE LIVED A MAID…” He waited for the men to respond in kind, but only a few half-hearted grumbles permeated the air.

           “Mark well what I do say…” The loudest complaint came from Murtagh, who was in no mood for song and horseplay.

           “Shut yer hole!” The disappointment on Rupert’s face was palpable. Angus patted his friend’s shoulder sympathetically, and they both turned back to their work. Jamie was glad for the relative silence. The only sound was the breeze whipping about his ears. It was an unusually strong wind, and it worried Jamie.

           “There’s a storm brewing,” Murtagh murmured to him, as if deciphering his thoughts. “We’d better tell Dougal, or we’ll all blow awa’. Bloody man wouldna know a sunny day if it blinded him…” And with that, he crept away to the captain’s quarters, and Jamie trailed behind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           Jamie and Murtagh entered the captain’s quarters, temporarily blinded by the light coming in from the windows. Dougal was sitting at his desk, facing said windows. His black-clad shoulders were hunched, quill in one hand, his head in the other. The corners of a map were fluttering off the edge of the desk. Murtagh cleared his throat.

           “There’s a storm on the horizon, Dougal. Its best we batten down the hatches.” Dougal rose from his chair, and swiftly spun around to face them.

           Dougal was a handsome man, if what the lassies said could be believed. Tall and imposing, he was the perfect build for a captain. He had no hair on his head, but made up for it with the long, chestnut-colored beard, peppered with gray. His face was weathered from the sun, ruddy and freckled. But perhaps it wasn’t his looks that the women were attracted to, but rather his charm. He could convince a man to kill his own mother, if he wanted. Hell, he convinced Jamie to join this crew.  

           “Shit. Tell Rupert an’ Willy to make sure the cargo is secure. Tell Angus to trim the sails, and tell Duncan to douse the galley. We’ll need all hands on deck fer this…”

           “Aye.” And with that, Murtagh turned to leave, and Jamie made move to follow.

           “Wait, lad.” Jamie tensed. Dougal never spoke to him privately unless he needed something.

           “Yes, Uncle?” Jamie asked carefully. Dougal sauntered next to him, and flung his arm over Jamie’s shoulder. This caused Jamie’s tension to increase tenfold.

           “I’ve something to ask ye.”

           “Yes, Uncle?” Jamie repeated.

           “I’ve heard rumor about a hefty prize, aye? Located near the Southern Cay.”

           “Aye?”

           “Aye. A ship, ken? Wrecked upon the shore. Gold glittering upon the shore…” Dougal sighed, painting this pretty picture.

           “Weel, sounds an easy prize then.” Jamie turned to make his leave, but Dougal stopped him again.

           “Tis not so simple, lad. There are sentries, aye? Dozens of them. Watching over the treasure until a proper ship can come and collect. That’s where want you to come in.”

           “Dougal, I dinna want any part of this scheme. Ye told me once we dropped anchor at Port Royal, ye’d let me free, with my fair share.”

           “Aye, weel, I changed my mind didn’t I?” Dougal said this with annoyance and frustration. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. But just as quickly as the anger came, it went, replaced with arrogance and a deceitful grin. “Besides, you willna get your share until ye do this for me.”

           “Ye’ve said this for years Uncle! ‘Do this, and I’ll give ye yer share. Do that, and ye can go back to Scotland.’ And how much more must I do to please ye!” Jamie’s face was hot, his eyes wild. Dougal had seen this look before. Best to assuage his frustrations now, and deal with the repercussions later, when he wasn’t alone with him. He was a big man, but Jamie was bigger.

           “This is the last time. I promise,” Dougal soothed, giving him his best reassuring smile. In his heart, Jamie didn’t believe him. But he didn’t have much of a choice.

           “What is it?”

           “Scout the place, lad. Take a couple of the men, and see how the place looks,” Dougal said, as if it were the easiest task in the world.

           “If what ye say is true, we’ll be shot on sight! Its suicide!” Jamie didn’t much feel like dying in the near future.

           “Nay. ‘Twill be perfectly safe. Beside, yer a braw fighter. Ye could take the guards down if ye needed. Ye’ll have a few men with ye.”

           “5 men against dozens? Braw fighters or no, it will no end well.” Dougal just shrugged. “And if I refuse?”

