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halothenthehorns · 2 years ago

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Chapter 9: I LEARN HOW TO GROW ZOMBIES

"Yes!" Alex cheered upon reading the new chapter title. She'd have called dibs and wrestled this one away from anyone who dared tried to read this anyways and began on such a remarkable journey before any of them could even begin to question what Percy got up to five minutes out of camp, even while Magnus cringed into his seat in disgust at the idea of the coming apocalypse nobody else seemed concerned with!

"Does it involve plants?" Nico tried to ask like he knew what he was talking about. Wasn't that a popular game? Better to pass off the idea of ignorance he probably had more practice at growing zombies than anyone in here would be comfortable with knowing.

Will gave him another of those encouraging smiles, but for once he gave just as confused a shrug as anyone.

The thing about flying on a pegasus during the daytime is that if you're not careful, you can cause a serious traffic accident on the Long Island Expressway. I had to keep Blackjack up in the clouds,

"These books are really inconsistent with what the Mist does and doesn't hide from sight," Jason said with all the confused excitement of a kid on a road trip.

"The mortals would see something to make their day go weird," Thalia shrugged. "If you're lucky, just a helicopter, with Percy's luck, a hang glider in a kilt. It really just depends on that person."

"Knowing my luck, it would be a duck with a knife, and then a police helicopter would be chasing me," Percy sighed.

which were, fortunately, pretty low in the winter. We darted around, trying to keep the white Camp Half-Blood van in sight. And if it was cold on the ground, it was seriously cold in the air, with icy rain stinging my skin.

I was wishing I'd brought some of that Camp Half-Blood orange thermal underwear they sold in the camp store,

"This has gone unmentioned before now," Magnus and Alex both protested as if this were a great concern.

"I don't know why, they come in all sizes." Percy grinned. "I think the Stoll's tried to talk Chiron into wearing a pair."

"There aren't a lot of winter quests," Will gave a proper answer.

but after the story about Phoebe and the centaur-blood T-shirt, I wasn't sure I trusted their products anymore.

"But there's that," Percy sighed.

"My takeaway was don't trust anything the Stoll's have given you," Jason corrected, "I'd take them up on the rest of the store." He was eyeing Percy and Will's orange t-shirts with something like confusion as he imagined himself in one, and it wasn't because he was worried they wouldn't have one in his size.

We lost the van twice, but I had a pretty good sense that they would go into Manhattan first, so it wasn't too difficult to pick up their trail again.

Traffic was bad with the holidays and all. It was mid-morning before they got into the city. I landed Blackjack near the top of the Chrysler Building and watched the white camp van, thinking it would pull into the bus station, but it just kept driving.

"Where's Argus taking them?" I muttered.

Oh, Argus ain't driving, boss, Blackjack told me. That girl is.

"Which girl?"

The Hunter girl. With the silver crown thing in her hair.

"Zoe?"

That's the one. Hey, look! There's a donut shop. Can we get something to go?

I tried explaining to Blackjack that taking a flying horse to a donut shop would give every cop in there a heart attack, but he didn't seem to get it.

"Neither do I," Jason once again rolled his eyes Percy seemed to constantly forget about the Mist.

"Maybe they'd see you in a Mustang," Will grinned.

"I don't think the Mist would make me look sixteen, the cop thing would still be an issue," Percy sighed.

Meanwhile, the van kept snaking its way toward the Lincoln Tunnel. It had never even occurred to me that Zoe could drive. I mean, she didn't look sixteen. Then again, she was immortal. I wondered if she had a New York license, and if so, what her birth date said.

"Definitely not," Thalia said with a twitching smile, confusing most of them. They'd expected her to get frazzled at the very least being in another bus so soon.

"It might have an infinity symbol next to it if Artemis gave her one," Rachel chuckled to help play off in hopes nobody would question her friend about it. Alex looked like she wanted to, but the draw of zombies had her keep going instead.

"Well," I said. "Lets get after them."

We were about to leap off the Chrysler Building when Blackjack whinnied in alarm and almost threw me. Something was curling around my leg like a snake. I reached for my sword, but when I looked down, there was no snake. Vines—grape vines—had sprouted from the cracks between the stones of the building. They were wrapping around Blackjack's legs, lashing down my ankles so we couldn't move.

Percy squealed like a stuck pig and leaped out of his chair, sword drawn and slashing at the hem of his pants in remembered horror.

The others watched the show in vague concern how he'd left camp and was being attacked by the wine gods plant, especially Will shifting about in his own seat as if ants were in his pants making Nico bite his lip in amusement. It was a good thing Mr. D didn't go around using that on everybody who annoyed him.

"Going somewhere?" Mr. D asked.

"Damn," Alex drew out in fascination. "I didn't think he'd literally drag you back if you left without permission for a quest."

"He didn't last time," Jason agreed, "and I'd say a goddess missing is even higher stakes than saving the camp."

"But Dionysus left Camp!" Magnus recalled he could apparently do this to knock up mortals, hence his twins, but it was particularly strange now he'd exercise out for this. If he could when students made a break for it, he might be thrilled. Was that another reason for his horrible behavior? Was he actively trying to make them flee the camp so he could pull this?

"Anything to cause more trouble," Percy glowered at the book, clearly least impressed and already stewing over the next insult to a god.

He was leaning against the building with his feet levitating in the air, his leopard-skin warm-up suit and black hair whipping around in the wind.

God alert! Blackjack yelled. It's the wine dude!

Mr. D sighed in exasperation. "The next person, or horse, who calls me the 'wine dude' will end up in a bottle of Merlot!"

"That threat doesn't dissuade the stereotype," Nico said critically.

"Mr. D." I tried to keep my voice calm as the grape vines continued to wrap around my legs. "What do you want?"

"Oh, what do I want? You thought, perhaps, that the immortal, all-powerful director of camp would not notice you leaving without permission?"

"Ah, more like wouldn't care," Percy was still flexing his wrists in disgust and eyeing his seat in concern.

"Well... maybe."

"I should throw you off this building, minus the flying horse, and see how heroic you sound on the way down."

"Been there, done that," Alex waved off. "He just screamed and made a flaaboom noise."

"You're not the zombie, are you?" Magnus groaned.

"Even if he did crave brains, it wouldn't help his IQ," Thalia shrugged.

"Hardy har!" Percy rolled his eyes affectionately, "I could get rich with the amount of times all of you are in awe I'm alive."

"Not off of me," Magnus rolled his eyes right back.

I balled my fists. I knew I should keep my mouth shut, but Mr. D was about to kill me or haul me back to camp in shame, and I couldn't stand either idea. "Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you?"

"I was under the impression he just hated everybody at that camp," Rachel shrugged. Especially her, for adding to the count. As he so loved to remind her, at least the Oracle before her hadn't talked without the green smoke.

Purple flames flickered in his eyes. "You're a hero, boy. I need no other reason."

"Is it ironic that a god hates a hero? I feel like it is?" Magnus asked.

Jason looked a little queasy at the idea too. The gods were volatile by nature and revered for their power. Hero's were blessed to have half their gifts, and yet Percy nor any of the campers really seemed very worshipful about it. No wonder the gods would loath them really.

"I have to go on this quest! I've got to help my friends. That's something you wouldn't understand!"

Um, boss, Blackjack said nervously. Seeing as how we're wrapped in vines nine hundred feet in the air, you might want to talk nice.

"An almost literal jackass has more sense than you," Thalia frowned at him.

"Blackjack is a purebred thank you," Percy sniffed.

"Hybrid horse, the term still counts," Thalia said right back.

"That's a mule," Magnus corrected.

"This isn't about zombies!" Alex more than happily interrupted their squabble.

The grape vines coiled tighter around me. Below us, the white van was getting farther and farther away. Soon it would be out of sight.

"Did I ever tell you about Ariadne?" Mr. D asked.

"The spiders?" Percy asked as he cautiously went back to his seat.

"That's Arachne," Will told him in exasperation. "Every Athena kid curses her name!"

"That's why it sounded familiar," Percy shrugged, though his heart panged at the idea of Annabeth scolding him for that instead. Gods he hoped there weren't any spiders in that cavern dream.

"Beautiful young princess of Crete? She liked helping her friends, too. In fact, she helped a young hero named Theseus, also a son of Poseidon.

"Not this again!" Percy flopped properly into his seat in exhaustion. "Would everyone please stop comparing me to my dad and any past siblings I might have had!"

"I'm with you there buddy," Thalia nodded along while Nico kept his eyes on his boots and wished they'd stop thinking of his father first every time they looked at him too.

Alex swallowed her own agreement, not because she was hiding Loki being her mother, but because she actively denied her mother had any influence on any part of her life in the future. It was all in the past where it would stay.

She gave him a ball of magical yarn that let him find his way out of the Labyrinth.

Percy was glad he'd sat back down now as his skin crawled with stress, and he glanced at Rachel again. That was a name of something he instinctively knew he didn't like, but it meant nothing to Alex as any more than just another Greek myth she'd never heard of and so kept reading, and nobody else who winced was going to stop her for their memories of the event being perfectly intact.

And do you know how Theseus rewarded her?"

The answer I wanted to give was I don't care! But I didn't figure that would make Mr. D finish his story any faster.

"The fact that he's telling you a story is sort of disturbing," Jason informed. "Now where's the campfire and threats of murder?"

"I'm being threatened on the side of a building, the horror's plenty present," Percy assured.

"They got married," I said. "Happily ever after. The end."

Mr. D sneered. "Not quite. Theseus said he would marry her. He took her aboard his ship and sailed for Athens. Halfway back, on a little island called Naxos, he... What's the word you mortals use today?... he dumped her. I found her there, you know. Alone. Heartbroken. Crying her eyes out. She had given up everything, left everything she knew behind, to help a dashing young hero who tossed her away like a broken sandal."

"Jeez, your mom wasn't kidding about none of the old hero's getting happy endings," Magnus frowned.

"And that's not even the depressing ending," Thalia muttered.

"That's wrong," I said. "But that was thousands of years ago. What's that got to do with me?"

Mr. D regarded me coldly. "I fell in love with Ariadne, boy.

If crickets could chirp at the bottom of the ocean, they would be, as the awkward silence settled in.

"Isn't he in trouble for-"

"Yep," Alex nodded before Magnus could finish.

"And he's accusing Percy-"

"Uhhu," Alex nodded while scrutinizing the words.

"I have a headache," Magnus grumbled. Why was the world of gods and monsters no better a place than the mortal world?

"I'm glad it's not just me!" Percy raised a commiserating high five. Magnus mock did so back without looking up from his scrunched eyes shut.

I healed her broken heart. And when she died, I made her my immortal wife on Olympus. She waits for me even now. I shall go back to her when I am done with this infernal century of punishment at your ridiculous camp."

I stared at him. "You're... you're married? But I thought you got in trouble for chasing a wood nymph—"

"My point is you heroes never change. You accuse us gods of being vain. You should look at yourselves. You take what you want, use whoever you have to, and then you betray everyone around you.

"Who invented the pot and the kettle?" Percy stage whispered.

"Most likely the original kettle and pot," Will sighed. You could look at anybody's life and find the good and the bad, the more famous and longer they were around, the more one was to outweigh the other.

So you'll excuse me if I have no love for heroes. They are a selfish, ungrateful lot.

"He has kids!" Magnus reiterated. "Didn't he say he was a young god, used to be mortal?"

"You are arguing with the original cast iron skillet," Percy waved at the book. "I don't think you're going to win here man."

"The gods are not all good or all bad," Will insisted. "They, exist, just like we do. Their choices have bigger consequences, they are slow to change, but it doesn't mean they're incapable of it." He wasn't very comfortable with how clearly angry Percy was growing of the gods of late, nor with an outsider who knew nothing of their life constantly questioning all of this making it worse. After her last fight with Percy, Thalia was being pretty quiet over there, but Will wasn't going to stop reminding Percy of the family he'd fought for. "Dionysus didn't kill you Percy."

"That's such a great thing to be happy about after all his careless jabs about Annabeth," Percy scowled back, "that he didn't kill me right then."

Will couldn't answer. He couldn't remind Percy of Mr. D's grief after he lost his son, how quiet Percy had become after his trip to Calypso's island, or that Percy would be struggling with this for quite some time before and after the Battle of Manhattan. Being stuck down here now was only a temporary setback, he believed that Poseidon meant his son no harm. Now it was just a matter of making sure Percy didn't wind up like Luke by the time they got out of here.

Luckily neither Percy nor Alex were waiting around for an answer, for now.

Ask Ariadne. Or Medea. For that matter, ask Zoe Nightshade."

Thalia winced, but Rachel gazed on without surprise, only concern. It made sense after all, girls didn't usually join the Hunt because they already had happy, fulfilling lives.

"What do you mean, ask Zoe?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "Go. Follow your silly friends."

"Thank the gods he didn't chuck you off the side of the building with the horse so you could figure that out," Jason muttered.

The vines uncurled around my legs.

I blinked in disbelief. "You're... you're letting me go? Just like that?"

"The prophecy says at least two of you will die. Perhaps I'll get lucky and you'll be one of them.

Nico's olive skin went sallow at the reminder the same amount of campers had come back who had left, exchanging Thalia for Annabeth. The prophecy had taken away two of Artemis's. Dionysus hadn't gotten his wish any more than he had for the champions that day.

But mark my words, Son of Poseidon, live or die, you will prove no better than the other heroes."

"I hope you marked his words with washable markers," Rachel said proudly.

Percy's heart was spiraling without direction as he tried to smile at her. Annabeth, the gods, his mom, being trapped down here...

With that, Dionysus snapped his fingers. His image folded up like a paper display. There was a pop and he was gone, leaving a faint scent of grapes that was quickly blown away by the wind.

Too close, Blackjack said.

I nodded, though I almost would have been less worried if Mr. D had hauled me back to camp.

"You would have burned down the strawberry fields," Thalia told him confidently.

"I said less worried, not less angry," Percy agreed.

The fact that he'd let me go meant he really believed we stood a fair chance of crashing and burning on this quest.

"There's the upside," Will said with a weak smile.

"No more jokes from you today Solace," Thalia scoffed.

"Come on, Blackjack," I said, trying to sound upbeat. "I'll buy you some donuts in New Jersey."

As it turned out, I didn't buy Blackjack donuts in New Jersey.

"Such lies and sacrilege to the poor innocent pegasus," Alex said disparagingly.

"I'll be sure to feed him extra when I see him again," Percy promised, and there was just the slightest upbeat to his voice again he at least seemed confident of that. He had the horse to come back to.

Zoe drove south like a crazy person,

"Can verify," Thalia sighed, but again to their confusion she still just sounded exasperated. Not even slightly out of breath or stressed, like the time she'd nearly burned a city down had never happened.

and we were into Maryland before she finally pulled over at a rest stop.

Blackjack darn near tumbled out of the sky, he was so tired.

"How many horsepower is that bus?" Magnus asked in concern. "I don't think he can canter nonstop in the air?"

Percy felt a pang of unease for yet another friend he was letting down. He couldn't answer that, but he knew he'd been running Blackjack hard keeping up with them and was starting to wish he'd used this opportunity to sneak inside the bus.

I'll be okay, boss, he panted. Just... just catching my breath.

"Stay here," I told him. "I'm going to scout."

'Stay here' I can handle. I can do that.

I put on my cap of invisibility and walked over to the convenience store. It was difficult not to sneak. I had to keep reminding myself that nobody could see me. It was hard, too, because I had to remember to get out of people's way so they wouldn't slam into me.

"Annabeth makes everything look so easy," Percy grinned.

"Or she just trips them and blames it on ice, anyone's guess," Thalia snickered.

I thought I'd go inside and warm up, maybe get a cup of hot chocolate or something. I had a little change in my pocket. I could leave it on the counter. I was wondering if the cup would turn invisible when I picked it up, or if I'd have to deal with a floating hot chocolate problem,

"It would vanish," Thalia gave him a strange look for not knowing that. "You don't see your clothes or her backpack just floating along do you?"

"Right yeah," he agreed, pushing away the urge to scowl at her for the obvious answer. Somehow whenever she said stuff like that, it always made him feel stupid, sound more grating than if Annabeth had.

when my whole plan was ruined by Zoe, Thalia, Bianca, and Grover all coming out of the store.

"Grover, are you sure?" Thalia was saying.

"Well... pretty sure. Ninety-nine percent. Okay, eighty-five percent."

"That's still a passing grade," Jason said enthusiastically.

"I'll pass along how eager you are to see one of these tracking songs yourself," Nico chuckled. Jason looked delighted, and Will repressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"And you did this with acorns?" Bianca asked, like she couldn't believe it.

"That is the bottom of the barrel in weird," Magnus promised.

"Poor girl is on her first quest," Alex reminded, "she hasn't even gotten started on weird."

Grover looked offended. "It's a time-honored tracking spell. I mean, I'm pretty sure I did it right."

"D.C. is about sixty miles from here," Bianca said. "Nico and I..." She frowned. "We used to live there. That's... that's strange. I'd forgotten."

Nico once again received many a strange look for that, but he brushed it all away again with a heavy swallow. His shadow flickered behind him as if caught in a strobe, but everybody already turned eyes back to the book by the time it started and settled back. Almost everybody.

"I dislike this," Zoe said. "We should go straight west. The prophecy said west."

"Oh, like your tracking skills are better?" Thalia growled.

Zoe stepped toward her. "You challenge my skills, you scullion? You know nothing of being a Hunter!"

"Oh, scullion. You're calling me a scullion? What the heck is a scullion?"

"The one who cleans the chamber pots," Alex pitifully informed.

"A servant to a maid," Magnus offered, "the lowest of the low chain."

"Thanks, got that," Thalia assured.

"Why do you know that?" Percy muttered, but he knew the answer he'd get again. Readers.

"Whoa, you two," Grover said nervously. "Come on. Not again!"

"I'm just beginning to wonder if this is always how you make friends?" Jason asked with one of those smiles that made the scar on his lip dimple and stand out.

Thalia's heart squeezed too tight for her to respond. She'd never gotten the chance to grow up and argue with her baby brother. Alex was still impatiently reading to get to the walking dead to hear it.

"Grover's right," Bianca said. "D.C. is our best bet."

Zoe didn't look convinced, but she nodded reluctantly. "Very well. Let us keep moving."

"You're going to get us arrested, driving," Thalia grumbled. "I look closer to sixteen than you do."

"Perhaps," Zoe snapped. "But I have been driving since automobiles were invented. Let us go."

"That was scary. And impressive." Percy looked about as confused as somebody explaining the gods to him again. Like he still had trouble realizing things existed that long ago. Before the internet.

As Blackjack and I continued south, following the van, I wondered whether Zoe had been kidding.

"I still trust Artemis on the whole Zoe never kids thing," Will assured.

I didn't know exactly when cars were invented, but I figured that was like prehistoric times—back when people watched black-and-white TV and hunted dinosaurs.

"You mean when phones were plugged into the walls and people sent letters with stamps? I've never even seen a stamp," Magnus seemed just as baffled.

"You just made history museum top of our list when we get out of this," Alex chuckled at that dopey look on full display. Her reward was getting to watch those grey eyes land on her again, and a faint blush in his cheeks as he tried to guess what that meant. She wasn't quite sure herself anymore if she was just making fun of him either.

How old was Zoe?

Nico twitched at the bitter thought it was no wonder Bianca liked Zoe better, they had more in common, being stuck out of time. He'd tried to readily adapt to this time with his love of games and always smiling like an idiot at the bright lights. The television had only just been constructed a few years prior of when he was born, Percy would probably think he went to Catholic school on a pteranodon as soon as he would a horse-buggy.

And what had Mr. D been talking about? What bad experience had she had with heroes?

As we got closer to Washington, Blackjack started slowing down and dropping altitude.

He was breathing heavily.

"You okay?" I asked him.

Fine, boss. I could... I could take on an army.

"You don't sound so good." And suddenly I felt guilty, because I'd been running the pegasus for half a day, nonstop, trying to keep up with highway traffic. Even for a flying horse, that had to be rough.

Don't worry about me, boss! I'm a tough one.

I figured he was right, but I also figured Blackjack would run himself into the ground before he complained, and I didn't want that.

Percy wished that someone would scowl and call him a jackass. Just because Blackjack had volunteered for this didn't make this okay, and he felt lower than horse dung for doing this to his friend!

"Luke wouldn't have cared enough to ask Percy," Will gently reminded.

Percy startled, but then smiled and relaxed. He was right, Luke would have run Blackjack into the ground and called another pegasus without a second thought.

Fortunately, the van started to slow down. It crossed the Potomac River into central Washington. I started thinking about air patrols and missiles and stuff like that. I didn't know exactly how all those defenses worked, and wasn't sure if pegasi even showed up on your typical military radar, but I didn't want to find out by getting shot out of the sky.

"Yeah he might not forgive you for that one without a donut," Thalia snickered.

"A blueberry one at that," Percy smiled hopefully along that was all a joke and she didn't use him as a human shield if those missiles were deployed.

"Set me down there," I told Blackjack. "That's close enough."

Blackjack was so tired he didn't complain. He dropped toward the Washington Monument and set me on the grass.

The van was only a few blocks away. Zoe had parked at the curb.

I looked at Blackjack. "I want you to go back to camp. Get some rest. Graze. I'll be fine."

Blackjack cocked his head skeptically. You sure, boss?

"You've done enough already," I said. "I'll be fine. And thanks a ton."

A ton of hay, maybe, Blackjack mused. That sounds good. All right, but be careful, boss. I got a feeling they didn't come here to meet anything friendly and handsome like me.

"Nowhere in the world they could meet such a fella outside of camp," Rachel all but crooned with a sly look Percy didn't get. When would a mortal have been to camp? When did she meet Blackjack?

I promised to be careful. Then Blackjack took off, circling twice around the monument before disappearing into the clouds.

I looked over at the white van. Everybody was getting out. Grover pointed toward one of the big buildings lining the Mall. Thalia nodded, and the four of them trudged off into the cold wind.

I started to follow. But then I froze.

A block away, the door of a black sedan opened. A man with gray hair and a military buzz cut got out. He was wearing dark shades and a black overcoat. Now, maybe in Washington, you'd expected guys like that to be everywhere. But it dawned on me that I'd seen this same car a couple of times on the highway, going south. It had been following the van.

"And here I was beginning to wonder if Zoe had been around to invent all the best tracking and evading techniques too," Alex raised a surprised brow.

"We should have been expecting we were being followed," Thalia grimly agreed. She tried to play it off by giving Percy a light shove, as if she knew it was him all along, but the truth was they had been foolish not to expect this. Monsters had been after Nico and Bianca specifically, Thorn had been working with mortals. They'd been careless and shortsighted not looking for a tail.

"It's a good thing I followed you then," Percy puffed up his chest and swept away his hair with all the posturing of a bird. "You can thank me any time."

Thalia really did try to shove him then, causing the two to snicker that was all the thanks he was going to get, and he knew it.

The guy took out his mobile phone and said something into it. Then he looked around, like he was making sure the coast was clear, and started walking down the Mall in the direction of my friends.

The worst of it was: when he turned toward me, I recognized his face. It was Dr. Thorn, the manticore from Westover Hall.

