#or at least somewhere nearby in Scotland where she can keep an eye on them

[ask-wren-zhang]

For your ask post:

If they were ever granted one wish, what would they wish for?

Sighs in wistful lactose intolerance, "to eat a cheesecake." 😔

[ninacarstairss]

PARABATAI WEEK — day 6, underrated/fanon parabatai @carstairgray

i’m broken, torn apart, shattered and a couple more adjectives because of tftsa and it falls perfectly on the parabatai week so here are some simon x george parabatai headcanon

they place their parabatai runes on the back of their shoulders to symbolize they’ll always have each other’s back.

after the ceremony they go back to the new york institute and the rest of the gang surprises them with a party to celebrate.

simon places a stuffed rat on george’s bed before he shows him his new room, in memory of their days at the academy. the rat also has a tiny collar with “jon cartwright xxxv” engraved on it.

george jumps on the nearest chair when he sees it and his academy nightmares come back to him as simon is doubled over laughing near the door.

once the initial fear of having to deal with rats even at the institute passes, george keeps the stuffed animal and he adores it, it reminds him of their time at the academy, how he and simon met and became the brothers they are now.

they start having training sessions with jace and alec and they always end up on the ground with jace and alec triumphant over them but they put up quite a fight when fighting together.

they also like to train a lot with izzy and clary but that works way less for their skills because izzy and simon end up making out somewhere when one of them pins the other on the floor and clary and george just leave the room and go get a coffee before they can see something they won’t be able to forget. alec still talks about his nightmares regarding the time he walked in on simon and izzy in idris.

george gets to know the gang better and they all love him, but simon is especially happy when he notices him bonding a lot with izzy and clary and when he sees alec starting to trust him fully. jace ends up telling george so many stories about the first time he met simon and how he was when he first entered the shadow world, including the being-turned-into-a-rat part — george’s favorite ever since the academy — and that’s when simon knows jace really likes him too.

simon keeps schooling george in pop culture, movies, comics and the history of his band when he was a mundane and he drags george around the city in all the best places to find comics and the best film. soon enough george is making star wars references on a daily basis. though, he’ll never stop mocking simon about all the names his band went through, especially when he reveals the ones he though about during the academy that had to do with rats and other weird creatures, or grey eggs.

george often leaves to visit his family in scotland and he always takes simon with him. his parents love him and they always welcome him as a son. george couldn’t be happier and simon feels at home. he misses seeing his family every day, but he learned that for every loss there’s something to gain and this new part of a home is his own new piece of happiness.

once, though, the whole gang tagged along. george talked about the green fields and the sheep of scotland so much that they wanted to see for themselves. it’s a wild vacation and, between a hike and a tour of the nearby cities, jace gets not-so-gracefully swept off his feet by a running sheep and it’s a sight they’ll never forget or let him live down.

they have annual dinners with the group for the academy. no matter how far they’re all located from each other, they get a portal and meet in idris at least once a year and visit the muddy fields where scarsbury had them running and doing push-ups for as long as it took to kill them. beatriz and julie have also become a great pair of parabatai and jon manages not to be too obnoxious for one night a year.

simon also schooled george in the art of eating take out every day for basically all meals and told him to gently refuse every single thing that leaves the pan when it’s izzy cooking as soon as he stepped foot into the institute. surprisingly enough izzy and george find in each other some really horrible cooks who get along a lot and think they cook fantastic food while burning half the kitchen every single time they get close to a burner. simon’s desperate and he’s most likely going to loose his eyebrows in a kitchen fire soon enough. or worse, he might actually have to eat the stuff they cook one of these days. (credits to @icycoolslushie for the idea on this one)

when sizzy get married simon chooses george to be his suggenes and george cries his eyes out because his brother is so grown up and he’s getting married

once clary and simon convince the gang to celebrate halloween and they organize a halloween party at the institute for all their friends. george is the first to agree and he’s so excited. he and simon are planning matching costumes and decide to go as avatar characters — but with more covering clothes on, simon is stoic about this and george agrees it’s probably best not to risk finding themselves in the middle of a fight with a halloween night demon wearing only that little cloth around their hips — and they also kick it up a notch by dying their hair blue. except that they buy the wrong kind of dye and when the next day they wash their hair to get the colour off, it doesn’t go away. izzy and clary have to fix their mess with brown dye.

they are those friend that always do the craziest things you see on the internet and end up with the most aesthetic photos, like george in the middle of a parking lot with flashing lights surrounding him, sitting in a shopping cart and laughing, or simon naturally posing with his bow and arrow in front of a fantastic landscape and they become snapchat famous for these pics. izzy, alec and jace are pretty confused by this snapchat famous thing.

when simon moved in at the institute after the academy he installed a playstation in his room and most nights george is there with him, playing at 3am with snacks of all kinds surrounding them. izzy joins too sometimes but she’s not great at those games and has smashed a couple of joysticks after loosing multiple times, while clary kicks both their asses when she pops in for a game.

one night george entered simon’s room for a 3am game and instead found him with izzy, both of them half naked and in the middle of some sort of role play where izzy was calling simon “lord montgomery”. he never lets simon live that down and brings the name up in the most inappropriate moments — such as clave meetings — making simon choke on air every time. after that, though, george is very careful to knock.

simon’s pansexual and he’s a little afraid to come out to george at first, but he soon realizes he knows george and he wouldn’t turn his back on him, he wouldn’t leave. so when he does tell him he’s shaking slightly but he’s also happy and george clearly is too, he scoops simon into a tight hug and tells him he’s incredibly proud of him and reassures him he loves him no matter what, they’re brothers no matter what.

they’re not big on celebrations of birthdays or mundane holidays in general, but they do like to keep the traditions alive. both of them have been raised with no knowledge of the shadow world and they were observant of some religious and mundane holidays that shadowhunter don’t celebrate. so they like getting christmas gifts for everyone or organize parties for new year’s. they celebrate hanukah too and share other little traditions from their childhoods, like george’s family tradition of sheep’s wool-covered sweets and chocolates to find instead of eggs for easter or simon’s family tradition of taking a two day trip around spring to see the changing season and enjoy some free time, even if the trip is to the nearest town. they’re small traditions sometimes, but they like to keep the memories alive.

george becomes really good with max after that first encounter and the offer of raising him in his and simon’s drawer. he and simon often volunteer to babysit him, and rafe too afterwards, and they obviously use as bedtime stories the plot of star wars or comics, which the kids absolutely love.

sometimes when he’s stressed or tired george goes full on scottish and also switches to gaelic at times and simon is just there looking at him, torn between wanting to giggle at his usually contained behavior now unchecked and wanting to hug him and confort him. he always goes with the second, but he does love to hear george speak gaelic.

after the time at the academy when george was leading the mission to go after the faerie fruit vendors where simon got sucked into faerie he’s incredibly protective of simon in battle — or just all the time, actually. he’s thrown himself in front of simon more times than simon can count and he loves this kind of care, because of course he does the same whenever george is in danger, but it also makes him sad a lot because he knows george still feels guilty about that mission, even if nothing bad really happened, and he would do anything to make sure nothing similar ever happened again.

tag list @cordaisya @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @surrounded-by-exquisite-clutter @stxr-thxif @icycoolslushie @writeforjordelia @gabtapia @fair-childd @clarys-heosphoros @shadowhuntingdemigod (let me know if you want to be added or removed)

[robin-the-enby]

Confusing feelings

Pairing: Abe Sapien x OC

Summary: Abe meets a creature he's only ever read about.

Warnings: Probably very long with grammar mistakes (English is not my first language), a little bit of violence

A/N: I've been thinking about making this into a full book on my Wattpad account. I already have one English book there, so if you're a Moomins fan, go check it out, the name is TheDarkSide019 .

* * * * *

Fridays never really meant anything at BPRD, apart from it being the most chaotic day of the week. I mean, it's not like they didn't have to work at weekends. They did. And that sucked, as Liz said many times.

The last few weeks were pretty calm, nothing big was happening and there wasn't any danger that could wipe out humanity.

That meant Abe, Liz and Hellboy could have more free time.

Liz finally accepted herself as she is and her and Red's relationship has been just great. They were spending most of their free time with the other, doing all sorts of things and going on all sorts of little adventures at BPRD.

Abe didn't have anyone he would be this close with and he definitely didn't want to be a third wheel, even though he thought that if he asked to, Hellboy and Liz would let him hang out with them. Of course, there were some agents that came to the library, which used to be dr. Broom's office, to ask him all kinds of questions, some more interesting than others, but as the kind-hearted soul he was, he answered them all with patience. If he could help, why wouldn't he do so?

But when the agents left, he was all alone once again. Alone. That word tasted bitter on his tongue. However, this alone felt different than how he ever felt before. He was so lonely it was distracting. Soon he couldn't even read books with how distracted he was. So his days were spent in his tank, just quietly thinking about what was it that he lacked.

However he didn't lack anything, it was his soul that was weeping. Every time Abe saw Hellboy with Liz, his soul cried out a little. He was happy for them, he really was, but there was something about the sight that made him feel a wide range of emotions at once. He was confused.

If you're confused, you can just ask someone, he told himself. So he went to the first person he thought could help him understand his feelings a bit more. Liz.

"You're jealous Abe." was the answer he got. It was simple, but genuine and said with care. She wasn't mad in any way, but she didn't see a reason to beat around the bush.

But that's ridicoulus. Abe thought. "What do you mean jealous? I'm not jealous, in fact I am very happy for you two." Liz laughed at his confusion. "You're not jealous of me or Red, Abe. You're jealous of what we have. Maybe you don't realize it, but inside, you want it too. A relationship, I mean." He didn't look much wiser than before and she shook her head a little "Look. I'm not saying I'm right, but from what you've just told me it looks like it. It's normal, everybody sometimes feels like this when they've been single for a long time. Just think about it and if anything, you can talk to me." she reassured him. He nodded and slowly stood up. He only managed to mumble out a 'bye' before slipping through the door. He didn't even notice Hellboy who was coming to see Liz in her room. Red said hi, but he didn't recieve an answer, so deep in thought Abe was. Red turned his head to look at him, then shrugged and entered the room of his beloved girlfriend.

"What's up with Abe?" he then asked Liz and pointed at the door with his thumb like the said man was just behind it. "He's lonely." Liz explained. "What do you mean? He's always been kinda lonely." Red didn't understand. Sometimes Abe would rant to him how he felt a little lonely sometimes, like there was no one that could fully understand him. But he almost immediately after said that he didn't mind and was grateful for everything and everyone he had. "Yeah, but he's that kind of lonely that you were when I left." she said, trying to light up the mood a little. Although, they both knew it was true. "Poor man." Red shook his head and sighed.

Abe immediately went into his tank after arriving in the library. How could one be jealous of a non-materialistic thing? That's ridicoulus. Although, he had to admit, it would be nice to have someone you can hold, trust and rely on, to share all the nice and bad things with and who would hold, trust and rely on him and want to share all those things with him too. Oh, that's how.

The next day his mind was still overloaded with thoughts. In the morning Red stopped by and asked how he was doing and if he wanted to hang out with him and Liz later. Abe politely declined, saying he needs to sort some things out. In my head. he added, but not out loud.

Unknown to him or the other two, who were a little worried about him, things were going to get exciting in just a moment.

Manning recieved a newspaper with a very strange title right on homepage. He was told by the agent who brought the thing, that the local police doesn't know what to do anymore. It was time to call the special agents.

Abe was forcefully pulled out from his thoughts by the library door opening. In came Manning with a few other agents, Liz and Hellboy trailling behind them. When Abe looked at their joined hands, his soul cried out yet again, but now he knew why. It was refreshing and frustrating at the same time, which left him as he was the days prior. Confused.

"What's so important that you have to pull us away from our day off?" Red asked and Manning decided to ignore him, because getting mad would not get him anywhere. "We've recieved an anonymus tip about paranormal activity going on in Scotland. Look at this." he handed Hellboy the newspaper. Red took it from him and looked at the homepage. There, in bold, capital letters was a title: TWO MEN DEAD AT A LOCAL LAKE. ONLY REMAINS FOUND ARE HEARTS AND LIVERS. "That's nice." Red commented. Then he came over to Abe's tank, where Abe was practically glued to the front glass wall, to show it to him. He watched as Abe's eyes scanned the title "What do you think it is pal?"

Abe thought for a while, blinking owlishly once or thrice. Just as they thought he maybe wasn't paying attention, Abe turned to look at them "I don't know. There are lots and lots of water creatures, but I can't recall a single one that doesn't eat a part of their victim."

His interest has been piqued. "A new creature perhaps?" Liz piped up, her gate set on the paper laying now on one of the tables. Manning sighed an annoyed sigh "Great." "Or a one we don't have much information about." Abe said. "Either way, I want you to catch it and bring it back for studying. The details will be given to you later today." "So wait, we're actually going to Scotland?" Liz asked excitedly. "You bet'cha babe." Hellboy smirked and wrapped one arm around her waist.

Abe was excited. Finally something distracted him from his thoughts. Try as he might, he couldn't figure out what creature could've caused this. He tried to narrow it to water beasts from The brittish islands, but that didn't really help, there were still too many options and too little information.

Another thing he didn't really like was how Manning said studying. Oh he was going to keep an eye on that. There will be no harmful experiments on his watch. No cutting, probing, chemical testing, nothing. That just wasn't right and even if he believed Manning was a good man, he knew how he treated those of different species.

They gave the trio all known information. The lake was near a small town that was build for people who worked in a nearby ink factory. It was that type of town where everyone knew each other.

They all left on Sunday evening and by Monday morning they were already there. It was necessary, all citizens will be at work or at school so there will be a near zero percent chance of someone seeing the trio.

The sky was grey as the water that reflected it, gentle breeze making small waves on the water surface. The lake was surrounded by reeds that swayed ever so slightly and rustled quietly. There were a few spots where the reeds had been cut, probably for people who wanted to fish. Strange thing was that there weren't any animals, usually this place would be full of water birds and insects, but here everything seemed dead. It was a little depressing.

Hushed voices of Liz and Hellboy could be heard with the rustling. Liz liked the idea of getting out of BPRD from the beggining and when they arrived, she fell in love with the place. Abe had to admit, the scenery all around them was beautiful. But he could feel that something wasn't right here.

A young agent called out to them to get their attention. He beckoned them over to where he was standing. They came to one of the fishing spots where remains of footsteps were highlighted by the police. "You got anything for us?" Hellboy asked. The agent nervously gulped "Well, you'll need to know what happened, before you start investigating." he said with a shaky voice. "And you know that?" asked Liz. The agent opened the casefile, which wasn't really thick "Well, two victims went to an inn after work. They were fairly tipsy, but didn't come in a vehicle, so the innkeaper let them go. And now this is where it gets interesting. The footsteps lead straight into the water, like they did it from their own will. Bodies were never found, the only remains are their hearts and livers which were thrown in the reeds over there." he pointed to the place where they had been found.

It wasn't much, but at least it was something new. "Thank you for your help." Abe thanked the young man. He then scurried off somewhere without saying anything.

There wasn't really anything to do now, Abe still didn't have enough information to figure out what exactly they were dealing with here. They decided it would be best to look around and hopefully find something new.

"Do we know where this thing could be?" Liz asked. "Well, because the victims were lured into the lake, I think it's safe to assume it lives there." Abe explained, even though he thought she could have figured that out on her own. "Well, if we won't find anything usefull, you're going to have to dive down there." Hellboy said and gestured to the lake with his head. Abe sighed "I know." Although he was excited, they still didn't know anything and he wouldn't like to go there unprepared.

As they were walking, Abe pointed out the lack of animals at this place. "Well, they could be just scared from all the people suddenly showing up." Liz shrugged.

Soon they were on the opposite side of the lake and nothing strange had happened so far. They could see meadows upon meadows everywhere and even those looked empty. There wasn't anything alive, only a horse on one of the meadows. Wait, a horse??

Liz softly gasped "Look, a horse!" and immediately started to go towards it. Red and Abe looked at each other uncertainly, not knowing if it was safe, but they trailed behind her nonetheless. What could a horse possibly do?

The closer they got to it, the worse feeling settled in Abe's gut. Liz was already standing next to it, petting it softly.

It was beautiful. But something felt off. It's fur was white like fresh snow and clean, even though it was standing on a meadow with no fence around it. How was it so clean when it probably didn't belong to anyone? If Abe could frown, he would. The horse was peacfully munching on the grass, until Liz touched it. It lifted it's head up, showing them the deepest dark blue eyes that they've ever seen. They looked almost...hypnotizing.

"Do you think it'd let me ride it?" Liz wondered. She was looking into the horses eyes and her voice sounded quiet and soft, like she was daydreaming. Abe found it strange for the girl to be so enamoured by a simple horse, but it seemed he was the only one.

Hellboy picked up his girlfriend and set her gently on the horses back. She sat there for a while, before trying to run her hands through its mane.

It was as white as the rest of its body, without any knots. "Somebody has gone for a swim, eh?" Liz cooed at the animal. And aparently wet too.

Abe stared at the horse, deep in thought. It didn't belong to anybody, it was beautiful and enchanting. It just encouraged you to ride it. Abe looked at its mane, small droplets still dripping down. If it went into the lake, it must have been before we got here. Wouldn't it be dry now?

It was just encouraging you to ride it. Encouraging....encouraging...luring...

And then it clicked.