           “Ye won’t. For I am yer captain, and I hold yer future in my hands.” It was the plain, God’s honest truth. Dougal knew it. Jamie knew it. And there was nothing he could do about it.

           “Aye.”

           “Good lad.” Dougal clapped Jamie on the shoulder. “Now, get back out there, and get to work. We’ve a storm to prepare for.” Jamie made yet another turn to leave before being stopped by Dougal’s voice. “And tell the men not to leave their orange peels lying around. I’m no their mother, and I’ll no be picking up after them.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

             The storm came upon them slowly and deliberately. The wind began to shriek, crying out to those that would listen.

           “Oi, sounds a bit like your mother last night. Eh, Duncan?” Angus hollered above the howling gusts.

           The dark sky crept quickly upon them, skipping through a day’s worth of sunlight in an hour. Soon, the world was shadowed in an unearthly gray, the clouds lit from behind from the lightning within them.

           The men grew serious, bracing themselves for what was coming their way. A storm was never a happy occasion. Lost crew members. Lost cargo. Lost ship fragments. That was what the crew had to look forward to; they just wondered which one it would be this time. Perhaps all three.

           As the waves grew higher, the men’s brows sank lower, absorbed in the task of keeping the ship afloat. No men would die tonight. Not if any of them had a say in it.

           The booming of thunder echoed the crashing seas. The waves struck the ship. The men tumbled, tripped, fell. Screams and yells fell on deaf ears.

           Fighting a storm was like fighting a man, Jamie thought. The relentless movements of the opponent. The struggle to stay alive. The worry for crew members, and knowing that the worry is futile.

No rest until it’s over.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           The hours of laboring finally drew to a close, as the blasts of air calmed to a warm breeze, and the rain danced lightly over their bodies. The sea was still choppy, and jolted the men off their feet on occasion.

           “Least we survived, eh?” Murtagh grumbled to Jamie, as they surveyed the ragged sails.

           “Aye. They’ll get us to Port Royal, though.”

           “Ye never did tell me what Dougal said to ye.”

           “Later, all right?” Jamie didn’t want speak badly of the captain in front of his men.

           “Aye.” Murtagh gave Jamie a knowing look. He knew how the lad felt: disgusted by things he did, wanting out of this ‘trade.’

           “I’ll tell ye this, though. I’ll no be leaving at Port Royal, like I thought.” Murtagh nodded. He expected as much.

           A crash from underneath them broke them out of their conversation. It was a familiar sound. Barrels tumbling and rolling across the wooden boards. Glass breaking. Wood splintering. All from the cargo hold.

           “HELL! Rupert! Did I no tell ye to secure the cargo, ye idiot!” Dougal screeched from somewhere above them on the quarter deck.

           “Aye! I did! Must’ve broke loose!”

           “Weel, you and Jamie go tighten back up! And ye better pray to God that nothing’s broken…”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           Jamie led the small party down the creaky steps to the hold, Rupert mumbling curses the whole way.

           “Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuckin’ cargo.” Jamie grinned at Rupert’s colorful language. He had a way with words.

           The smile quickly disappeared, however, when he caught sight of the hold. Not because of the fallen cargo. It was a mess, but could be easily cleaned and reorganized.

           He stopped grinning, because there among the jumbled barrels and crates, was a small shadow picking its way carefully around them.

           A human shadow.

           It stopped in its tracks as it caught sight of him. Frozen, like prey trapped by a predator.  Rupert was the first to move.

           “Jesus Christ!” He yelled, as he jumped over the railing, directly into the hold. The shadow sprang into action then, jumping over barrels to escape Rupert’s sizeable presence.

           “Ach, no ye don’t!” Jamie himself was frozen, watching this cat and mouse game taking place in front of him. Rupert was a strong, capable man. Jamie had seen him take down three men at once. But the shadow was agile, like a large cat, jumping and twisting just out of reach.

           But the hold was small, and there was only so much room to jump and twist. Rupert had the shadow trapped in the far corner, his strength overpowering its agility. Their two shadows became one as he pinned its arms behind its back, and pushed it toward Jamie and the stairs.

           The mess was all but forgotten.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           Jamie was in charge of holding the weapons Rupert had removed from the stranger: multiple daggers and pistols, and one long sword. Jamie wondered where the stranger hid it all.