All joking vanished from Percy as he leaned forward in his seat, bending Riptide so hard in his hand he might be in danger of snapping the pen as he concentrated again as well as he could. This beast was alive. He knew where Annabeth was.

Invisibility cap on, I followed Thorn from a distance. My heart was pounding. If he had survived that fall from the cliff, then Annabeth must have too. My dreams had been right. She was alive and being held prisoner.

"I couldn't even wish your dreams were wrong," Magnus agreed with dread. Her only options were to be held as prisoner, or dead. A nightmare in any reality.

Thorn kept well back from my friends, careful not to be seen.

Finally, Grover stopped in front of a big building that said NATIONAL AIR AND SPACE MUSEUM. The Smithsonian! I'd been here a million years ago with my mom, but everything had looked so much bigger then.

The surprise of Thorn showing up had mostly distracted anybody from asking why they stopped, but even Percy and Alex looked up from their laser focus to stare at Thalia with big question mark faces.

"What's a quest without sightseeing?" She, as usual, was no help with an answer. She even felt bad for this one, what would it hurt Percy just to assure it was Grover's tracking song leading them here, Jason might even get a kick out of it.

She didn't want to risk hurting him again though, since he soon got to witness his best friend doing a jig himself later and even hinting at details could make it worse right now.

Percy groaned and Alex couldn't blame him for constantly being frustrated his friend didn't have many helpful answers that wouldn't get them killed in here.

Thalia checked the door. It was open, but there weren't many people going in. Too cold, and school was out of session. They slipped inside.

Dr. Thorn hesitated. I wasn't sure why, but he didn't go into the museum. He turned and headed across the Mall. I made a split-second decision and followed him.

"Those impulses of yours are going to save the world," Alex told him with admiration. Why follow his friends when he could get the drop on the enemy.

Thorn crossed the street and climbed the steps of the Museum of Natural History. There was a big sign on the door. At first I thought it said CLOSED FOR PIRATE EVENT.

Nico's delighted snort of laughter was the loudest of all, but he was distracted from imagining guinea pig Percy in a plastic hamster ball running around one of those by Will smiling at him like he'd been sucker punched. "I'm sure that's a real event somewhere, everything is lately," he told him instantly.

Nico still looked at him strangely, like he was still waiting for Will to start mocking him now that he realized the Son of Apollo knew of more of his interests, but Will was just smiling same as ever.

Then I realized PIRATE must be PRIVATE.

"That dyslexia stuff must make for some awesome confusion," Alex said not unkindly.

"Because the Mist and monsters didn't do that enough," Percy shrugged.

I followed Dr. Thorn inside, through a huge chamber full of mastodons and dinosaur skeletons.

"Please tell me they're zombies like a strange Jurassic Park spin-off," Magnus's frown was hopefully cautious. Only Will noticed Nico mouthing Jurassic Park spin-off with a blank look.

"I could live with that," Alex nodded along.

"Nobody questioning how and why Percy's mere presence is going to bring prehistoric animals to life?" Jason chuckled enthusiastically.

"Well I don't think Thorn's poison is going to do the trick," Percy said without a hint of thrill at the idea as well as he rubbed his shoulder in remembrance.

There were voices up ahead, coming from behind a set of closed doors. Two guards stood outside. They opened the doors for Thorn, and I had to sprint to get inside before they closed them again.

Inside, what I saw was so terrible I almost gasped out loud, which probably would've gotten me killed.

"Of all the things you've done to nearly get yourself killed," Rachel winced. "Let's hope you don't sneeze."

Percy gave her a strange look and winced a bit, and she smiled guiltily, having forgotten for a moment he wouldn't get the joke.

I was in a huge round room with a balcony ringing the second level. At least a dozen mortal guards stood on the balcony, plus two monsters—reptilian women with double-snake trunks instead of legs. I'd seen them before. Annabeth had called them Scythian dracaenae.

Even just remembering the scared tremble on her voice as she'd told that to him tugged on his heart. She should be here in that memory, beside him to keep an eye on their friends as they went to rescue Artemis; though she would have just been invited on the quest and he still would have snuck along. She should be here beside him now hearing his crazy adventure without her. She should be here with her arm around him to chase that scared tremble in her voice away from his memory.

But that wasn't the worse of it. Standing between the snake women—I could swear he was looking straight down at me—was my old enemy Luke.

'Traitor,' the caution hissed through Jason's mind. There was a traitor at camp from Luke, but no one in this quest could possibly be it. Grover wasn't around to sell them out last summer, unless Luke had more than one around Camp?

He'd bet his memories being gone for good it wasn't Thalia. A rash swear on the Styx he'd still commit to.

It couldn't be a Huntress...but there was literally no other explanation why this could possibly be a meeting place for Thorn. Was it Zoe? She'd been so committed to Artemis, or possibly a really good actress? It couldn't be Bianca, unless she'd somehow managed to fake during that first meeting she had no clue what was going on.

Luke being there was just too huge a coincidence he couldn't help but vow to keep his suspicions open Luke may have acquired more spies than whomever the undiscovered one at camp was.

He looked terrible. His skin was pale and his blond hair looked almost gray, as if he'd aged ten years in just a few months. The angry light in his eyes was still there, and so was the scar down the side of his face, where a dragon had once scratched him. But the scar was now ugly red, as though it had recently been reopened.

Perhaps Magnus's previous theory about punishments and displeasing Kronos weren't so far off track. This was a far cry from the boy in his lavish sweet on a cruise liner bragging to Percy and Annabeth about his great choices.

There was no true sympathy in his heart though after leaving Annabeth in that trap for an untold time like there was in Will though, as he leaned forward in his seat. Will couldn't begin to imagine what all Luke had been through, but some part of him still hoped if Luke had just talked to someone instead of going so long silently resenting the gods he would have stopped this in its tracks. Had the Son of Hermes ever confided in any of the other half-bloods he recruited except to give nasty speeches about toppling thrones? Some part of Will still wished he could have lent an ear to Luke while offering him an ambrosia square to help, even if he had to handcuff this traitor and drag him back to camp kicking and screaming to do it.

Next to him, sitting down so that the shadows covered him, was another man. All I could see were his knuckles on the gilded arms of his chair, like a throne.

"Well?" asked the man in the chair. His voice was just like the one I'd heard in my dream—not as creepy as Kronos's, but deeper and stronger, like the earth itself was talking. It filled the whole room even though he wasn't yelling.

Percy repressed the urge to shiver at the memory of that and regretted himself all the cracks he'd made in the floor, grateful as everyone no voice had come from them.

Nico shivered right along with him as he imagined the same from something even more powerful than a Titan, the mother of them.

Dr. Thorn took off his shades. His two-colored eyes, brown and blue, glittered with excitement. He made a stiff bow, then spoke in his weird French accent: "They are here, General."

"I know that, you fool," boomed the man. "But where?"

"In the rocket museum."

"The Air and Space Museum," Luke corrected irritably.

Will made his own pained grimace as he whispered, "you all would have loved the time we took a field trip there."

Nobody felt the need to ask further questions, it clearly wasn't a happy memory for him. Perhaps because Annabeth had once corrected anybody who dared miss phrase the place while she'd been running around there. Thalia even smiled again for a brief moment as she imagined Chiron in his wheelchair trying to keep up with her, Annabeth smiling so brightly as Luke patiently listened to everything she had to say between the entrance and the gift shop, Clarisse and Salina being forced into the buddy system on the trip.

It was all in a bleak discerption of a memory from Chiron over a whispered game of cards as she'd hidden away from the harpies and he'd taken pity on her rather than sending her to bed. All the grand trips that were as close to quests as they'd come before Luke's failed fruit mission.

Dr. Thorn glared at Luke. "As you say, sir."

I got the feeling Thorn would just as soon impale Luke with one of his spikes as call him sir.

Thalia grimaced, she hated having something in common with that monster, even a common enemy.

"How many?" Luke asked.

Thorn pretended not to hear.

"How many?" the General demanded.

"Four, General," Thorn said. "The satyr, Grover Underwood. And the girl with the spiky black hair and the—how do you say—punk clothes and the horrible shield."

"Thalia," Luke said.

Thalia's eyes sparked with anger he pretended to care enough to make sure they got her name right as she vividly imagined shoving his head in a rocket and turning one on.

"And two other girls—Hunters. One wears a silver circlet."

"That one I know," the General growled.

Everyone in the room shifted uncomfortably.

"Let me take them," Luke said to the General. "We have more than enough—"

"Patience," the General said. "They'll have their hands full already. I've sent a little playmate to keep them occupied."

"Why do I feel like they didn't bring blocks and toy swords?" Jason muttered.

"Where are the zombies?" Ales was pouting they'd gone practically this whole chapter without brain-eating corpses. "It didn't mean Luke did it?"

Thalia once again swallowed without answer it might as well mean him. He was a shell of himself, having already sold his soul to Kronos.

"But—"

"We cannot risk you, my boy."

"Yes, boy," Dr. Thorn said with a cruel smile. "You are much too fragile to risk.

"Luke loved that by the way," Percy informed them, his sneer had nothing on Luke's venomous look that could have rivaled Thorn's spikes. The baffling implication left them much more confused what Thorn could mean by that, though Magnus at least tried to tell himself it was just bad guy, in house, squabbling.

Let me finish them off."

"No." The General rose from his chair, and I got my first look at him.

He was tall and muscular, with light brown skin and slicked-back dark hair. He wore an expensive brown silk suit like the guys on Wall Street wear, but you'd never mistake this dude for a broker. He had a brutal face, huge shoulders, and hands that could snap a flagpole in half. His eyes were like stone. I felt as if I were looking at a living statue. It was amazing he could even move.

Thalia's eyes glimmered with somehow yet more hatred, a truly frightening expression that nearly rivaled Aegis none of them thought could top her scowl for Luke moments ago.

She would have struck him without hesitation and much more for whatever he'd done to her.

"You have already failed me, Thorn," he said.

"But, General—"

"No excuses!"

Thorn flinched. I'd thought Thorn was scary when I first saw him in his black uniform at the military academy. But now, standing before the General, Thorn looked like a silly wannabe soldier. The General was the real deal. He didn't need a uniform. He was a born commander.

There was a ripple of unease around the room that came from no one demigod. Such a powerful leader that struck Percy left those not in the know just how much worse Kronos himself could possibly be. Yet Thalia alone who had seen his mortal form still only saw this atrocity of a Titan as a warmup for the pain she expected to feel fresh and sharp as ever. She swore vengeance on Zoe's killer even trapped in his imprisonment again, and it was nothing compared to the twisted root of pain lodged in her every time Luke's name was said.

"I should throw you into the pits of Tartarus for your incompetence," the General said. "I send you to capture a child of the three elder gods, and you bring me a scrawny daughter of Athena."

Alex and Magnus exchanged uneasy glances. They'd thought Bianca was the true goal that day, they needed a girl to capture Artemis, Percy was just a bonus when he showed up. Now they realized the Di Angelo kids were just bait...but how had Thorn known who would come to fetch them? Was it possible Thorn through Luke knew who Grover was and would call for help?

"Scrawny!" Was the only word Percy seemed to hear as bubbles flumed from his ears in anger once more.

"But you promised me revenge.'" Thorn protested. "A command of my own!"

"I am Lord Kronos's senior commander," the General said. "And I will choose lieutenants who get me results! It was only thanks to Luke that we salvaged our plan at all. Now get out of my sight, Thorn, until I find some other menial task for you."

Thorn's face turned purple with rage. I thought he was going to start frothing at the mouth or shooting spines, but he just bowed awkwardly and left the room.

"Now, my boy." The General turned to Luke. "The first thing we must do is isolate the half-blood Thalia. The monster we seek will then come to her."

Jason studied Thalia with a pit of concern, the untold prophecy nagging in his mind. It wasn't the only reason he could imagine them singling her out, Zeus surely had many enemies, a likely one possibly whoever this mystery man was. Thalia getting a choice to save the gods though would be a more comforting answer, because he was confident of that outcome, what she'd do. Anything else, he found himself nearly freezing up in concern what they could have done to her, what monster could this be?

"The Hunters will be difficult to dispose of," Luke said. "Zoe Nightshade—"

"Do not speak her name!"

"My liking for Zoe just went up tenfold," Rachel said darkly. Anything that upset this guy could only be used for their advantage, even the Persian princess.

Luke swallowed. "S—sorry, General. I just—"

The General silenced him with a wave of his hand. "Let me show you, my boy, how we will bring the Hunters down."

He pointed to a guard on the ground level. "Do you have the teeth?"

The guy stumbled forward with a ceramic pot. "Yes, General!"

"Plant them," he said.

"Do we have a botanist handy?" Will asked blearily, wishing Katie was around to turn to. He had no clue what was coming.

"I'll do you half of one," Nico muttered in disgust. He knew of a fair few from listening to the Demeter kids and Persephone threatening to poison him. He also knew of every ritual to summon the dead due to his own practicing, though he needed no aid like these mortals were doing, performing this ancient act.

Will gave him a curious, hopeful look, the exact opposite of what he'd expect expressing knowledge of zombies. The guy really was weirdly happy about everything.

In the center of the room was a big circle of dirt, where I guess a dinosaur exhibit was supposed to go. I watched nervously as the guard took sharp white teeth out of the pot and pushed them into the soil. He smoothed them over while the General smiled coldly.

The guard stepped back from the dirt and wiped his hands. "Ready, General!"

"Excellent! Water them, and we will let them scent their prey."

The guard picked up a little tin watering can with daisies painted on it, which was kind of bizarre, because what he poured out wasn't water. It was dark red liquid, and I got the feeling it wasn't Hawaiian Punch.

Cursed blood, enchanted and stolen from the enemies. Nico swallowed and didn't offer that information, he had a feeling it would wipe Will's smile away when he realized who may have been sacrificed to fill that daisy watering can.

The soil began to bubble.

"Soon," the General said, "I will show you, Luke, soldiers that will make your army from that little boat look insignificant."

Luke clenched his fists. "I've spent a year training my forces! When the Princess Andromeda arrives at the mountain, they'll be the best—"

"Ha.'" the General said. "I don't deny your troops will make a fine honor guard for Lord Kronos. And you, of course, will have a role to play—"

I thought Luke turned paler when the General said that.

Percy studied the book in Alex's hands and swallowed vomit, knowing he felt sick enough already before a zombie popped up now. That. That was something he should have a memory about, and should possibly for the first time thank whoever took them away to save him from whatever it was.

"—but under my leadership, the forces of Lord Kronos will increase a hundredfold. We will be unstoppable. Behold, my ultimate killing machines."

The soil erupted. I stepped back nervously.

In each spot where a tooth had been planted, a creature was struggling out of the dirt.

Magnus was leaning all the way back in his seat and bracing himself for horrible descriptions that hit to close to home, having seen the dead on the streets, most citizens walking right past and not even realizing it. Of desiccated skin and jaws that wreaked of human flesh, with shuffling gates and soulless eyes in a forbidden human face-

The first of them said:

"Mew?"

"Kitten?" Magnus leaned excitedly over Alex's shoulder, a silly cartoon book coming back to him he hadn't thought of in years as his mom laughed with him about Freya loving cats.

"Well I didn't say moo," Alex grinned in agreement.

It was a kitten. A little orange tabby with stripes like a tiger. Then another appeared, until there were a dozen, rolling around and playing in the dirt.

"These are the cutest killing machines we will ever experience," Will beamed.

"Have you already forgotten Annabeth?" But Percy was smiling along in confused surprise just as much what the heck was going on. Maybe he could steal one for Annabeth when she got back, cats loved to chase spiders, right?

Everyone stared at them in disbelief. The General roared, "What is this? Cute cuddly kittens? Where did you find those teeth?"

The guard who'd brought the teeth cowered in fear. "From the exhibit, sir! Just like you said. The saber-toothed tiger—"

"No, you idiot! I said the tyrannosaurus! Gather up those... those infernal fuzzy little beasts and take them outside. And never let me see your face again."

"Honestly, that guy got off easy," Jason said with a raised brow. No remorse at all for the mortal who had passively stood around and been okay dishing out previous orders to kidnap and shoot kids. "How do you even swap those two?"

"Maybe somebody went around and played with a few placards?" Will said with a chuckle as he vividly remembered what Travis and Connor had gotten up to while there, but even then, it was really hard to imagine somebody couldn't look at the skeleton and get the wrong carcass so badly.

The terrified guard dropped his watering can. He gathered up the kittens and scampered out of the room.

"You.'" The General pointed to another guard. "Get me the right teeth. NOW!"

The new guard ran off to carry out his orders.

"Imbeciles,' muttered the General.

"This is why I don't use mortals," Luke said. "They are unreliable."

"They are weak-minded, easily bought, and violent," the General said. "I love them."

"Somebody has to," Percy muttered, though he didn't look happy of all the things to imagine Grover and this guy would agree on. His eyes were on Rachel again though, that inexplicable feeling of knowing she was mortal...and yet associated none of that with her like he did Gabe. He didn't hate mortals on principle, but his time with most of them wasn't good memories...except her for some reason...when he couldn't reach those memories!

A minute later, the guard hustled into the room with his hands full of large pointy teeth.

"Excellent," the General said. He climbed onto the balcony railing and jumped down, twenty feet.

Where he landed, the marble floor cracked under his leather shoes. He stood, wincing, and rubbed his shoulders. "Curse my stiff neck."

"Is that supposed to be a hint of who he is," Jason asked a little breathlessly, and he just knew the answer was buried somewhere in his mind...

Percy shrugged without much care though, fidgeting as restlessly in his seat as ever like everything but hearing about Annabeth caused him.

"Another hot pad, sir?" a guard asked. "More Tylenol?"

"No! It will pass." The General brushed off his silk suit, then snatched up the teeth. "I shall do this myself."

"Damn, sucks to have a go-getter leader," Alex frowned for having always admired anybody willing to do what they dish out, even watering zombies.

"There's something we have in common," Jason nodded along with the same perplexed look.

Thalia popped the collar of her jacket and cleared her throat with a malevolent smile. "I thank you for the kind words."

"Anytime girlie," Alex nodded.

He held up one of the teeth and smiled. "Dinosaur teeth—ha! Those foolish mortals don't even know when they have dragon teeth in their possession. And not just any dragon teeth. These come from the ancient Sybaris herself! They shall do nicely."

"Do I even want to know?" Magnus looked a little hopeful though they wouldn't be human zombies, which was like point one percent better.

"Sybaris was like a Scythian dracaenae, but worse," Nico supplied without concern. "Snake with feet, but a rooster head, mountain-sized," he concluded mildly. A Persian myth, making it slightly ironic why Percy had earlier mistaken Zoe of looking of that decent if Atlas had any association there. "It's odd though, because that's not what these guys turn out to be." Perhaps the resurrection process had to be performed by a priest of Hades to actually bring back the exact dragon, and these minions had been invoked from the process done by Atlas not performing the ceremony correctly.*

Will was looking for it now, and pressed his lips together unhappily to watch Nico's shadow flicker as he kept himself uptight and disconnected while explaining that, and Magnus was to busy making faces at dragons and zombies existing in the same sentence to notice.

How could Will possibly guess Nico was trying his hardest to suppress the memory of these things showing up on the worst day of his life, Percy saying nonsense, she was dead, he could hear their ghostly promises of more death on his hero and, and he just couldn't let him die, but he couldn't stand to look at him either...so he ran- stop! Moving on!

Magnus's mood had been dragged down with every word Nico used to describe them, and Percy looked no more thrilled what was actually going to come out of the dirt. To Nico's bemusement, but for once not surprise as he got used to Will, the guy gave him a smile and once again asked, "is she in Mythomagic?"

"You guessed it," Nico agreed without hesitating to smile back.

He planted them in the dirt, twelve in all. Then he scooped up the watering can. He sprinkled the soil with red liquid, tossed the can away, and held his arms out wide. Rise!

The dirt trembled. A single, skeletal hand shot out of the ground, grasping at the air.

The General looked up at the balcony. "Quickly, do you have the scent?"

"Yesssss, lord," one of the snake ladies said. She took out a sash of silvery fabric, like the kind the Hunters wore.

"Excellent," the General said. "Once my warriors catch its scent, they will pursue its owner relentlessly. Nothing can stop them, no weapons known to half-blood or Hunter. They will tear the Hunters and their allies to shreds. Toss it here!"

As he said that, skeletons erupted from the ground. There were twelve of them, one for each tooth the General had planted. They were nothing like Halloween skeletons, or the kind you might see in cheesy movies. These were growing flesh as I watched, turning into men, but men with dull gray skin, yellow eyes, and modern clothes—gray muscle shirts, camo pants, and combat boots. If you didn't look too closely, you could almost believe they were human, but their flesh was transparent and their bones shimmered underneath, like X-ray images.

Magnus groaned in disgust and now knew the next time he sensed the dying ember of life leaving a mortal's body wrapped in trash bags, he'd get another horrible memory on top.

Alex met his eyes, licked her lips, but then turned back to the book. He sat stunned as he realized she wasn't hollering in pleasure at finally getting her reward of live zombies, she wasn't laughing and begging anybody to teach her how to do this.

Maybe, maybe his guess was right and the strained, hint of recognition of seeing her in a kitchen out of the corner of his eye was real. That she'd seen the gruesome side of humanity too, and this was just her way of dealing with it, smiling grimly through to laugh in the face of danger.

One of them looked straight at me, regarding me coldly, and I knew that no cap of invisibility would fool it.

The snake lady released the scarf and it fluttered down toward the General's hand. As soon as he gave it to the warriors, they would hunt Zoe and the others until they were extinct.

I didn't have time to think. I ran and jumped with all my might, plowing into the warriors and snatching the scarf out of the air.

"Percy..." Thalia couldn't begin to find words to thank him for what he'd done. Artemis would have grieved and sworn revenge for them, if they'd even made it through this quest at all, but there was no telling if their goddess would have even continued the hunt at all with her maidens after a decimation like that. She was struck with awe she could go back and tell her crew a male hero had saved the legacy of them all, if not in spirit, than literally.

"Thalia," Percy bobbed his head and turned back to the book. That was that, all that was needed as he watched the gratitude in her eyes.

"What's this?" bellowed the General.

I landed at the feet of a skeleton warrior, who hissed.

"An intruder," the General growled. "One cloaked in darkness. Seal the doors!"

"It's Percy Jackson!" Luke yelled. "It has to be."

"That was presumptuous," Percy looked almost pleased though he was so high on the list of people Luke suspected.

"You get a cookie for the big kid word," Thalia patted his shoulder and grinned at him swatting her away.

I sprinted for the exit, but heard a ripping sound and realized the skeleton warrior had taken a chunk out of my sleeve. When I glanced back, he was holding the fabric up to his nose, sniffing the scent, handing it around to his friends. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. I squeezed through the door just as the guards slammed it shut behind me.

And then I ran.

Rachel shivered in particular disgust as Alex declared she was done. When she'd asked Percy where those skeletons chasing him had come from, he'd been pretty vague about the answer. He spent those weeks with her talking of anything but his father's side of the family, basking in what could have possibly been his last mortal, normal summer.