"Liz, you need to get down. Now." Abe said, urgency evident in his voice. Hellboy registered it before Liz, who seemed in some sort of dreamy trance, sensing the tone he immediately felt unnerved and went to retrieve his girl.

"Give me your hand babe." he said gently. Liz blinked, suddenly confused. It took her a few seconds to process what did he want her to do, but when she was going to lift her hand, she realized she was stuck.

"Red." she said, her voice quiet "I can't take my hads off it." Hellboy looked confused "What do you mean you can't-"

It happened so suddenly. By now everyone figured that the cteature wasn't a regular horse and could in fact understand everything that had been said. Like a lightning from a clear sky it took off in a fascinating speed. Hellboy cried out his loves name while Abe's breath has been stolen. He finally understood what was going on and Liz was in deep trouble.

At this point both of them were running after the two. But they could never match the speed of the beast. Liz knew she had to do something when she saw where the creature was headed. She tried to concentrate on increasing the heat inside of her, until she burst into blue flames.

The creature let out a pained screech full of agony and fear and if it wasn't going in an unhuman speed before, it sure was now. Abe would later tell that it sounded nothing like a sound horses make. It resembled a human scream, but then times more terrifying.

All the agents looked from their work when they heard the commotion. And all of them jumped to their feet when a horse, that was on fire, ran past and straight into the water.

Liz could feel the water detaching her body from the beast. Even though she couldn't feel it anywhere around her, she still kept herself hot enough to boil it slightly.

Then she felt something grab her arm and pull her upwards. Thinking it was the beast she thrashed as much as she could, but when they broke to the surface and she could hear her boyfriend's shouts to try and calm her down, she stilled almost immediately.

Abe was surprised to see them both covered in some sort of black goo when they got out of the water. He pointed it out and told them it would be best to clean up. They didn't have anything against it and left him alone.

The next twenty minutes were chaotic. Agents ran all around the place, some tending to Liz, some questioning Abe and Red, some taking samples from the weird water and some looking for the Kelpie.

"A Kelpie? What's that?" Hellboy asked. "Well, it is a water creature living mostly in Scotland and Ireland. Because it's so far away from BPRD, we don't know much about it. That's why I couldn't figure it out for so long. However, what we do know is that in water it takes shape of a horse with a finn and on land of a beautiful horse or human." Hellboy grumbled "Well, I'm gonna kill it after they're done getting the information." if it was him it would go after, he wouldn't be surprised. But it dared lay a hoove on his Liz and that's a sin he can't forgive.

About thirty minutes later the trio joined the agents in looking for the Kelpie. They had to split up, which left Abe alone. Not that it was dangerous anymore, the Kelpie would be hurt. Abe was afraid it would die before he'd get his information and he scolded himself for feeling this way.

A few meters from him the reeds rustled and something dragging on the ground could be heard. That must be it. Abe thought. He stealthily crept to the spot and peeked between the reeds. And there it was.

It was a woman. She layed on her side, her back facing Abe. She was naked and covered in the substance from the water. Her back was badly burnt and she sounded exhausted, only shallow breaths and quiet noises of pain leaving her mouth.

He slowly came out of his hiding spot as to not scare her too much, but she was too weak to move. He came around her and saw her face. Without all the goo she'd be very beautiful. He didn't know if it'd be apropriate to calm her, so he just looked at her reasuringly, at least he tried to do so, and called to the nearby agents.

He felt strangely calm knowing the Kelpie was safe with the agents. He once again, couldn't understand his feelings. At least he could go home now.

* * * * *

Please leave a like and/or a comment if you want part two ;)

[ahtohallan-calling]

chapter 1 of promises to keep is here!

[kristanna / 18th c scotland au / love and angst and kiltstoff in equal measure / rated t / 2k words this chapter]

masterpost

“Are you betrothed to someone?”

Anna laughed. “Me? No, no one’s interested in scrawny little girls with too many freckles. I can’t even curtsy right.”

“I’ll be betrothed to you, then.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

chapter 1: a promise made

“What have we here, then?”

Anna thought the answer to that was pretty obvious. It was a little boy with hair the color of new hay and a face spattered with grime. He made no sound, didn’t even look up at her father’s question.

“What’s your name laddie?” Da asked patiently, but still no reply came.

The woman standing behind him cleared her throat. “We don’t know if it’s his hearin’ or–”

A burly man nearby clapped hard, and the little boy jumped. Anna did, too, but hopefully nobody noticed.

“Thank you, Thomas,” her father said drily. “Not that, then. Is it his tongue?”

“We heard him mutterin’ in his sleep when we found him by the shore. Not any language I’ve ever heard.”

“No one else with him?”

“Not a soul. Just…wreckage.”

Da nodded. “I’ll not leave a child to suffer in my lands long as there’s life and breath in me. Can you care for him if I were to send you gold enough for his keeping?”    

“Aye, my lord, gladly.”

“He’s yours, then,” he proclaimed. “Give him a good supper and a wash and bring him back to see if he’ll get on with the other children.”

Anna desperately wanted to follow along with the boy and the woman, wanted to know more about this accidental changeling, but there were more men and women waiting yet for an audience with her father, and he’d asked her and her sister both to stand and watch how the business of clan governance was handled. It was horrendously boring, but her sister and mother both had been acting like perfect ladies all the while, and she was doing her utmost to match them. It wasn’t easy, though, not when her stockings itched worse than grass did when she snuck out and rolled in it instead of going to lessons.

Two dreadful hours later she was free and burst out of the great hall and into the yard, nearly bowling over the little boy from that morning. “What are you doing just standing in the middle of the way like that?” she demanded hotly, but he gave no response, not even a shake of the head, and she paused and looked him over, taking the measure of him. “Can you really not talk, then?”

He only looked at her with those sad, dark eyes. She frowned. “Well? Do you understand me, boy?”

If it were her alone in a new place with no mam, she realized suddenly, she’d not want to talk much either. And if it were very new–

“I’m sorry,” she said, “shouldn’t have talked so hard to you. I suppose you’d understand I was being cross with you even if you don’t know the words.”

His brow furrowed, as if he really were trying to understand, and an idea came to her. “Wait,” she instructed, leaping to her feet and holding a hand towards him, palm up.

He nodded; that at least was universal. She ran off, and a few moments later she was back, clutching a bit of charcoal and a scrap of parchment. The boy watched, head tilted in curiosity, as she scratched out the four letters of her name.

She looked up, ready to explain, but before she even opened her mouth he smiled and pointed at her. “Anna,” he said, rounding the first A in a way she’d never heard before.

“Aye, that’s me. Anna.”

The boy smiled and laid a hand over his heart. “Kristoff.”

—

The sun was warm on her cheeks as she flopped ungracefully onto her back in the middle of a patch of heather. It was the first true day of spring, and the mists had at last retreated back up the sweeping slopes of the hills to reveal the new life that had been waiting to emerge from beneath the crusts of snows the whole winter long. The air itself was still crisp and cool, but neither of them cared, not when there were blankets to wrap over their shoulders and good company to be had.

“Sorry I’m late meeting you out here,” Anna said, not bothering to look at him.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind,” Kristoff replied, settling his arms behind his head as he laid back to gaze up at the trails the clouds were stretching across the watery blue sky.

He’d improved in great leaps and bounds over the last year and a half, and she tried not to pride herself too much on that fact or else it’d be a sin and the elders would have her head, which was even scarier than the wrath of God himself. But it was hard not to, not when he could read and write now nearly as well as she could, though he still rarely spoke aloud to anyone except for her. She tried not to feel too proud of that, either.

“It’s just there was a whole ceremony for my sister and some boy from France so they could get betrothed. He’s already going on seventeen, can you believe it? Don’t know why he’d come all this way for my sister. She doesn’t even smile half the time, not even at me.”

“Betrothed?” Kristoff asked, his brows pinching together. “I don’t know that word.”

How strange it was she had forgotten to teach it to him when it was the most important word in her world these days. “I wish I didn’t,” she muttered, rolling onto her stomach so she could look at him. “It means you’ll marry them. Like you’re promised to them.”

“Oh. I understand promises.”

That he did; she’d made him swear about a million of them already, promises to meet her somewhere or not share her secrets or do a favor for her. And he kept every last one of them. “Yeah. So you promise when you’re grown up that you’ll get married.”

“How can you promise to love someone if you don’t know them?”

She sighed. “It’s not like that. Love doesn’t matter when it’s for the good of the clan.”

“Are you betrothed to someone?”

Anna laughed. “Me? No, no one’s interested in scrawny little girls with too many freckles. I can’t even curtsy right.”

“I’ll be betrothed to you, then.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” She bit her lip. “I don’t know.”

“Well, when we’re grown up, if we’re still friends, I promise to marry you.”

He said it so sincerely, his eyes so big and solemn she couldn’t help but smile. “Alright, then. I promise, too.”

—

“Why, you’ve gone and grown half a mile and left me behind!” she cried, settling her hands on her hips.

He laughed, and that was different, too, no longer the giggle of a boy but the deep, rumbling chuckle of a man. “You’ve changed, too. Even more freckles.”

His face reddened when his voice cracked on the last word, but she only grinned; there he was, then, still the boy she’d always known, even if now she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. “I go away for a whole year and come back to mockery?”

“Feistypants.”

“Brute.”

“Wee little thing.”

“Wild big thing!”

They were both nearly doubled over with laughter. “I missed you, though,” Anna managed to gasp out. “The letters weren’t the same.”

He grew quieter then. “I missed you, too.”

“I won’t have to go away again, though, now that they’ve finished me into a proper lady. Until I’m married, at least.”

His eyes met hers, dark and searching, and she felt a sudden thrumming in her heart, like the wings of a hummingbird barely beginning to take flight. “Are you betrothed to someone else now, then?”

She shook her head, unable to do anything more when he was looking at her like that. Someone else. She had expected him to forget almost immediately; she should have known better. Kristoff didn’t forget things he said in sincerity, which in his case was everything.

He nodded, looking almost relieved. “Good. We’re almost grown up now, aren’t we? I’m sixteen next month.”

“Aye, and I turned thirteen the last one.”

“And we’re still friends, aren’t we?”

“Well, I’d certainly hope so.”

“Then it’s still settled. Between us, I mean.”

Anna smiled and set a hand on his arm, and he blushed again. So did she; that had changed, too. She squeezed and felt him flex beneath her touch, all newly-won hard muscle thanks to the apprenticeship he’d taken with the blacksmith in her absence. “I suppose it is.”

—

“I suppose we’re both orphans now,” she said softly, and he reached over to set his hand atop hers where it rested on the hard oak of the pew. “How have you managed it all this time, all this—this feeling so alone?”

“You’re not alone, Anna,” he whispered back as the minister made his way to the front. “You’ve got your uncle still, and your sister, and—and you’ve got me.”

Her eyes were damp when she met his gaze, but there was still a spark in their blue depths, the one that always seemed to ignite something in him, too. “Is that one of your promises again?”

“Aye, it is. You’ll always have me.”

She looked like she wanted to say more, but then the minister cleared his throat and the service began. Instead she flipped her hand beneath his, slipping her little white fingers between his rough, work-hardened ones, and held on tight.

—

“Feels like you haven’t asked me to meet you out here for half an age,” Kristoff said, already sprawling out with ease, all long, solid limbs and teasing brown eyes. “Thought maybe you were starting to forget me.”

Anna didn’t laugh. Instead she sat down and tucked her knees up to her chest, her long skirts coming up just enough to reveal a slice of skin above her boots. How does she have freckles even there? he found himself wondering, unable to tear his gaze away though the tips of his ears were burning.

“I’m eighteen next week,” she said with a frown. “And my uncle’s got it in his head that I’m halfway to being an old maid already.”

“What does that make me, then? A walking corpse?” he asked, trying to tease, but she didn’t rise to the bait.

“He says with my sister being a widow and shutting herself in these past years, and him only having sons, I’m the last hope if we’re to survive what’s coming next. Said we needed allies, and I said ‘what for’, and all he did was shake his head and try to be mysterious. It’s positively ridiculous, such a self-important man getting to lead us all just because he’s got a cock swinging beneath his skirts and I’ve only got—”

“Anna!” he cried, horrified. “Where’d you learn such language?”

Secretly, though, he was amused, and she knew it, too, finally giving him that familiar sunny smile.

“Never you mind about that. The point is he’s going on about me getting married off to some son of a MacDonald or a Campbell if they’ll have me, and I told him—I told him…”

She trailed off, looking away from him again. His heart started to pound, like it had when he had stood with her at the edge of the cliffs that overlooked the seas and she’d whispered, “Doesn’t it make you want to jump? Just to see how it feels?”

“I’m not as good as you,” she said softly, “at keeping promises. But I do try, Kristoff, I do. And I’d like to keep this one if you’ll have me.”

“Which one?” he asked, his voice ragged as he leaned towards her. They hadn’t spoken of it in years, but he’d always wondered, always hoped—

“Well, what I just said,” she said, looking up at him again with a touch of impatience. “That we’re grown now, so you’ll have me, and I’ll have you, and—”

He’d been waiting long enough. He leaned forward then and kissed her, gently at first and then harder when she kissed him back, tangling her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. It felt like a promise all over again, the way her lips pressed against his, like a seal that would keep them bound together for the rest of their days.

When at last they pulled away, her cheeks were rosy, and she was breathing hard, and both of them were grinning like the reckless fools they were. “Aye, Anna,” he said, and her smile grew improbably wider. “I’ll have you.”

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Writing has been slow going, but I have something. I edited it, so expect mistakes. Take this as a balm if you didn’t get tickets or a celebration if you did!

This one is canon, assume the crossover with APOL didn’t happen. This went somewhere I didn’t expect, but the muse does what it wants, like Harry.

Tryst- Chapter 9-Cancun

The air felt close and thick, like the vapor issued from a screaming kettle, and Helene was glad, not just because her skin laid tight across her bones from the flight, but also because she knew she'd had sweat on her hairline and her palms for much longer than the taxi ride over. Probably from when she got the call from Harry.

It had been ages since they had each other. Which was good? Helene kept reminding herself. It supported her self imposed finished to their trust. This trip was nerve racking because it was for weeks. She'd have to keep her feelings locked up and her pants buttoned for longer than long. It would be hard. They'd not been together for this amount of days, in over a year. They had them a long hot weekend thanks to Gucci, but really, since tour ended, they ended, it's been little sips of his image through a tiny straw. She can't take him up the thin vein, he's too much. And when she had buried herself in his image on drives and on computers to take giant gulps, it felt desperate, so she had stopped. She had no reason to be looking at those, there were new images to edit. New jobs she had taken on, and new clientS to focus on, Better clients. She had Harry to tank for her higher profile.

Her focus, through her lens, was on point. It was her mental focus that wandered. To the drives she had buried with memories.

She did not look at those.

Well, that one night, after the very unsatisfying date with the gentlemen who absolutely did not look like Harry. Especially after he took his clothes off. She looked then.

Even that moment of weakness seemed forever ago. Time past notwithstanding, she would be spending weeks with him. A week in Mexico and one in Scotland. Helene was nervous about her feelings but her stomach was in knots over Harry's. Would he mirror the weather in each place with his ever changing moods and signals? A sultry embrace in one before a bracing chill closer to his own home?

Doubtful, he was a welcoming happy soul. He'd be happy to see them all. He loved his team, his employees.

She was, above all, his employee, though he blurred the lines so effectively with all of them, even the ones he hadn't fucked to within an inch of sanity, that she also was a friend, at the least. They were all the best of friends, separated by distance, and time, and Worse full schedules. His especially.

She was pretty sure she was the only one on the fucking list. Though she wondered about Mitch, always. But he was happily ensconced with sarah, and Helene was trying to let go of jealousy in her life. So she only used Mitch and Harry as fodder. To get her there, What ever it takes.

But now she was here. In this resort place. It was a curious choice for Harry, very touristy so far.

Nonetheless, She loved the colors, the water was teal out of the rolled down window of the hire car that had been waiting for her. She hoped there would be time for sea bathing and a margarita on the beach. He was usually good about building in down time for the crew. She could see herself relaxing, far away from him. Right under a palm tree. Those were a gray brown at the base and green green at the tops. They'd provide just enough shade. She still tanned, though she knew she outheten not to. Liked the bronze on her skin against the bright of her hair. She'd give it up at 40, she promised herself.

But Harry had traced the lines up the middle of her ass cheek with his tongue once. So, she wouldn't stop. Not yet. Not when that tongue was nearby.

                                    🌴 🌴 🌴

Helene stepped out of the cab and saluted the driver. It was on H's tab, so there would be no awkward pause to pay the cabbie. All expenses paid, that was a perk, she should embrace it. It smarted, like a poorly placed slap on the ass.

She decided to pretend she was a kept woman rather than an employee. That felt more fun, pretending she was here on a tropical rendezvous, not a business trip with a lovely boss.

Just slight shades of meaning, they were the same thing. She knew it. And a kept woman would probably not go so long without seeing her patron.

Harry was certainly her patron. She'd done well before him, but her career has exploded with the name association.

Her life had exploded. Her heart. She was still stitching it back together. This trip was going to test its elasticity.

She had moved on, dammit. And she was sure that Harry had too, in his way. After him and Camille and well, he was so sad when she really moved on. He must have thought after tour...... but good ones don't wait.

What did that say about her?

The lobby was aggressively air conditioned. Helene was pulling her sweater out and trying to get her arm in when suddenly, the fabric was pulled away and untangled for her to slip over her shoulders.