           They stepped into the dull light of late afternoon, the stranger tensed, awaiting its fate. It did not struggle, though.

           Only in the diffused light could Jamie see the stranger for the first time. Wild dark hair, clubbed back and topped with an askew tricorn. Loose breeks and a too-large jacket hid the body, but the face gave it away.

           A face soft and pretty, as only a woman’s can be. Large lips, pressed into a perfect straight line. Eyes, the same color as the setting sun, fringed with black lashes. He noticed a scar, running from the end of her right eyebrow to the prominent cheekbone.

           “Weel, what have we here, Rupert?” Dougal sauntered over to the three of them, a devilish glint in his eye. He noticed the lovely face, too, then.

           “Found this in the hold. Put up a good fight.” Dougal nodded.

           “What’s yer name, lass?” But the woman stared through Dougal, eyes bored and mouth tensed. She would not answer.

           “We found these on her, cap’n,” Rupert interjected. He nodded toward Jamie, and he dropped the weapons at Dougal’s feet. Dougal knelt, and rummaged through them, nodding in appreciation at the well-made weapons. He held the sword up to the light, recognition dawning on his face. He stood, and faced his crew.

           “I’ve heard tales, as ye all have as well,” Dougal began. He spoke strongly and loudly so all men could hear the story about to be told. “Of a woman. A pirate lady. A well-bred English woman, thrust into piracy. Some men say she’s a witch, others a ghost. They say she could kill a man wi’ the edge o’ her sword, and heal him wi’ the other.  She could hypnotize a man to betray his own kin. She’s done it before.” The men were nodding and mumbling. They had heard this one before. “A bonny fighter, quick and nimble. Could disappear in front of yer eyes, only to reappear behind ye. Recognized only because of her sapphire sword. The last thing some men see.” At this, Dougal help up the sword in question, blue light glinting off the hilt. The woman narrowed her eyes, but otherwise, her face didn’t change. Dougal turned to speak to her, but still used his storytelling voice so the men could hear:

           “Welcome aboard The Thistle, La Dame Blanche.”

[crowleymalone]

Deathly Silence part 2. Newt X reader

Part One https://newtdisneywho.tumblr.com/post/156801807573/deathly-silence-newt-x-reader

Y/n’s eyes widened as she tried to take everything in and Newt chuckled to himself as he removed his coat and jacket. “I needed a safe place to house them all that I could keep with me. It’s not always convenient, carrying a suitcase, but it works for us for now.” He rolled up his sleeves and placed Pickett on his shoulder. “Right. Dinner time.” Newt strode to the door and held it open, waiting for her to follow. When she finally stepped out of the cabin he watched her reaction. He loved watching people see his world for the first time; not that he’d had many people down there. Her eyes shone and the blue in them seemed even brighter, almost ethereal. If she had a voice he was sure she’d have lost it in a gasp of wonder. She looked like a kid seeing snow for the first time and it was only now he really looked at her.