She watched Percy now as he got to his feet and cautiously went for the book, an expression more similar to fear twitching across his face than she ever would have believed possible was there. The last time he'd had his memories in hand, Annabeth had gone over a cliff. He took it now and looked from it to her, something strange still trying to wage with the memories of his girlfriend as he slowly went back to his seat beside her.

She'd thought she had a crush on him, and maybe there for a time he'd looked at her and wondered what life would be like if he could have a simple life with her too.

But just like she'd always known he would from the second she saw him and Annabeth together, he turned away with only slight hesitation and kept reading to find his way back to her, and she smiled and declared excitedly, "are we taking a lunch soon, I'm starving?"

PJOPJOPJO

*Why did dragon teeth create human skeletons? No clue, but I don't think my explanation makes it make less sense.

#pjo #percy jackson #thalia grace #jason grace #big three kids #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #percabeth #alex fierro #magnus chase #fierrochase #titan's curse #rachel elizabeth dare #How Do You Say Gods

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thesaltyace · 1 year ago

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Well, I've peaked. That's it. I listened to the folks online who said to check out Goodwill for fabrics because sometimes you'll come across fabric cheaper than you'd ever get in a store. My first attempt was so successful that I don't know if I'll ever reach this peak of luck ever again.

I bought a huge bundle of fabric, unsure of what exactly it was. It seemed light in weight for how much fabric it is, and felt like a natural fiber. It reminded me of spouse's wool kilts, just a lighter weight, but I couldn't be sure in store. I did a burn test at home, and it's definitely wool. My best guesstimate without actually measuring it is that it's around 3 yards in both dimensions. And I snagged it for $4.

I'm ruined because I don't think I'll land a find like this again. I'll always be so disappointed with future visits. 😅 But I'm also a little annoyed because wool makes my skin itch (my face itches just being near it, which is part of why I thought it might be wool) so I have no idea what I'll actually do with this fabric now that I've got it. It would make lovely pants or a skirt, but I'm not skilled enough to make anything complicated with it. 😵

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sp00kworm · 4 years ago

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Who needs lights?

Pairing: Durzub (Goth Male Orc) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warning: Suggestive Themes

This wonderful piece is based off a very lovely OC by @of-devils-and-drawings. Durzub belongs to her and I adored him too much not to make this for him. I’m a sucker for anything scary and/or orc.... and/or metal....and/or goth.

---

You’d always found a little bit of comfort being in the alternative scene, even when others stared and watched in the street as you went past, going about your business, bundled in black layers or flares and platforms. It was something unique and different and it was very much a part of your life. The bars were always better places too. You laughed at the bar at your friend as the bar tender tied his platinum, lilac streaked hair back and started to mix the cocktail for the jug. It was easier to order in large pitchers and watch the band playing from the platform the bar was on. You watched the alcohol mix as the Fae grinned at you, revealing incredibly dangerous, sharp teeth and placed two straws into the jug before sliding it closer to the two of you.

You paid for it before laughing and turning a straw to the Faun, “To our health! Well, and my new job!” You cheered.

“Oh, for sure, finally you’re not broke and can pay for drinks!” She jeered as she pursed her lips and leaned down to take a few long sips, “Jesus Christ, Flix!” She coughed, “You trying to get us drunk and make us easy, or something?”

Flix rolled his eyes as he flipped a cocktail shaker over and caught it, “You wish Pip. You two haven’t ever been my type.” He snorted as his lilac, gossamer wings fluttered behind his back in irritation. He laid his burning black eyes on a group in the corner, “Though, I like the look of those troublemakers.” A claw raised to point at the group of Orcs who were gathered in the corner.

Pip’s brown ears flicked before her hooves clicked against the black floor, the sparkly tiles reflecting the strobes from the stage. She grinned and flicked at the ring in her nose, her shaggy black hair flopping back over her dark eyes, “Oh,” She purred, “I didn’t know you were into the rowdy muscle-head sort.”

Flix flipped the cocktail again before giving her the middle finger and moving to serve the cocktail to a woman who had just come out of the crowd watching the band.

“Who are they?” You asked after taking a long drink of the cocktail, “I haven’t seen them here before?” You looked over at the group again before realising how perfectly they fit in here in the bar. All were dressed in a variety of fashion, from heavy leather, to chains, to netting. Others donned fancier items with flowing sleeves and long, tailored skirts and trousers. The majority were green in skin tone, but you looked at a few lighter coloured, grey toned orcs with interest as they were from the mountainous regions of the old country.

Pip clicked her tongue, “Muscle heads and trouble, the lot of them.” She took another few drinks before hopping back onto her bar stool and adjusting her net top over her ripped shirt. Around her waist was a thick leather belt, the studs dripping with thin metal chains that hung around her furry hips, “They come to shows like this and usually start fights.” She commented off-handedly.

With a frown, you looked from her, to the group again, “They just seem to be drinking and watching?” You commented.

Pip snorted a short bleat again, “Yeah, wait until this gig really kicks off, then you’ll see what I mean. Last time I was here with them one of them decided it would be a great idea to upturn tables, and by that, I mean, upturn my drinks over my new dress.” She hissed venomously, “They’re assholes, the lot of them.”

“They don’t look like it…” You uttered as one of the Orcs stood from the group and dragged his friend up with him to get drinks. The rest of them hollered their orders before some of the group split off to join the crowd watching the band.

“Oh great. Here they come!” Pip cheered before moving two seats down and dragging you along with her.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Pip.” Flix commented with a hiss and flutter of his wings, “They’re all lookers, I don’t see why you can’t look past that.” He shrugged his shoulders before smiling at the two male orcs at the bar, “What can I do for you two handsome fellas?” His eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings at them and you snickered at the scent of lilac flowers that drifted from him like a thick perfume.

“Come on, Flix. Lay off it for one night will ya!” One of the orcs laughed before he elbowed his friend, “This guy’s new here. Don’t go scaring him off already. You lot need our custom.” The orc leaned back and scrubbed at his mohawk, adjusting his heavy cargo trousers. Fabric belts hung between the legs and down them and he wore a heavy half tartan kilt over the top. His face was littered with piercings and you could see why he looked like the sort to be causing problems.

“You know I love you all equally, Xurek.” Flix laughed, “But I was more excited for your lady friend over there. She’s new too huh?”

“Jesus, you never give up! Anyway,” Xurek took the other orc around the neck, “This is Durzub. He’s new in town. Just moved in from out from the sticks. He might look like a foul piece of work, but you’ve met Rakuh, so he’s not as scary.” Xurek laughed before he let the darker skinned orc go. The other male reached up to brush his black hair from his eyes. Most of his long black hair was braided in tight long threads, the braids sequenced with small beads along them with the rest straight and hanging over his shoulder beneath the wide brim of a black hat, emblazoned with a silver trim around the base. He turned, dressed in a black long shirt and coat, the end trailing behind him as he ducked out of Xurek’s grasp, brown eyes angry.

Durzub snorted and tossed his head, the braids sliding back out of his way over his shoulder before he reached up to move his tangled chains from the ends of his hair, the necklaces hanging with silver teeth, “Will you stop dragging me around like a child, Xurek!” He snorted as he dragged his arm out of Xurek’s grasp and adjusted his hat again before sighing and taking it off, “Any way I could get you to store this behind the bar for me? Its new and these lot have a habit of throwing beer the later it gets.”

Flix fluttered his eyelashes again, “Sure thing, sweetheart.” He took the hat and turned around to hang it near the aprons, “Just grab me before closing and I’ll get it you.”

“Thank you.” Durzub rumbled before pulling his hair back again, tucking the straight length on his left side behind his ear, revealing rings of silver and studs of obsidian, which matched the rings, linked by a chain, on each of his short tusks.

“Don’t be nice to him, Durzub, he’ll eat you alive given the opportunity.” Xurek snickered behind his hand as he flapped his band shirt, trying to cool himself down, “His family ate children back in the day.”

“That was five hundred years ago!” Flix scoffed as he slammed two, pint glasses down on the bar, “So, was it two ales or two lagers?”

“We were thinking mead actually.” Xurek stuck his pierced tongue out before he played with the bar, “And not that piss water Weldrick buys for the goblins!” Flix ignored him and turned for the taps down the other end of the bar.

Pip scoffed at the exchange, but you found your mouth opening at the sight of the long-haired orc and his scowl. He watched Flix’s wings before he turned away from Xurek’s chattering and pushed his hand over his mouth. You watched the exchange as Xurek stuck his tongue between the other’s fingers and couldn’t help but laugh loudly as Durzub cringed and recoiled.

“You’re fuckin’ disgusting.” Durzub rolled his eye and took a napkin from the holder to wipe the spit from his fingers and the skull rings which sat above his knuckles.

“Mmm, you taste like fresh meat.” Xurek hissed like a comically bad vampire, and you laughed again, but this time louder. It was loud enough that the two orcs looked down the bar to where you and Pip were sat with your cocktail jug.

“Well done! Now we have their attention.” Pip hissed in your ear before she kicked at your chair with one shoed hoof, clanking the metal with a vicious bang.

Xurek’s smile made you regret everything, as you watched his gaze shift from your face to the larger orc stood next to him, “Looks like we have an audience, Durzub.”

The other male turned slightly on one heel, looking at you both with a raised eyebrow, looking over the two of you perched at the end of the bar, “Don’t mind this freak. He’s got a way of making everyone hate him.”

“Oh, that’s fuckin’ cold!” Xurek hissed at him, “After I introduce you to those bands too!”

Durzub rolled his eyes again as Xurek slinked around him to laze across the bar on one arm, his head propped up on his fist, “Bands which have given me nothing but persistent headaches.”

“Headaches but three magazine features!” Xurek wound his middle finger up before he smiled at the two of you again, “Ignore him. He was castrated at birth.” The statement earned him another gruff noise from Durzub.

“We don’t want your attention, Xurek.” Pip gave him a sardonic smirk, “Not unless you’re replacing those drinks from last time.” She leaned on her own open palm and bared her teeth at him, her hoof clicking against the bar stool.

“You’re a cold bitch, Pip. You know that was an accident.” Xurek whined, “Highlander honour.” He crossed his heart, “Anyway, why don’t I introduce you to my new friend here?” He wrapped his arm around Durzub, making the other spill mead down his fingers as he dragged him over to the two of you, “This is Durzub. He’s a music producer, and part time good looker.”

“You’re a music producer?” You asked in awe before you turned and looked at the stage, “Are you here for these guys?” You pointed at the industrial band on stage as the lights went low and they started the intro for their next song. At the back here it wasn’t as loud, and you could readily hear the two orcs.

“Yeah. They’re a new signing.” Durzub rolled his shoulders in a shrug, “I never really sign their sort, but it seems like they have a decent following.”

“Come on, mate, we’re here to chill out, not to talk work.” Xurek groaned and laid against the sticky bar top before recoiling in disgust.

“I know, you great oaf.” Durzub placed Xurek’s drink next to him, “Are you both here to see the show?” He asked, his voice slipping from ‘totally pissed off’ into something that was ‘gruff but polite’. Either way, his soft country accent made you smile before you took a few mouthfuls of cocktail for courage.

Pip answered before you could swallow, “We come on a Friday to wind down. The gigs are always just a bonus.”

She shot a look at you with her dark, goat eyes, warning you from speaking as she steered the conversation, “What about you guys? You here to bother people on their nights off?”

“Well, we know where we ain’t wanted.” Xurek shrugged his shoulders at Pip’s rudeness, “Sorry to harass you, but you don’t have to be a salty asshole about spilt drinks, you know.” He watched Pip’s temper flare and you ducked back as she slammed her hand against the bar top.

“You listen here you little asshole!”

“Little?” Xurek scoffed, “I tower over you, babe.”

Pip gave a bleat of anger before she swept her leg around you and cracked Xurek in the shin, “It was my new dress you ass for brains!” She hissed at him before she stood up to walk around you and face the orc head on.

“What do you want me to say, huh?!” Xurek goaded, “Oh I’m so sorry that my accident ruined something I couldn’t stop. Get over yourself thinking I did it on purpose!” He fumed with anger.

You leaned back before hopping out of your chair, taking the jug of cocktail in one hand and a tall glass in the other before you turned to Durzub, “Hey come on. They’re going to be screeching for a while. Want to go and sit on the balcony and watch?”

Durzub seemed a little taken back by the offer, “Oh, sure.” He uttered as he pulled Xurek’s drink away from him and then took his own in hand and following you towards the stairs, leading to the viewing area above the pit. You found two stools and a table and happily placed your drinks on it before leaning on the railing to look down at the band as they headbanged together on stage.

Durzub sat awkwardly for a moment before he coughed behind his head, “So, what is it that you do?” He asked as he leaned over the table, eyeing the mixture of liquor and fruit juice in your jug.

You turned from the show and smiled, “Oh nothing as interesting as music production. I just got hired at a new modelling agency.”

“Do you model then?” He asked with wide eyes, “Because you’re certainly…”

“Oh, God no. Nothing like that. I work with brands and secure deals and shoots. I work with Skull Crusher and Tombstone mostly.” You smiled and sipped cocktail through your straw.

Durzub tucked his hair back again with a sweep of his hand, “That explains the look then.” He smiled softly, “Do you get some sweet discounts?” He asked.

“Like you wouldn’t believe. It’s never been cheaper to be a goth!” You cheered as you looked down at the rowdy beginnings of a mosh pit, then back to the bar.

You gave a great laugh, “Well, looks like their argument is sorted.” You pointed at Xurek with his bruised cheek. He slammed back his drink before storming away into the pit, rushing through a mosh pit before his eyes caught sight of a human among the others. You grinned at his expression. Dumb struck.

“Jesus. I hope they’re ready to be pestered.” Durzub chugged a few mouthfuls of mead before he scoffed, “Whenever he gets that look, he ends up heartbroken a week later.”

“Well, it might be different this time, you know?” You smiled back at Durzub, “Maybe this is the one!” You cooed.

“You’ve got fairy tales in your head and cotton candy to go with it. He’s going to have a one-night stand then not shut up about her for the next three weeks.” Durzub held up three fingers as he drank some more, “Or he’ll relay every little detail to us on our next outing. He has zero filter.”

“I can tell that much.” You laughed as you shuffled back in your seat, “What about you then, have you met your one?”

“My one?” Durzub scoffed, “Hardly. How old do you think I am?” He leaned on his fist and pointed back at himself, giving you a curious look.

You felt like this was a trap, “Are you doing this so you can get mad when I guess wrong?” You asked as you pushed the ice around in the glass.

“Hardly. I’m not sensitive.” He grumbled as his painted fingers tapped against the side of the pint glass.

“Hmm, if you say so.” You leaned over the table to squint at his face. You’d worked with a few orcs before, but most were young models, sharp featured and tall, broad in the shoulders. Durzub was the same, though his face had wrinkles in places which would suggest he was far over twenty years old, “Thirty-six.” You decided with a smile.

Durzub let out a low laugh, “Not far off actually. I’m thirty-eight.” He pointed to the stage, “And I used to do that. Played in a band until about five years ago. Started as a producer then. Never looked back.”

“Oh wow. Who did you used to play with?” You asked in awe.

“A gothic rock sort of deal.” He replied before he looked into your pleading eyes, and relented, “Zi Gijak.”

“No way.” You rushed to stand from your seat as you recognised the Orcish name, “Black Blood!?”

Durzub ducked his head, reaching for where his hat had sat before he realised, he wasn’t wearing it, “Keep your voice down, please.” He begged quietly, “I don’t need people in this place to recognise me.”

“How could they recognise you now? You look nothing like you did back in the day.” You stated before realising what you said sounded rude, “Not that you look bad now it’s just…”

He laughed at your awkwardness, “I know. I ditched the netting and bones a while ago.”

“You didn’t look half bad in it though, even five years ago.” You winked at him with a sudden rush of confidence, “Though I think this outfit suits you just as much.”

Suddenly, it was as though the intimidating exterior melted, and you watched Durzub’s face go flushed with embarrassment, “Thanks. It has been a change.”

Without making him any more embarrassed you changed the subject a little, “So what bands do you produce for now?” You asked.

“Quite a few. I used to work with SIREN before they got huge, but that sort of metal was never something I could do rather well, I thought.” He shrugged, “They’re with a more focused label now.”

“No way…This keeps getting better and better!” You uttered again.

“Better and better for you. They were a headache and a half for me!” Durzub chuntered into his drink before he swallowed the last bits of it, “I’m glad they’ve moved up. They were good for business.” He smirked over the edge of the pint glass.

“Only thinking of the money.” You tutted playfully, “That’s no way to treat your bands.” You joked.

“Oh no, but that makes me feel better knowing my weekly migraines are worth the agony.” Durzub chuckled as he watched the band on stage, “These guys ain’t half bad for a show though. I think I picked the best from the bucket.”

“They have an interesting ensemble.” You smirked at the leather clad demoness as she slinked along the stage before she growled from her stomach, a crop landing against the hand of a handsy looking fan in the front.

“Interesting but it’s the sort of thing that gets you recognised.” Durzub noted as he watched, “This place is a refuge for all kinds of people. I’m glad Cal has got this place running with Weldrick.”

“Who’s Cal? I’ve met Weldrick. Giant bright white minotaur, right? Build like a brick shit house with all the piercings?” You recalled.

Durzub nodded, “That’s him. He’s about eight foot tall too. Scariest mother fucker I ever did meet.” He shifted in his seat, “Cal is the co-owner, but he’s not around that often. He’s a vampire, but he’s not people fond.” The orc shrugged before offering you half a smile, “We all used to work together, believe it or not.”

“Wait…” Your mouth dropped open, “I’m actually stupid.”

“Cal was the singer of Black Blood. Weldrick ran our security back in the day.” He laughed at your open mouth before he leaned over to close your mouth with two large fingers. He brushed his fingers over your chin before leaning back and pointing to your drink, “Do you want anything else?”

“I’m okay thanks. I’ll keep your seat warm.” You joked as he stood up with a nod and grumbled about having something better than ‘shitty mead’.

“I’ve never seen Durzub ever sit and talk with someone in a bar.” A deep, gravelly voice rang out from behind you. You turned around in your chair to see a tall, human looking male watching you, his sunglasses perched on the end of his nose as he regarded you with a mild amount of curiosity from over the lenses. He reached out a hand awkwardly, “Cal.”

“As in…” You took his hand, and flinched at the stone coldness of his grip, “Co-owner of the bar, Cal?”

“The very same.” He shook your hand lightly before his hand disappeared quickly back into his pocket, “I just came to say hello. I was curious. He hates attention in these kinds of places…”

“Just like you then, apparently.” You observed as you turned on your seat to face him. He was a giant man, but stony cold, and overly pale, looking almost grey around his reflective, steel-coloured eyes. They shone red as he turned, the bouncing curls of black hair spilling over his shoulders before he reached for a cigarette packet and cursed, seeing it was empty with only his lighter inside.

“Cal?” Durzub returned with a large looking ale in his hand, “Weird time to show yourself. Unless you were planning to steal this one for a snack, hmm? As usual.” He scoffed.

“You know I’ve been off the blood for years…” Cal whispered as he rummaged in his other back pocket, before finding a small, slim packet of chewing gum, “I don’t…”

“Yeah. Save it. That’s what you said last time, Clarence.” Durzub huffed into his drink.

Cal’s back went ridged before he stooped over and unfolded the wrapper of his gum, “You don’t get to call me that.” He whispered again, his gravelly tone rumbling in the back of his throat before he slunk away, back into the shadows, and disappeared in a shadowy wave of his black hair.

“Sorry you had to see that.” Durzub rumbled from across the table, “Its…complicated.”

You span back around and smiled, “Don’t worry about it. I think Pip had more of a fight with Xurek.” You snickered as you turned to spy her sat at the bar, batting her eyelashes at Flix as he served, “Though I think she’s okay now. She’s turned her eyes on a certain someone.”

Durzub looked down at the bar and laughed as well, “Well I guess you know her type now.” He joked as he sipped at his ale.

“Yep. Scary pretty boys, who aren’t part of your friends.” You snickered as you sipped at the last of your cocktail and refreshed the glass.

The band on the stage purred their final song as you took another drink, and you looked at your phone with wide eyes at the time.

“I have to get up tomorrow for errands.” You lamented, looking at the clock. It was almost midnight, and you knew Pip would be here for hours if you left her to her own devices.

“So, this is where the night ends.” Durzub laughed before he finished the last of his own drink, “Here.” He tugged out his phone, “Let me give you my number?”

You nodded and took your phone out to exchange numbers before checking it was working and showing him the message came through okay.

“Thank you for tonight.” You smiled at him, “We should do this again.” You leaned over and carefully placed a kiss on his flushed cheek, “For an grumpy music producer, you’re funny to be around.” You took your bag and looked at Xurek, who was busy pressing a human against the far wall, “And look after Xurek, huh? Looks like he might just get himself into trouble again.” You descended the stairs just as the orcs started cheering for the male and shook your head.

After speaking to Pip, and confirming she had a taxi to get home, you exited the bar and shivered in the cold, before you felt a warm presence behind you, and a hand catch your own.

“Hey!” Durzub grunted as he caught your hand, “Let me walk you home?” He asked, “No way in hell I’m staying to watch those lot gawk at Xurek strip a human down.” He sneered. His sneer softened as you interlinked your fingers together and squeezed his hand before looping an arm through his own, leaning into his body heat.

“Sure. You can walk me home.” You leaned into his arm again and smiled, “I live three blocks away, so it’s a bit of a short walk.”

“Better to spend time with you.” Durzub whispered before he looked at the night sky, “I’m still sorry about what happened with Cal…”

“Honestly, it never happened, okay?” You patted the orc’s large arm, “We all have our differences and reasons.”

“Still. I was rude.” He huffed before he reached for his hat and tugged at the brim, “I’m glad I got to meet you at least tonight.” You tried to ignore the way he tugged at his bottom lip before he adjusted the decorative chain over his lip and smiled, still a little awkward.

“Me too.” You purred back at him.

The messages started off polite between the two of you, but it was quickly a regular thing for you both to message back within a minute or two depending on if Durzub was working in the studio or you were in meetings. You were both enamoured. It didn’t take long for you both to meet again, eating together in a restaurant which was a little bit too expensive for you. It was high end, and suited Durzub as he sat there eating, looking intimidating as he ate couscous and chopped vegetables before smiling and blushing with embarrassment as you complimented him and his outfit. For such a giant orc, with a bigger scowl, he was softened whenever you said something nice. Several nights together on dates lead to this one, finally going to his studio to see what he did, and to listen to something he had been working on. Excitement churned in your gut as you looked at the choker around your neck and touched the spikes around its surface before flicking the dog tag and grinning at yourself before you rushed for the door to meet Durzub.

“Hey!” You shouted at the orc. He was stood out on the pavement, dressed in an old print of a Black Blood shirt with a screaming orc and vampire on the front, blood dripping from both of their mouths. He was dressed in dark jeans, littered with pocket chains and a heavy leather duster to combat the cool breeze. He looked up from beneath his broad rim hat. Instantly, Durzub’s perpetual scowl turned into a small smile, and you took hold of his hand before leaning up to kiss his cheek before placing a soft kiss against his bottom lip. He was always a little slow to catch up, but he returned the kiss with a gentle rub of his tusks to your chin.