She could smell him over her shoulder, long before she saw his face. Her body always recognized him long before she lay eyes. Her skin hummed just under its petite surface, she felt it most in the bends of her elbows, knees, where her thighs became her hips. Where the blood rushed and you could track it. Her hairline always felt tighter too, Helene found her self tidying her hair when he was close enough to smell. And her breath, it came short, even before she smelt him.

And that's when it hadn't been ages, or a time more extended than she liked, lengthened by longing.

Helene drew in a breath and closed her lids. Time for her professional face. She'd need to gauge him today. What will she be working with these next few weeks? The flirt, the obsessed artist, boss man, lover.

"Hi Helene!" He's got his arms wide. Well, friend to start. Torture.

Jesus, did he always have to look like that? It's totally unfair to other humans on the planet, herself especially included. And any man after him. She'd learned that the hard way.

Helene felt her body overruling her mind and the smell, not any different than the one he'd always had in rotation, despite their last working endeavor, envelops her with his arms. It's like the smell of her apartment on her first bath back, redolent of home.

He smelt the same, but felt different. Harder, the notch where her nose always ended up isn't as cuddly as normal, the push of his skin back onto her more robust, less a bounce. She catalogued the physical changes when she looked up from her place, his height ordering a step back. He's in a tank and shorts with a button up, wildly patterned shirt over it.  Same clothes, new body.

Ah, that's why he felt different. He looked different. She remembered when she realized his ass was growing on tour, probably in Spain when his bespoke pants split. The pants had not changed dimension, he had. Everyone was laughing about it, but Harry was smug. "That's work" and he's looked over his shoulder and nodded his chin at his own growing booty. She'd had a feel or two, it was all muscle. She started tracking progress, each time they fell into bed at irregular intervals.

She thought she was discreet, until the time he asked, "how's it growing?" And bounced his eyebrows like a naughty school boy. She bet he was one, he put it on so easily. Ass.

Now he'd apparently turned his attention to his chest. His torso, if the lines under his a shirt were anything to go by, had expanded and become more michealangelo's David to raphael's.

This week was either going to be paradise or hades. Both likely.

"Hey Tiny!" He didn't call her that. Not when they were alone. It made her feel decidedly like a kid sister, despite his being her junior.

Purgatory?

"Hey boss." She looked up and willed the smile to reach her eyes.

"Heeeeey!" He stuck out his still entirely too suckable bottom lip. "Since when do you call me boss?"

Since before she fucked him and again in her head when she decided to stop. Instead she just shrugged.

"Don't like it." He looked around quickly, and leaned in and whispered. "You've seen me naked."

Oh! The flirt was back. "Everyone's seen you naked." She giggled and held in her snort at her own weakness.

"Well, yeah, and that number is about to grow." She wasn't sure what that meant and didn't have time to contemplate it. He leaned in close again. And they were all alone in the hotel lobby full of green plants and big earred ferns. "But I've seen you naked too, and I know how you taste." He let his voice drop and stood up with his smug face. His dimple pressed in when he got a look at her face.

She must have looked suitably flushed to entertain him.

"Anyway," he continued like her pupils weren't blown and she didn't need new lingerie. "I think everybody is going to lunch, Jeffrey's the only one not here yet. We were just waiting on you! Tequila?"

He was really not playing fair. This was over, she was over him. She had the relationship, rebound, under her belt to prove it. He was a menace. But she was French, still, always, so she schooled her face and feigned amused disinterest, and nodded.

"I'll need to freshen up, long flight. I can meet everybody."

"We'll wait."

"Oh no, I can't allow that."

"Then I'll wait." She was already moving to the desk, Harry by her side moved along check in.

He also rode the elevator up with her, and she was fully amused when he'd insisted on carrying her bags. She knew she liked Anne.

Helene gave him a stare when he followed her in the room and through the suite to drop her bags in the bed chamber.  And then he made himself comfortable.

Helene canted her head at him and rose her brow.

"What?"

"Do you not have a luncheon to host?"

"Well, I'm the boss, as you said, and I want you there. I'm afraid if I leave you will pass out, I'd like your company, and I'll miss looking at you."

"I need a shower Harry." She tried to excuse him without having to kick him out.

"So shower." He smiled. Waved his hand in front of his nose. "Please! And I'll just hang here and check email and try not to think of you naked so I won't barge in there and delay us."

He was too much. Very presumptuous. Indelibly sexy. The little tease. "Ya know, for the poster boy of nice, you are rude." She came to stand by him and find something fresh to wear and her toilette bag. Her hip was really close to him, and he shifted so his forearm pressed to her waist. It was not a big movement, but hard to miss the heat coming off his arm into her body. The air conditioning in her room was lackluster compared to the lobby.

She looked at him and screwed her finger to her temple before she headed for the shower, ignored his flirt. He chuckled, but stopped her intently. Harry placed his hands on hers, where they were full of clothes.

"I'm happy to see you. I've missed your tiny face." He calf blinked. Then grinned. "Now hurry up! I'm hungry."

She was starved, had just been reminded of all the meals she'd been missing. Her facade stayed false though, "then go, eat." She laughed and went to shower.

Harry had said he was going to think of her naked, and restrain himself, but him being in her room was just the same. The shower steamed up the mirrors, or maybe she was doing that job. She wasn't sure she had time for what she needed, to wash and relieve. Helene settled for a PTA and moved her hand between her legs. Used the quickest most efficient motions she knew, that 1-2-3 punch combo to orgasm, took one hand away to bite her thumb, at herself apparently, to staunch her moan.

He couldn't know.

She couldn't be sure he wouldn't barge in, she wouldn't receive him, or that she wouldn't be entirely embarrassed and have to act haughty before faking the flu and hiding out in her room, or hopping a flight back to Paris.

Were they never going to recover from this insincere intimacy? His mixed signals were crazy, made her crazy.

Maybe the intimacy wasn't insincere, just impermanent or situational?

Her shower routine had seen such little change in so long she completed her washing up with little thought. Her distraction was certainly situational, if she was anywhere near harry styles it seemed.

Her hair combed through easily, and she pulled on the panties and the light dress she'd planned for, with her sandals. She was a light packer from being on the road for years. Nearly everything was interchangeable and coordinated. She could just as easily wear her trainers, but she went with the sandals because of her pedicure. Nails, we always have nails, she had to keep up with the Styles, so she'd booked herself into the spa the day before the trips, despite the tight tight schedule.

She slipped the panties over her thighs and was glad she'd shaved her inner thigh creases the day before when she fixed the elastic. The lingerie was a good choice, there was a definite breeze in Cancun, she didn't want everyone to catch sight of her rounded ass, maybe just her boss.

She almost slipped them off.

Instead, she opened the door and he was reclined on the bed.

"You are so slow."

Helene didn't deign that with an audible response, just lowered her brow and screwed up her lips at him and gathered her things.

"Efforts worth it." He said as he passed her and headed for the door. Pfft, she filled her red cheeks and followed him out.

Company, other people, maybe that would kill his damn flirty nature.

But it did not, not really. He wasn't over the top. He sat on his side of the car, didn't pull her close or sit in the middle.

His knee knocked against hers and remained when he teased her about bringing her camera. Of course she brought her camera. She was his photographer, one of them, the primary.

Then, at the restaurant, he made her take a shot with him immediately, to catch up with everybody he claimed. They pulled up to the bar after a quick round of hello, then his arm around her wrist other about her shoulder, a salsa walk to the bar. He caught her hand again and licked where her pulse was already coming quick before she had recovered from his hips against hers. She had to grab the bar to stready herself, she'd blame it on him pulling her quickly if he asked. He didn't, just rose his eyebrows, and sprayed her arm with salt, then his own, which he licked while maintaining eye contact with her. Put a lime into the small gape she didn't notice her lips had, the longer caress on her fleshy bottom lip barely noticeable, then licked her wrist, shot his casamigos, and quickly, so quickly you couldn't call it a kiss, took the lime off her.

She didn't reciprocate in total, though like his salty skin, swallowed her shot to quell the burning in her throat and belly, replaced it with a more nameable burn, but she pulled his lime free with a pinch of her thumb and forefinger.

He grinned and winked, grabbed the bartenders attention along with her hand, "two grandes por favor." Least his French accent was a bit better than his Spanish. Though, She'd teased him after hearing the audio for Gucci's odeur and tried to work on his tongue in bed, it wasn't great either. English tongues were clagey. Had he not proven her wrong, she'd doubt their ability to move pleasurably.

He'd shown her after a bit that his tongue spoke perfect French in other attitudes. It was certainly her language, they'd agreed after seven lessons straight.

Maybe he felt nostalgic as she did for days spent in bed and nights spent awake. Helene watched him walk into the group, giving arm less hugs since his hands were full of drinks. His face in the curve of a neck, like they were having a reunion, not on a job.

The magic of Harry. She was ready for a personal reunion. She'd follow him to his room after this get together and remain there.  There was no denying it, him.

🏝🏝🏝

By the third day of the shoot, Helene assumes nostalgia, shared or lonely, was the feeling she'd leave Mexico with. Like tequila or the lime soup she knew she'd crave when she left.

That lingering want that outlived the availability of something. She wondered what language had a word that captured that feeling exactly. None of the ones she knew.

Nostalgia. Mexico echoed with those things she had once, but not anymore.

They'd been in a downtown area, bars on all the once brightly painted houses' windows. Streets cleared and Harry being run down in his designer clothes or riding on the backs of motorcycles without any protective gear.

His skin, she worried about his skin. A friend had some horrible road rash once, and Helene felt it would be a pity if that happened on Harry's perfect chest, or arms, or god forbid, his face.

His damned untouchable, untouched face.

The flirting had slowed dramatically, and they'd resumed their usual dynamic. Meaning she watched him down her lens and captured moments, but not his attention. His attention was usually consumed by whatever they were doing. He was busy, he was the star. He was not all over her since the day she arrived.

She'd given herself a pep talk this morning when she'd woken up from a dream, or a memory, and needed to slide her hand down her own belly to quell the tension before the sun was even fully up. It went something like-"he is your boss, your patron, before anything else. Don't pay attention to his flirtations, or lack thereof." That's what was hurting now, after that first day if she was honest. "He can't help himself. Just remember that other aspect of your relationship fondly and move on." Her French sounded just like her mother's when she gave herself talkings to.

It was easier said in the mirror than done. Mostly because many times, the way she framed him, the camera was an extension of her eye, her hand, her want. She wondered if that's why her pictures resonated with his fans. They were in the same boat.

When she arrived at the beach for the night shoot, she knew immediately she was in for it.  There was music playing, lights up around a square of sound, and a collection of beautiful, scantily clad people.

Harry like his secrets, so Helene usually found herself in moments unprepared, off guard. They just happened for her a bit before the people she made photos for. She had heard snippets of the song though, in the house sets. But, since this was being shot non sequentially, she hadn't a clue what this video was about. Even what the track was concerning was a mystery.

The mists cleared and turned into a knot beneath her navel and in her throat when Harry joined the throng.

He was also scantily clad. Which wasn't to uncommon a sight, not for the crew. In the bowels of the arena, he was likely to be in basketball shorts, and little else, sometimes just boxers. This was decidedly different. The other people here were also naked, they were dancing, and everybody was oiled, them misted.

Harry was off to the side being oiled up, and she was ready to spray the mist right into her own mouth. Did she have a mister? Could she join whatever the hell was about to happen here? It looked like a beach rave in the Greek isles she'd gone to at 20.

That was a good night. She barely remembered who she went home with. But it was more than one person. It was a one off, with the couple? She thought it was a couple. But it was a sweet filthy memory.

Helene knew this was clinical, were shoots like this, but as she watched Harry get rubbed down and misted as he casually chatted with the bespeckled lady working on him, them both laughing like every tattoo he had, almost, wasnt showing, Helene thought she may need a medic. And a job application, she was in the wrong part of the entourage.

It only got worse when Harry let himself be literally pulled into the throng. Then the next several hours was spent watching beautiful people, beautiful Harry, writhe. At first she'd been concerned he'd be uncomfortable, but he looked right at home, and happy between takes, with his silly finger gun dancing and half moon dimples pressed to mirror the shape in the sky.

She watched it, and tried to detach through her lens. Though that was not her strong suit as a artist. She never was truly remote to her subject. And she was all bound up with Harry.

When the delicious torture was all over Helene was disassociating off to the side pretending to scan through her pictures.

She should not be this turned on. Jesus, it was technical, stand here so we can only see sparrows up and such, feign a kiss, but no touching. Like a lap dance for the young woman at her own personal 9-5. It wasn't sensuous, it was work. But all that flesh. All Harry's flesh.

She loved his skin. And the lights and the beautiful people. The bald girl who's been near him a good deal was particularly compelling. They had palpable chemistry. Helene was surprised she was excited by it, not frustrated or jealous.

A little jealous, or was it envy?

Helene guessed she should be getting shots. Had she caught her breath enough? She figured the answer was yes, until she looked up and realized that Harry had a bottle, bottles, of tequila, the amazing Mexican tequila they'd shot the other day, out, and he was pouring.

And he was handing out shots and hugs. The fake rave was turning into a real party.  A shot came across her hand. And she shook her head and kept shooting. She got some gems.

She loved the dancing in the video, but it was essentially choreographed writhing. This was something so much better.

Harry was still shirtless, but he had his personal space and he was doing stomp steps and his hands were flapping. And he was more adorable than the goofy smiles he'd given during the shoot to lighten the mood and the exhaustion everyone was feeling.  She shot everybody, but, as always, most pictures were of Harry.

She resolved tonight would not be all about Harry. If she couldn't fuck Harry, then fuck Harry.

Helene was chatting with the tall black guy with the mustache who'd caught Harry's eye at one point, he was pouring drinks and Helene was thinking how height was intoxicating, when Harry turned up.

"Pour me one?" He grinned at Xavier. Helene was glad she hadn't had any yet. She had plans for Xavier, but two more shots and she'd toss them into the waves to spend time with Harry.

Helene coughed over the shot she took, and Harry helpfully brought a lime wedge to her mouth. Less helpfully, his finger tastes like coconut oil. He tasted like a party.

Xavier said something, but all Helene could hear was the break of the wave hitting the shore behind her and within her.

"Excuse-moi." She slid away to the side, behind Xavier. He was big and his body hid her, so she didn't have to make eye contact with Harry. She held the sides of his shirtless waist, and her nose smelled coconut oil on him as well. Strangely, it was sobering compared to the slick on her tongue, the tang, left by her boss. She heard Harry's laugh as she walked away and her legs moved faster, walking on beat towards the side to drop her camera, and dance.

She'd dance this off. Dance it out.

This had seemed like a great idea, with the tequila addling her brain and filling her fallow belly. She carefully put her equipment in its bag, and left it in an obvious location and repeated it to her self, so she'd be able to find it on her way out.

The second shot burned less, but warmed more. It loosened the knot below her belly button and her spine. The song on was a Latin beat, her favorite. She hoped to remember it, but she didn't know the singer. She'd Shazamed it for later, she needed this song in her ear, it was in her veins now. She'd hoop to it.

Her hips shimmied side to side and front to back. She was laughing and holding hands with a brunette beauty for a bit. The girl led her through a proficient salsa. "Pardon!" She giggled when her barefoot slid off the top of her partners big toe.

"Oof," came out next from somebody bumping into her. The makeshift dance floor, really patch of sand had become more crowded as the tequila took effect. Helene wasnt surprised, she and Gabi were taking up more room than necessary, mostly because they didn't have their pelvises pressed together.

This became much more obvious when the bump showed itself to be much more intentional. There was more than a pelvis, and it was pressed to her bum. The impression was familiar. The smell of the man dancing on her was not though.

"You smell funny." She slurred and looked over her shoulder and up the bare chest to his face. He was looking down at her and his red nose fairly glowed, like a cartoon reindeer on a misty night.

"Aloe Vera." He glanced the top of his pointer finger off his nose then his shoulder. "Jane got me before the oil, and then again when I was trying to get everybody in a party spirit."

"Ah!" Well, he was less lickable then, she took as a positive. Until he turned her toward him, away from Gabi, who had moved on to a more focused partner while Harry was distracting her.

He was still lickable.

Her hips fell into the rhythm he was creating, like they'd done this before. And they Had, she supposed, just in a more horizontal attitude. She loved to bat herself about to his beat. She shook her head, bad thoughts away. "How did you get so burnt? You wear sunscreen no?"

He scratched the back of his neck. Ah, this was a confession. "I was trying out a new face cream, for a friend. I just assumed it had sunscreen, ya know." He shrugged.

"All from one day?"

Oh no, it took a bit. The first two."

"So that explains your face, what about your shoulders."

"I got carried away in a scene, decided it would be better with less... coverage." he scanned her in her summer dress. "Like most things." He bit his lip.

Helene felt her eyes roll, she'd been around Americans a lot apparently.

"Do you feel overdressed?"

"What?"

"Well everybody else is in their pants!" His shrug was almost Gallic.

"Well, I have a little burn myself."

"Did you forget sun lotion too."

"No, the mexican sun is strong as the tequila." She laughed at his giggle. "But, my pants and bra, were lace, not good on a sunburn." She shrugged, watched his eyes narrow them widen while he checked her out, then turned, rolled her body over his semi and walked to get more tequila.

He predictably followed her. "M. Panbrum," he whispered in her hair above her ear, "are you implying you aren't wearing any undergarments."

Helene gave him a half smile and took a shot, without offering him one.