Despite her look  she had to be in her 20’s, not a teenager as he’d first assumed. Her long brown hair was completely at odds with her age. Most girls he’d met these days had short wavy hair, keeping up with the latest fashion. Her dress was a little on the small side and very worn which added to the childlike appearance; he’d have to do something about that he realised. Y/n stood on the wooden step beside Newt in complete awe. Bathed in the warm glow of a sun, her eyes roamed across the various habitats and it took her breath away. For once she was glad she couldn’t speak because there was no way she’d be able to make a coherent sentence. Her mind whirled as she followed Newt. “This is Pickett’s family,” he told her, encouraging Pickett to rejoin his tree. Picking up a couple of buckets he headed to the Nundu. “There were 20 different species at last count. From Billywigs to these Nundu. Nifflers to Graphorns. I study magical creatures and write books about them, and occasionally I take them in to protect them. Many here are endangered because wizard kind doesn’t understand them, others I’ve found on my travels in the wrong places. Trafficked for various reasons.” He paused at an empty dessert. “This was Frank. He was a Thunderbird,” he told her fondly. She saw sadness flicker across his face as he gazed into the enclosure, lost in his thoughts. She started to reach out to him but snapped her hand back. “He’s free and happy now in Arizona,” he continued. “That’s where I was traveling back from when I met you. I went to check on him.” He sighed, gathering himself before moving off. “This way. These are pigmy puffskiens. They should all look like little balls of fluff but this little chap…” He gently reached in and scooped up a tiny, purple mouse like creature, holding it out for her to see. “See how his fur is short and moth eaten?” Y/n nodded. “Their hair is very useful for spells and potions. His fur has been shaved too often and now it’s struggling to grow back.” He reached into his pocket with one hand and withdrew a small knitted square. “Would you like to hold him? Keep him warm for a while?” The smile he was rewarded with was one of the brightest he’d ever seen. Her eyes sparkled, her gaze never leaving the tiny creature in his hand as he wrapped it in its tiny blanket and gently place him in her hands. Instinctively Y/n drew the creature close to her chest. He watched her silently coo over the creature, letting it snuggle close to her heart. There was no way she was dangerous or evil. He was beginning to doubt she was even a witch, which could cause a problem but if that was the case then what happened in that village to warrant her being hanged? Y/n looked up and caught him puzzling over her. She could almost see the questions flowing through his mind, she wished she had answers for him but she didn’t. She couldn’t explain anything, even if she had a voice. “Sorry, terribly rude of me.” He moved in the the next habitat, Y/n at his side. “Have you…… Have you met many other wizards or witches?” he asked hesitantly. She shrugged because she didn’t know. She still wasn’t convinced he was real, but as she had nowhere better to be and had definitely experienced stranger and more unpleasant things, she was going along with it. She’d had a chance to study him a bit as he tended to his creatures. He’d given them all names and the affection he had for them shone so brightly it was endearing. His green eyes lit up anew with each enclosure they reached and his smile grew wider each time someone came over to be petted rather than just fed. She silently giggled as he called himself mummy. Yes, Newt Scamander had to be fictional, surely there was no one on this earth as gentle as him. XxXxX “I’m supposed to stop in New York to visit some friends,” Newt told her as they stepped from the train. “I promised I would when I had a free moment. They’re lovely. Tina and Queenie Goldstein, although Tina can be a bit prickly when you first meet her. That might have just been me though, I annoy people quite easily so it’s entirely probable that it was just me.” He gave her a lopsided half smile.  As they walked through Grand Central station, Y/n felt very out of place. She watched as women passed,  looking down their noses at her. They all looked so sleek and glamorous. “Don’t worry about them,” Newt murmured in her ear. “They’re all pretending to be something they’re not anyway.” She looked at him quizzically. “Takes the hours to put all that paint on their faces and smooth their hair.” He smirked. Stepping out into the street, noise of the city was immense and Felix had never heard anything like it. Newt noticed her discomfort and placed a hand on her back guiding her along beside him. Feeling her shudder he looked down at her and realises how cold she is. “Oh Merlin, I’m sorry.” He stopped and whipped off his coat, wrapping it around her shoulders. She protested. “No, I insist. I forgot how cold it gets here and you’ll be soaked through….. Would you prefer the quick way?”

Y/n looked at him for a moment, feeling the rain beginning to trickle down her back and soak into her boots made her shiver more. She knew what he meant, she knew the feeling it would leave her with but in truth she was tired, slowly freezing and a little overwhelmed. She’d never seen so many people. With a sigh she gave a hesitant nod.