“Hey stranger.” He rumbled before he gestured to the building, “My studio is on the sixth floor.”

“This doesn’t look much like a record label building to me.” You hummed as Durzub led you into the reception. A naga waved him on up with you, looking back at her work with a hiss and a grumpy frown.

“Not yet it doesn’t. Wait until we get into the actual building. This is just the polite front for greeting people.” The elevator dinged as he pressed the button and the two of you climbed inside. He pushed the button for the sixth floor and you jittered with anxiety as it moved upwards slowly.

“I’m excited and nervous.” You whispered as the doors opened on floor two and let some more people in.

“Don’t be, baby. You’ll be fine.” Durzub soothed as you continued up.

The sixth floor was littered with records on the walls, gold, red, black and mixed dyes. You looked along the walls before Durzub tugged you down the carpeted hall. You followed a step or so behind, trying to read the framed records as you toddled behind him, little out of your depth. Durzub’s coat trailed behind him and you moved to not step on it as he stopped at his door. He unlocked it with a click of an electronic card and you watched the black door swing open to reveal the sound room.

“Wow.” You stepped inside in front of him and looked at the expensive sound equipment, keeping your hands to yourself to avoid being told off or ruining anything, “This is some expensive gear.” You grinned at him, “And pretty.” You peered past the soundproof glass to see the guitars and drum kit in the recording box and smiled at the pointed-v design one, knowing it was from when he played with Black Blood.

“I knew you’d spot that one.” Durzub said mildly before he threw his coat over a speaker and collapsed into his large office chair, the leather making him shiver with the cold against his arms, “This is where I spend most of my life, making kids realise that riffs are stupid in the wrong places.” He scoffed before tugging you a chair from the other soundboard and patting it, “Come sit. I have some things to show you.”

Carefully, you placed your coat on top of Durzub’s before joining him by the large computers, eyeing the two screens as he logged in, squinting at the screen.

“Fuck. Glasses.” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled free a set of circle frame glasses, putting them on before cringing and looking back at you, “Not as young as I used to be…”

“You look cute in them.” You gushed as you scooted the roller chair forwards and made sure to sit as close to him as possible, “Being able to see is important, even if you don’t look as scary with glasses on.” You teased.

“Yeah…” He let the words drop off as he found what he was looking for and pulled free two sets of expensive headphones. Durzub leaned over and gently tucked them over your ears, holding them and holding up an ‘okay’ sign before he donned his own and pressed play. He leaned back in his chair and you sat impatiently before the noise of a gentle synth graced your ears, opening with a gentle melody before a guitar followed the same rhythm before chugging to life with slow riffs. It was gentle somehow still as the guitar started on a slowly moving rhythm along into the beginnings of a verse, sung by a vocalist you recognised as Durzub. The lyrics lilted about roses on a hill, growing in a graveyard around a forgotten tombstone before you grinned at the references to old vampire movies that the two of you enjoyed. The chorus was met with a litany of soft guitar and synth before a drum solo full of soft cymbal carried on. It was something made for the two of you, and you wondered just how long Durzub had spent making this song. Looking at the poorly hidden bags under his eyes, you figured it had been most nights after work.

In the closing synth of the son, you laid your head against Durzub’s arm, against the tattoo of the roses around the gravestone. You pressed your lips to his skin gently before smiling and tugging the headphones down to around your neck, smiling up at the orc. Durzub copied the motion with another small smile, reaching to stroke at the top of your head

“That was beautiful. It’s hard to believe you made that just for me.” You whispered against his warm skin as the orc flushed with embarrassment, “Did you mean the part about making love on graves?” You teased gently before you slipped from your own chair, and into his lap, your fingers sliding up over the tattoos on his arms, tracing the thorns of the roses down before you traced the edge of the stem curling over his collar bone.

“Maybe not. Stone gives you a bad back.” He rumbled as his pupils went wide, watching your fingers as they slipped under the collar of his t-shirt, “But I would worship you just the same.” His hands moved from the computer to your hips, his fingers pressing into the meat of your backside before he leaned forwards to kiss you. You gladly accepted the advance, kissing the orc back, your tongue licking at his lips before you traced the rings around his tusks and wrapped your arms tighter around his neck.

A soft moan escaped Durzub’s mouth as you pulled away. His lips were puffy and you leaned forwards to bite his lip, enjoying the second croak that escaped him as you leaned back on his thighs.

“What about this desk?” You asked under your breath.

Durzub grumbled, “There’s a lot of…” Your hand meeting his crotch shorted his brain for a moment, “I can make room.” He grumbled before he pushed the keyboard and monitor aside, leaving the desk free for you both. You laid back over the wood and grinned as you tugged on one of his tusks, forcing his face down so you could lay another kiss on his lips. Durzub moaned again as you reached up into his dark hair, tugging the braids at his scalp.

“Maybe you should make good on your song lyrics.” You purred as you kissed his cheeks and then bit at his neck before sucking a mark under his ear.

“Fuck.” Durzub hissed before he leaned over you, his fingers tugging at your clothes before he admired the collar around your neck and gave it a tug, “I hope you didn’t have any other plans.”

Neither of you saw the audio recording button flashing red.

‘Everything was recorded. I’m keeping it. See you at the bar. x’

#orc x reader #male orc x reader #orc x gender neutral reader #orc #orcs #monster x reader #monster bf #monster bf x reader #monster boy x reader #monster boyfriend #my writing #original works #reader insert

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renee-writer · 3 years ago

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An Inheritance Chapter Thirty-Three

AO3

He wasn’t expecting it. In town shopping for wedding clothes. He wants to surprise his bride with a kilt. He has another thing he wishes to surprise her with. A gift for after the honeymoon. But it is he that gets the surprise.

The man resembles many that walk the streets of Edinburgh. Maybe a bit more straight-laced then some but, nothing out of the ordinary. Until he spoke. “Are you Jamie Fraser?” Jamie only has time to nod before the stranger is drawing back his fist to take a punch at him. Even shocked, Jamie reacts quickly, blocking him with a raised arm.

“What the hell bloke!”

“Do you just think you can steal my fiancé then you have another thought coming.” The man is red faced with rage. Jamie has just meet Frank.

“Frank, I presume.” He is pushing him into a more quiet corner of the store.

“So she has mentioned me.” The nutter seems to swell with pride.

“Oh aye. I’ve a good mental picture of you screwing her mate.” They are in a secluded part of the store and are no longer drawing the attention of the other customers and staff.

“A mistake, I assure you.” Jamie laughs, getting right up in the bastards face to do it.

“Oh. Did she fall on your dick?” He whispers with a sneer.

“That is none of your concern.”

“Oh really bloke. As my future wife, I believe it is.”

“She will never marry you. I am going to take her away from all that mess. The Highlands, really. Lamb must have been demented, at the end. She will return to civilization, with me.”

“Where she can step parent you and Geillis' child, eh?”

He is satisfied when the blood leaves his face. “It isn’t mine!”

“That is neither here nor there. The fact that Claire knows you kept the affair up, well, that is a whole other story. If you think that the strong, independent woman that she is, is going to take a lying, cheating bloke like you back, well, you are the one that is deluded. We are going to be married because we are in love. She is quite happy in the Highlands, getting past the evil thing you and her ex- best friend did.” He pushes him against the wall, “One other thing, if I here tell of you being anywhere near Claire, well, let’s just say you will learn first hand about farming.” He moves past him, walking out of the store to calm his nerves before returning to shopping. The nerve of him!

Before he walks back in, he rings his sister and quickly tells her what happened. He knows she will keep her safe until he returns.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #an Inheritance #Chapter Thirty-Three #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #modern au

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years ago

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Supernatural Crack🩹tober

Day 2: Oops! All Flannel - Tartan Room

Plaid pillowcases. A matching bedspread. The pattern cascades off the fabric there, spilling out onto the floor in an orange and brown puddle. It spreads further, though, crawling across the walls and upholstered over every piece of furniture. Even the wooden sets, like the side table and entertainment unit, were scratched with checkered lines.

And, after using the bathroom, and seeing an ugly plaid, seat cover on the toilet, he realizes that's his breaking point. Dean storms from the adjoining room, followed by its haunting flush. “We need a different room.”

Sam looks up from his laptop, the table he sat at paired with an unnecessary picnic-like cloth. “We can’t,” he says, “you know how happy Jack was when we let him pick.”

Dean remembers. The others, too busy arguing in the car, pawned the easy job of booking a room onto Jack. Doe-eyed and eager, he leapt out of the car while Cas growled his opinion about the werewolves making an abandoned warehouse their den instead of a barn. By the time they exhausted themselves with that discussion, Jack returned. Boasting about picking the best room, one he was sure the Winchesters would love.

“This is all your fault, you know,” Cas says from the bed, flicking through channels. Dean arches a silent brow, waiting for him to continue. He grabs his duffel, dropping it by Cas’s feet. Rummaging inside for pajamas. “All you two wear is plaid, of course he’d be misguided towards this monstrosity.”

“We don’t only wear plaid!” Dean glances inside his bag, blanching at the sight of five different button-downs, all varieties of the same pattern. He feels Cas’s pointed stare, shoulders stiffening under the weight. “Listen,” he sighs, “not our fault the only shit strong enough for our line of work are these kinds of shirts.” He waves a flippant hand at the space around them, “This… this was a choice. An awful one at that.”

“And it was Jack’s choice that we stay here for the night…” Sam closes the laptop, standing. “Listen, if we work fast we’ll only be here for the one night. Think you can handle that much?”

Dean pouts, weighing his options. While he considered slipping out at night, forgoing his turn at being the little spoon for the classic design of his Baby, Sam’s needling painted a consequential picture. Of Jack waking up, noticing Dean missing. Asking him where he went, skewing his head in such a way like his father’s that his resistance will fall; Dean spewing his truth moments later.

“I guess,” he huffs, collapsing onto the bed. “The things you do for your kids…”

He feels the mattress shift, Cas slinking his way. Hooks his chin over Dean’s shoulder, nudging their heads together. “If it makes you feel better,” he whispers, “after the hunt, when we’re back home, I’ll finally watch that movie you’ve been going on and on about?”

His mood brightens somewhat, furthering when Cas’s offer is followed by a warm press of his lips against his cheek. “Okay… yeah,” he chuckles, turning his head. Meeting Cas for a kiss. “But I’m holding you to your word. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to watch it with somebody else. Sam keeps shooting me down –“

“Because it’s a bad movie, Dean,” Sam says, going through his own duffel, “you told me that yourself!”

“That’s the point!” He puffs his cheeks, mockingly glaring at his brother. “It’s so bad it’s good, okay? You just gotta trust me – even the name. I mean, whoever thought ‘Fateful Findings’ was a good name?”

“The writer did, at the time I suppose.”

“Which makes it even better, Cas.” Dean nuzzles the other man, smiling, “You can tell he really tried, the whole things’ s’posed to be serious but you can’t make any of it make sense!” His chest hurts with aborted laughter, reigning it in to not throw Cas from his shoulder. Already he bounces from how Dean’s shoulders shake. “I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

“I’ll hold you to it…” Cas slips his arms around Dean, tugging him closer, “Now why don’t you get to bed. The sooner we fall asleep the sooner we can get out of here.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Sam left them, changing in the bathroom. Dean disrobes there, stripping into his boxers without care. Although he frowns at the undergarments, noticing the patterned style he wore. His expression sours further when he steps into his plaid pajama pants. “Do I really own a lot of plaid?” he asks Cas, joining him under the covers.

Cas caresses his face, thumb brushing along the curve of his cheek. “Dean,” he sighs, “the only plaid thing you don’t own is a kilt, and I honestly believe it’s because the thought never crossed your mind.”

“Oh… fuck you.” Dean leans forward, fingers twitching near Cas’s sides as he readied a barrage. He halts, however, when the front door opens. Cas pushes Dean off to a more appropriate distance, that won’t scar Jack. Not that he would notice, enraptured by a plastic bag he most certainly didn’t have when he left. “Hey, Jack,” he calls, startling the younger boy from his reverie, “what’cha got there? Is that the ice we asked for?”

Jack’s brows furrow slightly, then deeper as his cheeks flush red. “Oh,” he says, “I… forgot.”

“You forgot?” Cas asks, “How did you forget?”

“And what did you buy?” Dean adds, wrapping his arms around his knees.

“I was on my way to the ice machine, when I noticed this motel… it has a gift shop!”

“It does?”

He nods, smile widening as he moved closer. Opening the bag, he drags out his purchases. The sight of them causes all the blood to drain from Dean’s face. “Apparently,” he explains, “this whole town has a huge Scottish population. And the factory you were talking about earlier Cas, the one that was abandoned, used to be a clothing factory that produced –“

“Don’t tell me,” Dean mutters, “plaid shirts?”

Jack brandishes it proudly, swinging the pink-and-blue fabric like a flag. “They had this whole assortment, and I bought one for each of us!” he admits, dumping them out on the bed, colors clashing loudly. Dean’s eyes straining at the sight. “But there were a few more I thought would look nice… I plan on going back tomorrow morning, first thing in the morning. Can you believe it? We can have a whole new wardrobe!”

While Jack prattles on about the different types of plaid clothing the store offered, Dean slides closer to Cas. “Hey, Cas,” he whispers, head bowed low, “can you do me another favor, when we get home?”

“What is it?”

“Help me throw everything plaid I own into the furnace.”

(Day 1 - Pray for Sam)

#destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #supernatural #spn #spn cracktober #cracktober #cracktober day 2 #profoundnet

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isitgintimeyet · 5 years ago

Text

Road To The Aisles

AO3

Thanks for your patience as we get to the end of this story, couple more chapters to go and I’m hitting some serious writer’s block. I’m getting there, but slowly!!

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks, @happytoobserve, @mo-nighean-rouge for their support.

23. A Hectic Enterprise

Phoebe: (her mobile phone rings) Oh, it's my wedding planner. She's driving me crazy! (she answers) Hello... Hey, ok, stop screaming! Ok? So, halibut. All right, so salmon, either way. I don't-I don't... it doesn't matter to me!

Friends

Claire was roused from sleep by a persistent squeaking close to her left ear. Opening one eye, she was greeted by a big grin from William, his hedgehog firmly clasped in his fist. An aroma of dirty nappy filled the air.

“Morning, precious,” Claire said croakily.

William babbled in delight and pushed the hedgehog even closer to her ear.

“Not so close, lovie.” Claire sniffed. “Jamie, someone ‘round here needs a clean bottom…. and what time is it? I can’t be late. We have so much to do. I’m meant to be meeting Mrs. Crook… and the caterers… and the florist is coming. And we have the rehearsal this afternoon at the church, so Geillis and Dougal need to have arrived before then —“

“Dinna fash. It’s no’ even seven yet.” Jamie stopped rifling through a suitcase and turned around to face Claire. “I heard William stirring and jes’ thought I’d bring him in tae say hello before getting him cleaned up. I ken we’ve a lot tae do.”

William suddenly launched himself forward from his sitting position onto Claire’s chest. Laughing, Claire brought her arms around to cuddle the baby. Jamie stood still for a moment, just watching as she rolled William onto his back and began tickling him. William erupted into fits of helpless chuckles. Jamie put down the nappy cream and moved back to bed. What difference would five minutes make?

Jamie lay down on top of the covers and joined in, gently biting William’s toes through the fleecy sleepsuit. His eyes met Claire’s as a wave of pure joy washed over him.

“I canna wait fer tomorrow,” he whispered.

“Me neither.”

“Dadadada,” William babbled as he rolled back towards Claire and grabbed a handful of her curls.

“Hear that?” Jamie spoke proudly. “He said dada, he called me dada.”

“I think you’ll find he actually called me dada. But we can be working on it… together.”

*******

By the time Claire had showered and dressed, Mrs Crook had arrived and was busy feeding William his porridge. The baby smacked his lips greedily between mouthfuls, trying to grab the spoon from Mrs. Crook’s hand.

“He certainly likes his food,” Mrs.Crook said as Claire planted a kiss on her cheek. “Jes’ like his da.”

Claire poured herself a cup of tea and joined them at the table. “Where is his father?”

“Och, we dinna ken, do we, ma wee puddin’?”

Spooning the dregs of the porridge into William’s mouth, Mrs. Crook then handed him the spoon.

“Jamie went out a few minutes ago wi’ Brian. They didna say where.”

Having discovered the spoon contained no more food, William pushed his bottom lip out in a sulk. His mood was lightened somewhat as he discovered the tympanic qualities of the spoon, enthusiastically banging it on the tray of the high chair.

“You are a noisy little tyke, aren’t you?”

“Dadadada”

“Oh William, you have to remember. Say that when your da is actually here,”

Claire lifted William out of the high chair, still tightly clutching his spoon.

“Did ye take a wee keek at the marquee when ye arrived?”

“No, it was dark by the time we got here. Let me just get a jacket on William and then why don’t we both go and have a look?”

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

Claire hitched William more securely on her hip and looked around the marquee… the cavernous marquee… the cavernous, unfinished marquee. Stacks of chairs were stored in one corner, tables in another. Several large hampers had been dumped on top of a makeshift platform. The structural steel poles stood grey and unadorned. Claire turned to Mrs. Crook, dismay clearly etched on her face.

“It’s nowhere near ready, Mrs. C, is it?”

“Ah, dinna fash, Claire. They’re on the way now. Ye’ll see, by this evening, ye willna be able tae recognise the place. Trust me, I’ve seen this every year wi’ the Hallowe’en party. It’ll be grand. I’ll be away and wait fer them in the yard.”

After Mrs. Crook had left, Claire wandered around trying, and failing, to imagine the finished decor. She had faith in the event planners, up to a point, but this seemed too much even for them.

“Yoohoo.”

Geillis appeared from behind a stack of chairs and looked around. “I like what ye’ve done with the place. Kind of workhouse chic meets brutal minimalism.”

She kissed Claire’s cheek and ruffled William’s hair.

“Geillis! We weren’t expecting you until later. How early did you get up? And where’s Dougal?”

“Och, he’s faffing about with the car, trying to park it so it doesna get scratched by any of yer comings and goings. And, for yer information, we drove up yesterday,” she unstacked a chair, placed it in the middle of the floor and sat down.

“Weel, I was sae inspired by yer Jenny’s story the other week. Ye ken, the one about the highland warrior and the serving wench. We decided tae drive up yesterday, find a wee glen and try it fer ourselves.”

“It worked a treat,” Geillis winked. “And—“

“Hello, ye in here?”

To Claire’s relief, Geillis immediately halted her, no doubt overly detailed, story as Dougal sauntered into the marquee. Whilst not quite as tall or as broad as Jamie, and at least twenty years older, Claire recognised there was a certain tough quality about him. He would definitely have made a good warrior, fighting the redcoats.

“Morning, Claire,” Dougal pecked her cheek. “And who do we have here?”

He scooped William out of Claire’s arms. She glanced across at Geillis, who gave a small uncertain smile.

William looked momentarily surprised by this stranger but relaxed against his shoulder.

“Da—“ he began.

Claire shot him a warning look. “What have I said, William? Save that for your da.”

William put his thumb in his mouth and proceeded to tap the spoon he was still holding against the side of Dougal’s head.

“William, no! Sorry, Dougal.”

To the baby’s disgust, Claire prised the spoon from his tightly clenched fist. He let out a wail of dissatisfaction, only quietening as he heard his father’s voice coming into the marquee.

“Ah, Geillis, Dougal. Good tae see ye. Fancy a coffee? Ma sister and her family have jes’ arrived too.”

Jamie took the fidgeting baby from Dougal as they walked back to the house.

“Are you not worried about the state of the marquee?” Claire whispered to Jamie.

“Och, no. It’ll be fine. I saw the vans pulling up as I came in. Trust me, Sassenach. Ye’ll see.”

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

The old stone church had been the focus of Fraser family worship for many generations, as various plaques and stone engravings bore testament to, and was an intrinsic part of Jamie’s memories. It was here that he had been christened. Although that was obviously not one of his memories, he still cherished the photograph taken by the font of himself in his father’s arms while his mother wrangled an unhappy toddler Jenny. It was here that Jenny married Ian, and her children were christened, too. And in less happy times, it was here that his mother had been lain to rest.

So, it had always been important for him to marry here. When Claire had willingly suggested Lallybroch as their wedding venue, he had been both thrilled and touched by her enthusiasm for his family home and traditions. He tried not to think about the possible battle looming over any suggestion of William being christened here.

The priest greeted them in the doorway and escorted them down the aisle towards the altar, explaining the order of service and their roles tomorrow. A noise in the porch indicated the arrival of Ian, Geillis, Jenny and Wee Jamie.

“Da and Murtagh are looking after Maggie and William.” Jenny explained.

“Aye, and Dougal offered to help them.” Geillis added with an exaggerated eye roll.

Wee Jamie pulled on his mother’s hand and whispered loudly. “Where are all the people, ye ken? The people what watch us. There’s no-one sitting on the benches.”

Jenny pursed her lips in an effort not to laugh. “This isna the wedding, Jamie. It’s a rehearsal, a practice fer tomorrow, so ye all ken what tae do.”

Wee Jamie breathed a loud sigh of relief. “That’s good ‘cos I havena got the rings, nor ma kilt.”

Jamie felt the butterflies building in his stomach as the priest positioned himself and Ian at the front and then instructed Claire, Geillis and his nephew on walking formally down the aisle. Jenny hovered, anxious for Wee Jamie, but she had no need for worry. Her son strode down the aisle in front of Claire, his tongue peeking out from between his lips in concentration as he held his arms in front of his body, pretending to hold a cushion.

Jamie watched as Claire approached with measured paces, the only sounds being the footsteps on the hard floor tiles. He found himself holding his breath as she drew closer, until…

“Oh, poo,” Wee Jamie said in a loud voice, the word echoing around the stone walls. “I forget which way tae go now.”

“Sorry, Father.” Jenny quickly apologised. “Jamie, apologise to Father Michael for saying that word.”

“Sorry, Father,” Wee Jamie repeated. “But we say it all the time at home, Da sings a song about poo tae Maggie. He says it’s no’ a bad word.”

Jenny glared at her son as Jamie and Ian dissolved into fits of laughter. “Aye, it’s no’ swearing but we dinna say it in the kirk, OK?”

“Weel, I think we’re about done now fer today. We all ken what we’ve tae do, and,” the priest looked hard at Wee Jamie. “And what we’ve no’ tae do tomorrow.”

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

The sun was beginning to set as they made their way back to Lallybroch. Mrs. Crook had already left for the day, with plans for a ‘shampoo and set’ at the local hairdressers before a good night’s sleep.

Despite an invitation for Geillis and Dougal to join them for a family dinner, Geillis graciously declined. Claire wasn’t sure if Geillis was worried about the proximity of so many babies and small children giving Dougal more paternal thoughts, or if Geillis had some thoughts of her own of a less pure nature to share with Dougal. With a promise of an early return to Lallybroch, Claire bade farewell to the couple.

Jamie had momentarily disappeared. Claire supposed he was keen to reclaim his son from Brian and Murtagh. She turned and walked across the gravel forecourt to the kitchen door. A whistle made her turn around. Jamie stood on the makeshift path leading to the marquee.