The movement of his Adam's apple up and down his throat in response was a better burn than shot number three. Perhaps she was getting immune? Or was tipsy already. "Qui!" She stepped toward the dance floor, and was surprised it was more empty than it had been before. The party seemed to be winding down. She'd missed the climax.

"Let's go back." He pressed close to her, she could feel his nipples through her dress on the top of her shoulders. She felt him rub over her hip, then slightly higher, then down the crack of her ass. She appreciated the thorough search, but the lace and elastic had been insufferable this morning, so she'd opted out.

Would she opt out now?

Helene looked at Harry. Shirtless, sweaty, oiled and veraed Harry. "Why?"

"Um..." he blinked, faster than she had ever seen him blink. "What'd ya mean why?"

"I mean, why would I go back with you?" It felt like an honest question, one she was maybe asking years to late.

"Well..." he stuttered, and scratched the back of his neck, his giggle trilled nervously. His cheeks pinked. She couldn't believe her audacity either. "I just, well, before, and well," he blinked, slower this time. "Do you not, did we not?" He looked up then, and his face cleared a little bit. "Did you not have good time." He looked vulnerable, sad, at the notion.

"That's not how I would put it." She sighed. She was tired suddenly, and maybe drunk.

"Did I?"he looked at her close, then down to the sound. She almost didn't hear the words. "Have I hurt you, Helene?"

Unexpectedly, her eyes welled up. She would have been embarrassed or managed the feelings that wanted to spill down her face, but she couldn't when she realized he was tearing up to. This was not a conversation for the beach. This was a conversation for windy wet Scotland, not Mexico.

"Let's talk at the hotel. I'll take another car, so I can." She fanned her face, gave him a look.

He agreed, and had somebody getting transport together within minutes.

Helene was astounded. She'd known, or should have known he would expect them to pick up where they left off, she'd not told him it was the last time, last time. They didn't talk about it, they'd never talked about it. Just their desire was spoken and then acted on.

Her car left first, as Harry had more goodbyes to make. Helene beat him back to the hotel and had time to worry, agonize, and worst of all, hope. He'd been moved.

Did it mean anything? Or was it just his kind heart.

She was just about to lock the chain, put out the lights, and open the mini bar when her phone dinged followed by a quiet knock.

That was faster than she expected. He'd skirted rudeness, she assumed, to get here so soon.

"Helene," he immediately started talking when she opened the door and he walked in like he was much taller than her remembered, the way he looked taller on stage, the inches added by purpose.

She couldn't. Her hand went up, all red and geometric. "Want a drink?" She interrupted.

The tension didn't leave his shoulders, but the shiver moved down his arms and he sat. "No, not really."

"I'd like to have one with you." She needed a bracer, they needed to brace.

"Ok." He watched her make it. She could feel his eyes and loaded tongue. She was amazed really.

She poured the wine. She wanted tequila, but they weren't getting naked immediately, so, it seemed the wrong spirit. Her spirit trembled. Sh handed him his goblet and tapped hers tO the rim of his and gulped hoping one intoxication was better than the other.

"So, I like the song. I can't wait to hear all of it, not snippets. And the video, well, it'll cause a stir." She smirked.

"Um, yeah. Like, that's the hope. I'm just at kinda tired, of like, covering up."

"Physically to metaphorically."

"Both."

"Yeah, I could see that. Good for you harry!" She tried for a smile.

The varnish on it faded when she looked up. His hand on hers was like sandpaper. "I'm tired of not, not saying things. Helene.—"

"Harry, I'm not sure I'm ready."

"You were nearly crying at the beach? Helene. I think I'm not ready." He sighed. "I thought. Well, we always.....were you not having a good time?"

She laughed, it wasn't nervous, more a burst of emotion. "Harry, I think it was clear that I had a good time. You could feel that, no?" She pouted her lips on no. God she wished she had kept it together. Then she could be sleeping or...

He smiled, though it didn't crinkle his eyes. He pushed out a breath that a liar would describe as a chuckle. "Yes, In the moment. But what about after."

"Well the moment tended to last all night, so" her thumb cascades over his knuckles, rubbing between.

"Stop trying to distract me!" He spoke swiftly. ""Helene, what about after? The next morning, or on the ride home."

"Damn, she forget occasionally that he is perceptive, when he chooses to look, or maybe sensitive was a better word. It usually hit on the plane home, when the sore thighs and raw lips weren't happy mementos but badges of abandonment.

She sighed. She may as well get this over with. She'd been afraid of his disinterest, or solely physical interest. She'd assumed it though, so there was that. The confirmation couldn't hurt worse than the rumination. "After," she moved her shoulders as effortlessly as she could push through. "After, I remembered a good time."

"And you felt?" He touched her jaw, so she couldn't slide her gaze away.

"I felt, like I should be more than a memory."

"But you are, Helene, we are friends." At that she dropped his hands.

"No, I'm your employee!" she said while she stood up, her wine upended and she excused herself to get a towel.

"My employee?" He followed her into the bathroom.

"Fine, then you're my patron, and the sex was part of my fealty." She stomped back out to sop up the wine.

"Helene, stop, what are you saying? That you felt like if you didn't sleep with me I'd fire you, because that's rubbish. You aren't my like, artist project, or my employee. You're more than that."

"I'm both those things. And your next door lover when you are lonely, or alone, or horny. But, in all cases, I serve you." She could feel the tears on her face. Kept it pointed down like a arrow tip.

Harry knelt down with her, her hands trapped by his knees over where she had been pressing the white towel hand onto the rug frantically trying to get the red hue to absorb into the towel, to clean up this mess she didn't mean to make.

This was all wrong. They were supposed to be easy. They could be flirting and fucking. She knew she had feelings years ago my now. Had nursed them, and then weaned herself. Feelings were unfortunate; they held you up. Here she was crying when she could be touching him, letting him touch her. Helene had come to the end of her fraying feelings. She'd snapped some time ago, she just hadn't told him.

Harry pulled her hands up, held them against her miniature struggle. "Please look at me Helene."

And then he waited, until she could. Helene pushed against the wine weakly while she willed her eyes to dry

When her eyes finally connected to his, she saw the gleam he got, when he was overtaken. He was the only man she knew who let that happen often without embarrassed words and trips to the bathroom.  That may have been the first string she pulled, maybe even before their first sleep over, before Bologna. His wet eyes and softness before his hard body. Helene had liked him for his heart. She'd liked him all along.

It was why she waited as long as she did to say no more.  One of the reasons. She should have said it out loud so they wouldn't be frantically cleaning wine out of a carpet on a Thursday night in Mexico before they got trapped in a tin can high in the sky.

She loved his vulnerability. And the way his eyes looked in photos when they glistened. She loved his face in photos almost more.

Like now. But, She'd never caught a tear on his cheek.

She didn't have a camera now. She'd have to actually be in this moment, not capture it. He let her bring her hand to his face to trace the tear back to its origin.

"Helene," he swallowed. "How long have you felt like this? Like I, um" definitely didn't needed a lens. "Like I used you, or whatever." He used her thumb to dash his other tear.

She shrugged. She didn't have a good answer to that question. Maybe always, maybe only right now.

"I'm not sure I knew I felt that way."

"But you do feel that?" He pressed his forehead to hers. "That and Um," he hiccuped, "you didn't have a choice because you work for me."

She shook her head there. "No, that I don't feel. I was just angry." She was a cornered animal, striking out. Not that she felt, less forced, she could absolve him a bit.

"Thank Christ." His eyes closed and she was thinking how altogether pleasant his symmetry was. No, she did it because she wanted him. Even now, with his heartbreakers face and broken heart.

"I like being with you, I chose to be. But I think it hurt me, that you." She swallowed, her own tears clogging her throat and pressing down the sides of her nose. "That you are fine with having me for a small time here and there,  but not everyday."

"I never knew having you everyday was an option." He pulled back and looked at her, his focus shifting from one eyeball to the other. "Is it an option? Everyday?"

Helene filled her cheeks at that. How did she not have an answer? "Do you want it to be an option." Oh, yeah, the gaping fear of rejection inside her.

"Helene," he tsk'd. "I think we got started at a weird time, but, you never." He chuckled. "You never said. But neither did I. I really thought I'd gotten better at this." The wry grin brought a wet smile to her own. "It will be complicated." He tilted his head, and his lips gentled about his teeth.

"Will be?"

"For us to be together. With tour. And my traveling, and your other gigs. But, I wouldn't mind. Plus the rest, you know." He flipped his hand sideways, like the judgements of a million or more fangirls were nothing. "But I wouldn't mind." he shrugged and gave her a boyish smile. "Having you for more mornings."

"Wouldn't mind?" That wasn't enough.

"No." He held both hands. She'd dropped the towel and missed it. "I'd be lucky to have you to wake up to. And go to bed with. And to cook for. And pick hooping songs with. And watch those documentaries you like." They laughed. The last time when they'd been to fucked out to touch each other, he'd nodded off three times when she convinced him to watch one, she'd tried to keep him awake. He'd have liked it, she was sure. "But it'll be complicated. You know, they love you now..."

"It would be an honor, and a pleasure," she winked her eyebrows up and emphasized the word. "To see you at home. Yours and mine, and watch those old movies you like. And listen to whatever album you love over and over for two weeks exclusively. And eat the food you like." She was not committing to cooking, no matter if she was committed to him.

"So?"

"So." She nodded and kissed him with the salt on their lips. And their tongues, chins, and collarbones.

His neck tasted of aloe and coconut oil and after she'd discovered the scent and flavor went well below his collar, down to the nipple she was trying to play, it occurred to her that it probably went everywhere. Essentially.

"Does all of you have the spray on?" She didn't like it, it tasted wrong. Like her new first time with him was with somebody new. She didn't want anybody new.

"All but where the trunks covered." He slid his whole hand, fingers splayed, into her hair, and canted her head back to take her mouth. "Blah. That's gross."

"Merci!" She countered.

"Not you, that taste is from me." He wiped his tongue on his Hawaiian shirt tail.

"We should shower."

"Yeah." He pulled her behind him, and was messing with the knobs a moment later. Her fingers found the last few clinging buttons on his Hawaiian shirt from behind. He did love to dress to the occasion. She loved their height difference, the way the curve of his ass stopped at the tips of her hips bones. She cascaded her nose from one scapula point to the other.

"You're distracting me." He whined.

"Mmmhmmm." She confirmed. His pants, the joggers he'd slipped on over his briefs from the shoot, fell easily once she pulled the elastic side. His trunks she had to push down.

"This is backwards. Usually you're naked and I'm dressed." She liked the humor in his voice.

"This way is better." She wrapped a hand around him.

"Well," he turned around without upsetting her grip, looked between them to his rising pride and her clothed form and smirked. "It has its perks!" Then she was off her feet.

"You fucker!" She squealed. At least the water soaking into her clothes was warm. "Harry!" She squealed and laughed when he lifted her up to press her back to the side of the shower. Her clothes were already soaked to her and getting them off was a chore.

Wearing them drenched was worse. And the cling wasn't the only reason. She needed to be free, like she felt with him. And now, she imagined more so, without comfortably silent feelings.

Harry was adept at getting wet clothes off, or dresses off, she'd seen. The panties rolled up as they came off, but she felt even more weightless than any other interlude they'd had when he hoisted her up to get them to fall off her feet.

"Stop laughing!" He giggled. "I keep clacking my teeth against yours. I'm trying to kiss you."

"You have to stop laughing too. My teeth are hitting yours for a reason."

"I can think of something that's fun!" He raised his eyes brows and lowered his hand. "Yet quiets giggles."

"No!" She shook her head and squirmed, though a moan escaped despite her when his finger hooked along her anterior wall, found that spot. "Non! I hate shower sex!" She licked his neck. "And you still taste horrible."

"You hate shower sex?" He boggled and it gave him a double chin. The rub was he was still attractive, with three folds beneath his cleft and all.

"It takes all the wetness away."

He moved his fingers and raised an eyebrow at the squelch.

"That's water. It's not the same!" She pouted her lips a bit.

"Well, what do you suggest instead of sex?" He looked hard to impress.

Helene reached for a cloth and the bergamot orange body wash and Sudsed up. "I'll wash you."

He rolled his eyes, but certainly didn't stop her.

The flannel glanced over his smooth skin with Helene's hand pausing over the good bits, the ones that made him shiver. Her mouth chased the cleansing cloth, her teeth and tongue too.

She cleaned where he had been covered as well. Just for fun and so she could taste him.

He toweled her off. Then picked her up, like she loved, and carried her to the bed.

Her back hit the bed, and the comforter exhaled around her. She wasn't able to catch her breath when he coasted his long body over her. She'd always loved how they fit together, at all the essential points, despite their height difference.

Like their mouths. He was still the best kiss of her life. He gave himself over to it, like he did to the audience onstage. His mouth communicating what his voice often didn't express. His tongue was lithe, and flit around and caressed her tongue so well she always felt it everywhere. Between her lips, between her legs, and especially in her heart. She'd always tuned out, sure it was miscommunication. It spoke of of his feelings, enlivened hers. Today, she listened to him. To his investment, and abandon. The way he followed her lead and listened to her moans. That he used tongue only after deep lip locks, and licked into her mouth like closing an envelope. Sealed them together. It would take a rip to rend them apart.

Except it didn't. His cascade down her body, usually hurried and hungry, was smooth and sharp, like a letter opener gently applied. She was open, and full of words. Mostly Harry and please. He unlocked her further, she was pretty sure the word love passed her lips, at least lover, when he found her sensitive nipples, and impressions between her lips, and mouthed over her hip bones to the divots where her thighs connected to her pelvis.

"Harry!" She pushed up on her elbows.

"Shhhh!" He popped a dimple and she wanted to be annoyed. He was annoying, but so cute, and lovely, and maybe hers, that she lay back. He pulled her down the covers, the slide of her body audible, and set her feet as close to the ground as they reached, then cuddled into her thighs before easing them open. The bed was high, but he must have measured, or gotten very lucky, because he only had to pull her forward to get his Mouth on her from his knees, open his mouth, extend his tongue.

The first lap, from tail to top was wonderful, especially because Helene had to finally yank his hair almost from his head to get him to stop biting her thighs and kissing her honeymoon muscles, sucking them. The first taste, to where she swelled, was such a relief, she cried.

"Harry! Now." She'd sat up to give the command. He smirked, and before she might have been made to wait, but instead he nodded and danced his hand up her torso to lay her back. His finger lingered on the peak of her breast. That was lovely, remarkable even, but she nearly forgot, would have, with the sensation of his tongue licking into her hole and up until it flicked over the hood at the end top of her clit. The tiny suck to where her lips met was new. She tried to enjoy it rather than think about its origins. Several rounds of this, a swirl around her center, before gentle suction entwined with tongue strokes had her crazy.

He was so good at giving head. Was it just that mouth? Or the expectation of that mouth that he'd risen too.

Her temperature, heart rate, respiration rose too. Her voice filled the room. "Fuck, je jouis!" Her back came clean of the bed and her legs would have clamped Harry's head had he not caught them. He held them open through the "arret, please stop, arret!" Through the second orgasm and the lazy slide of his tongue through the creamy ooze. He slinked up her body where she had two hands in her hair.

"I'm gonna get a condom." He kissed her with all her flavors between his lips and she waited for the shakes to stop. She thought he was gone but a minute, it felt like hours. She missed him, so she hoisted herself up to get to him.

Helene's mouth around him got Harry back to full steam, and the heavy hang to his left, just like she liked it, wet her appetite anew. Her strokes over him and the play of his foreskin made him pull her off with a gentle tug of her hair.

"I'll come." He chided.

"Hmmmm." That was not a night ender, but the delay wasn't favorable to either of them. Helene watched him slide the skin over himself. She slid up the bed so the pillows pushed her shoulder and neck up. She wanted him close in on her, get all their relevant points touching. She wanted to feel his mouth and see his eyes, the whole way through.

For a moment, just a moment, she worried she would not get her way. The concern intensified when he stopped and stared.

"What?" She notched her nose next to his. Why'd you stop.

"Just trying to capture the moment." He slid up the bed between her thighs, wrapping one around his own leg, and sliding two fingers through her wetness and inside to spread her around.

"Should take a picture. I've heard they last longer."

"No, memories can't be destroyed. Pictures can. I'll just stop, take you in."  She could feel him, blunt and insistent at her entrance. "Especially as you take me in." Their exhales met in the inches between their mouths, maybe the repelling force was why Helene's head pushed back into the pillow. She felt her chin hit his nose. Imagined he had to move his head out of the way, couldn't know for sure. Her eyes had closed at the feel of him in her. The heartbreaking pressure, pop, and easing burn. He was talking.  "Have I ever told you I love your face when we fuck, especially the first stroke. You look overwhelmed and determined." He held said face, her eyes blinked open when his thumb caressed her fingers. "Alive. I'll remember this too, yeah?"

"Harry," Helene flexed her hips up to bring him closer. "Stop talking."

He nodded, clutched her chin for a deep kiss, one that left her speechless certainly, and gripped her hips.

The pace felt leisurely, and her body frantic. The mismatch was like those outfit that shouldn't work, but suit the wearer. She would wear him three days at a time if she could. The pressure was constant, except for the three times he teased her with the tip, and pulled either just out or to the brink, waited for her beg, and pressed back in.

If he didn't stop fucking around she might kill him.