“Last time I promise. It does feel easier though, the more you do it. I’ll have to teach you.” Wrapping am arm around her shoulders he guides her into an alley before apparating. This time didn’t feel as bad, she was a little dizzy, like she’d been spun on the spot too long but he’d been right. It seems it does get easier the more you do it. “He we are.” He raised a fist to knock on the door, supporting Y/n with the other when the door flew open. “Mr Scamander!” Queenie beamed. “Oh honeys, come on in and get dry, you look half frozen!” “Hello Queenie,” Newt gave her a small smile. “I hope this isn’t a bad time?” “Not at all sugar. It’s never a bad time to see you.” She looked at Y/n. Queenie must have been one of the most beautiful people she’d ever seen, Y/n thought, feeling even more inadequate. “Oh honey, most people think that about me but you’re beautiful too, honest. Come on, let’s get you out of those wet clothes before you catch a chill. Teenie!” she called. “Company! Come with me.” She took Y/n’s hand and dragged her towards her bedroom. “Let’s find you something that’s dry and fits better. Oh don’t worry about Mr Scamander, he’ll sort himself out.” Newt smiled to himself as he placed his case on the floor. He was sure bringing Y/n here would be a good idea. If anyone could help understand what happened and gain her trust it was Queenie. “Who’s that?” a familiar voice asked as he removed his jacket. “Hello to you too, Auora Goldstein,” he smirked. “Hello Newt. You look….wet,” Tina smiled. “It’s raining. Luckily it’s the straight down kind,” he told her, gesturing to his head and shoulders. “Of course, here.” She handed him a towel. “So who have you brought with you? Please tell me she’s not a no-maj.” “Her name is Y/n. I sort of stumbled across her and she needed help.” He rubbed his hair dry. “What kind of help?” “Well Dougal I suppose found her first, I was following him. Sh…she was about to be hanged.” “What for?!” “Being evil apparently.” “And what does she say about it?” “Nothing.” “Nothing?” “Literally. She can’t speak,” he told her. “So what’s going to happen to her? What are you going to do?” “Help her,” he shrugged. “And then what? She’s not a creature Newt.  You can’t just save her and then release her into the wild alone!” Tina hissed. “No she’s not and I have no intention of leaving her anywhere,“ he retorted. “Ta-dah!” Queenie sung as she re-emerged from her bedroom,  Y/n in tow. Newt smiled and silently thanked the witch. She’d given Y/n a purple dress and tidied her up. “See hun. I told you you were a cutie. Just needed a guiding hand,” she grinned. “This is fun!” “Then what are you going to do with her? If she’s a no-Maj….  you know what happens,” Tina growled. His gaze shuttered slightly as he watched Queenie had sat her at the table and was painting her nails while she chatted. “Honey, you’re one of us. No doubt.  You’re a witch, you just never got trained or nothing. Those things… they was just you protecting yourself…. oh. Those guys you threw…… they were gona….. you poor thing.” Queenie looked round at Newt and Tina, her eyes glistening with sadness. “She needs help. There’s something. ….” she looked back at y/n. “Think it loud honey…… There’s no way you could have stopped it”, she hushed “That’s cruciatus! “ Newt was suddenly beside Queenie. “W…what was?” “These people came, she was only a kid. These people came and killed her family. They used cruciatus to do it. Oh… those screams.” A tear rolled down her cheek, mirroring Y/n. “They turned it on her” she breathed. “but they were interrupted. Oh honey no wonder you were so confused by us all. You were so young, too young to have that happen and survive. Maybe that’s why you can’t talk. Did you used to be able to?” Y/n nodded. Newt’s mind was cast back to the subway, remembering the pain of Grindlwald’s attack and wondering how a child could have survived. How did he survive?   “Because you’re strong, “ Queenie told him before biting her lip. “Sorry, just that thought was very loud. Why didn’t you tell us?” “N…no reason to,” he told her. “Tell us what? “ Tina asked “Newt was tortured in the subway,” Queenie stated. “What?! When?!” “B..before you got there. I was fine,” Newt stumbled, trying not to think of the marks that has been left behind. “He got scars from it.” Queenie said. “Queenie. Can you not please?” He almost begged. “Sorry.” “I can’t believe you never told me!” Tina screeched “We were a bit busy,” he said calmly. Y/n watched a flush creep up his neck. Mr Scamander didn’t like being the centre of attention, it made him very uncomfortable, she decided. He was a strange man “You must’ve been in so much pain! “ Newt cleared his throat. “I was fine.” “Liar,” Queen muttered before turning back to Y/n. “I think we need to start at the beginning. See if we can make sense of your memories, honey.”

[airoasis]

"Entertaining Father Stone" | Father Ted | Series 1 Episode 2 | Dead Parrot

New Post has been published on https://hititem.kr/entertaining-father-stone-father-ted-series-1-episode-2-dead-parrot-15/