“Fancy a quick keek at it now?” He asked.

“Or maybe I should wait ‘til they’ve finished in the morning. I don’t want to be thinking about it’s unfinished state tonight.”

“Oh, come on. A quick look.”

He held out his hand and led her into the marquee.

Jamie had obviously crept in and switched on a couple of lights on the small platform stage. Claire looked around in amazement. Though dimly lit, the transformation from that morning was clear. In front of the stage, a dance floor had been laid. The circular tables were in place, each adorned with a pristine white tablecloth and gauzy russet runner. A posy vase in the centre of each table stood ready for the simple sprigs of autumn leaves and berries to be added. The chairs reflected the colour scheme with white covers and russet bows.

One corner of the marquee was occupied by a bar, not yet stocked. Empty pedestals were scattered around, waiting for the florist’s artistry the following morning. The steel poles were now elegantly covered in white and russet fabric entwined with fairy lights.

“Still worried about this place?” Jamie asked.

Claire shook her head. “No, it’s going to look magical.”

“I kent it would, jes’ needs the finishing touches in the morning.”

They stood quietly for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Claire stood on tip toes and kissed Jamie’s cheek, his bristles rough against her lips.

“What was that fer?”

“Oh, this… you… William… your family… everything.”

“Nae regrets? Even after all that’s happened this year?”

“Not a single one.”

Jamie stooped and returned the kiss.

“Thank ye, Sassenach. I love ye.”

Back outside, Claire turned towards the house. Jamie gently pulled her in the opposite direction.

“Oh, do you not want to get back to William?” Claire enquired.

“Och, William will be fine fer a wee while longer. He’ll be having a grand time wi’ Da and Murtagh. No, seeing as how ye are banishing me from yer bed tonight and I canna see ye ‘til the kirk, I jes’ wanted a few minutes alone wi’ ye.”

Jamie stopped in a corner of the garden. “Remember this place, Sassenach ? Nearly this time last year?”

“The Hallowe’en party. Of course, We escaped up here to watch the fireworks. You were Harry Potter.”

“Aye and ye were the sexiest witch I’d ever seen…that dress and those stockings... wi’ yer skin all pale and glowing in the moonlight. When I laid ye down on the blanket and ye opened herself tae me and I could hear yer moans and sighs, weel, I kent then that ye were mine fer always… and I was yers.”

Claire wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head to hers. She kissed him gently before parting his lips with her tongue, lightly caressing his mouth. Jamie responded eagerly, tongues entwining, bodies pressed tightly together. He could feel Claire’s moans catch in her throat. He traced a path of kisses from her mouth to that sweet spot behind her ear…

“Jamie… Claire… are ye there? Da says d’ye fancy a wee nip afore dinner? And Murtagh says he canna face another dirty nappy, sae ye’re going tae have tae see tae yer son… right now.” Jenny called from the bottom of the path.

Jamie and Claire broke apart.

“We’d better go in then.”

“Christ, woman, what have ye done tae me?” Jamie panted. “Ye’ve got me all riled up… let me wait a moment until I’m… weel, er, more composed.”

Claire laughed. “Sorry. But can you believe that was only a year ago? So much has happened, so many changes… William, living together, now marriage.”

“But there’s one thing that hasna changed, Sassenach. And that’s how much I love ye. So, Mrs Soon-tae-be-Fraser, shall we join the family?”

“Yes, Jamie, I’d love to. Let’s join our family.”

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fan fic #Road To The Aisles #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Chapter 23

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perksofbeingalittletwat · 5 years ago

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Cherry Blossom Nights

future!fic Adam is chief of staff to a senator and Ronan lives at the barns farming and learning to cook. They make dinner together sweetly and then scare the absolute shit out of a senator together. Weird powerful Adam and intimidating Ronan power couple take on the normies.

“Your floor count is 47. The motion’s gonna fail, you’re gonna have to abandon it.” Adam repeated calmly over the phone. His boss, rising senator and current Senate Minority Whip Douglas Fairveiw (D), huffed on the other end.

“I know. But I’m telling you, it’s not worth it.”

“And when will it be worth it, Parrish?” The more refined Virginian accent asked.

Adam looked down at his desk. A spread of tarot cards looked back at him. He checked that his office door was tightly locked and checked them again. “We have to talk to Williamson, from Utah. She’s on the fence. If we can give her something she might come over to our side.” His thumb rubbed the Four of Swords, Williamson’s card in his mind. Fairview sighed, “Fine. Alright. Cancel the vote and send everyone home. I’m not going to risk my ass over this.”

Adam nodded and hung up the phone. A quick email later and a nearly audible sigh of relief passed through the Senate Office Building. It was late on a Friday night and everyone was anxious to get home, the only thing standing in their way had been Adam’s boss and the impending, and now doomed, vote. Adam sighed too, leaning back in his chair and loosening his tie. He was glad his weekend plans had been here in Washington instead of forcing him to drive back to Henrietta. It was only a few hours back to his hometown, but on weekends hours were precious. They were so often cut short that any week he could force his partner up to him instead of driving home was easier. Ronan didn’t mind Adam coming home late from an endless meeting on an amendment to an amendment to a motion to strike out a line from an appropriations bill. Fairview had promised his staff the whole weekend off, and the holiday as well, but Adam knew better than to believe it. He checked his watch anyways, Ronan should be here soon. He gathered up the cards spread on his desk, hid them deep in his desk drawer, and walked out into the lobby.

“I’m heading home, June. That’s a full lid. Bossman says we have the weekend off but keep your phone on you just in case.” Adam addressed the woman working the front desk of the office.

“Ron.. I mean your boy… Mr. Lynch is outside the building.” June faltered. People in Washington usually reacted like this to Ronan. It was a town of sharp suits and cultivated personalities and Ronan’s utter insistence on being himself at all times threw a wrench into the system. Adam smirked. “You can just say Ronan, June.”

Ronan was a dark shadow just out of eyesight of the door to the Senate Office Building.

“You’re allowed inside you know. You’re one of our constituents.” Adam called to the dusk.

“It’s much more fun to scare the suits from out here,” came the grinning response behind him. Adam softened as Ronan wrapped his arms around him from behind and kissed his neck gently. “The vote’s off. I’m all yours this weekend,” He whispered.

“Mark the time. I’ll believe it when I see it, Parrish.” Ronan sneered.

“Sometimes I get the whole weekend…”

“Sure. Tell me the last time you didn’t get a text from the suit all weekend.”

“March.”

“He sent you an email. Doesn’t count. You spent four hours researching soybean prices.”

“You said text.” Adam protested. He disentangled his body from Ronan’s and opted to just take his hand, leading him away from the SOB and up towards his apartment. He was lucky, he found a place only nine blocks from the office on I street. His salary wasn’t impressive but it was more than Adam had ever seen in his life. They cut through the Capitol grounds and towards the highway.

“You know what I meant you little shit,” Ronan threw back. “And you haven’t said anything about my skirt, I wore it just for you.”

Ronan was dressed as he always did, combat boots, black tank top, incomprehensible yet threatening tattoo peaking out, but he had switched out his usual ripped jeans for a mid length black skirt. Almost a kilt really, that somehow looked even better than the standard model.

“I like it. I didn’t want to call attention to it if you were just experimenting,” Adam said. The couple cut an unusual shape through the city. Adam blended in so perfectly, a lifetime of practice finally paying off, in a dark navy suit and red tie; Ronan a foreboding slash of darkest reality next to him. No small space had been written about them in the capitol gossip columns, the highest member of staff on the rising Democratic star senator’s team traipsing around town with a hooligan. Adam’s own reputation provided enough inches on its own. The ‘Wizard of C Street’, claimed one fanciful headline. It was believed far and wide in the city that Adam knew things he could not know before he could know them. What was stranger still was that it was true. His and Ronan’s connection with the legendary Gansey clan didn’t help either.

But this spring night was blissfully calm. The reporters were at home, the only people who acknowledged Adam and Ronan were the guards at the checkpoints to the Capitol itself. Adam greeted each by name and wished them a good weekend. Ronan ignored them.

“How’re the Barns?”

“Sprouting. Everything’s up and ready to grow. I accidentally created a new breed of apple the other night, here, try it.” Ronan fished an apple from his pocket and tossed it to Adam. Adam caught it and bit into it, a trickle of juice dripping down his chin. It didn’t have a taste as much as it had a feeling. The apple felt like home, tasted like summer, and smelled like a cool breeze off the mountains. It was a dream. Literally.

“Can you plant these? This is incredible.”

“No idea Parrish. I’ve never planted a dream before. It’s got seeds though, and I got it from a tree in the dream so it should. I dumped a few on the south pasture before I left. We’ll see what it looks like when I get back.”

After the short walk they arrived at Adam’s building, a stocky four apartment affair set back from the street with a yard. Upstairs the place was small, but Adam had used his salary to furnish it the way he wanted. Granite countertops, large tv, and plants everywhere. Ronan may be a farmer, but Adam worked with plants the way Ronan worked with dreams. Adam could barely close the door before Ronan shoved him against it with a kiss.

They kissed hungrily at first, then slowed as they sated the most desperate of their need. It devolved into a loose hug and lazy kisses off center.

“I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna be able to do this.” Adam whispered, the barest hint of his accent slipping back in now that they were safely in his apartment.

“Do what?”

“Not having you here every night.”

“We survived while you were at Harvard.”

“Just barely, c’mon. Move in with me.”

Ronan pulled back and turned his head away. Memories of nightwash and choking came back to him. It hadn’t happened in a couple of years now but he had been steadfastly living at the Barns near his leyline and dreaming every night. “I don’t know, Parrish. You know I want to but…”

Adam hung his head and nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

Ronan kissed him again, an apology as much as a promise, and took his hand. “Now come on, let me cook you something, I’m fucking starving.” Time at the Barns without Parrish had left Ronan with a lot of time on his hands. He had filled it with chores, dreaming, and the latest project: learning to cook. Adam hoisted himself onto the kitchen island and watched Ronan throw a towel over his shoulder and start rooting through the cabinets.

“You have no fucking food in here Parrish. When was the last time you went to the store?”

“I don’t remember. I’m a little busy keeping the country running.” “You call that running? This country’s running about as gracefully as a baby horse with two broken legs.”

“It would’ve been three if I wasn’t around, you should be grateful.”

Ronan banged around the kitchen. Adam just watched him quietly, Ronan was a tight little hurricane, knives flying and pots crashing and curses muttered under breath but the whole while a tiny, tiny smile played at the corner of his lips. It was the Ronan he had fallen in love with, but conscious, the destructive power that had driven him through his grief over his father had become an aspect of his personality, no longer the motivating force of it. Eventually, even though he had nothing in his kitchen, Ronan still coaxed a meal out of Adam’s apartment.

“It’d be better with the real stuff. But ta-da.” Ronan flicked a bowl to Adam. Inside was an instagram worthy nest of spaghetti carbonara. He looked at it for maybe a second before he began wolfing it down. Adam ate like he might never eat again, like he had burned all the calories he had last time and was a few minutes from starvation. “God this is good Ronan.”

Ronan ate in great chomping bites. “It’s fine. You need to buy something worth eating, this cheese is shit.”

Adam smiled, “Since when are you a cheese snob?”

“Since you only have this shitty powdered parmesan in your fridge. It’s not that expensive, Parrish. You can afford the decent stuff..”

Adam was about to defend himself when his phone rang. They looked at each other and Adam sighed. Ronan rolled his eyes, “I win again. Told you we wouldn’t get the weekend.”

“It’s going to be nothing. Something quick probably.” Adam looked embarrassed and sad. “Parrish. Yes… No, yeah. I’m fine I was just eating… Ronan made us something. Yeah it was really good… He WHAT? Are you serious? That fucking… Yeah I’ll go right over.” He hung up and threw his phone at the couch, “That bastard.”

“A new broken leg?”

“Hackfield’s screwing us. He’s pushing the vote through committee so we lose it. I’m so sorry, i have to go.” He started collecting his things again. Ronan followed him and steadied his shoulders and retied his tie, “It’s okay. You gotta go. I’ll be here when you get back.” He kissed Adam gently and brushed a stray hair out of his eye.

“Actually… Do you want to come scare a senator with me?”

The look on Ronan’s face was pure happiness.

***

Twenty minutes later, Ronan was dressed in the suit he kept at Adam’s apartment and was standing by the door of Senator Hackfield of Delaware (D)’s office. Adam was back in his navy suit in the chair across from the senator.

“I understand your boss’ position, Mr. Parrish, but I’m not changing my mind. My state needs this package and I’m not going to deny them the opportunity this is going to provide.” Hackfield leaned back in his chair and spread his arms wide like ‘what can I do?’ It was obvious he thought Adam was no threat. Ronan smiled to himself, this was going to be fun to watch.

Adam didn’t reply to the senator. He just looked at him.

“Mr. Parrish, tell your boss he can send whoever he wants but you and your little boyfriend aren’t going to scare me.” Ronan bristled in the background and crossed his arm. Hackfield chuckled, “Keep an eye out, Mr. Parrish, that one looks like he needs a leash.”

Adam cocked his head slightly to the left and held a pause. Then very quietly he asked, “Did you just refer to my partner like a dog?” Hackfield chuckled nervously.

“No, of course not, it’s just not very professional to bring your, uh, partner, excuse me, into a meetin-”

“It’s not very professional to turn your back on your party for personal gain.” Adam countered, again with incredible quiet. Ronan knew what was happening. He’d seen Adam when he was like this, unsettling, distant, calm in a way that no other human ever truly was. People were not comfortable with this Adam. Ronan loved it. Stuttering, Hackfield tried to defend hismelf, “I’m not turing my back on the party. I’m helping my constituents. That is a very… professional.. Mr. Parrish I don’t have to answer to you, you know. You’re not my boss. And I don’t appreciate a staffer from a different office coming into mine on a Friday night like this and pushing me around.”

Adam didn’t answer, he just kept staring. Ronan took a step towards him. Hackfield glanced back and forth between the two boys nervously.

“Look I… Maybe we can work out a deal. I’ll just put in an amendment to the-”

Adam cut him off with a quiet, “No. You’ll kill this in committee until we have the votes.”

“My constituents need this bill.”

“And they can have it when we have the votes. But this isn’t about them. This is about you. This is about you looking courageous without having to risk anything because you know this will fail. I don’t like grandstanding, Senator.”

Ronan took another step forward. Hackfield looked pale. “Grandstanding.. I’m not… How dare you…” The senator was stuttering. Adam knew he had won. He stood up and just said, “This is going to wait. Thank you for your time Senator Hackfield. Have a good weekend.”

And then he walked out the door. Ronan watched the senator for another second, squirming like a prey animal. “Call me a dog again and I’ll show you what my teeth can do.” he growled and then smiled a shit-eating grin and sauntered out of the office.

“That was awesome, Parrish. He was fucking wetting himself.” Ronan was grinning ear to ear but Adam still had an aura of cold around him. “I don’t like them talking about you like that.”

“Oh fuck him, who cares. I don’t mind being your little attack dog.” Wrapping an arm around his waist, Ronan made a little woof noise into Adam’s hearing ear. Finally, Adam let out a breath and laughed. “C’mon let’s go home. Maybe we can still salvage the weekend. It’s fucking hot when you scare people like that but if you ever look at me with those dead eyes in bed I’m going to dump you.”

Adam turned and looked right at Ronan, shifting effortlessly into his uncanny aloofness. Ronan pushed him away down the hall, “Fuck off Parrish. I’m not kidding.” But Adam laughed and reached back his hand for Ronan’s. They walked out of the building holding hands into the warm spring night.

#Ronan Lynch #Adam Parrish #Pynch #Future fic #trc #cdth #trb #bllb #i've never written them before hope you enjoy #I couldn't get this out of my head #the raven boys #the raven cycle #pynch fic #trk #tdt #the dream thieves

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bee-kathony · 5 years ago

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“Your Nose is Blue” - Jamie and Claire

This is my ‘One Quote, One Shot’ fic, thank you @balfeheughlywed and @notevenjokingfic for organizing this! nswf at the end

My quote is: “Your nose is blue,” I remarked conversationally. I glanced downward. “And so are your feet.” He grinned and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “So are my balls. Want to warm them for me?”

Lallybroch December 8th, 1743

Snow had been falling every day since the first of December. Jamie and I had been at Lallybroch for almost two months, and it had been the happiest two months of our entire marriage. Granted, we hadn’t been married very long, but there was a simplicity with Jamie at his childhood home that we hadn’t found anywhere else.

I relished in every story that Jamie told me about growing up here. Even the ones that didn’t favor him in a good light — him and Ian sneaking away, getting into all kinds of mischief which led them to both be disciplined by Jamie’s father. I wondered what it would be like if both of Jamie’s parents were still alive, much in the same way I wondered the same about my own.

His sister, Jenny had been wary of me at first, and I didn’t blame her. I was a stranger who had come into her home, wed to her younger brother — I’d be cautious too. But over the past few weeks, we had grown close and I began to consider her my own sister.

I was still getting used to the idea of settling down and making a life here. There were still mornings when I would wake up and forget what century I was in. When I looked over to see Jamie, his hands folded across his stomach, and a small smile on his lips, I was grateful to be here — with him.

It was another chilly morning, much like it had been the past several days. My toes were ice cold and I turned over in bed to snuggle up to Jamie. I pressed my feet against him, warming them to his hot skin. He started to squirm, his eyes fluttering open and I felt him wrap his arm around me.

“Ah, Sassenach,” he said groggily. “Yer feet are freezin!”

“Sorry,” I started to pull them away, but he pulled me closer.

“Nah, tis alright,” he grinned, placing a kiss to my forehead. “Twas just a shock this early in the mornin’.”

“Would you be able to go and get some fresh wood for the fire later?” I asked him, resting my head on his chest. The heat radiated off of him, and he knew as well as I did that the fire was for my benefit only.

“Aye,” he said. “I’ll go chop some down after breakfast.”

“Get enough for the whole house if you can,” I looked up at him, tracing my finger along his chin. “I think everyone must be out as well. The whole damn place is freezing!”

“Och,” Jamie turned me in his arms, pressing my back to his chest. “They say a quick way to warm up is to take all yer clothes off and lay yer body next to another.”

“We can’t bloody walk around naked all day,” I laughed. “That only works when we’re in bed. What about the rest of the time?”

Jamie sighed, his hand settling over my stomach. “Hmm, well then I reckon I’ll have to keep ye in my bed all day.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” I chuckled, turning my head to look at him, noticing his smug expression. “Besides, I don’t think I’ve seen you ever lay in bed all day. You’re constantly doing things around the stables or with Ian.”

“Aye, yer right about that.” His hand moved along my arm, fingers lightly tracing my skin. “There’s much to do, even wi’ the snow. Ah!” He suddenly shouted in my ear. “Ye can help Jenny wi’ the clickit. I saw her start a new scarf just yesterday.”

“Clickit?” I asked, turning back to look at him. His brows rose near his hairline and he rose to his perch himself on his elbow, staring down at me like I’d just cursed his mother’s grave.

“Claire,” he said incredulously. “Are ye tellin’ me ye canna clickit at all?”

I shook my head, twisting to lie flat on my back.

“And what did ye do for your winter stockings in yer time, then?”

“Bought them,” I said simply.

He looked from me and then out the window, “Well, I dinna see any shops about, I suppose ye’d best learn, aye?”

“I suppose so,” I eyed him dubiously.

“Tis no’ that hard, Sassenach,” Jamie shook his head. “Once we go downstairs, I’ll show ye how to get ye started.”

“You can clickit?” I asked, surprised.

“Well of course I can,” he laughed. “I’ve known how to clickit wi’ needles since I was seven years old. Do they no’ teach bairns anythin’ in your time, Sassenach?”

I thought for a moment, trying to come up with an answer. “Sometimes they teach little girls to do needlework, but not the boys.”

“Tis no’ fine needlework, Sassenach,” Jamie sat up in bed, pulling the sheet up to his waist. “Just simple knitting.”

Muttering under his breath about raising children the proper way, he climbed out of bed, stark naked in search for his sark. Once he found it, he shrugged it over his shoulders, now grabbing his kilt.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” I asked, admiring him from bed, my arms stretched above my head.

Jamie came over to me, looking down with both hands on his hips, kilt still in one hand. “There’s no time to waste, Sassenach. Ye’ve gone this long w’out learnin’ how to clickit, tis time for yer teachin’ to begin.”

“But breakfast,” I said, rolling over in bed and then I felt something land on top of me — it was my shift. He was bloody serious about me learning how to clickit, and I couldn’t help but laugh as I got dressed, watching the puzzled looks that crossed his face every now and then. There were a handful of times that I wished it were possible for Jamie to travel through the stones — if only to see what my time was really like, how things were different.

Once we were both dressed, Jamie led us downstairs where he proceeded to tell the whole household about my clickit skills — or lack thereof.

“What do ye mean she canna clickit?” Jenny asked, pausing from serving bowls of porridge on the table.

“Claire was never taught it as bairn,” Jamie shook his head, taking his seat at the table. I followed, feeling embarrassed at my lack of knitting knowledge. It just wasn’t a skill I had ever needed. When I wanted to wear something warm, I would buy it — necessity was the mother of invention and in my time, shops were invented so we didn’t have to knit.

“Well, I ken what we’re doin’ today,” Jenny said and shoveled porridge into my bowl.

++++++

It was an hour later, and I was sitting with Jenny in the living room, my fingers cold and feeling strained. Both Jenny and Jamie had explained it to me — draw the thread out of the closed fist, make a loop around your thumb, slip it into the needle and you cast a row. It looked simple enough, but every time I tried, it all came apart.

After watching me fail again and again, Jamie had shrugged, and left me in Jenny’s capable hands while he went to fetch firewood.

“Maybe by next Christmas I’ll have managed a small scarf,” I said helplessly. “I’m quite skilled with a knife or needle, but only when it comes to flesh, not knitting.”

“Och, ye’ll get the hang of it, Claire,” Jenny smiled, her fingers working quickly on her own scarf. She had no trouble at all casting a row, and I tried to watch, but my brain and hands couldn’t work together in that way.

I set aside my mess of a scarf, and picked up a bit of yarn, rolling it into a neat ball. In the winter, there wasn’t so much to do outside of the house besides tending to the animals. My hands were itching to hold a real needle in them or dig up the earth for planting. It was no wonder so many babies were made in the winter months — there wasn’t anything else that could be done!

“I think I’m going to go and lie down for awhile,” I said and stood up. “Will you tell Jamie when he comes back that I’m upstairs?”

“Aye, of course,” she smiled. “I expect he’ll be back soon wi’ the fresh wood. We could use it, looks like it’ll be a cold one again tonight.”

I left Jenny in the living room, and rubbed my hands together for warmth as I walked up the stairs. I wanted Jamie to hurry up and come back, not only for the warmth of the fire, but for the warmth of holding him next to me.

Climbing into bed, I pulled up the layers of sheets and quilts to my neck to try and get warm. My teeth were chattering, and I pulled the quilt above my head, hoping sleep would take me under.