When he trapped her right thigh under his to stroke slow, deep, and steady, she accidentally hit him in the head with her elbow while she grabbed the pillow behind her. She needed to fuck him in her bed, it had a proper head board, iron rods to grip.  "Sorry."

He shook off her accidental blow and grinned up at her from above. "Good?"

He'd never asked that. He knew he was good, so good. "So good, oh oui." She lifted her other leg so he glanced off her end and went farther. "Ahhh!"

"That's it." He kissed her while she moaned through her second coming and only let the final wordless sound be unobstructed by his tongue.

His easing strokes had her kicking the sheets, she could hear her heels slide up and down. Damn flip flops on hot sand all day.

"You good?"

"Mmmhmm, so good." She gave him a dewy look and grabbed hold while he rolled them over. In this position, where her heels reached just below his knees, she knew her size, and her power.

He was throbbing within her, humping in tiny motions to get friction, though he'd just hampered his own ability to move.

Helene felt ready to help him out. But not before another lovers kiss. She'd loved the dirty kisses, over the bend of her back, with someone's essence in the others mouth, with teeth more than tongue, but nothing beat these sweet filthy latherings he was favoring her with.

"Ride me?" He begged when she slid her tongue away.

She liked this switch, her sated for the moment, him needy. She liked him needy and talking. The tears in his eyes in the living room where they cleaned the wine.

His eyes were wet again, but from desperation. She stayed stretched out on him, and circled his hips to keep him suspended and get his mouth. His fucking mouth. "I love your mouth."

"Would you like to kiss it everyday?" His words were rapid, a little labored.

"Oui."

"You're welcome to, but for the love of god, make me come, please Helene."

It was her turn to smirk, her hips stilled and he grabbed her to make her move, but she shook her head and kissed him like he wasn't standing before the finish line, like good morning not good night.

Then she sat up, and back, got her knees beneath her, griped his and slid his full length in and out at a bounce until his begging turned to praise.

"Holy fuck!" He sat up on his elbows, then fell back to the bed. But he kept his eyes open. Watched their connection, she knew they were both capturing the moment, the memory. "You look so good, on me, oh god!" And he couldn't keep looking. His head f ppback and his voice going hoarse over his note of completion. "Oh baby!" Was a beautiful lyric she'd not heard addressed to her.

He pulled her down to him, before she could collapse, and they cuddled, until she excused herself to have a post coital pee and rinse.  They cuddled more after him joining her.

And the next morning, after an enthusiastic wake up call.

And throughout the week in Scotland. They made moments and captured them, and Helene never felt so insecure that it would be the last of them that she took a photo.

She didn't need to look at him through her lens to capture him, for now, he was hers.

[iihappydaysii]

title: eudaimonia 

rated: e (tags and warnings on ao3)

jamie/john

summary: To protect baby William, Jamie and Lord John run away with the child to raise him—in the year 2020. The more time they spend together in this new and unusual world, the harder it is for both of them to ignore their growing and changing feelings for one another.

chapter one 

. . .

Lord John Grey’s heart had gotten him into trouble more than once or twice in his life. It was, as both his mother and his brother, Hal, oft reminded him, his greatest weakness. Never had that notion been so self-evident as it were tonight with John on the run, having absconded with a Scottish prisoner and—what was legally speaking—the son of an Earl.

Despite it occurring in hushed tones under a shroud of darkness, it had all happened so fast. The scene had unfolded before him like the smoke, blood and gunshot of battle.

“I need your help, please,” Jamie had said, with an air of desperation John had yet to hear come from the man. Even at Ardsmuir, even under threat of torture... There is nothing you can do to me that has not already been done.

John wished he could say it took actually took Jamie’s additional explanation and plea. If he were honest, it had not. As soon as Jamie Fraser was stood on his doorstep, looking so much like he needed John, he was finished. He’d have cut the world down and laid it at the Scot’s feet had he’d asked for it.

Instead, Jamie had asked for this. Help hiding his son. His son, Jamie’s, not the Earl’s. Neither the family nor the Earl wanted the bastard son of a Jacobite. With the boy’s mother dead and now the Earl, there was nothing to stop the Lord and Lady. Jamie had overheard them whispering of a plan to drown the child and be done with it.

So, now, Jamie had once again found himself at odds with the law and with the crown. He’d be hunted not only for the child he’d taken, but for the Earl he’d murdered. Jamie must have grown accustomed to being a fugitive with all the experience he’d had in the field. Yet, this was all new to Lord John Grey.

“The bairn won’t stop crying.” Jamie stepped over a moss-grown boulder, bringing John from his thoughts back to their current predicament.

“I believe that’s what they do,” John replied, through heavy breaths. They’d been walking for miles now, in God knows what direction.

“He’s hungry. He’s never fed.”

John looked at Jamie, who was looking back at him, like maybe he had answers. He hadn’t. Well, at least, he hadn’t any grand plan to rescue them all from this disaster.

“We should a least give the baby water,” John said. “I think I heard a stream nearby.” Adults, at least, could last longer without food than water. A little water seemed better than nothing, though far from ideal.

With the baby still wailing, they slid down a muddy hill in their boots and stumbled forward toward a blue brook streaming its way over dull rocks washed in moonlight.

“How can we…?” Jamie voiced.

John dug his teeth into his bottom lip as he thought. He wasn’t sure what had prompted him, but he knelt down by the brook and dipped his finger into the cool water. “Bring the baby here, Jamie. Please.”

A few moments later, Jamie knelt down beside John. Now the moonlight was cascading over his reddish mane. In another time and place, it would’ve been serene, seeing Jamie looking like that, natural, as if he’d grown out of the ground like a tree root.

Unsure if it was even a good idea, John pressed a wet finger to the babe’s small lips. It took a moment, but then he started to suckle. Both he and Jamie remained silent, watching, as the boy went on. When the babe whimpered and pulled away, John returned his finger to the water and repeated the process.

“The water’s an improvement, but he will need to eat soon.”

“Aye. There may be a farm somewhere along the way. We could take some milk from one of the cows or goats.”

John stood from where he’d been crouched by the river. Every muscle in his body ached. He could barely remember ever being this tired, though he knew it always felt like that when you’d reached this point of exhaustion. “We keep walking then, until we find something.”

Jamie nodded, but then frowned. “It won’t sustain him for long. Back in Scotland, I’ve seen what happens to wee bairns when their mothers didn’t produce milk and there was no woman to take her place. Most didn’t last long on sheep’s milk.”

John wished there were words of comfort to give this man, who’d stirred up the parts of his heart he’d long believed dead. This man who’d lost too much, who did not deserve to lose anything else. John wanted to reach out and offer him the comfort of his touch, but it wouldn’t be a comfort to Jamie. It hurt to know that no matter how deep John’s feelings ran that his arms could not give Jamie even a taste of the peace he so richly deserved.

“I’m so sorry, Jamie. We can go back. Where Lady Dunsany can find him a suitable wet nurse. I know that will mean consequences for us both, but the child—”

“No! I’ll not take him back there where at best he’ll be unwanted and at worst, he’ll end up dead. I can’t. I…” Jamie’s voice trailed off and long pause followed before he spoke again. “Do you trust me?”

“I… yes. Of course.”

“Hold the bairn for me.”

Jamie carefully laid his child in John arms and the babe squirmed up against John’s chest as if to seek out his warmth. It made a small smile flicker across his face. This child was so impossibly small, with the tiniest fingers he’d ever seen.

Jamie pulled out a knife and stomped over to the nearest tree. Muttering strange words under his breath, Jamie began to carve runes of some kind into the bark of the tree.

“What are you doing?” John whispered, a sudden shiver rolling up his spine. It was unsettling enough out here in the dark woods, and Jamie’s sudden strange behavior only made it worse.

“Quiet,” Jamie demanded harshly, before returning to his whispered language that could’ve been mistaken for Gaelic, but John was somehow certain it wasn’t. At least, not exactly.

He kept on and on, then finally Jamie threw his knife down. “Goddammit. Of course... I was a fool to even try.”

It was unclear what Jamie had been intending to do, but whatever it was, it had not seemed to work.

John asked quietly, “Jamie… what were you—“

“Is the bairn asleep?” His voice was soft like goose-down but sad too.

John looked down at the bundle in his arms. The baby’s eyes were shut, his bottom lip fluttering from breaths. John nodded.

“Then, we sleep for a few hours and when he wakes, we go in search of a goat.”

“But Jamie—“

“If you want to leave…” There was a bite to his words, but then Jamie let out a breath and the softness in his voice returned, “I shouldn’t have asked for your help. It was unfair of me to put you in this position.”

John shut his eyes and swallowed. Maybe he should take Jamie up on his offer. Leave and try to salvage what little may be left of his reputation—he’d clawed his way tooth and nail back from exile before—but the baby was just sleeping so soundly, tucked into the turn of his elbow.

“You’re right. Let’s rest here,” John said.

Together, they worked to kick up a nest of leaves, dry and soft enough to lay down in. It was cold out, the temperature dropping steadily and the air was lapping up against their skin with a bitter mist. They could set a fire, for the warmth, but they were both wanted men. Those that were looking for them could be drawn in by the smoke.

Jamie laid down in their constructed nest and John stood there, cradling the babe and staring down at him.

“What’re ye waiting for’?” Jamie grumbled.

Those words broke John of his reverie and he nestled down on the ground beside Jamie. It wasn’t easy, with the baby in his arms, but he managed to lie on his back, with Jamie on his side, looking in his direction.

Taking in a shaky breath, John laid the baby comfortably against his chest. He looked so small and perfect, this minuscule fragment of Jamie Fraser, so helpless, but with no idea that all he had in the world were two troubled... criminals with only the faintest idea of how keep him alive.

“I can take him, if ye would like,” Jamie said.

“I don’t mind,” John replied. “It could wake him and it might be best not to.”

Jamie nodded, a small, tired smile growing on his face before sweeping away.

As they laid there in the dark with nothing to hear but the bugs and their soft breaths, John just held the babe closer, nestling his face against the top of the bundle, until the world winked out around him.

“Rise and shine, sleepyheads!”

The sound of a woman’s voice roused John from his sleep. It took him a bleary moment to realize again where he was. In the woods. With Jamie and his baby. On the run.

“Jamie.” It was the woman’s voice again, which he only now noticed was flat, a bit harsh. An accent unlike any he’d heard. And this woman was calling Jamie by his real name, not the false identity he’d been using at Helwater. “I swear to God.”

“What? What!” Jamie popped up beside John. “Zoe. You’re here” Jamie stood up. “I dinna think the summoning had worked.”

Summoning? That’s what Jamie had been doing last night. John sat up now too, eyes slowly clearing from sleep. The baby breathed warmly against his neck.

“Jesus Christ, Jamie. Did you kidnap a British officer?”

Kidnap?

“No. No, of course not.”

“What ‘of course not’?!” Zoe—odd name—replied. “That sounds exactly like something you would do.”

“Aye, but I dinna. He is here of his own free will.”

Zoe appraised John, like she was taking him in and asking him a question all at the same time. And it was only in this moment that John realized how she was dressed. Tight, blue trousers constructed of an unknown material and an odd, soft-looking black shirt with the words “Star Wars” somehow printed across them. John had never seen anything remotely like it in his life.

John nodded, though, because he was—somehow—here of his own free will.

“Is that a—?” Zoe’s eyes grew wide. “Holy shit. Where the hell did you get a baby?”

“He’s mine,” Jamie replied. “It’s a long story though, and we don’t have time. He hasn’t eaten.”

“Where’s his mom?”

Jamie looked down. “She’s dead. Her husband and parents, they don’t want the child. Her husband tried to kill the baby, so I… stopped him.”

“Stopped him?”

“He’s dead too.”

Zoe linked her fingers together and placed her hands atop her head as she let out a breath. “Christ, Fraser. You really do manage to fuck up your whole life a god-awful lot, you know that?”

It was not only this woman’s accent and her dress that left John confused. It was the way she spoke English, recognizable but with a host of incomprehensible words and phrases thrown in.

“Can ye help us?” Jamie asked.

Zoe dropped her hands. “How long ago was the baby born?”

“Twenty-four hours at least,” John finally spoke up.

Zoe nodded. “Shit. The poor thing.” She walked up to John and knelt down in front of him, looking down at the baby’s face. He’d just opened his bright blue eyes. “No need to worry now, sport. Aunt Zoe’s here to clean up of your daddy’s mess. She’s gotten very good at it.” She stood back up and pulled a bundle of twine out of her pocket.

“Stand up,” she ordered, then pointed at John. “Is this one coming? What’s your name, anyway?”

“Lord John Grey,” he replied.

“A Lord, Jamie? For Christsake.”

“Coming where?” John replied.

Jamie spoke up, “Zoe, you cannot honestly mean to—”

“I do,” she interrupted. “You two geniuses are on the run. Probably good candidates for a hanging, at least you Jamie. I’m not sure how complicit that extra from the off-broadway cast of Hamilton is in all your bullshit, but—”

“I don’t entirely ken your meaning,” Jamie said. “But John attacked and wounded several of the men trying to apprehend me.”

“I can’t go back,” John said, hit by a sudden sinking feeling.

“Well, alright then, buckle-up buttercup.” With that, Zoe took the string and tied it around her wrist with a knot, then she attached the string to Jamie’s wrist, placing a blue gemstone in his hand. Then, she ran the twine behind his back before tying it to the other. She took John’s wrist, placed a gemstone in his hand, and did the same with the twine, connecting Jamie to John.

“What’s the meaning of this?” John asked, his heart pounding unexpectedly.

Zoe ignored him, but Jamie replied, “You can stay here. You may be able to explain yourself.”

Explain that I attacked my fellow Englishmen for the sake of a Scottish prisoner and his illegitimate child? It wouldn’t do.

With a sigh, John adjusted the boy to be in his other hand, then held his untied wrist out to Zoe. She tied the twine on, then tucked another gemstone into the baby’s wrappings. She finished connecting the twine onto her own wrist, completing a circle.

Zoe looked at John. “Hold the baby tight, alright?”

He nodded and swallowed, looking to Jamie for reassurance. He felt he should’ve passed the child onto his father, but for some reason he didn’t want to let go. Jamie nodded back at him.

Zoe’s voice shifted, leaving English behind for the same strange dialect Jamie had been muttering last night, though the words were spoken with a strong assurance. It was clear whatever this language was she was fluent in it, where Jamie had simply memorized the tones.

A twig lifted from the earth untouched and begin to scratch runes into the circle of dirt between them. He was speechless. He was not the type to believe in magic, but how could he ignore the witness of his own eyes. As the scene carried on before him, the runes began to light as embers and the world started to fade like soot being washed off his hands. All he could do was cling tight to Jamie’s child and pray his loss of sense wouldn’t put the baby in jeopardy.

And, then, as if he’d never been in those cold woods at all, John was warm all over and he, and Zoe, and the child and Jamie—thank God— stood in a place unlike any he’d ever seen before.

[melodiouswhite]

Kópakonan

(A/N: This one has an androgynous character in it, who uses male pronouns, but refers to himself as ‘hermaphrodite’. I would have used the term ‘intersexual’, but I wasn’t sure, whether it’s accurate. If there are inaccuracies, don’t hesitate to enlighten me in the comments, please. There also will be mention of rape, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, bullying and abuse, just a warning.)

Henry Jekyll tilted his head, as he read the passage:

“The Faeroese know the legend of the Kópakonan, the Seal Woman. The lore has it, that seals are the reborn spirits of humans, who drowned themselves in the sea. Once a year, on the twelfth night of the year, they are allowed to shed their seal skin and go onto land as humans to amuse themselves with song and dance. In the morning, they slip back into their seal skins and return to the sea.”

The article went on with an exemplary tale from one specific island:

A farmer heard of the lore and went to watch the seals that night, to see if it was true. He saw that it was and stole the skin of a beautiful seal lady. As he refused to give it back, despite her pleading, she had no choice than to follow him and become his wife. So she lived in that forced marriage with him and had several children with him. And because he was a douche, he kept the seal skin locked away and always carried the key around, so she couldn't get it back. But one day, he forgot the key at home and when he realised it and came back, the seal lady was already gone and back with her seal husband, because obviously she'd had a life, before some twat had abducted and force married her. But a few years later, the farmer and some of his friends decided to go seal hunting in a specific cave. Before the hunt, he had a dream, where his former wife appeared and warned him not to kill her seal husband and family. And of course, because he was an arsehole, he proceeded to kill them all and kept the bull seal's head and the flippers of the baby seals. The Kópakonan, rightfully enraged, cursed him and everybody else on the island to die a horrible death, until there were enough dead people to lock hands and form a chain around the island.

“… And to this day it is said, when someone dies by drowning or falling off a cliff, that the people of Kalsoy know that the Kópakonan's revenge is not yet complete.”

Henry clapped the book shut and shook his head.

He felt bad for the seal woman and her family.

Being a woman who had drowned herself had to be hard enough on its own. But then, just when she had found happiness with another seal, she had to be tormented by such terrible events! To be coerced into a relationship by some arsehole, who then proceeded to kill your loved ones! Baby seals no less! Innocent, cute little baby seals, who got brutally maimed out of spite, because her mother had dared to choose her actual family over the arsehole, who had forced her to marry him!

Sure, it was just a folk tale, but this was just too much!

He needed a walk. A good, old walk at the sea side, to catch some of that good, old sea breeze.