"Entertaining Father Stone" | Father Ted | Series 1 Episode 2 | Dead Parrot

Ted, if you happen to had three desires, what would it not be? Three needs, God I do not know fairly. What, I think the primary one would be … World Peace after which probably an finish to starvation and … Extra money for hospitals and that kind of factor reasonable ample Ted. And yourself Dougal, what would your three needs be? Oh, I have no idea i’m completely satisfied adequate relatively relatively you would not need anything at all? No, i do not believe so cannot feel of whatever anyway You wouldn’t say you wanted a gigantic auto to force round in? That’d be top notch using around in a large vehicle.That’d be one yeah, how outstanding? And what could be your 2d wish? Oh, no, that’ll be quality. No the auto might be exceptional you’d wish to be a rock star or something like Elvis? God yeah, oh, i might love to be a rock megastar like an Elvis or whatever. Oh, that’d be splendid so Your third desire if you had one? Oh, no, no that’ll be high-quality. Huge auto, and that i used to be Elvis.That’d be grand wouldn’t you like say umm… This cup Oh, God yeah i might love that cup. If I had that cup and that i was once Elvis and that i was once in a enormous automobile , that’d be awesome you’ve got in no way had a lot of an creativeness. Have you ever Dougal? No you’re right there Ted Are you certain you will not have some tea Paul? No, i am satisfactory proper Would you adore me to activate the tv? No, thanks. I’m nice right have you seen father Shorton at all just lately? No I was once pondering, what would he be, would he be 80 now? Suppose so oh Dougal. You wanted to have a word , will not be a second see you in a minute father What’s up with you Ted? Who’s that? I needed to get out of there who’s it Ted? Now Dougal… Don’t overreact fair adequate right it’s father Stone Dougal stand up Oh Ted no, not him it can be him allright. God almighty. I know Why didn’t you inform him to not come Ted.You said… You promised after the final time? I attempted nevertheless it’s like seeking to speak to a wall with a mustache. Oh my God I hate it those awful protracted silences Why did not you deceive him? Huh? I did I instructed him pleasant significant large lies with feckin bells placing off them are you aware what it can be like? It’s like trying to ask the holy mother to discontinue appearing to schoolyards right Dougal you might have bought to hold me organization. No, no back again, hah Sorry Paul. You recollect Dugal? Ah sure Of direction you do. Certain you need to’ve been coming right here for… How decades is it now? Few anyway SIX six years every summer season. So what time you’re going again the following day? I might stay What? Stated, I might stay How long? Well, I have no idea. Few weeks, probably Few weeks? Sorry about that Ted. Fell over Tea fathers. Any person for a nice cup…? Oh, no, it is father Stone Do you no longer must get back to your parish? No, not for a while anyway.Ha ha ha correct, it can be it is just that there is a obstacle in that umm Dougal and i had been considering of doing whatever … What was once it we have been thinking of doing Dougal? The item there? Sure? Sure, what used to be the article we had been going to do together um yes? Yeah? What was it and thing and enormous factor it used to be and holidays going on vacations that is excellent. I will intellect the situation wait wait . It wasn’t that we were happening vacation trips at all.It was anything else We had been going to do that approach nobody can keep in the condominium What was once it? We we we have been going to… Have the paintings rehung? Oh wonderful amazing reminiscence there? Have you ever noticed they’re all crockett. I imply what variety of an perspective is that? Mad attitude ha ha so you cannot stay right here. It’s too dangerous see couldn’t be here when persons are transferring artwork all around the location So where will you go? Inn on the whole that’s great.I will go along with you Sorry Paul. I simply have anything to say to Dougal God think Dougal suppose o.K.. I’m going to do the pondering Ted Jack. God if he sees him christ almighty. I’m going to have got to smash it to him gently look you are taking Paul out and i’m going to go… You are now not leaving me on my own with him Ted Dougal oh, no Ted. No sorry about that I simply can’t now there isn’t any approach, so good. Are you going to tell Jack? I’ll get me coat Paul? Dougal goes for a walk would you like to join him? No, i’m satisfactory. Are you definite you is not going to go, it is lovely? No, thanks.No. I’m best. Well. It is just that Dougal wants to exhibit you something it can be very essential Is it? Yes very very principal this might be the essential thing you’ll be able to ever see Eh? Sure proper. So you can go so? No i’m first-class. Thanks i’m going to see it again someday. Let’s be honest. It’s not that Dougal wants to show you whatever. It’s that there’s a fire within the house, and also you need to leave fire? I didn’t wish to get you right into a panic cuz it can be simplest a small hearth but but it might