What felt like a minute later, my eyes opened to see the sun’s shadow in a different place. It must have been an hour or more since I’d come up for a nap. The room was quiet, and the fire wasn’t lit which meant Jamie hadn’t come back yet.

Brushing my hand across my face, I rose out of the bed and walked downstairs in search of Jamie. Jenny was gone, her knitting needles stored in the basket near the couch. The fire in the main room wasn’t lit either.

“Jamie?” I called out.

Noise came from the kitchen and I followed it.

“Has Jamie come back yet?” I asked Jenny as she poured herself a cup of hot tea.

“No, I was just startin’ to grow worrit for him myself. The wee numptie should have been back by now,” Jenny shook her head. “He kens this land like the back of his own hand, so I dinna think he would be gettin’ lost.”

“Do you know where he would have gone to cut the wood?” I asked, already looking around for my wool cloak.

“Tis just back behind the house, near the tree line.” Jenny looked up from her cup of tea to find me tying my cloak on, and stepping into my shoes. “Oh, Claire, ye canna be thinkin’ about goin’ to find him. Ye’ll freeze!”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about with Jamie,” I said. “If I can’t find him, I’ll come back. And if I’m out there too long, come and find me.”

I heard Jenny mutter something under her breath about being stubborn and I laughed — she was one to talk, the other half of the Fraser siblings.

It must have still been early afternoon, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t freezing. My breath puffed out in front of me and I began walking in the direction of the tree line behind the house. It was a ways back, and I hoped for Jamie’s sake he had thought to take his coat and gloves.

“Foolish man,” I muttered, stepping through the snow. There were a few possibilities of his lateness running through my head and none of them good. Looking up to the sky, I could tell that it would snow soon — I could practically smell it in the air.

I crossed through the trees, trying to keep an eye out for a mop of red hair. Jenny said he wouldn’t go too deep into the woods, and so I turned to my right, stepping over a fallen branch.

“Jamie?” I called out, placing both my hands to my mouth to make the sound carry.

There was no answer, and I couldn’t help but think of all the horrible things that could have happened to him. A sound came from my left and I looked to see a small grey rabbit hopping through the brush. For some reason, I decided to follow it.

“Are you going to lead me to my husband little rabbit?” I said out loud and immediately rolled my eyes. Talking to rabbits now, Beauchamp.

I continued to follow the rabbit, pausing when it would stop to munch on a leaf of grass or scratch behind its ear. Soon, it stopped and jumped behind a bush. My eyes traveled upwards and that’s when I saw him.

“Jamie!”

He was lying on his side, the ax near his hand and pile of wood at his feet. I ran to him, picking up my skirts so I wouldn’t trip and end up in the same state as him.

“Jamie,” I crouched down to my knees, both hands flying over his body. My fingers were at his neck, checking for a pulse and I sighed whenever I felt that steady beat. His cheeks were pale and his lips blue, much like the rest of him. I glanced down and saw that he’d taken his boots off and the tips of his toes were blue.

“Oh, please wake up,” I knelt over his body, pulling my cloak to cover him. When I pushed back my hand over his forehead, I saw blood congealed on the side of his head. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”

I checked him for other injuries, and determined it was only his head that had received the brunt of it. Most likely, he’d knocked himself in the head with the ax, and that thought did make me grin, but only briefly.

Trying to recall all my knowledge about hypothermia, I remembered that body heat was one of the best ways to revive someone. I sat up, pulling off my cloak and started to undress, hastily pulling at the laces of my bodice — I needed to lie with him, to save him in any way I could.

Just as I was about to lift my dress off over my head, I heard a groan from the body underneath me.

“Sassenach,” he said groggily and my hands dropped, covering his cheeks. I pressed my head to his, catching my breath for the first time since I’d found him.

“Oh thank God!”

“Claire,” he said a little louder. “What the devil are ye doin’ wi’ yer laces undone?”

I looked down at myself, feeling heat creep up my cheeks. “Well, I was going to warm you up — body heat.”

“Aye,” he smirked and then winced as he tried to sit up.

“Don’t move,” I said and forced him back to lie on the ground. “You’ve hit your head and you might have a concussion - er, a blow to your head.”

As he laid back, his brows knitted in discomfort, I began to tie up my laces again, putting myself in order. Thank goodness he had woken when he did because I was ready to take it all off and cover his body with mine.

“Your nose is blue,” I remarked conversationally. I glanced downward. “And so are your feet.”

He grinned and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “So are my balls. Want to warm them for me?” Cold or not, he was plainly in good spirits.

“Perhaps when you aren’t lying in snow and sporting a head with blood,” I smiled and leaned down to place a kiss on the tip of his blue nose. “What we really need to do is get you inside and by a fire.”

“Christ,” he looked over at the pile of firewood. “I dinna think I can manage to make it back like this wi’ the wood.”

“Well, maybe Jenny or Ian could come and collect it,” I said. “I should have thought to bring out a horse, but who would have thought you’d hit yourself with an ax!”

“Is that what I did?” He rubbed at his head, pulling his hand back to look at the blood that covered it now. “I dinna remember it, but I do remember ’twas a bit loose sliding through my hands.”

I slid my hand under his back to help him up into a sitting position. The back of his head was wet with melted snow. Jamie groaned as he moved, placing his head into his hands.

“Are you dizzy?”

“Aye, a wee bit,” he said. “My head feels like it’s been split open.”

“You’ll need to get plenty of water and rest over the next few days,” I told him. “But first things first is getting you out of the snow.”

It took a few tries, but I managed to help him stand up. Swaying a bit on his own, he steadied himself by placing one hand on my shoulder.

“This will be a long journey back inside,” he said and looked down at me.

“It will be with that attitude,” I smirked. “And are you going to tell me what you were doing out here in the snow with your shoes off, hmm?”

As if he had just realized he was barefoot, he looked down. “Och, I guess my feet were gettin’ sweaty and I wanted to feel the cold between my toes.”

“You’re just lucky you didn’t get stuck out here for much longer or you might have caught something called hypothermia and lost both your feet!”

“Tis no’ my feet I’m worrit about losin’,” he touched his crotch, as if checking all the bits were still there.

“Come on,” I laughed, “Let’s go home.”

++++++

It had taken nearly twice as long to get back as it had taken for me to come and find him. Jamie was moving slow, and he was obviously much larger and heavier than me so I found it difficult to support his weight.

When we arrived back to Lallybroch, Jenny and Ian had been waiting.

“Ye hit yerself wi’ an ax?” Jenny asked and I could see a smile forming on her lips.

“Aye,” Jamie scowled. “I dinna want to hear a word about it either.”

“We had to leave the wood he chopped behind,” I told them. “Would someone be able to fetch it and bring it inside?”

“I’ll do it,” Ian said. “I can take Donas out. Ye’ll have left the cart to carry it, I suppose?”

“Aye,” Jamie nodded. “I was just goin’ to pull it back myself, but ye can use a horse since yer no’ as strong as me.”

Ian flashed out his hand, lightly smacking Jamie on the side and laughed, limping away to the stables outside.

“Ye best be glad yer wife was concerned for ye,” Jenny said and came around to slide her arm around Jamie’s waist. “If it were up to me, I might have let ye stay out there all night so ye could learn yer lesson.”

We started to make our way slowly up the stairs, taking them on at a time.

“And what lesson is that?” Jamie asked.

“That ye keep as firm a grip on yer ax as ye would yer cock,” she snorted and I couldn’t help but burst into a laugh. The big heavy scot between us groaned, either in embarrassment or pain — possibly both.

Jamie landed in our bed with a thud, rolling onto his side to avoid the light from the window. Sensing his discomfort, I walked over and shut the blinds until only a sliver of light was left.

“I’ll have Mrs. Crook prepare some soup,” Jenny said. “And I’ll fetch ye another couple of quilts to keep him warm.”

“Could you see if she can make willow bark tea as well?” I asked and Jenny nodded before heading out of the room.

I looked over at Jamie, still shivering under the covers. Sitting down beside him, I ran my fingers over his cheek, which now was much warmer than before.

“You already don’t look so blue,” I commented. “How are those balls of yours?”

Jamie smirked and glanced down between his legs. “They could still do wi’ a bit of warming up.”

“That part of your anatomy is taking a bit longer to to get back to it’s normal body temperature,” I grinned, moving closer to him in bed. He was now rolling over onto his back, and his hair moved aside, showing the blood once again. “But first,” I reached out to touch his head.

Jenny came back with two more quilts and laid them on top of his body, tucking him in as any mother would do. I imagined this wasn’t the first time Jenny had to take care of Jamie after he hurt himself.

I scrounged up a bit of cloth and found my comfrey salve in a small medical chest I had brought from my days at Leoch. Jamie turned his head to the side, allowing me to cleanse his wound and spread the slave over it to help heal it.

“There,” I said and discarded the bloody cloths. “You don’t need any stitches. And I expect you’ll have a bloody good headache for a couple of days, but nothing you can’t handle.”

Jamie was looking up at me, almost innocently and childlike. So often since I’d met him, I had bandaged him and healed his wounds, and every time he had the same expression on his face.

“What?” I asked, moving to sit beside him again.

“I just love havin’ such a fine healer as my wife,” he smiled. “Tis quite useful.”

“You do seem to get into a lot of painful situations,” I laughed and leaned against him, laying my head on his shoulder.

“Sassenach?” He asked a moment later.

“Hmmm?”

“I wasna lyin’ when I said that my balls were still blue,” he said almost sheepishly. “Ever since I woke to find ye half dressed and ready to throw yerself on me, I’ve had half a cock stand.”

“So it’s my fault, hmm?” I glanced over at him, finding blue eyes gazing at me. He was already in such a delicate state — I would have done anything to make him feel better.

“Aye, tis always yer fault,” he admitted and pulled one hand out from under the covers, reaching up to cup my cheek.

Leaning in, I kissed him, tender and slow. He was laying on his back, his head propped up on two pillows. I shifted onto my side, pulling the covers up and over my legs so I could join him in the warmth and hopefully give him some of mine.

My hand settled on his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat for a moment before sliding it to rest over his belly. I didn’t have to move my hand much further before I came in contact with his greedy length. Jamie moaned into my mouth, his tongue sliding over my bottom lip as I palmed his cock.

“Sassenach,” he muttered between kisses. He was only wearing a clean sark, having shed his wet clothes before climbing into bed earlier. I pulled the material up and took him fully in my hand. Jamie groaned, his mouth hovering just against mine.

“As your healer, I think it’s only right for me to check on the precise color of those blue balls,” I said against his lips and I felt him twitch in my hand.

“Oh, aye,” he smirked and he was already pushing back the cover to expose himself to me.

I slid down the bed, easily fitting in between his legs and sat on my knees. Gripping his pulsing length in my hand, I ran my fingers up and down twice, watching as his hips flexed. He was trying not to move, his hands gripping the sheets beside him.

“C-christ,” he stuttered as I pressed my thumb over the head, collecting the bit of seed.

“Try not to move,” I said softly. “You wouldn’t want to hurt your head any further.”

“Sassenach, yer tryin’ to kill me,” he muttered between his teeth and then after grazing his blue balls with my hand, I descended on him. I took him eagerly in my mouth, swirling my tongue around him. I glanced up to see him watching me, and I felt my own belly light with a fire.

My hand worked in tandem with my mouth and I hollowed my cheeks, sucking deeply. Jamie was moaning, and his hips lifted off the bed, pushing his cock back against my throat.

“I’m sorry,” he was now panting, reaching his hand into my hair and I pulled my lips off of him, briefly licking the tip.

“Don’t apologize,” I smiled before placing a kiss to his head and swiping my tongue along his shaft. My hand slid down easily, pumping him and I twisted my grip, watching as his eyes shut tight. I knew he was close, so I kept my gaze on his face, waiting for that perfect moment.

I wrapped my lips over him, feeling swollen and needy. He tasted salty and whenever I met his gaze, Jamie jerked and came. I had no option but to drink him down, tasting him on my tongue, and lips and I released him with an audible ‘pop’.

Jamie wasted no time in pulling me up to lie on top of his body, his hands coming to grip my sides.

“I don’t want to put any pressure on you,” I said, placing my hands on his chest. “You shouldn’t be exerting yourself so soon.”

“Who said anything about me exertin’ myself?” He cocked a brow and reached one hand under my dress, finding my center and rubbing slowly. A few seconds later, I sank down on him, shifting until he was buried inside of me. I leaned over, pressing my lips to his and began to move. He felt so good and warm, filling me in a way that I would never tire of.

Jamie held me close to him, his hands roaming over my back, tugging at my dress. It was no use, my laces were still tied in the front and I began to push back harder on him, searching for a release of my own.

“Uhhh,” I moaned, placing a wet kiss to his cheek and jaw. Jamie’s hands found my arse under my dress, pressing me against him as he lifted his hips. And just so, he hit that spot inside of me and I came with a deep cry. I trembled in his arms, feeling his release inside me and I lay on top of him, knowing I should move to not hurt him.

Carefully, I rolled onto my side, sighing as my head hit the pillow and I lay one arm across his stomach.

“Did that take care of any blue balls?” I asked, biting my lip between my teeth.

Jamie looked over at me, running his finger over my cheek. “Aye, ye’ve taken good care of them, as ye always do.”

“It was my pleasure,” I smiled and leaned over to kiss him. Then I sat up in bed, tugging on my dress and climbed out. Jamie started to protest, but I shushed him, pulling the covers up around him. “Now, you really do need to rest. I’m going to go check on that willow bark tea, and when I come back, there will be no more funny business.”

“Aye, captain,” Jamie pressed his hand to his head and tried to wink. Laughing, I left him on his own to get the tea.

When I came back upstairs, his eyes were closed and his mouth was hung slightly open, a bit of drool dribbling down. I don’t know how he managed to possess all the qualities that made me want to claw at his back one minute and the next, tuck him up and sing him a lullaby.

I took a sip of the tea before sitting it on the bedside table and shed my clothes, crawling into bed naked with him. After all, body heat was the best way to warm up.

#one quote one shot #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #outlander fanfiction #lallybroch #canon au #your nose is blue

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audramh · 5 years ago

Text

All Along

/ one-shot AU of Sam and Cait /

Inspired by a recent post on how different things could have -- and should have -- been, if Outlander had been everyone’s focus and there was no narrative.

She was awake, and she was cold. The flat was quiet, save her husband’s rhythmic breathing. He slept under both sheet and duvet, leaving her very little of either. How very few people on this earth knew he was a cover hog, she thought, and yet those same people would be quick to call it endearing. She rolled her eyes and glanced at the alarm on her side of the bed: 12:47am. She should be asleep too. Their driver would be here in less than seven hours. There would be time spent in wardrobe and hair, and she dreaded the extra concealer that awaited her if she showed up with dark circles. Still, here she lay, more pensive than sleepy. Might as well try a change of scenery. She grabbed her phone for company.

She slipped out of bed and quietly padded to the kitchen. Maybe just a quick dram of the whisky samples they’d been trying out. She opened the highest cupboard where they were stored, well out of a curious toddler’s reach. There were eight glass decanters, all devoid of labels. They were simply marked A through H to remove any preconceived notions of depth and flavor as they sampled and compared characteristics, whittling them down to what would become the Great Glen signature flavor profile. She’d enjoyed a smooth one she’d tried the other day, but which was it? A? C? The low level of bottle G was all she needed as proof that one was heavy on peat smoke. His favorite. Compromising, she chose bottle B and poured.

She sat down at the table, sipped her whisky, pulled up Instagram, and scrolled back several years. Perhaps comforting memories would lull her back to sleep. A photo from their chemistry test, all the way back in 2013. It was this very post that piqued fans’ curiosity and led to the season 3 DVD extra. She was giddily nervous, he was sweating profusely. “That was YOUR fault”, he told her much later. It had hit him as soon as she walked in and shook his hand: he’d spent 34 years as half of the whole he never knew he could be. She took longer to get there, not wanting to succumb to such a cliché as falling in love with one’s costar, but it was pointless. Giving into it had lent authenticity not only to her life but to her character as well. By the time she delivered the line “This isn’t usual” on camera, she had long since meant it. She scrolled to the photo of them taken that day, on a tartan atop a mountain, on his birthday. That was the day he said “I love you” for the first time: his present to himself was to know that he’d told her.

A photo of their hands, her engagement ring prominently featured. She’d captioned it simply: “Yes.” Nearly 10K comments on that post. Congratulations and best wishes from family, friends, fans, cast and crew, network executives. They hadn’t known what to expect, but an outpouring like this was beyond their imagination. A photo from PaleyFest 2015, where Ron Moore had to rein in Kristin Dos Santos’ excitement to get her to focus back on the show itself. Their wedding photo, minus the kilt so many Outlander fans had expected to see. Their misplaced shock and furor was short-lived, thankfully. After all, it wasn’t Jamie and Claire’s wedding day; it was theirs.

The photo of Eddie, asleep, next to a pair of baby booties. The caption was all her husband’s idea: to be honest by telling fans the Droughtlander between seasons 2 and 3 would be slightly longer than anticipated, asking for patience as they worked on “a very important personal project together”, and promising to share updates now and then. She had to admit: it was inspired. She scrolled to the photo she’d taken looking down at her growing bump, which was also helping to support a cup of tea. A photo of their newborn daughter’s feet. A nursing photo taken by her husband (she was no shrinking violet where functions of the human body were concerned, and besides: his protective instincts ensured it was tastefully done.)

Either the memories or the whisky kicked in, and she knew sleep would come. She put her empty glass in the sink, closed out Instagram, and quietly retraced her steps. Through the living room, past their gleaming awards: an Emmy for each (his for season 1, hers for season 2), and a Golden Globe (also his, for season 1.) Beaming with pride, she returned to bed. He didn’t wake, but instinctively curled toward her in sleep, enveloping her with his body. Luckily, she was able to get enough of the sheet and duvet to combat his ice-cold feet. God Almighty. He might well look like Jamie Fraser, but his cold feet always gave him away. A minute later, she felt the rhythm of her breathing match his and drifted off.

She was in Albrecht’s office being lectured, along with her husband, about jeopardizing his investment. The show. The largely female fanbase. She couldn’t wrap her head around what he was saying: he’s upset that we fell in love for real? Other executives chimed in, two corporate attorneys produced a drafted deal to quash their relationship. Publicly, at least. Legally it was binding, so they had no power to undo it. But God, this felt crazy. She looked at her husband, saw his strong chin quiver, and tried to steady him by rubbing his back before the strain got the better of her and she leaned forward to shield her face with her hands. Shock. Her face was going numb. This is shock. Breathe. Try to breathe. Stern voices gave way to yelling. The air in the room was suffocating with coercion. Now she was being interviewed. She heard herself saying they were “not together”. She was saying it on camera! She was denying their marriage! Avoiding eye contact at all costs. Trying to hold herself in check. Now another sound bite: she was calling the show’s fans “horny grannies”. Why was she doing this?! And Captain Kirk was shaming and attacking their fans on Twitter? This made no sense. They’d never even met him. Now she was on the red carpet with… her assistant, Tony? She looked down and saw not HER engagement ring, but a thoughtless substitute. And no wedding band at all. Where was her husband? She scanned up ahead until she found him, standing a little too close to a blonde. They seemed to move together in a pair. Ill-matched, to be sure, and he wasn’t being overly attentive, but nonetheless a pair they seemed to be. He didn’t make eye contact with his wife. She couldn’t even be sure he knew she was there. And now she saw herself in frilly, frumpy, shapeless clothes. She could see she was trying to hide her pregnancy. Why? Why would she do this? She loved being pregnant. Had they forced her to do this? To feel shame at growing a life inside her? What followed were flashes of hiding from public view when together. Secrecy. Never wearing their wedding bands. Never holding hands. Never standing too close at work events. Reining in their famously open-mouthed kisses on camera for good measure. Hiding. Pretending. Hurting. Lying.

She bolted awake with a loud gasp, which woke her husband. “OH my God”, she burst out. His hand went to her bare shoulder, then to her cheek and forehead. “You’re in a cold sweat, love. What have you dreamt?” She propped herself up, got her breathing under control, accepted his hand when he offered it, and answered: “It was all a lie. All of it.” Even in the darkness, she saw him briskly shake his head in an effort to understand. “What? What was a lie?” She remembered it vividly enough to tell him that she dreamt they’d been forced to hide it all. Their relationship. Their marriage. Their life. Their love. He was becoming more awake as she explained, and confusion had given way to comfort. “Babe, come here.” He pulled her to him, smoothed her hair away from her sweaty hairline, and told her the truth she knew but still needed to hear: “Shhh. It’s alright. We’re at home. Our home. You’re wearing your wedding ring, and so am I. Same as ever. We’ve been public all along. Everyone knows." She’d relaxed into his words, spoken comfortingly in a near-whisper, and allowed them to sink in. “You’re right. I know you’re right.” She exhaled deeply. “One thing: stay away from blondes, you hear me?” She sank into the shape of his body as he curled around her once more. “Blondes have never been my type and you know it.” He smiled and kissed her earlobe. “Go back to sleep, love.”

The next thing she knew, it was daylight. Their daughter leapt onto the bed, forcing space between them and plopping on her back. The airy duvet made a slight whoosh in response, and she placed her tiny hand on top of her Da’s open palm. He snapped his fist around hers like a Venus fly trap: their unspoken language that her tall, strong Da would always make her feel safe and give her his protection. She rewarded him with a high-pitched squeal as she always did. The three of them lay together for a bit. Da’s eyes had gone shut again, but his large hand hadn’t let up around their toddler’s. Their beautiful, blue-eyed girl with morning-mussed hair. Everything about this version of their life felt real again as she rolled toward the center of the bed and smoothed her daughter’s hair behind her ears and kissed her forehead.

“Mam?”

That lovely word sounded like a single-syllable symphony to her ear. “Yes, my darling?”

“Brudder pooped.”

#samcait #au #one shot #sam x cait #better together #obviously

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lovemesomesurveys · 5 years ago

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How do you feel about your neighbors? No issues with them anymore. For awhile we did because they had dogs that they left outside most of the day that just barked and barked for hours on end. Their favorite time seemed to be in the middle of the night. It was horrible. My parents ended up saying something and ever since they’ve been really good about it.

Did any of your babysitters ever let you do things your parents wouldn’t? My babysitter was either my aunts, my grandma, or my older brother. I also didn’t try to do anything “bad” that I wasn’t allowed to do, so no. I loved when one of my aunt’s babysat me, though. She was just really fun. She and I are still close.

What is your favorite swimming stroke? I don’t swim.

Would you ever want to learn to play the bagpipes? Nah.

You have one match. What would you like to burn? I don’t mess around with matches or lighters. I’m a big baby.

What are your thoughts on men wearing kilts? I don’t care.

What underwater creature scares you the most? I have a very real fear of killer whales, but honestly deep water and underwater life terrifies me in general.

Was there ever a bomb threat at the school you go/went to? No.

Do you befriend others because of something you might gain from them? Absolutely not.

Which excites you more: Spring Break or X-mas vacation? I’m not in school, so I don’t have spring breaks or Christmas vacations anymore. Spring breaks mean nothing to me now, but I do love Christmastime.