As he walked along the strand, he reflected on how different life here was from the city. He didn't regret moving to the small village in the highest north of Scotland. Sure, it wasn't as exciting as faraway London, but it was peaceful and quiet and the people were nice in their way. Besides, he was the only doctor around here. People relied on him and it felt good. Everyone knew each other here and he knew all of his patients. They got along. It felt … not lonely.

Of course there were some bitter memories. Memories that he never spoke of.

He sighed, sat on a rock and looked out to the sea. It was a windy day and the sea was wild here in the north.

It looked powerful. Wide. Free. Inviting.

It was eerie how inviting the ocean was. Perhaps it was nice … cold and untamed, endless room and freedom. It was so easy to relate to the people, who had chosen its watery embrace rather than a dry death at land …

But before he could spiral further into dark thoughts, he heard a moan. He looked around, but couldn't see anyone. Huh. With a shrug he turned his attention back to the sea.

Probably just the wind. It howled quite a bit here.

Maybe I should go back, he thought and stood up.

But then there was another moan, louder this time.

Alright, that was definitely not the wind.

“Hello? Is anyone out here?”, he shouted.

The response was a pained cry. It sounded like a boy's voice.

Henry followed it to a hidden, rocky bay. After a few minutes of search, he finally found the owner of the voice.

To his surprise, it was a brunette girl and she was completely naked, to his embarrassment.

She was clutching her ankle and groaning in pain.

So he gave himself a mental slap. Pull yourself together, Henry! You're a doctor and she needs help!

“Are you alright?”, he called out to her.

She jumped at the sound of his voice and quickly covered her chest, when she saw him.

“Don't worry, I mean you no harm!”, he assured her, while approaching cautiously.

But she didn't seem to buy it, just curled in on herself and scowled.

“Who are you?”, she snarled suspiciously. “How did you find this bay? Humans aren't supposed to find it!”

What the hell does she mean by that? Oh, never mind. I can ask her later.

“Don't be afraid, I'm a doctor”, he told her, “I heard you and wanted to help.”

“A doctor?” Her acid green eyes narrowed. “And you really just want to help?”

He frowned. “If you think what I suspect you're thinking, I promise your suspicions are unfounded. Just let me help you. Your ankle needs medical attention and you need to get somewhere warm.”

“I feel neither heat nor cold”, she replied indifferently. “But … do you really mean it?”

“I promise”, Henry responded earnestly, “I just want to help and do my duty as a doctor.”

It seemed to work, as she relaxed considerably and allowed him to come closer. When he had reached her, he cave her his coat to cover herself and provide some warmth.

Now he could finally focus on her ankle, which was obviously broken.

“Did you slip on the rocks?”, he asked, and added: “Where are your clothes? What were you doing out here at this time of the year anyway? It's January, the sea is just as freezing as the land!”

“It's not your concern!”, she snapped, “You wouldn't believe it anyway. And my clothing is over there.” She pointed to a nearby rock.

He went over to fetch it. But when he held it up, he gaped. “A seal skin?!”

“Yes!”, she snapped, “My skin! Give it back!”

His frown deepened. “I will. Once I have treated your ankle. It's broken and as long as that's the case, I'm afraid you have to stay with me.”

She began to howl with rage and tried to stand up. But since she couldn't stand, she fell back down and her angry howling became pained.

His heart hurt, when she attempted to hide away in his coat and began to sob.

“Now, now”, he spoke softly and patted her back. “I won't keep you longer than necessary, I promise.”

He picked her up bridal style and carried her off.

Once there, he went to get her some clothes. Sadly, since she was so tiny, he had nothing that fit her. So all he could do was hope that she wouldn't be too bothered by wearing oversized clothing.

“Alright, Miss. I'm afraid I have-”

“I'm not a Miss”, she cut him off. Then she spread her legs to reveal …

“Oh”, Henry breathed.

“What's the matter? Never seen a hermaphrodite before?”

“No. As a matter of fact I have not.”

“Whatever. But just for the record, my name is Edward Hyde, so it's 'Sir' and 'Mister' to you!”

The doctor frowned. “I don't see how you have earned the honorific 'Sir', Mr. Hyde”, he retorted coolly and handed him the clothes. “Now do get dressed. Just because I'm a doctor doesn't mean I'm comfortable talking to naked people.”

Hyde huffed and put on the shirt and pullover. He hissed in pain, when the other put a plaster cast on his ankle and growled angrily, when being told that it would take at least a month to heal.

The rudeness frustrated Henry – he was just trying to help! – but when he saw the genuine distress in the other's eyes, he swallowed another cold remark.

“I have a vacant room, where you can sleep”, he offered gently.

“Whatever”, the brunette muttered. “Where is my skin?”

“It's right here”, Henry told him and picked it up. “I will hang it up in the hallway, where you can see it. However”, he added, when the brunette's face brightened up, “I will hang it onto the highest hook. Just to make sure you don't sneak away, before I can be sure that your ankle has healed properly.”

Both of them knew that there it would be out of Hyde's reach.

Which promptly made the young one burst into tears.

When Henry went to bed, he thought about the events of the day and about the small brunette, who was now sleeping in his guest room.

This was all very messed up.

And it was a real shame that the … boy was so resentful.

Henry had never met an androgynous person before and he was genuinely curious.

Unfortunately, he was also attracted.

He had seen the brunette naked and liked the sight more than he was comfortable with.

Hyde had feminine hips, a small waist and a feminine face, yet his body was strong. Then there were those perfect breasts that Henry struggled hard not to think about. His voice was husky and as androgynous as the rest of him. His hair was long, wavy and café noir brown, contrasting milk white skin.

Henry had never known that this was his type, until he had seen it. And it had been so hard to be professional and not stare at that perfect body like a total creep. No one liked to be leered at, especially not by someone whose help they needed! That was disgusting!

And it wasn't even the only thing. There was something unnatural about the brunette (and he did not mean his body, there was nothing unnatural about that!). He had so many questions!

But he also was resolved to stick to his promise and not keep him around for longer than necessary. Even though he really wanted to …

Henry groaned and buried his face in his pillow.

Those will be long, long weeks!

A part of him hoped, that his patient would continue acting like a brat, so it would be easier to part with him eventually.

Over the next weeks, Hyde's ankle healed just like it was supposed to.

But overall he wasn't faring well. Every day Henry caught him look out to the sea longingly, pining away and crying bitterly.

Henry felt horrible for him. But at the same time he didn't want him to leave just yet. He had so many questions to the small brunette.

Hyde didn't answer all of them, but some.

After some prying, he told him that he was a Selkie. Henry hadn't believed it at first, but Hyde had provided irrefutable points and he had to admit defeat.

After answering some questions about how it was being a seal, the brunette finally agreed to talk about himself. The brunette had become a seal after drowning himself, more than 400 years ago. At his birth he had been thought to be a normal girl and been named Máiri. But once it had become apparent that he wasn't a girl, they had … well, treated him the way unusual children had been treated in the late 16th century. At some point the abuse had become too much and he had flung himself off a cliff into the sea at the age of eighteen.

“I just couldn't take the beatings, insults and murder attempts anymore. I saw no point in living on and I thought that on the bottom of the sea no one would be able to hurt me.”

“That's terrible!”, Henry had asked in horror.

Hyde had smiled bitterly. “Not to them. To them I was terrible. Devil's child, changeling, spawn of Hell, Antichrist … I've heard it all.”

When Henry had informed him that he didn't regard him as anything of that sort, Hyde had rewarded him with the most beautiful smile.

And it had been so hard not to kiss those gorgeous lips.

He was happy in the sea, he said. And he was so adept in modern English, because he hung out with younger Selkies a lot. He still remember the old tongue, though. As proof, he proceeded to speak a few sentences in said tongue, but went back to modern English, when he saw Henry's confused expression. He was from here, but had come around a lot over the centuries. At some point he had decided, that he wanted to be Edward Hyde, rather than Máiri NicDhómhnaill.

When the blond asked him, if he knew that Faeroese folk tale he had read about, he nodded.

“To us Selkies it's a cautionary tale not to trust humans. I actually met her once. We bonded over the shit humans put us through. I'm surprised that you know the tale, though.”

Henry blushed. “I read about it in a folk tale book. Stop laughing!”, he snapped, when Hyde started to cackle.

The blond puffed his cheeks and pouted, making the brunette laugh even more.

“Do you …” Henry was afraid to ask this, because he was afraid of the answer. But he had to know. “… have a family?”

At hearing this question, Hyde immediately burst into tears.

“… I guess that's a yes.”

The brunette nodded and cried harder.

Henry handed him a paper tissue, comforted him and tried to ignore how his own heart was currently shattering into pieces.

Later that night, he was the one who cried.

Of course. How could he have been so self-centred as to hope, that this 400-year-old Selkie didn't have a life of his own?!

Fuck, I'm even more of an egotistical arsehole than I thought!

In the morning, when both were calm enough, Hyde told him a little about his family.

“I have a husband – the most wonderful man you could meet. We met about thirty years ago and bonded over being ostracised. Then we fell in love and married and that was okay, because the sea doesn't care about sexes.”

Hyde sighed dreamily. “He's the most handsome man in the world, he's intelligent, sensible, profound, a real sweetheart and we just have so much in common!”

Henry didn't want to hear it. But he didn't want to be a total dick, so he swallowed his bitterness and pretended to like what he heard.

“That's wonderful. I'm glad you finally found happiness. It's just sad that you had to wait for it so long.”

Well, at least that wasn't a lie.

The brunette's smile became bitter.

“Actually, I've had a family before. But that was 200 years ago. Then some bastard stole my skin and forced me to marry him and the rest was just like in the Faeroese folk tale. Minus the curse, of course. I just drove him into madness. My skin was stolen many times more during the last 400 years, but most of them let me go, when they saw that I'm a hermaphrodite. But some didn't care and proceeded to abduct, use and knock me up, like that's all I'm good for.”

Henry's heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

That explains his apprehension towards me. Damn, why is the world so cruel!

The Selkie continued: “I thought I would never be happy again, until I met him. He is all that matters to me and I want to spend the rest of my existence with him. I … I just love him so much!”

Henry's heart shattered into even smaller pieces.

“What I forgot to ask earlier”, he spoke up at dinner, “May I know the name of the lucky man whom you married?”

Hyde tilted his head and looked at him suspiciously. But then he seemed to decide, that it was safe.

“His name is Hastie Lanyon.”

Henry's eyes widened.

Suddenly images flashed before his eyes.

Images of an auburn-haired young man with mismatched eyes, one pale blue, the other amber. A boy with a radiant, sweet smile, who had once been his friend. Then he had drowned himself, just like Edward. He had jumped from the very same cliffs.

And now these two were …

“Speaking of names”, Hyde stated, pulling him out of his stupor, “You never told me yours, Doctor.”

He gulped. “My name is Henry Jekyll … Hastie … he was my best friend.”

Now it was Hyde's turn to stare. “Henry Jekyll”, he breathed, “No way!”

They spent the rest of the night sitting on Hyde's bed, talking about Lanyon.

Hyde said that he was fine and happier, where he was now. It wasn't hard to believe for Henry.

Turned out that the auburn-haired man had told Hyde quite a lot about him.

And the brunette seemed to be very interested in his side of the story.

The blond had so many fond memories of his dearest friend.

But there also were bad ones.

Like the fight they'd had shortly before Lanyon had committed suicide.

“I called him so many terrible things”, Henry confessed quietly. “And he killed himself just a few days later. I never got to apologise properly. And I never got to tell him …”

The lump in his throat prevented him from speaking any further.

Hyde was looking at him strangely, his bright green eyes knowing.

“You loved him.”

Henry nodded and turned away.

Hyde took his hand. “You blame yourself, don't you? Listen, Henry. He didn't kill himself, because of the things you said.”

Henry looked up. “He did not?”

The brunette shook his head. “No. He killed himself for other reasons. I'm in no position to tell you, why. Just know this: apart from that fight, he told me nothing but good about you. And …” A blush painted that milky face. “I'm pleasantly surprised to find that you fit his description.”

Henry blinked. “Really?

Hyde nodded. “For example, he said that you would never force someone to do something they don't want. Not to sound like a narcissist, but I know that you want me, Henry. I have seen it in your eyes. Don't think I haven't noticed, how you force yourself not to constantly stare at me. But somehow you manage not to. And you never touched me or even so much as flirted at me. I …” He blushed harder. “You're the first human to take my skin and treat me with basic decency. You could have done unspeakable things to me, like all the others before, but you chose to respect my boundaries instead. You always act professionally towards me. I'm really thankful for that.”

It wasn't long until the day came, that Henry evaluated the latest x-ray scans and found, that Hyde's ankle had healed perfectly. And the tiny brunette could walk just fine.

Knowing that he had to live up to his promise, he went into the hallway and took the seal coat off the hook.

It was so hard.

But he had kept him away from home more than long enough.

And he refused to be like the arsehole from the legend.

He found him sitting at the window, gazing out to the sea, as always.

“Edward?”

The brunette gasped, when the seal skin was placed into his hands.

Henry smiled gently. “I did promise to let you go, as soon as I could be sure that your ankle has healed properly, didn't I?”

Henry felt a little better, when he was allowed to accompany the Selkie back to the bay.

He looked away, when Hyde stripped out of the borrowed clothes. But then Hyde's throaty voice told him: “Turn around. I know you want to watch, when I leave.”

Henry braced himself and turned around.

He couldn't help but blush at how beautiful the Selkie was.

Hyde allowed him to look at his human form a last time, before taking his seal skin and slipping inside. In an instant, he began to morph and became a white seal with dark brown dots on his coat.

Henry gasped and stared in awe.

The seal looked at him with his black seal eyes, before crawling towards the sea and finally vanishing into the waves. A moment later, the seal resurfaced and this time he wasn't alone. A second seal with a red-brown coat was with him and they were leaping around each other, bellowing happily.

Henry knew, who it was and couldn't help but smile.

Lanyon had waited for his partner the entire time.

He saw the seals look towards him and waved.

They waved back with their flippers, before diving back into the ocean.

He looked onto the sea for a while, before picking up the left-behind clothes and going home.

Once there, he went to the kitchen and sank onto a chair.

It was better this way.

After a life full of suffering, Lanyon had finally found someone to love and who loved him back. It had only been right to let the love of his afterlife return to him.

Hyde and Lanyon deserved to live a happy and free life as seals. That was their life. That was where they belonged.

They were happy together. And he was happy for them.

So why was his heart broken?

Why was he feeling so hollow and so much lonelier than before?

Henry buried his face in his arms and sobbed.

It had been the right thing to do and he didn't regret it, but it hurt!

He awoke in the late evening.

When he sat up, his back was stiff. Damn, had he cried himself to sleep on the table?

With a groan he stood up. Time to follow his usual evening routine.

But when he wanted to leave the kitchen, there was a scratching at the window.

Weird.

Curious as to what it might be, he went to look.

He opened the window just in time to see a seagull fly away.

Strange.

Just as he wanted to close the window again, he noticed, that there was something lying on the window sill. When he took it inside into the light, he saw that it was a piece of wood.

But something was written on it in an antiquated handwriting:

“Come to the beach where you found me, next year, on the 12th night of January. For this is the only time when we can become human again. I will not take 'no' for an answer.

- E. Hyde.”

Henry stared at the message incredulously.

Then he smiled.

[stargazer-writing]

Magic Doers- Part 2

           “So, what kind of creatures are you? Elves, maybe?” the woman questioned after they had walked to the side of a dirt road leading out of town. 

“I think we should be asking you the same question. What was that thing?” Dru demanded. 

“Perhaps a few new magic doers? There haven’t been any in the last century though.” the woman said to herself, not hearing a word the other woman had said. Dru sighed in exasperation, and grabbed the woman by her shoulders, forcing her to face the two Americans. 

“What is going on?” she asked again, and the woman studied the two for a moment.

 “That was a Red Cap, a malevolent being that uses the blood of its prey to dye its hat, hence the name. They typically live in the castles of England and Scotland, but one must have been sent after me specifically.” she explained. 

“You’re telling me there are real life monsters? No, no that can’t be it. Did you drug us or something? Is this a hallucination?” Dru demanded again. 

“No, this is not a hallucination. There are creatures in this world that most could only fathom in their worst nightmares. There is magic as well. That is my part in all of this: I’m a sorceress.” she said, and the two stared at her, dumbfounded. 

“Prove it.” Charlie said, and the woman shrugged. She walked a few yards down the road, then turned and dramatically threw her hands up. 

“Ehediad!” she exclaimed, and suddenly rose into the air, at least ten feet, before carefully descending until she had touched the ground again. With a small curtsy, she then returned back to Dru and Charlie, who were completely floored. 

“Are you convinced now?” she asked them. 

“Alright, let’s say I believe you. Why did no one else seem to notice anything that just happened?” Dru asked. 

“In the past, humans believed in magic and could see it just as easily as we can see each other. However, after some unsavory attacks on my kind and other friendly creatures, like the Salem Witch Trials, for instance, the most powerful sorcerers in the world came together and collectively cast a spell that made sure that no one with human blood could see magic again. It took a little while to completely set in, but by the 18th century we were finally safe. I won’t pretend I know why you two can see me and the other beings of the magical world, but as far as I know no one else should be able to. It is better they don’t see the creatures that have inhabited this earth longer than they have.” she said. 

There were a few minutes of silence before Dru spoke up, saying to herself, “This is insane. None of this can be real.” 

The woman gave her a sympathetic look. “I understand that this is a lot for you. I remember when the magical world first interfered with my life.” she said, a melancholy look in her eyes, and Charlie stepped forward slightly. 