unfold and if you died in it i’d in no way forgive myself so when you’d simply go along with Dougal, i’ll fight the blaze correct so you’re going? Yeah, there is a fireplace first-class don’t worry about me. A drop of water will do the trick So have you ever noticeable father Shorton these days? No Oh, yeah, I suppose he need to be about 80 now? I think so Father father are you wakeful? Father Father now we have a tourist So how’s everything then? All right Feck off ??? Cheerio Jack long past to mattress then Ted.Sure. He used to be just a little worn out correct well, I suppose my tub can be competent by using now can i aid you Paul? No i am best i’m um Having a bath it can be simply I want to go to the toilet right, go ahead time for mattress it can be handiest half of seven? Yes, however I must be up at 11:00 in the morning Dougal, you higher get some leisure too I can’t take much more of this Ted. I know i know Six years, you’d suppose that by now he’d have obtained the message Do you bear in mind that time Ted once we knew he used to be coming and we pretended to be in rome? Huh? God yeah, that was strong any one else would go fair adequate and just not turn up 5 days in the attic No meals no water rats far and wide If simplest we thought of it this 12 months How did you meet him in the first location? He was presented to me via father Jim Dugan. We have been at a conference Dugan came up and said that is father Stone and ran out of the constructing simply ran straight out of the building So we started speaking yeah? Well, I began talking you know how he is and just to interrupt the silence I invited him to remain you realize only for anything to assert.Tomorrow, the following day he arrived on the island Oh God should you don’t have got to say anything fairly simply sits there. I mean, what does he get out of it? I am hoping he’s gone before your birthday social gathering anyway. Oh, he can be long long gone by then. What is it three weeks away? Excellent God look on the time. I would higher be going Ted. Oh, anyone need a carry? Dougal Fecking Please God, please, please eliminate him.I don’t care the way you do it. Just please do away with him Do you want cash? Anything you want. Title any cost? We should go dwelling Ted. Consider about it Dougal. Think about sitting in the living room. Oh, yeah, I think it can be clearing up now anyway the whole thing’s blowing over there Ted by no means mind. Just have a go Golf ye? Yeah, crazy golf ball. Now not exactly the u.S. Masters Will you may have a go father? Oh. No Are you definite, it’s very enjoyable? Oh yeah Ted wonderful. You have got a go Go on, it can be even less complicated, now that the windmill isn’t on the way in which There you go. What’s the worst factor can occur? Oh, God Dougal it can be all my fault don’t be silly Ted.So what did you do, pray for him to be hit via lightning? No, of course now not I I requested him to intervene in some way, but it is a bit much. What are you pondering of? Who would’ve idea that being hit by using lightning would land you in a clinic What what are you speaking about of path it may possibly land you in a clinic. Good. It can be no longer often that critical is it Ted I imply, I used to be hit with the aid of lightning a few times. I under no circumstances needed to go to health center sure, Dougal, but you are distinct from most folks. All that occurred to you as balloons stored sticking to you God, I hate hospitals Ever discover it is mostly ailing people who turn out to be in hospitals? Yeah, all of them come here Ted. Of course you are a goner on the minute you stroll in via the door you realize i’d prefer to take my chances in the real world Ted. Irrespective of how ailing I was once i might on no account go under the hammer beneath the knife Dougal beneath the Hammers auctioneering. Very well. Yeah recollect that film Ted where your man has his head transplanted onto a fly and the fly’s head is transplanted onto the man Oh, sure what was that known as? Out of Africa? I feel anyway your man has the top of the fly and he is chasing his spouse all over the place the situation and she you realize she’s seeking to conceal the Jam and the whole thing so he is not going to get… Stop sufficient adequate. I need to discontinue you there Dougal. Sure, Ted. No motive. I just ought to discontinue you contemporary emergency. What is it today health care provider? We do not know I suppose it is a combo of Babycham and Harvick often all that used to be left after the celebration Father Stone’s been in there a long time hasn’t he? Suppose he’s lifeless? Probably doing assessments.What kind of assessments general skills? No is not going to get so much out of him in that . No no medical tests So how would he learn about that Ted? There he goes. He can move when he wishes to You stupid bastard you’ve rather carried out it this time. You started it you slag. Subsequent time i’m going to finish the job I… Fathers John hello, Mary well, uh, what are you doing here father? Um a friend of ours had a bit of of an accident? Oh dear. What occurred to you, that looks nasty? Ah