Do you contribute to charities? I have. I used to regularly, but it’s been a long time. :/

Would you rather dye your own hair or have it done by a stylist? By a stylist, which is what I do. Who knows when I’ll be able to get it done again, though. :/ The last time was back in early February.

Would you rather live in a pyramid or in a castle? Neither, honestly.

What do you feel is the ugliest part of the human body? I don’t find feet attractive at all. What’s your take on Will Ferrell movies? Funny or annoying? I love him in Elf.

Insert a totally random phrase from another language here: Estoy cansada.

Does your family go crazy cleaning house when relatives are coming over? Yeah.

What was the last thing you broke? Hmm. I don’t recall.

Do automatically flushing toilets annoy you? No.

Would you rather have waffles or pancakes? Waffles.

Do you look like an idiot when you run? I think I just look like an idiot in general, ha.

Have you ever moved? How many times? Yeah, a few times. Only once that I’m old enough to remember, though.

What body of water is closest to where you live? I live near the Pacific Ocean.

Do you like using big words to confuse people? No.

Have you ever built a Lego masterpiece? No. I only played with Legos when I was a kid and just did very basic stuff.

Have you ever developed your own film in a darkroom? Nope.

What’s the weirdest street name in your town? I’m not sharing.

Can you bust a move? Nope.

Do you buy colorful shoelaces? No. I like just white or black.

Where did you have your first date? Out to eat at a restaurant and then to a movie.

Did you ever have to wear a retainer? Nope.

Do you have any weird phobias? Yes.

Have you ever felt an earthquake? Only once that I can recall and it was just the aftershocks from one nearby. It was the weirdest feeling, though. I was sitting on my bed and suddenly felt dizzy and like I was swaying. I had to lie for a bit. I thought something was happening with me, but I saw other people on my Facebook talking about feeling it or seeing things like ceiling lights swaying around the same time I experienced it.

Were you a planned pregnancy? Yes.

What store in the mall would you never get caught in? I mean, there’s stores I don’t shop at cause they don’t have stuff I’m interested in or aren’t my style, but it’s not like I’d be embarrassed to go into any of them.

Are you prepared with a foam finger when you watch sports? No. I have zero interest in sports.

Were you brought up with Nerf toys? Nah, those weren’t my thing. I was a Barbie girl in a Barbie world. ha.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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geethedentist · 6 years ago

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The Sassenach Warrior

Catch up on the Chapter 1 here!

Chapter 2: Not Alone Anymore

Three Months Earlier

It’s odd how quickly one’s life can change, not that mine had gotten off to a swell start anyway. Happenstance and fate become intertwined to create what you never thought possible. For years I clung firmly to the belief that I was a walking attraction for rotten luck. It took a fair bit of time, but much later I realized I was wrong.

I had been walking relentlessly for three days, feet throbbing with each step. The rolling, rocky hills now behind me, I had entered an expanse of forest. Sheer exhaustion necessitated an overnight rest in a large, green glade. I had all but collapsed onto the soft grass the previous day. There was a small pool of water, and it was warm and peaceful. But it was time to get moving. An uneasy twinge of fear lurked at the back of my mind. I packed up my tiny camp, glancing nervously over my shoulder like a skittish animal. It was eerily silent, which could only foretell yet another (possibly deadly) predicament. I still needed to put a bit of distance between myself and the last village, where I had almost received a thorough beating for continuously refusing to give up my horse to a ragged group of men calling themselves The Watch.

They took my horse.

After my especially hasty retreat out of England, and riding through nearly half of Scotland, I had heard there was a port in the Highland town of Inverness, where I could finally board a ship again. The minor issue of financing this voyage remained firmly in the back of my mind, for I had nothing. It was strange being this destitute, not knowing where the next meal was coming from or going days on end without human interaction. I supposed I should be accustomed to it by now, it even gave me an odd thrill at times.

I was reluctant to go, to leave this momentary peace and venture back into the unknown once more. Here, nobody chastised me for wearing trousers or carrying a sword. Sometimes I believed myself a traitor to womankind. Other times I thought perhaps I was its savior. Too often I had been on the receiving end of outright anger. Others merely stared in shock, content to observe from a distance as if watching some sort of exotic show or attraction. Many laughed at me. Of course, my nature is not what one might deem “typical.” My breech of the status quo is offensive to many, but it only served to fuel my passion for fighting, adventure, and knowledge. I thought of Uncle Lamb, who had gifted me all three of these things, so woefully unattainable for countless others. He always knew dolls and lace never satisfied my spirit. He gave me my first bow and taught me how to use it. The only thing I had left of him was his ring, which I kept on a chain around my neck. It gave me comfort, having him close.

A twig snapped. My reverie dissipated like a fog. I was on my feet in a second, ears strained, listening for more. My breath caught as voices materialized out of the trees. I became completely still, perhaps I’d be swallowed by the shadows, be granted invisibility. I saw a flash of red.

Oh God.

I snatched the bow off my back and made to run when I heard, “Oi I found one!”

I had remained frozen and indecisive for a beat too long.

My heart was threatening to burst out of my chest. I felt my pulse everywhere at once.

“Where's the rest of your lads huh?” the redcoat continued, having fully entered the clearing. He was a short man, with a thick neck and a pink face. His teeth were badly stained.

His small beady eyes nearly popped out in surprise as he took in my pants, boots, and weapons.

“You're a lady!” He sputtered.

“Very good! Your eyesight appears to be functioning normally.” I shot back with a sneer.

Another soldier had entered the glade. A bit taller than his companion, he seemed much more able to prevail in a fight or a chase. His face reminded me of a rabbit. “Lady or not, she and her company raided our stores!”

While it was completely within the realm of possibility for me to have done this, I stood there wide eyed shaking my head. Plainly, a bunch of hungry and fed up Highlanders had attempted to nip a bit of food and perhaps a cow or a horse from the English stationed in the small town I had avoided the previous day.

“So you’re just out here all alone, right after we discover the Scots robbed our depository?” He said it in a tone that conveyed he obviously didn’t believe that this was as coincidental as it appeared.

“Yes! Precisely!” A jolt of anger and desperation shot through me along with the reality that they were not going to believe me no matter what I said.

The rabbit faced man was advancing menacingly while his partner prepared his rifle. I didn't like the hungry, animalistic way their eyes traveled over me. Suddenly, rough hands grasped the front of my shirt and I felt rotten breath on my face. “Boy she’s a pretty one.” He breathed.

“How dare you!” I could not bear to imagine how many others he could have done this to, and his feeling of contentment knowing they could do nothing to stop him.

And then, in my typical fashion, I proceeded to ruin any chance I had of a peaceful escape. Grasping his shoulders, I drove my knee up as hard as I could. The building adrenaline caused me to be shaky and clumsy, and I missed my mark. The man looked stunned as we glared at each other for a second. The next thing I registered was a fist colliding with the side of my head. I half dropped to the ground as I felt warm blood oozing down my cheek. Panic rising, I scrambled away on my knees, grabbing the bow off my back.

“You little bitch!” He shouted. “Who do you think you are?”

“Not your plaything!” Shaking from anger now rather than fear, I had made my decision. Arrow in place, I slowly pulled the string back.

At that moment, the sound of running footsteps became apparent behind me. A small squeak of fear threatened to escape my throat. I was surrounded. My mind was frantically working out some fantastical lie to tell if they decided to take me and question me. A petite, innocent lady shouldn't and wouldn’t be pointing her lethal homemade arrows (lovingly sharpened to perfection) in a good Englishman's face. There is most definitely something amiss with that.

“Surely ye don't mean the lass any harm? She isna with us. She travels alone.”

My shoulders slumped in relief at the unmistakable Scottish voice behind me. My accent had earned me mistrust from many of the Scots I had met since arriving here. But overall I found them to be very kind and hospitable people who placed a high emphasis on family. The man behind me was undoubtedly one of the raiders that I had been mistaken for. I was thankful he had done what my less than rational mind had conveniently chosen to leave out before I raised the bow. At least now the fact that I had never seen these men before was now out in the open.

Behind, I heard the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn. He knew as well as I that this had no chance of ending peacefully.

“No harm at all.” The soldier said, a nasty smile creeping up his face. He stepped closer, rifle now raised. I stepped back.

“I dare you to try that again.”

“Now what would an English lady be doing out here in the mud with a bunch of filthy Scots, pretending to be a man?”

The man spoke from behind me again, “I tell ye she had no part in this. Let her be.” His voice was deep and soft, but not void of threat. I wanted to turn around to see who the voice belonged to, but I also didn’t want to turn my back on the redcoats.

“I am not pretending to be anything. What you see before you is simply a woman who happens to despise corsets. Dreadful things in my opinion. Trousers enable much more movement and freedom don’t you agree? I wouldn’t be able to do this!”

I was only vaguely aware of my fingers releasing the string. Moments like these always seem to happen in slow motion. I heard a sharp inhalation from the Scot at my back.

The plump man screamed as the arrow pierced his boot. His gun fell to the ground. The other dropped his rifle in surprise. Fuck. I had only meant to shoot the ground near his feet to scare them a bit. Perhaps my aim was a bit too good. I was in big trouble now, and I could only dig myself a deeper grave from here on out.

I turned and ran . . .

. . . right into a very large, very red-headed Scot.

“Ooof!” The sound of the breath exiting my lungs all at once.

He was so solid.

“Come on!” He said urgently. I staggered back, reeling from the impact as he caught me by the wrist and began towing me along with him. I allowed a glance back. It appeared that two more soldiers had reached their comrades, apparently unlucky in their search for the missing goods and the thieves responsible. One had stayed behind with the injured man, who was now writhing on the ground. It didn't take long for the other two to begin their pursuit, running to mount their horses.

We were both sprinting now. The trees whipped past and my blood pounded in my ears. Suddenly he gave a high pitched whistle, and then I heard great hoofbeats from somewhere off to the right. A giant black stallion came trotting alongside us. We stopped and he quickly swung onto the horse and began to pull me up.

“I can do it!” I said hotly, yanking my hand from his grasp.

"Are ye sure about that lass?” He raised an eyebrow questioningly. But of course just to spite me, the horse proved too massive for my short stature. I saw that the side of his face had lifted in a smirk as I settled into the saddle behind him. Soon we were galloping through the forest, me haphazardly clutching this stranger's waist with my hair flying wildly in my face as the turbulence increased. His own shoulder length auburn curls flew out behind his head. I still hadn’t gotten a decent look at his face.

The horse jumped a large fallen tree trunk and I suddenly became airborne in the saddle. I blindly groped for a handhold and grabbed his kilt to anchor myself. He looked back in surprise; his ears tinged pink. I felt a flush up my neck as well, in spite of the wind whistling in my ears. I had been in Scotland long enough to know what a Scotsman wore under his kilts. I was about to mumble an apology when he jerked the horse sharply to the left and began to ride back the way we came, like a giant circle.

“And just where are we going?”

“Doubling back. They think we still ride ahead of them. We’re going to find the others and ride back into the Mackenzie lands.” he said in concentration, steering the horse away from more fallen trees.

“We?” I’d known him for a good five minutes. I had no idea who he was with, or what he thought he was going to do with me. He was speaking as though none of this mattered. The soldiers were now riding well ahead of us. They hadn't seen us turn. I thought I heard him sigh in relief. He slowed the horse to a walk and I relaxed my grip on his waist. My hands were clammy.

“I, um, thank you.” I told him, swinging my leg over the horse. Determined not to have any help with the dismount, I slid gracelessly off the horse’s back and almost pitched forward into the mud.

“No problem at all,” he too, had dismounted. I now saw that his eyes were the clearest blue, like the sky on the brightest of days. He had strong cheekbones and a prominent forehead, over which hung a mess of red curls. I then began to register the events of the past ten minutes.

“Allow me to clarify however,” I said indignantly, “that I don’t want you thinking that I was too scared to kill them. This arrow could have easily went straight through his eye had I told it to! And furthermore, I could have escaped without help. I am not some damsel in distress.” I crossed my arms.

I was babbling.

“I dinna doubt it, Sassenach.” He smiled.

Sassenach. I’d heard that term before. But when he used it, it sounded different. It didn’t sound discriminatory or mistrustful, but endearing.

Suddenly, I became aware of the absence of the comforting weight around my neck. My hand flew to the spot, finding only bare skin. Uncle Lamb’s ring was gone. It must have fallen off. I cursed quietly.

“Will ye tell me your name?”

“I - It's Claire.”

“Claire.” He smiled, as he said it in his odd Highland way. “I'm . . .”

“Jamie!” came a cry from someways off. “We thought we lost ye lad!”

Another kilted man was riding toward us. He was short, with a big brown beard.

“My godfather, Murtagh.” Jamie murmured to me.

Murtagh raised an eyebrow at the sight of me. He looked me up and down for several seconds. “Ye've found yerself a lady then?” He said finally.

“I - she, redcoats . . .no!” Jamie stuttered, face flushing scarlet.

I must have made a face for Murtagh laughed loudly and said, “she doesna seem too taken with ye does she?”

I heard more riders approaching and decided the time had come to take my leave. “It was very nice to meet you both,” I attempted to mask the anxious tone in my voice. “But I had really better be going.” I began to back away slowly.

“And who might this English lass be? Following us were ye?” A new, accusatory voice asked. He was tall, as tall as Jamie. He didn’t have much hair on his head but made up for it with a dark brown beard streaked with gray. His emphasis on the word English did not go unnoticed. Annoyed, I exhaled loudly and ran a hand over my face. I should have run the second Jamie stopped the horse. But first I needed them to tell me the way to Inverness, and then I could put this whole little hiccup behind me.

With as much politeness as I could muster at this point, I tried to seem as innocent as possible. “Please sir, I was just trying to find my way to Inverness. Could you help me?”

“Inverness. Is that where your consort is waiting?”

So he wasn’t going to make this easy. I glanced helplessly at Jamie and Murtagh, as the last two riders of their company had ridden up behind them, watching with interest. “Uncle, Claire means no harm. She almost killed a redcoat!”

“Aye but what is she doing wandering these woods alone? She may be a pretty lass, but she’s also an English lass Jamie lad.”

Jamie had gone red in the face once more as my last shred of patience disappeared. “What exactly do you mean to say?”

“What I mean to say is that I canna be takin’ any chances letting ye go free should ye be an English spy!” His voice had risen considerably.

“What I’m doing here is none of your business! Although I can assure you I have no interest whatsoever in your activities and I am most certainly not a spy!”

“Rupert, Angus, have you ever seen a woman quite like this one?” He switched his gaze from me to the others.

“That I have not.” One of the men answered. He was round but strong, with long light brown hair and a beard to match. “I suppose it’s wee bit suspicious.”

I scoffed at him, and he shrugged. “Why should you be so nervous that I was a spy anyway?” I said, testing him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jamie bend to pick something off the ground and a gasp escaped my throat. It was my ring.

My accuser stepped forward and snatched it from him.

“Dougal!” Jamie tried to snatch it back. He looked at me apologetically.

An insincere smile appeared on Dougal’s face. “’Tis evident this trinket is of great importance to our new guest. I think I shall hold on it for a while.”

“No please!” I begged.

“It would be foolish of ye to attempt an escape lass,” he said. “At least now I am guaranteed ye wilna be leaving us. Show’s over lads, we’d best be on our way back to Leoch. The Sassenach will ride wi’ Jamie.”

And that was that.

I stuck my arm up in the air with a scowl. Jamie’s large warm hand wrapped around mine and hoisted me up onto the monstrous horse yet again.

“I’m sorry about my uncle.” He said as we began to ride behind the others.

I didn’t answer him, but pressed my lips together and folded my arms like a child. We swayed back and forth with the horse’s movements. Ahead, numerous pairs of eyes that thought they were being discreet stole glances back at us.

“He won’t keep me here you know.”

“Ooch I think ye’ve made that much clear, Sassenach. Give him time and no cause for suspicion aye?”

“He seems a very difficult man to budge.”

“That he is. Will ye be getting on to Inverness then? After ye leave.” It sounded as though he expected me to elaborate on this.

“Yes.” I said shortly, hoping my tone relayed the fact that I was not about to volunteer any information about my plans or reasons. There was no one left on earth who I would trust. He seemed to get the message.

“That’s a handsome sword,” he commented with admiration. “I’d wager it does well in combat.”

That was the moment I took a liking to this Scot. His remark was made in reference to the weapon itself, rather than passing judgement on me for wielding it.

After that, we talked pleasantly. We discussed his sword as well, an extremely heavy thing that was not quite as agile as mine, but ruthless in a fight.

“Do you use it much?” I asked excitedly, hoping for a story.

“Oh aye this hunk of metal saved my neck numerous times while I was fighting in France.”

We passed the next hour or two in companionable conversation. We talked of his time in France, and he spoke of the clan culture which dominated the Highlands. I’d always found upon first meeting somebody new, I draw conclusions and pass judgement subconsciously. I had been prepared to lump Jamie together with Scots like his uncle and the other Mackenzies, as he told me they were called. However, he lacked much of the narrow-mindedness and superstition I had previously encountered, not limited to Scotland. He was educated, like I was.

As the sun dropped and the shadows lengthened, Dougal declared that Leoch must wait until tomorrow.

I was rolling out my thin blanket away from the others when Dougal, seemingly more calm than before, spoke to me.

“I know ye said ’tis none of our business, but that answer wilna be accepted by Himself. He’ll want to know what an English lady was doin’, roamin’ around so close to the Mackenzie lands.”

A small jolt of dread. He was right. If I was going to be questioned by their chief I had better come up with some believable excuse. I would make up a story then, and pray I’d be able to look the laird dead in the eye when I told it. Restless sleep overtook me.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fandom #jamie and claire #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #clairebeauchamp #the sassenach warrior

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imagineclaireandjamie · 6 years ago

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Omg HRH. Is it too soon to beg for another chapter? I mean I can get on my hands and knees. I need to know what Jamie does after that speech almost more than I need the next episode of outlander. Amazing writing as always.

I owe everyone who has kept up with this story a huge thank you for staying with me. The messages and comments about the last few parts have been absolutely incredible. Your love has been overwhelming and I can’t say enough how much I appreciate you.

Many thanks to @notevenjokingfic and @balfeheughlywed for all of their help with getting this world in order for Part XI. They helped me figure out what needed to happen for me to fall in love with this part. I hope you love it as much as I do. 💜 xx. K

Previously:

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)Part XI: Watched

Jamie Fraser was sure that he was breaking at least a dozen laws and workplace protocols by slipping out of the banquet hall, past a series of closed doors, and into the wing of the palace that contained the Queen’s private living quarters. But in that moment, buzzing from the exhilaration of her speech and that faint tip of her head, he would have happily spent a night or two (or a hundred) in some damp, drafty Scottish jail. If only to say that he had tried.

With a furtive look over his shoulder, he slowed his walk and began to test doorknobs. He searched for the slivers of light that indicated the existence of life behind closed doors.

He had collected the moments in which she was stripped bare (her admission that she wanted to touch him), felt the vibration filling his chest brought about by the mere nearness of her (the unique markers of their time together), and catalogued one of her breathy admissions (that she wanted his kiss, but only if he did it properly).

He needed more. Still. Even more so now having heard her address a room full of people about finding something rare.

He muttered to himself, his palms beginning to sweat as the end of the hallway came into sight.

Curses (ifrinn). Prayers (the ones he only said when he was in a bind, recalled from childhood).

But still more locked doors, more silence, unrelenting darkness.

In the end, Claire was tucked away at the end of the hall. Hidden in a room with the door partly ajar. He stood, grasping the doorframe and watching her, the relief of having found her making him woozy.

The notion occurred to him that it felt as though at least a year had passed since the lost moment they shared in the stables.

An opportunity that misfired. A faltering separation that felt like an untimely goodbye.

He had not really seen her since then.

Of course, he had just seen her at the dinner. He had played witness to her dressing down of Frank Randall and the finale of the part of her life that contained her engagement. Her speech, delivered to a room full of people, had been layered. Despite the presence of an audience, her confessions had been deeply personal (as if she unzipped her own skin at the centerline and crawled out of herself, glowing). It had been raw in a way that he was not sure anyone else there had grasped. But it had also been a message. An entreaty to him (James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser) to have hope. That all was not lost in the stable hay. That what it was between them had not dissolved into daylight at their parting. The message had dispatched with the slight tilt of her chin. In acknowledgment of its receipt, he tilted his head back.

And the change in her face (the firmness in the set of her lips slipping, the relief of exhaling a long-held breath) had been remarkable. That softness in her expression, as fleeting as it had been, had rekindled in him a dream that he had placed on a shelf in the back of his mind.

Her. Him. Them.

And then there she was in that dark room at the end of the hall.

And Christ was she ever beautiful –– her dark head bowed just slightly, arms spread wide to brace herself against the window sill, shoes abandoned and one bare foot peeking out from beneath her dress. Her back arched as she inhaled. The sound she made was deep, from her belly.

Relief tempered by exhaustion.

He was made a voyeur by the mere fact that he was frozen –– yearning to keep this moment for himself forever.

She rose to full height, eyes affixed on some unidentified point outside the window and beyond the horizon. She removed her rings, the frothy blushed champagne layers of her dress whispering over one another as she moved.

Every meaningless platitude (love will overcome) and canned speech (an expression of love) that he had written in his head fell away.

Claire. Just Claire.

One ring and then the other.

She turned from the window just slightly as she grimaced, twisting the ring on her left ring finger.

The newspapers had a field day when the Queen (the People’s Accidental Queen) deigned to wear a ring upon her engagement to Frank Randall. Royals did not belong to someone, the papers cried, with photographs of the ring peppering printing after printing. Now those some newspapers would undoubtedly have a tantrum in equal measure over the fact that she no longer wore that ring. They would smear her –– the end of an engagement, the flippant and foolish Queen.

Something told him that she no longer cared.

Her profile was illuminated with a halo of bluish silver –– her lower lip tucked between her teeth and her brow furrowed.

If there were words to describe her, he could not call them to mind in any language he knew.

English. Gaelic. French. Russian.

All of the pre-packaged sentiments with their practiced syllables were inadequate for her.

“Fuck,” she muttered. Something about her muttered profanity made him smile. She was unguarded, unaware. She was just being.

The ring finally slipping over her knuckle and off her finger, landing on the windowsill with a sharp clang. She sighed, turning back to face out of the window, her narrow shoulders folding in as she bowed her head again.

“Claire?” he started.

He had expected her to to startle (a small jump, a profane expression) at his unannounced appearance. Instead, she turned with wide eyes and whispered, “Fraser.”

A moment and then another.

He did not wait for an invitation before stepping into the room and drawing the door closed behind him.

“Jamie,” she said quietly, taking a single step towards him, pausing, and then taking another step. “I…” Her voice faded away, her lips melting into the slightest of smiles. “You came.”

“Of course I came.”

They each took another step closer, closing the space between them. He was close enough to see the lift of the tiny hairs on her forearms, the goosebumps, the rise of the delicate lines of her collarbones as she attempted to control her breathing, the layers of transparent fabric that laid one over another just just so that her dress was not sheer.

“I wanted you to come,” she confessed.

“I kent ye did.”

“I was worried that it was too late. That I had spoiled everything. That I––”

(he interrupted her –– Claire, not the Queen) ––

“and it’s no’ too late.”