“When was that? Were you born human, or born a sorceress?” he asked. 

“I was born human, like most magic doers. When I was about nineteen, my father was killed by a Black Shuck, an evil black dog with glowing red eyes who dooms anyone who looks at them to die within the year. I sought out the nearest magic doer, and convinced them to teach me, so I could learn magic and save others from the fate my father suffered.” the woman explained.

“Well, I suppose I’ve kept you from your vacation long enough. I must be going. Goodbye.” she said suddenly, and began to walk away down the road. 

Charlie and Dru turned at each other, looking to see what the other one wanted to do. 

“You want to ask her a bunch more questions, don’t you?” Charlie asked his girlfriend, who looked guiltily back to the woman, and he sighed, but smiled anyway. 

“Alright, let’s hurry then.” he relented, and the two quickly chased after the woman.

           “Wait up!” Dru called, and the woman turned to face them when they finally caught up. 

“You said your father saw the dog, but humans couldn’t see magic by the 18th century. That means you would have to be at least…” Dru questioned, and Charlie and the woman watched her do the math in her head, using her fingers to count. “At least 400 years old!” she finally cried, and the woman smiled a little. 

“397 actually. I was born in the year 1619.” she responded, and Charlie stared at her with his mouth agape as Dru seemingly gave up hope of making sense of the woman. 

“Are you immortal?” Charlie asked quietly. 

“For the most part, yes. I became a sorceress when I was twenty years old, and I only appear to have aged a few years since then. In another 400 years I may only appear to be thirty.” the woman explained. 

Dru, who had since sat on the ground from the shock of these new world views, muttered to herself, “Ok. So you’re an immortal sorceress, magic and all that is real, and for some reason Charlie and I can see magic even though we’re humans, who shouldn’t be able to.” 

“Why was that monster attacking you anyway? You seem like a sorceress of good.” Charlie asked, and the woman gave a more genuine smile. 

“Thank you; I try to be anyway. The Red Cap was sent by an adversary of mine, another sorceress who uses dark magic. She is in the process of reversing the spell keeping humans from seeing the magical world, and she knows I’m coming to stop her.” she explained.

“Why would she do that?” Dru asked, and the sorceress shrugged. 

“Power, I assume. Most humans would panic if they suddenly found out the state of their world, and she would use that to her advantage, seizing control.” she explained. 

She paused for a moment, considering something, then looked to Charlie and Dru. 

“You know, maybe you could be some help to me.” she said, and they stared at her. “There are very few sorcerers left in the world, most of them in hiding. I am one of the only left who can fight her, and since you two can also see the magical world, and already know about her plans, I would like to ask you to come with me and stop her.” she said carefully, and Charlie seemed apprehensive of the offer while Dru looked curious. 

Upon seeing her expression, he turned her around so that he could talk to privately. 

“I don’t know Dru, who knows how long this would take? Our trip’s only a week long, and we don’t have the money to travel around with reckless abandon.” he said worriedly, and suddenly the sorceress spoke up from behind them. 

“You won’t have to worry about money for travel. I have spells that can transport us across oceans safely, and I know the other sorceress is here in Europe anyway. As for the length of your trip, if all goes smoothly, we should be able to arrive at her hiding place today and hopefully have it over and done with by tomorrow. All I need is a little help.” she said, and the humans looked at each other again. 

“We’ll have a chance to save the world, Charlie. How many people can say that?” she said excitedly, and he finally sighed, smiled, and nodded. 

“Why not?” he agreed, and the sorceress smiled at them, her face lighting up, making her look slightly younger. 

“Excellent. Why don’t we get going?” she said, and the three began walking down the dirt road.

           “So, where are we going? Not that this road isn’t lovely.” Dru asked after a while of walking. 

“There’s a forest nearby that’s a good conductor of magic. Transporting to our location will require as much natural power as I can get, along with my own.” the sorceress answered. Then she paused slightly, and looked back while they kept walking. 

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced yet. My name is Rhiannon.” she said, and the couple looked at her. 

“Hree-ann-on?” Charlie repeated, and she nodded. 

“It’s Welsh.” Rhiannon explained, and Dru nodded in sudden understanding. 

“So that’s what you and the Red Cap were speaking, and the dialect of your accent, too.” she figured, and the sorceress nodded. 

“Well, I’m Charlie, if you haven’t realized already, and this is my girlfriend, Dhruvi.” Charlie said in return, and Rhiannon gave Dru and odd look. 

“I’m Indian American, and my parents are from India, so it’s Hindi. Dru’s just a nickname.” Dru explained, and Rhiannon nodded. 

“I’ve been to India in my travels once or twice. The culture is one of my favorites. Many good sorcerers have come from India as well.” she said fondly, and they suddenly found themselves in the middle of the forest they had been traveling too. Rhiannon made her way to a nearby clearing, where a small ring of rocks was formed in the middle. 

“Join hands with me. Don’t let go, or it’s quite possible you’ll be stranded somewhere along the way.” she instructed, and the two humans nervously each grabbed one of her hands, and then each other’s. 

Rhiannon inhaled deeply, then tipped her head up, eyes closed, like she was praising someone above. 

“Cariwch ni i Gastell Aberystwyth. Cludiant.” she said, and Charlie and Dru were aware of the wind suddenly picking up around them. 

There was a sound like whispers on the air, growing louder as the wind grew, and the couple shut their eyes tightly against the noise. Then there was a loud rushing sound, a pop, and then silence.

Part 2 of Magic Doers! Please like and reblog!

Link to Part one here.

[imaginesofeverykind]

Secret Partner || Sam Drake x Reader ||

 Characters: Sam Drake x Fem!reader. 

Fandom: Uncharted. 

Request: Nope (But please by all means request, dont be shy lovelies! <3)

Prompt: After several months out of prison and in his search for clues to Henry Avery’s treasure, Sam Drake bumps into you and decides he could use a partner but keeps it from Rafe. 

Tags: @rafeadderall @missdictatorme (let me know if any of you want to be tagged so you get notification of updates!) :D

Word Count: 2,006

A/N: Hey honeys, So i had been thinking on this idea for quite some time so here it is, REQUESTS ARE OPEN, please feel free to send through anything, doesn’t have to be specifically Uncharted, I’ll try and do every fandom I can! xx

This particular day at the library was a quiet one, on a typical day there would be rushes of people in and out to study, read or just to get work done for jobs. During these quieter days, the library was occupied by mainly programmers and developers wanting peace and quiet away from distraction. With the exception of few others there was Y/N, peering up at the shelves trying to find just the right book to help her. 

She was trying to wrap up a case study for her final assessment for the semester before break. This final assessment was for her anthropology class, and the subject of the case study centred around mid seventeenth century to eighteenth century’s pirate movement. 

Finally grabbing the book she was looking for from the shelves, it detailed specifics of the worlds most Infamous pirates and their contribution to the european society back in those times. Blackbeard a well known name even to this day, along with extensive chapters detailing Captain Henry Avery’s plunder of Gunsway and included a brief ‘not-so-accurate’ account of the Pirate Haven known as Libertalia/Libertatia. 

Y/N wasn’t the only person looking for that specific book either, another person, Sam Drake, ‘fresh’ out of prison was too looking for that book. But that was only to help him gather clues as to where Henry Avery had hidden his treasure. He paced down isle’s, hastily glancing at book titles whilst passing them, he was sure he was in the right section. In fact, he was positive the book was there. 

By now Y/N of course had taken a seat at a nearby table, her laptop opened and she took down notes. If she had of known someone else wanted to read the book as well then she would’ve quite generously handed it to them, despite the deadline of this case study creeping up on her. She sighed tiredly and jotted down more notes.

Sam had now stopped at the row of books Y/N was just at before, he searched frantically and resisted the urge to curse once he couldn’t find the title. He tapped his foot on the floor and ran his hands through his hair, I’m an Avery Expert, I don’t need that book. The thought repeated like a mantra in his head, only it had been cut off by his phone vibrating in his back pocket. 

“Any Luck?” Rafe, the guy that got Sam stuck in prison in the first place, but at least Rafe bailed him out... even it had been thirteen years. Sam sighed and continued to slick back his hair due to stress, “No, I mean it’s gotta be here. I saw it yesterday and what would any of these materialistic new age idiots want with a pirate book-.” Sam cut himself off, his eyes trailed over to where Y/N sat and he instantly recognised the book she was reading from. 

“-I found it.” Sam said after a moments of silence, Rafe sighed in relief rolling his eyes at the older Drake’s slight incompetence to find a single book. “Good. Get that damn thing and get your ass back to the cathedral, we’ve wasted enough time already.” 

“I mean I found it, but someone’s reading it - I can’t just take it off her.” Sure Sam was as desperate as Rafe was to get to Henry Avery’s treasure but that didn’t mean he was going to be a dick about it. “Get the goddamn book Sam.” Rafe ordered and hung up, leaving Sam to silently battle with himself. He finally picked his feet up and made his way over to her. “Excuse me-.” He uttered quietly, not wanting to disturb the others. 

Y/N looked up at the sudden interaction, she hadn’t even realised that there was someone in front of her. Suddenly seeing her eyes, getting the book from her was harder than he anticipated. He wasn’t sure if it was that fact that the only female interaction he had was with Nadine Ross, Rafe’s other partner or if he genuinely found it attractive to see a female reading from a pirate book. “Yes?” She asked after he stared blankly at her for several moments.

He was far too old to be a student she knew that was for sure, and she wanted to know why exactly he had come up to her in the first place. Perhaps he’s lost. The thought crossed her mind, he certainly didn’t sound local, and for that fact neither was she. “I - uh... noticed you what your reading there-.” he pointed to the book, the page was open on Anne Bonney, an infamous female pirate of that particular century. 

She looked down at it and then back up at Sam, unsure where exactly the conversation was heading. “Oh... I’m going to take a wild guess and say you are a pirate enthusiast.” The words formed perfectly from her mouth into a quip, to accompany her words one of her eyebrows had raised up and the corners of her mouth upturned into a slight smirk. Sam chuckled, scratching the back of his head completely amazed by her and in only just a short amount of minutes.

“Uh, I guess you could say that. What is that?...research?” He gestured to her notes structured with sloppy dot points. She didn’t mind that he came over to talk to her, she was often always kind or at least tried to be if she was in the right mood but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t intrigued by him. In her class she was the only one who decided to study Piratical Society, not a single person she knew showed any pit of interest except this stranger.

Nodding she set down her pen, not particularly bothered by the deadline looming over her head. “Yeah, I study Human Relations and this is my case study for Anthropology... did you want to read the book - because I’m just about finished with it if you want it, I’m sorry I didn’t realise you were after it.” She began to shuffle around her papers but the book was long gone from Sam’s mind, he was rather interested in Y/N.

A young woman like herself studying things of the likes of Henry Avery and Blackbeard, he’d never dream of something like that before. Well he’d never dream he’d meet a woman who was interested in that sort of historic time period. He sat himself down, placing himself on the corner of the table, “No no, keep doing what your doing sweetheart.. The Name’s Sam, if you like I can help you out.”

He outstretched his hand for her to take and she did kindly, she was taken aback by his kind words but politely declined, “I’m Y/N, and thank you but I’ve got just about everything I need.” Sam was disappointed to say the least, Y/N had a certain aura to her that instantly drew him in, like flies to a fly trap. He pondered for a second before blurting the question out unintentionally, “Do you know much about Henry Avery?” He squirmed in his seat and eyed her carefully, cursing himself for not having a better filter between his mouth and his brain. 

She chuckled at the question, “Of course. He pulled off the biggest heist in his time during the seventeenth century. He’s one of the few pirates who hadn’t lost his treasure in battle or lost it after being arrested-.” she continued on, informing Sam of information he already knew but he just loved hearing it come out of her mouth. He wouldn’t even deny that he was attracted to her, but he used an immense amount of willpower to prevent himself from doing anything he’d regret, given that she was barely pushing over thirty years old. And for all he knew she was married or had a boyfriend or partner. She didn’t, however. 

“And what do you think about the treasure, you think its still out there?” Sam questioned her after she had finished informing him on Henry Avery. “Of course, Historic accounts don’t mention anything about the treasure being recovered, all thats documented on it is that now its worth an estimated over four hundred million dollars in treasures alone.” She had closed her book up, and shut her laptop fully engaging herself in the conversation with Sam. He chuckled and shook his head, he was taken aback by her knowledge, she definitely didn’t seem the type to enjoy history either. “It’s crazy isn’t it... I’ll let you in on a secret all right...” He trailed off, his voice dialling down to a hushed whisper. 

He leaned closely to her, “I’m looking for his treasure, I think it’s somewhere here in Scotland.” She wasn’t gullible but she believed him, there was something about him that she liked, that was trustworthy about him. Simply laughing she sat back in her seat and folded her arms, “then I’d say you’d be looking in the wrong place.” she shut him down, not to purposefully dull his mood but to inform him. “What? Do you think it’s elsewhere.” 

“Mhmm. Supposedly it was Avery who founded the pirate utopia, ‘Libertalia’, right?” She wasn’t necessarily asking him for an answer because as he went to answer she continued, “By most historic documents, maps and literature it was most likely located around Madagascar, and I think that’s where he hid it.” 

Sam was in utter amazement by her, the way she carried herself as she spoke so clear and concise, he seemed so entranced he didn’t even bother answering his phone as he felt it vibrate in his back pocket. “There’s one problem with that theory, Y/N... Libertalia doesn’t exist. There isn’t a single document that’s the same in description about it.”

“You might be right but the location is always the same, Madagascar, you’re wasting your time if you stay here looking for it.” Y/N had began to pack up her things when Sam offered to help, she once again declined his offer but was flattered he was being a gentlemen. He stood up and looked down at her, searching her eyes for that spark, that need for adventure. Sure enough, there it was, adventure tingling in her eyes.

“You know... I’ve been looking for this treasure for a while now actually... maybe it’s time i get myself a partner - Look I know it’s a pretty big thing to ask of someone but you seem to know a lot of things, and I would never ask just anyone... but you Y/N, you’re really something else.” He admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “Y-you want me... to go with you... and find Henry Avery’s lost treasure?” She repeated slowly back to him, it was starting to turn out to be such a strange day for her. 

“Sure, why not? I mean i’ve been doing this whole treasure hunting business on my own for a while now.. it gets a bit lonely and I could use the company.” Sure he was with-holding the truth from her slightly, but he knew that if Rafe found out he was trying to partner up with another person behind his back it would be bad news. Y/N had considered it, it was definitely a once in a lifetime opportunity given that not a single Archaeologist of this century had found anything detailing the whereabouts of the lost treasure. 

“Well it’ll definitely be interesting.” She chuckled and nodded, taking him up on his offer. “Wait really?” Sam quizzed, amazed that she was so quick to jump on board and trust him only after just a few hours together in the library talking about pirates, bounty’s and treasure. “Of course.” She smiled and he held out his hand once more for her to shake, which she did and he nodded at her, “well it’ll be a pleasure working with you.” 

“Same to you, partner.” 

[kalendraashtar]

Fanfiction - A Lifetime of Her (Part VI)

Part VI – “My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder”

Twenty-eight

She didn’t come back after that night – I knew she had gone back to Boston, to take control over her life. I waited. The phone never rang to give me news or an explanation, inexplicably silent even though I was certain she could find the number had she wished to. And I waited. My mailbox was painfully empty every day, while I dreamt of letters touched by her fingers, read aloud by her warm voice. And yet I waited.

I waited because I had no choice – I was meant to wait for her. Our lives were inextricably connected, vessels adrift on the sea with an intended destination written in the stars. I had tried to forget her before, to live pretending I wasn’t waiting – and that had hurt more than the hours I spent awake at night, looking at the spot where she once had laid by my side. But there was that small fraction of time, that heartbeat, just before I opened my eyes in the morning, where everything was possible – and I was happy.

Sometimes I would catch myself checking the weather in Boston, wanting to know if she could see the stars in clear skies – at least I could share that proximity with her. I wondered if she had drank coffee, dark and strong, while her eyes were still half-shut. If she had decided on a specialty yet. That was better than wondering about her marriage – every time I turned my thoughts to Frank, the idea of her being touched by him brought me to a blinding state of anger and fear. I would go outside in those occasions to run, as fast as I could for as long as I was able, until I had fled myself and was somewhat free.

I enjoyed teaching and found great solace in my students, curious and lively little fiends, always looking for trouble. I dedicated myself to the task of keeping their spirits sharp and their curiosity burning.

I had my old friends, with whom I shared whiskey glasses and laughs at the pub – keeping a respectful distance from the place I knew Laoghaire still frequented. They kept me grounded, even with their crudes jokes about my bachelor status. While I was laughing, it was easier to wait – I could almost push Claire to the back of my mind, where she would curl and sleep, satisfied.

Saturday was born in blazing glory, sun shining high in a cloudless sky like a treasure’s coin. I accepted the chance to spend the morning exploring the paths at Arthur’s Seat, pushing myself to the limit. I reached the summit with a delicious pain at each breath intake, the air fresh like crushed mint, filling my chest with the pulse of life.

Back at my apartment, I made plans to shower and spend a lazy afternoon reading and napping on the couch, while I stripped off my sweaty t-shirt, heading towards the bathroom.

That’s when the doorbell rang.

I opened it without thinking twice, expecting perhaps to see Angus or Willie, swinging by to challenge me to watch a rugby match or play a chess game.