definite. It can be nothing father. It can be only a headache don’t know why I afflicted coming quite Is that blood? Oh God no no i don’t think so. I simply got a slight nick with a knife when Mary was putting the bandage on it can be uh it’s not a stab wound sure, he is quality You seem like you may have been within the wars yourself mary.Ah it is simplest a sprain father. It’s nothing. I will slip it in a bag of cold it’s no longer broken. If it is definite, what the hell. I’m hoping your buddy will get better next time. Shut up you ancient bitch. They’re a lovely couple aren’t they John and Mary? They’re all proper. How much longer are they gonna be in there? On Ted we hardly ever even understand whilst you suppose about it does he have a lot of a loved ones sure father and mother are alive and he has a brother. I believe a health care professional in america health care provider wow huh, you would not suppose that will you however that’d simply be quite usual? You already know the favourite son would turn out to be a healthcare professional and then the idiot brother could be despatched off to the priesthood your brother’s a doctor isn’t he yes Ha health care provider.How’s the patient? He’s striking in there. It is normally shock. Satisfactory. Good, that is now not severe good, it’s fairly critical a bolt of lightning can do various damage. Can it? Yes, his reactions are very poor on the moment he is perpetually been like that very terrible reactions. That is usual for him. Surely he is not reacting in any respect to any stimulus once more i would not worry about it. That’s allways been seem father. I’m a medical professional and i know that it can be no longer normal to fail to react to stimulus i am definite it’s seem look seem at this See it’s a factor with monks we have our minds on extra religious concerns, so i would not worry about it well, no, I believe i’ll fear about it.Oh oh God, ok? Will we see him, i’d like to claim a prayer. Yes, all proper father this way As you’ll discover we nonetheless have not been capable to dispose of the golf membership Why isn’t he in mattress? It can be hard to get him right into a comfortable position when he is in that stance but you’re right. He’s been on his toes lengthy enough. Looks like a trophy He does a bit. I’m sorry. I most effective just heard oh Paul Come on, Mrs.. Stone. We’ve got got to get him into bed father could you You ought to be father Crilly. Sure i am. Oh God bless you father. God bless you Father this is my husband Ermet. Oh, God father. It can be horrible father it can be terrible God forgive me for making use of the Lord’s identify in useless but Jesus Christ how horrible this is this father it is it’s horrible horrible I inform ye i could not have said it better meself horrible is the phrase father terrible I let you know father terrible is simply too small a phrase our God Jesus too small a word when you seem at what you’re doing to your mother you lazy little bastard.You are useless Father, i’m sorry him brought on you all this challenge God forgive me for announcing this however do not have been better if he’d been killed obtained us all upset Jesus father what you ought to suppose of him and us for bringing him into the arena My God i am going out for a drink father would you join me? I will stay here for the second. K. See you later right and that is Mommy hiya i know what you are as much as God you realize father, Paul thinks the arena of you. Oh certainly he does he not ever stops speakme about you father Ted says this father Ted says that He worships you father He comes back from Craggy Island and he’s counting the days, so he can go back again actually seem He has a chart and he crosses off the times as they move by means of and correct right down to the bottom of the chart father graphic of yourself oh, God.I took his art work as well father. He did this one for you God, what is it? It can be his heart? Do something! Oh? Dougal, Dougal Dougal! Mr.. Stone, would you include me? I need you to fill out some varieties. Is he going to be all correct? We’re doing all we are able to however he’s fairly unwell. Simply hope for the high-quality All correct health care professional. Come on Mommy The ancient lady she knows she is aware of it can be all my fault How would she know that? They have got ways, ancient females are closer to God than we are going to ever be They get to that age and they don’t need the operation anymore. They’ve acquired the direct line She is aware of all proper and who could blame her for being indignant with me. It is all my fault. Why did I do it ,oh? Bring him again. I not ever ment you to take him away.There used to be no want for the lightning you recognize I didn’t mean that that was just silly Please God deliver him again. I swear We safeguard him.He can keep so long as he wants Ah no Ted. Shut up Dougal! Please I swear i will protect him for the rest of my days, please simply do that one thing Ah come on, please I swear Paul you are back. Oh Lord it can be a miracle. Health care provider! Paul? Can i get you something in any respect? No, i’m exceptional .