It was a balm on her worry, but it did nothing to slow her pounding heart or even her breathing. Even if she had wanted to, she no longer had any capacity to choose to control herself around him. She had given that up with her confession, with her decision to rededicate (or to dedicate anew) herself to a life beyond the gilt cage in which her days had been structured by someone else on her behalf.

Suddenly, she needed him to know. To lay herself bare to him –– the messy parts and all. “The nights we have spent together have changed me. Fundamentally.”

“Aye. As they have me,” he responded quietly, fingers drumming a loose rhythm against his thigh.

To touch her, not to touch her. A wispy tendril that had loosened itself from her perfectly coiffed updo, hovering just over her temple. It curled around her face. The deep v of her dress ending between her breasts. A touch to interrupt the soft, pale skin of her mostly bared back. Testing the fluttering, diaphanous fabric covering her shoulders and arms. To find that her skin was his addiction, a habit to take up and let consume hime.

“You have changed me. Or perhaps you gave me the push I needed to find and prioritize certain parts of me.”

‘Touch her, you fool,’ his mind directed him.

He reached for the curl. Claire’s breath hitched, her breasts rising just slightly as she inhaled. One. Two. She held the breath in her lungs until it burned. Three. Four. His fingers moved down her jaw and she put her tiny fists to his waist, balling into the fabric of his kilt and drawing him closer. He resisted the urge to tell her that she was the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen.

Claire drew another breath and another, quivering as she fought the urge to turn into James Fraser’s hand, to let her eyes close and kiss his palm. “I did what I did, said what I said, not for you, but for us.”

A pause, her eyes on his. A breath and another. The vibration. It was not even close to last in the litany of admissions she had stored for this moment. She was stripping herself bare for him.

“I need to know what it is between us, Jamie. I have never…” Her fingers moved up his hip and she laid her palms flat against his stomach. “I have never felt this way before. And waiting here. Wondering if you would want me…”

“Would I want ye?” It came from his lips in a near bark, his surprise palpable. Her eyes widened, earnest and searching.

“Yes.”

“Claire, I dinna want ye. I need ye. I’ve never needed anyone before.”

She licked her lips and he saw her tears swell along her lower lash line. “It is not too late, then?”

In her adult life, her voice had never been as small as it was then. The question placed her dreams in the palm of his hand. (Those did not belong anywhere else, to anybody else; they were home now.)

He drew a breath at her question. He smiled with his answer. “No, it isna too late, and I’d still verra much like to kiss ye.”

Her reactions to his admission filled pages in a book (a memoir with chapters yet to be written) –– the tremble of her lips, the hitch in her breath, the way her eyes took on a glassy, aroused sheen. Light swirled like a whirlpool in her mind.

“Do it properly,” she mumbled, a slight smile touching her lips at the recreation of the moment in the stables. The words had run through her head a million times –– her response in the stables. They had run through his head at least as many.

His tongue was slow, sweeping his lower lip as his eyes focused on the top of her head. At his touch (an unexpected brush of fingertips over the backs of the hands that she had knotted into the front of his shirt), she let loose a quiet sigh and tilted her head to the side. Anticipating his mouth. A ghosted touch traveled over her narrow wrists, bare arms, the sloped curve of her shoulders, her throat, and jaw.

“This, though, willna do.” Her head pitched to the right as he removed the first pin from the careful assemblage of her chignon. The pin fell to the floor with a hollow ping. Her eyes fluttered closed, the moment blurring and becoming dreamlike. When he at least drew the lynchpin of the chignon, her hair tumbled down over her shoulders. “Mo nighean donn.”

“What?” she slurred, her eyes becoming slits just to look at him.

He captured a single loose curl and pushed it over her shoulder. “Basically it means ‘my brown-haired lass.’”

His gaze, blue and intent, made her skin feel too small to contain the feeling in her belly. He had peeled clean away the outermost protective layer of herself.

Armor, discarded to nothing. He would be her protection now, covering the parts of her that were vulnerable.

Disconcerted, she whispered, “I have always thought it was a dull color brown. My mom, my sister, my uncle… they were so blonde.”

“Not dull at all. Like the water in a burn.” Warm, his touch expanded across the bare skin of her upper back, drawing goosebumps to the surface everywhere. His head tilted ever so slightly to the side, fingers tangling in the curls at the nape of her neck. “Where it ruffles over the stones. Dark in the wavy spots, but with bits of auburn where the moonlight catches it.”

Her chin dipped ever so slightly, but he captured it between his thumb and forefinger.

Guiding her gaze back, he softly said, “Look at me.”

And she did.

For the first time, they were both entirely unguarded and unburdened. He could see her then. Her eyes were sweet, fragrant honeycomb cutting through biting, perfectly aged, oaky whisky. An amber pool in which he would gladly drown.

Unsayable things came to him. Things that he worried would frighten her off. (Now, forever, us, a dhia. Mo chridhe, my lass, my love, my life.)

Instead of speaking the endearments into existence, he allowed his lips to curve up. A smile. “In about a moment’s time, ye ken that we’ll no’ be able to go back to the way things were, Claire.”

The tremble in her lip. The little twitch at the corner of her mouth. The dart of pink tongue as she drew an anticipatory breath. The gentle arch of her body towards him.

“Yes, Jamie. I know.”

His name. It was as though he had never heard it before he heard it in that moment. The sweet cadence of her voice massaged it until it became neither a name nor a word, but a calling.

She continued, “I know, and I need never to go back there.”

It was as though the very crust of the earth vibrated beneath their feet then.

His fingers moved to the intricate lines of her delicate tiara as she readjusted just enough to hold onto his hips. Diamonds and sapphires caught light as he brought his fingers beneath the circlet in her hair. In the low light, prismatic shapes skipped and fell over wallpaper, danced down the front of her dress, and juddered over the narrow sliver of carpet between their feet.

She stepped forward just enough, her sigh was quiet and the catch in her breath signaling their joint tumble over the precipice. In his guts, he wondered if he was about to stop breathing altogether at the sight of her. Like she needed air, she needed his acknowledgment that things were going to be different. A huskiness overtook her voice as she recognized again the solemnity of the moment with a mumbled, “Of course you know that this will change everything, too, Jamie.”

“Aye, I ken, but I need it, too. Just as ye said. I canna go back to the way things were.”

And with that, he lifted the tiara fully from the tangle of her curls. His removal of the weight of it allowed her to take her first fully-formed breath of the evening. Eyes raked down her body as she took the tiara from him, discarding it to the floor.

“I’ve heard every word ye said tonight, Claire…” His voice trailed off, though he willed himself to speak again. “And when I kiss kiss ye, ken that I’m kissing you. Not the Queen.”

“Good.”

Neither would ever be able to identify who finally closed the gap. It was as it was meant to be. Neither made the choice. The universe did.

Bodies connected, his belly was warm against hers. The seam of them (the soft curve of her against the hard line of him) drew them closer than they had been before. The slight press of his arousal against her pinked her cheeks a glorious, springtime blossom of a color. He was unabashed, prepared for her to know everything of him. Everything that she made him feel –– in his heart, his head, his body. He tested the color with his fingers, basking in her reaction to him.

“I’m in love wi’ ye, Claire. Madly.”

He inhabited her space entirely, his hand on the fabric over her hip and his thumb inadvertently finding the soft swell of flesh there. The tip of his nose ran along her cheekbone and she felt everything but the mingling heat of their bodies dematerialize. On the tail end of a sharp breath, she confided, “I am in love with you, too. Irrevocably so.”

His left hand found her cheek, his wide palm along her jawline, angling her and urging her towards him.

Skin like pearl.

Her eyes closed, though she wanted to watch him. He was drinking her in, a storm darkening his eyes. She wanted to memorize every moment.

After only a shared breath more, her lips parted and his mouth was on hers. At first, the touch of his lips was a mere nuzzle. (Enough that she recognized that the wine on his lips and his tongue was the same that lingered on her own palate. Enough that her entire body responded to him.)

Rising onto tiptoes, her fingers curled into fabric and her body pressed into the hard curve of his chest.

Up, up, up.

Her calves ached as she arched herself higher as his hand found its way to her lower back, drawing her closer and closer. His mouth moved with certainty, as though it had been constructed from his flesh solely to kiss her.

She needed more of him.

His taste. His breath. His touch. His reactions.

She was alive and under a spell.

Needy, desperate. Dwelling in the conflagration. Burning, piercing need. Eternal.

She became liquid against him at the first swipe of his tongue –– sure, firm. Her heart went mad in her chest and she only faintly recognized the roar of thunder somewhere far in the distance. The sound that came from him met the thunder, magnified it, and made her belly clench. He tasted like rain that had not yet fallen and an entire future of doors to open. Together.

Her fingers found the soft skin beneath his jaw, holding his face gently as he eased back only slightly.

When she inhaled she felt at once young and ancient.

Carefree but knowing. Senseless and conscious of everything (all of his breaths and the guttural sound as he slows the kiss, the hammering of their pulses like the flicker of hummingbird wings just beneath the surface).

A moan rose in her, vibrating into the recesses of his mouth. He smiled again, mouth slowing as it curved against hers. Flat and unyielding, his tongue traveled one final time over hers. When their lips separated with a soft, wet smack, she kept her eyes closed. She could not force them to open. Frozen in place, she was woozy and painfully aching with the need for more.

To kiss him again. To have his hands explore with her dress and his kilt puddled at their feet.

“Ye look like ye’ve been stung by a bee,” he whispered before drawing her lower lip into his mouth. She would take more and more still.

And when they parted for the night with a promise to meet the next evening at the stables, she realized that the universe had been made for their eyes alone.

#Anonymous #jamie x claire #Royal AU #HRH #;mod kate #Her Royal Highness AU

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timeagainreviews · 5 years ago

Text

A Loch back at a Zygon Era

Hello friends! I've had quite the week! Monday was my birthday, so my boyfriend and I took a road trip around Scotland. We saw lots of things from the Beatrix Potter Garden in Birnam, to the Cave of Caerbannog from Monty Python, to the Devil's Pulpit in Dumgoyne. But our main destination was Loch Ness! We settled into our hotel by watching "Terror of the Zygons," which seemed appropriate considering our surroundings. Naturally, I decided to review it here. Before I do, however, I would like to thank all of you who have been liking and reblogging my stuff lately. It means a lot to know I'm connecting with people. Thank you for your support!

On the surface, "Terror of the Zygons," appears to be just like any other serial of its era. However, if you do a bit of digging, you'll discover that there are some interesting facts about its production. Did you know that there was a sort of "real-world," tie in with the story? No, I don't mean Nessie. Think closer to Mickey Mouse. In 1975, Tom Baker played the Doctor for the August "Disney Time," bank holiday special. After introducing several clips from Disney films, he is called away by the Brigadier to the events of Terror of the Zygons. I can't help but wish this information was known to me before writing my Doctor Who and Disney article! You can watch the clips on youtube. They feature Tom being suitably bizarre.

Along with having an unusual prequel, the story also had a deleted scene from the beginning which was later colourised by YouTuber "babelcolour," for the DVD release. This edited version is the one I rewatched for today's review. The scene begins with the TARDIS materialising invisibly. The Doctor walks out from nothingness, wearing a matching tartan tam and scarf, replacing his usual fedora and scarf. Not far behind are Sarah Jane and Harry Sullivan wearing said hat and scarf respectively. There's something rather humorous about the Doctor using his companions as human hat racks. Considering Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart's name, it seems appropriate that the Doctor is sporting the Royal Stewart tartan. I can't help but wonder if the costume department did this on purpose. After rematerialising the TARDIS to "fix," it back to it's usual broken police box state, the three continue their journey to answer the Brigadier's Disney Time summons. It seems an oil rig off the coast of Scotland has crashed into the sea just shortly after having lost radio contact.

After hitching a ride from the eccentric Duke of Forgill, the three meet up with a kilted Brigadier in a small Scottish inn where the landlord, Angus, plays bagpipes ad nauseam. They're really driving the Scottish shit home, which makes sense when you consider they filmed the episode in Sussex. Also gathered at the inn are Sergeant Benton, various UNIT soldiers, and a man from the oil company named Huckle. The Duke has some curt words with Huckle, informing him that any crewmen found on his land will be shot. After leaving in a huff, we see one of these crewmen wash ashore, seemingly alive. Over the past month, three different rigs have all met their demise. The gang splits up Scooby-Doo style. Dr Harry goes off to check on the injured crewmen, while Sarah stays behind to get the scoop from the locals. And the Doctor goes off to be the Doctor.

Back at the inn, Sarah mentions the odd nature of the Duke to Angus who promptly defends the duke as a good man. However, even he has to admit that the Duke has been acting strangely since the oil companies came. After letting go most of his servants, the only real bit of interaction he's had lately was gifting the inn with a goofy looking stag head. Nowadays the Duke keeps mostly to himself at Forgill Castle. The surrounding area of Tulloch Moor seems steeped in mystery. People go missing as the mist comes in, Angus tells Sarah as they're being spied upon from a distance. Eavesdropping in on the conversation over a veiny, bio-mechanical screen, an unknown figure watches from the shadows.

While driving alone, Harry spots the washed-up man from the rig and jumps out to help him. Believing him to be yet another trespasser, a beardy fellow by the name of Caber shoots the survivor and wings Harry across his brow, rendering him unconscious. Back in the bio-mechanical ship, alien villains twist and caress a fleshy panel in the weirdest form of nipple play ever seen on Doctor Who, causing the destruction of another oil rig near Ben Nevis. While trying to decipher the signal that has been jamming the oil rigs' radios, the Doctor learns of Harry's brush with death.

After checking on Harry, the Doctor goes out to inspect the oil rig wreckage where he discovers strange holes in the foundation. After taking a cast of the holes with plaster of Paris, the cast reveals what looks like the shape of an impossibly large sharp tooth. During a call with the Doctor, Sarah is attacked by the previously seen alien hand, which belongs to none other than a fearsome Zygon! I've always loved their design, especially in this scene. Something about the shape of its mouth is particularly disturbing. I was slightly disappointed about the redesign from the new series. I'm a big fan of the Zygon cat nose. I almost named one of my cats Zygon due to his dark orange fur and similar nose shape, but my partner at the time vetoed that idea. I named him Rory instead.

After discovering both Harry and Sarah missing, the Doctor discovers Sarah in a decompression room for divers, the door slightly ajar. I was annoyed by the fact that the Doctor fell for such an obvious trap, but it also led to an intriguing sequence. Harry's nurse, Sister Lamont, closes the heavy door behind the Doctor and seals it shut for decompression. Running out of air, the Doctor hypnotises Sarah and enters into a trance to conserve air. I'm a big fan of any time the Doctor acts like a bit of a mystic. I'm a meditator myself, so it's cool to see the Doctor tap into the innate powers of thought control. One of the side effects of certain meditations is a slowing of breathing. It was nice that the scene doesn't overly explain this. It allows Tom the chance to really play up his weird alien charm as his eyes roll back and he howls toward the ceiling. Moments like these are why I love Tom Baker so much. He's not afraid of being utterly bizarre.

It's around this time we begin to learn a little about the Zygons. Having taken Harry to their ship, their leader, Broton, tells him a bit about their history. After they crash-landed centuries ago they awaited rescue while subsiding on the lactic fluid of their giant Nessie-like cyborg pet known as the Skarasen. That's correct, you did not misread that- they feed off of cyborg breast milk. Only with a show like Doctor Who can you get a sentence like that. You've kind of got to love that. After discovering their planet was destroyed by a cosmic event, they redirected their efforts toward getting their suckers on Earth. The Skarasen is to be the form of Earth's destructor, as no human weapon could hope to penetrate its augmented skin. In order to move their plan into motion, the Zygons gas the village, knocking the Brigadier and the UNIT soldiers out cold, thus allowing them to move in secret. Luckily for the Doctor and Sarah, Sergeant Benton was on the lookout for them where he saves them from death by asphyxiation.

After coming to, Huckle gives the Doctor a bio-emitter that attracts the Skarasen, which he found among the wreckage of the rig. Having bugged the inn, the Zygons reveal to Harry that they use the psychic imprint of humans in order to mimic their form. He sees the likes of Sister Lamont, Caber, and the Duke, stored in hibernation chambers, maintaining a link to their Zygon counterparts. They use Harry's form to slip back to the inn where they may fetch the emitter. But he is intercepted by Sarah who is concerned by his odd behaviour. She chases him into a barn where they scuffle in a manner that had me weirdly thinking of “Super Vixens.” Russ Meyer's Doctor Who is not something I ever expected to imagine. After a bit of trouble, Zygon Harry falls from a hayloft onto his own pitchfork, killing him instantly and revealing himself to Sarah as a Zygon. However, the crafty Zygons completely evaporate his remains to hide any evidence. I wondered why they didn't just do the same thing to the emitter in the first place, but I guess the answer is "it doesn't do that." Ok, sure, whatever. Now free from his psychic link with the Zygon, Harry is able to sneak about on their ship unabated.

After realising the Zygons were working from the shadows, the Doctor assumes they must have bugged the inn somewhere, so the lads go about searching the place from top to bottom. I love Angus' indignant response to the idea that his inn might have actual bugs. Angus Lennie's performance as Angus is a true highlight in the story. Afraid of the humans discovering that the goofy stag head must be the bug, the Zygons decide to send the Skarasen to rid themselves of these tiresome humans. After figuring out the secret of the emitter, the Doctor draws the Skarasen away from the village only to find it has fused itself to his hand. But Harry's meddling with the ship's systems allows the Doctor the ability to toss the emitter in the path of the Skarasen, destroying it in the process.

The Doctor and friends meet up and go to Forgill Castle to ask permission to drop depth charges into Loch Ness, the source of the signal. Their hope is to draw the Zygons out. Meanwhile, the Sister Lamont Zygon goes to fetch the stag head and fights with Angus in the process, killing him. It's a sad ending for one of the more likeable characters, but it's also kind of wonderful in its simplicity. I never quite understood why the Zygons needed to turn people into electric balls of something I might pull out of my hairbrush, as they did in "The Zygon Invasion." If anything, I much prefer the updates they received in Mark Morris' "The Bodysnatchers." Using venom from their suckers matches their physiology far better than superpowers. Morris really fleshed out the Zygons in a way I wish the show would. Seeing them in their initial incarnation using brute force seems far more practical to me. I think sometimes, more is less.

After discovering a way into the Zygon ship, they save Harry, but the Zygons flee with the Doctor still onboard. The Doctor gets a wonderful opportunity to match wits with Broton in a speech that includes my all-time favourite Fourth Doctor line- "You can't rule the world in hiding. You've got to come out on to the balcony sometimes and wave a tentacle." Evidently, that line was ad-libbed by Tom Baker, only further solidifying my love for the man. He makes a good point though, the Zygons have mostly been working from the shadows, in secret. The Zygons fly away, masking their trail from UNIT, still hiding. I must admit, it's not abundantly clear what their plan actually is. Sure they intend to use the Skarasen against earth's weapons, but there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of explanation as to how the oil rigs play into everything. There's mention of turning the Earth into something more habitable for Zygons, but I'm honestly not sure. I asked my boyfriend what his impression was, and he couldn't quite figure it out either.

There's a lot of what happens at this point in the story that seems like happenstance. The UNIT crew and Sarah end up going to London, which also happens to be where the Zygons have set their next target. They plan to swim the Skarasen up the Thames to wreak havoc on Westminster Abbey. In my review for "Castrovalva," I mentioned how the Fourth Doctor's super-heroics were oftentimes overstated, and what comes next is nothing shy of extraordinary. After rigging some ventricle type wiring from within his cell, the Doctor uses his own body to complete the circuit, allowing UNIT to see past the Zygon's scramblers and pinpoint their location. I loved that it was Benton that did this, by the way. This was twice in one story where Benton got to play hero. They pinpoint the ship's location to be a disused quarry, which made me ugly cackle. Classic Doctor Who used quarries so often to make up an alien planet, that the idea of them saying "This actually is a quarry," seemed almost cheeky. Broton, thinking the Doctor has died, uses his Duke disguise once more to go plant another emitter in Westminster. After releasing the human captives aboard the Zygon ship, the Doctor sounds an alarm and sets off the self destruct killing the remaining Zygons onboard. Yay, murder!

The UNIT soldiers dispatch Broton after a fumbling fight scene between him, Harry, and Sarah. All the while, the Skarasen is working its way up the Thames. It's a brilliant little bit of puppetry mixed with stop motion animation that I found completely charming. Even if it does look a bit naff, it's effective enough to be a suitable set piece to end such an episode. It's very much within the tone of the story to have the Loch Ness monster stomping through London. The Doctor manages to trace the emitter and toss it into the open jaws of the Skarasen. It nom nom noms the emitter into nothingness, causing it to lose all interest in the Abbey. The Doctor casually supposes that it will most likely return to its home of Loch Ness. I loved that the show kept the Loch Ness mystery intact. After all is said and done, "Nessie," may still be out there. It wouldn't have felt right killing off a beloved cryptid that brings so much wonder to many. Such feelings of wonder are what Doctor Who thrives upon. Sadly, while we got to keep Nessie, we say goodbye to some regulars. This marks the last regular appearance of both the Brigadier and Harry. With the Doctor no longer relegated to the Earth, UNIT begins to play a much smaller role in the story. And Harry, now back in London, hasn't a lot of need to continue travelling with the Doctor. It's an almost unceremonious end of an era for Doctor Who.

All in all, I really enjoyed this story. While I feel like it somewhat falls apart in the final act, the mystery and intrigue in the first few episodes really draw you in. Even my boyfriend, who is a casual fan, was drawn in by the atmosphere. You can see the beginnings of what was to become the more horror-themed stories such as "The Talons of Weng-Chiang," or "The Horror of Fang Rock." The Zygons are, for me at least, a classic baddie. They may not be as popular or iconic as the Daleks or Cybermen, but I think they work as their own kind of threat. Bringing them back has also proven to be successful. The Big Finish audio "The Zygon Who Fell to Earth," is well worth a listen. There's a lot of care put into this story that I think makes it stand out from others. Geoffrey Burgon's beautifully haunting music was a nice change of pace from Dudley Simpson's usual work. The track "A Landing in Scotland," is particularly memorable. The Zygon ship interior being organic was a unique touch that we rarely see in Doctor Who, save for maybe "The Claws of Axos," and the model work was also pretty damn charming. Having recently been to both Loch Ness and Ben Nevis, it really added something to the experience as well. There is a surprisingly low amount of episodes that take place in Scotland, which is unfortunate. If there's anything this trip has taught me, is that Scotland has a lot to offer. There are so many peaks and valleys covered with lush greenery and deep dark waters. It's easy to imagine that somewhere, something is lurking down below. Hats off to Robert Banks Stewart and Robert Holmes for seeing this potential, and turning out something magical.

#doctor who #fourth doctor #tom baker #sarah jane smith #elisabeth sladen #nicholas courtney #BRIGADIER LETHBRIDGE STEWART #zygons #harry sullivan #ian marter #Time and Time Again #tardis #bbc #loch ness #nessie #loch ness monster #skarasen #terror of the zygons

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