Her hair was a bit shorter than the last time I had seen her, framing a face that was slightly flushed from sunlight and anticipation. She was wearing a white sundress and I realized I had been wrong – my memories would never be more than a pale comparison to the woman who stood before me. Her arms were bare, with no visible marks, her flawless skin resembling a painting.

“May I come in?” Claire asked softly, her eyes quickly tracing the lines of my exposed chest before she looked at my face, expectant.

“Of course.” I moved to the side, allowing her in. I brushed my hair with nervous fingers, desperately looking for an old t-shirt to dress. Eventually, I settled for the one I had been wearing, smelling faintly of sweat and crushed leaves.

“I wanted to come sooner.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve been in Scotland for a couple of days, but had to take care of some papers to start my surgical residency here and find somewhere to stay permanently.” Claire searched my eyes. “I’m moving back to Scotland.”

“Aye.” I said in a husky voice. “I’m glad to see ye, Claire.”

“I’m glad to see you too, Jamie.” She smiled, more confident. “These past two years, I -“

“Ye dinna have to explain anything to me.” I interrupted, feeling strangely hollow, fighting against anger which came with a sense of relief.

“I think I do.” Claire insisted, stepping closer to me. “I want you to know that I heard you, Jamie. I didn’t want to make promises until I truly meant them. I had to finish school and decide what I really wanted for my life.”

“And did ye?” I croaked, folding my arms in a defensive gesture, pre-emptively shielding myself from bad news.

“Yes.” She whispered. In that moment she reached out with her hand, offering it to me with her palm down – naked. Her wedding ring gone. “I divorced Frank more than a year ago – and never lived with him again after I was here.” Claire searched his eyes. “With you.”

“Then why did ye never wrote or called?” I asked, hurt creeping into my words. “Why did ye waited two years to show up again?”

“I had to be worthy of you.” Claire said simply, twisting her hands – her fingers touching the ghost of the ring that once had been there. “I had to make sure I was coming because it was the right thing – not because I was wrecked. You offered me everything and I wanted to have something to give back.”

“I missed ye.” I admitted in a whisper, as her hand touched my cheek – I closed my eyes, surrendering to her caress. “A Dhia, I thought I’d go mad with the idea of never seeing ye again.”

“I missed you too.” She gasped, her body so close to mine I could feel the swell of her breasts, the compelling heat coming from her skin. “I haven’t realized I could barely breathe until now.”

“Are ye here to stay then?” I asked serious, our eyes locking. We were gently swaying along some music we could both listen, too eager to stand still, too afraid to finally meet in quietness. “Because if ye’re not…”

She silenced me with her trembling fingers, touching my mouth, learning the shape of my lips. I almost moaned with the pleasure of her touch, so sincere and tender.

“I’m here to stay.” Claire assured me, tracing the line of my chin, where stubble prickled. “If you’ll have me.”

“I’ll have ye in any way I can.” I whispered, my voice almost breaking with emotion – and yet, stronger than ever before. “Always.”

“Jamie…” She sighed with a smile, her forehead leaning against mine. “May I kiss you?” I realized she didn’t wish to rob me another kiss, a thief taking something precious, covered in the night’s cloak.

“I thought ye’d never ask.” I gave her a lopsided smile and our lips finally met, a kiss eighteen years in the making, hesitant at first and then all-consuming.

We spent the afternoon discovering each other, laying in the living room’s rug, slowly and languidly displacing clothes in order to kiss another inch of skin, to draw shapes of desire with our fingertips.

I opened the first buttons of her dress, tracing with my tongue the curve of her breasts; she insinuated her hands on my shorts, caressing the fine copper hairs of my thighs. I nuzzled her neck, softly biting her until she moaned, so I could reward her with a soothing flicker of my tongue. She laughed and playfully clawed my back, making sure I too would wear medals of our war, marks of the victor. I marvelled with the roundness of her arse and the feel of her swollen lips, battered with kisses, ever-wanting. I was mightily aroused – that much was evident to us both – and yet I didn’t move to enter her. I didn’t wish to precipitate the voyage we had started together, to hasten something that would come naturally to us, as each one of our meetings through life had. I would finally get a lifetime of her and planned to savour each small conquest.

“Are ye hungry?” I asked eventually, kissing her shoulder. She looked dishevelled and wanton, pure lust and love in the shape of a woman – I’d never seen her more beautiful or desirable.

“I’m starved.” She laughed, nuzzling the hollow of my chest one final time. “Will you feed me then?”

“Ach, I’m too knackered to cook.” I admitted, playing with her curls – already sorely missing her lips on mine. “But there’s a fantastic Mexican place nearby – I’ll buy ye dinner.”

“If you’re planning to intoxicate me with Margaritas,” Claire sat up and started to compose her clothes. “I have to say it’ll probably work like a charm.”

We left the house walking hand in hand, like two loved up teenagers, giggling and teasing each other. I’d pull her against me once in a while to kiss her again, to the general amusement and surprise of people around us. I didn’t know such happiness was possible – I felt my chest so full that no space was left for regret or doubt.

We were talking about plans to spend Sunday together, when we heard the commotion. A loud crash, someone screaming – the air was thick with tension, harder to breathe in. I felt Claire gripping my hand one final time before she let go, prepared to face what was certainly coming around the corner.

A man with a black ski mask emerged from the sizable jewellery store, which had imposing diamond rings and golden necklaces peeking through the window displays. He carried a dark sports bag at his shoulder and in one hand sported a menacing revolver, while the other grabbed a shrieking shopkeeper by the hair. Blood dripped from the side of her head, where she had probably been pistol-whipped, her eyes blank with shock.

An alarm went off inside the store, an unnerving sound that made me shiver, the hairs on my arms erecting in fear.

The robber shouted something – a car was waiting near the curb, another masked man inside it. He forcefully pushed the woman against the sidewalk, her head bumping against the edge with a nauseating sound of crushed eggshells.

I think I screamed, trying to stop Claire from moving – I knew she would go. She had healed me times enough for me to know that she wasn’t capable of witnessing suffering without trying to interfere.

It happened in a second and yet I saw it in slow motion – how she kneeled next to the woman, trying to stabilize her neck, to evaluate her wounds, calling for her with the lips I just had kissed moments before. The man in the ski masked turned and looked at her, laughing at the sight of her unfruitful gestures – she held his gaze in defiance, insulting him with her sharp tongue.

I was already screaming before it happened – I could see it so clearly and yet I was powerless to stop it. The gunshot that announced the ending, loudest even than my heart breaking.

I ran to her, trying to catch her before she fell on her back. For a moment I thought he had missed her – but a drop of red appeared on the white of her dress, spreading quickly across her belly like a net of poison, a cloud of blood drenching the fabric.

She looked at me with her eyes wide open in painful shock. I sobbed and cried for help, trying to keep her with me through a stupor of despair, my hands pressing the wound as my heart’s blood left her body.

“Jamie.” Claire whispered weakly, searching my eyes. And I started to pray, as sirens wept around me.

Note: I know it’s angsty but - hey- it’s canon! :D

[eveniceburns]

 SL 2 {@turningeternal and @winterblood_ }

                         Christian:

I had to sift a total of eleven times before I reached Scotland. The first few took me to worlds I did not recognize, just random selections from the Unseelie Prince heritage I carried with me. Each world was more torrid than the last, creatures and animals crawling over to witness what dying beast had presented itself for their consumption.

However, curiosity killed the cat. Each living being that came close enough was trapped under my one working wing, brought into my chest to feed from. I needed to repair, to rebuild my body from the inside out, and taking the lifeforce of others was the only way left. The totality of broken bones and ruptured organs had taken their toll, making it impossible to even walk. I had to wait for my victims to come close. 

And Death lifted his dark hood and smiled down on the thrumming heartbeats that drew near. He embraced them, took their pulses and added them to his own. He regenerated a little more with each life taken. It was the worst of myself, the Fourth Horseman riding from realm to realm, inhaling mortality and light and leaving behind empty darkness. Each bump allowed another jump, one world closer to my own.

At last, I saw the Scottish hills of my home. I was a long way from healed, but I believed now I would at least survive. Allowing another to become the fourth Unseelie Prince was something I’d fight to the death and beyond. No one else could be trusted or render control over Death as I had. I called out weakly into the breeze. My uncles were here. My father. They would know what to do.

                         Winter: 

She had rested during the trip to Scotland, remembered parts of the drive from Dublin to the ferry. The cool wind off the water and the shift of waves against the ferry comforted her, lulled her until she slept once more and when she woke it was on MacKeltar land. It welcomed her, opened its arms to embrace her presence and whisper in excitement for her return. It adapted for her, the air staying chilled even when the sun was high in the sky, the rain cooled the ground, seeped into the stone of the old castle to mix with the gentle wind to cool the space. Winter had come to MacKeltar land in more than one way. 

She rested in the comfort of this place, one she called home centuries ago when Drustan stood as Laird. Before he met his time-traveling love and made his mistakes with the gypsies. Before she had gifted him with life in this time. It was that small bit of information that warmed the women of this clan to her. That and the obvious history she held with the men. Cian spoke to her, even smiled. Dageus looked to her for approval. And Drustan treated her as a younger sister, though she aged him by a 1000 years. And though her anger still burned she found herself settling into this home, with this family. It was during a calm night of teas and snacks that a ripple was felt in the air, a whisper. A call for help. The air brought the scent of Prince. Christian. 

                        Christian:

The fields felt colder than I remembered, a dampness and wind that chilled my wings to frozen branches and turned my legs to sludge. Or perhaps it was the half-dead state I was in as I lay a crumpled pile of feathers on the ground. The grass was mossy and poked at my flesh. The jagged rocks mocked my broken bones.

Voices in the distance. They’d heard me. I pulled back on the Sidhbha-jai, on Death. I would be touched by my uncles and watched over by their wives and daughters. I couldn’t risk hurting any of them. Drawing in powers I’d let run rampant was akin to trapping fish with a hula-hoop. I dug down deep, remembering who I was, a man, a druid, a MacKeltar. Pushing down the Unseelie, drawing forth my humanity.

“Dinnae touch me yet,” I barked as hands swept down for me. They instantly retreated at the sharp, gravelly timbre of my voice. I was still Unseelie, and my family knew the danger that posed. They started praying softly, their deep collective voice the only thing I could hold on to. Slowly, the immortal monster retreated back down, deep into my psyche, and the druid came forth once more.

Rolling onto my back, I opened my eyes. It was night, yet the sky somehow had hidden all signs of life, stars and moon cloaked from me. Nearby, Dageus asked who I was.

“Aye, it’s me. Christian.”

                        Winter:

She moved to stand with the wives on the front stoop, her fae eyes catching the movements and interactions of the MacKeltar men. The Prince was hurt, broken but healing. And she ached to be unable to help, to be cut off from her Silvers and the gifts they gave her. “He’ll need somewhere to rest, do you have a bed large enough for man and wings?” The wives looked at her, confusion on their faces. “Christian has come home.”

With gentle touches, she urged the women back inside, gave each a job to do that would keep them distracted as the men brought in the Prince. There was tea to be made, space to make for a large enough and comfortable enough space, and first aid supplies to gather. There was no doubt he would need bathing so the water was to be warmed and cloths brought. As they worked she watched, ready to move should she need. Knowledge of what this Dark Prince could do at the front of her mind. You could never know what one would do when in pain, lashing out at a loved one was a real possibility and when Death was your… other half it was even more dangerous. So she stood and she watched, a bright figure in the darkness. 

                        Christian:

My uncles began to move me, which was a bit of a feat considering my size. I was over seven feet tall now, and each wing stretched almost fifteen feet from sprout to tip. But suddenly I was lifted with ease, moving swiftly across the fields. It was Dageus, his beastly strength able to carry me without a struggle.

A familiar set of eyes appeared above me. My father.

"Your uncles barely escaped in time. The Silvers have been shut, Christian."

"How?"

"Ryodan," Dageus answered without turning his head. 

I was momentarily lost to rage, sub-arctic frost spreading across my body so fast that Dageus yelled out in pain as he dropped me to the ground. That fucking animal had nearly trapped my kin in the Silvers. And for what? To stop me from capturing the hag? She had ripped his and Barrons's insides out once before. They should want her dead.

"GET HOLD OF YOURSELF, CHRISTIAN."

Dageus was screaming at me, my father and the others running towards the castle. If I killed Dageus, he'd come back. The others would not. Power was surging through me, overriding the pain of broken bones. I looked up at him, only to be blinded by a spotlight coming from the porch. It was like starlight and magic. My head cranked around.

"Snaw fae?"

                        Winter:

His power surged, fast and strong. Cold and deadly. She was moving at the first hint of frost in the air, moving around the running MacKeltars to join Dageus where he stood above the raging Prince. She was given a look of disapproval from the Beast, worry darkening his silver eyes. Neither of them knew the state of her immortality with the closing of the Silvers but they did know the weakness of her body. As she stepped closer to Christian she felt Dageus tense, preparing to pull her to safety should he need. But this Prince would not harm her. That she trusted. “You’ll injure yourself further if you continue with this foolish tantrum.”

As she spoke she crouched down to study his injuries, a small wrinkle forming between her brows as she looked at the break in that beautiful, powerful wing. She can only imagine what would have caused his injuries, no doubt caused by Ryodan and his stupidity. “I believe it is my turn now to take care of you.” She offered a small smile and touched the tips of her fingers to his wing, pushing power into the appendage to straighten and heal as much as she could.

“Winter.” Dageus’s voice was disappointed and worry as that push of power had her trembling, weaker. 

“Lift him again Beastie. Or his Aunties will start to worry.” She did not need the hand he offered to help her to her feet but she accepted it. Standing on her own as he lifted Christian into his arms, her hand going to rest on the Prince’s forehead, fingers stroking gently against his skin. “You MacKeltars cannot stay out of trouble, can you.” Head shaking as they walked to the castle to join the MacKeltars that stood at arms on the front porch. 

                        Christian:

It hadn’t occurred to me that Ryodan’s idiocy in sealing off the Silvers might have trapped more than myself and the hag out. The Snaw Fae had come through with me when I rid the White Mansion of its disease. I had assumed she’d returned to her realm when I found my apartment--my bed--empty. But clearly she’d not gone home. Or rather, in a rare moment of selflessness, Ryodan had actually considered the well being of someone else and called her back out before trapping her inside.

Her touch on my crippled wing cooled the burning ache, a soft /click/ the only indication that the bone had been set by her hands. And then Dageus once again was moving me towards the large estate. As her fingers slid into my hair, my eyes closed. Exhaustion and darkness overtook me, and I let myself drift away knowing I was safe. I was home.

Some time later my eyes drifted open, and I immediately knew where I was. There was a large chamber on the second floor, the only room with ceilings high enough and walls wide enough to contain my Unseelie form. Mattresses and blankets had been stacked together side by side, and by some miracle no part of me was touching the cold floor. A fire was roaring in the oversized fireplace nearby. My wounds had been cleaned and dressed.

I didn’t need to turn my head to see the small fairy keeping watch over me.

“How did you get here, Snaw fae?”

                        Winter:

“Dageus.” She unfolded from the chair she was curled in, setting aside her book and moving to sit on a piece of his makeshift bed. Her hair was pushed over her shoulder to fall against the mattress, bright against his dark feathers. “The Nine were keeping him. And when --.” She trailed off and looked to the fire for a moment, gathering herself. She was angry with Ryodan and the others. With Dagues as well. Perhaps more betrayed than anything else and that hurt, twisted in her chest. 

“I went to Ryodan after you brought me to his world, a mistake. Obviously.” She pulled her gaze from the fire to look down at him, resting her weight on one hand and reaching out with the other to touch a few of the warm, still healing spots on his body. “I’ve been trapped here. Your uncles are going to help undo what has been done.” She did not want to explain the why and what but found it was needed, so she moved to the water basin that rested on a short table. Her motions were slow and careful, her body was weak. Felt breakable and it made her careful in every step and every movement. A cloth was wrung out and brought to him, her hands gentle as she wiped him clean of sweat. She’d already cleaned him of blood and dirt and now washed away the sweat from the fire and his healing. 

“Part of that sickness was carried within me. Brought here, to Ryo..Ryodan’s.” She bit her tongue at the nickname, wrinkles forming on her brow as she took a moment to calm her rage. Her blue eyes were multicolored, sparking with rage and hurt. “My assumption is that is what drove him to do what he has done. Using information gathered from Dageus he has done this but it is not right. He’s done something wrong, upset balance. And now, we wait for the consequences.” Her hands were warm, no longer carrying their natural coolness. “And what trouble have you been in, Druid? To break you so?” 

                        Christian:

I was glad Dageus had been there for the Snaw Fae when Ryodan had failed her. I could have told her that the selfish prick would one day put his own wants above her own, and she would suffer for it. He had taken advantage of her weakened state--one that still seemed to be with her apparently--and closed the Silvers. Cutting off the fae worlds was a dangerous move and I was positive the realms would shift uncontrollably as a result of his hasty, self-serving decision. I scowled so hard my jaw cracked. The Nine never thought of anyone but themselves. Which for a bunch of animals that couldn’t really die, only convinced me further of their pathetic detachment from those that lived in this world.

“My uncle played part in this?” I hissed as the washcloth made contact with my wounds. At least he’d made right and brought her here where my family could protect her from that rodent. And it was becoming evident she needed it more than I’d realized before. The dark disease had left the White Mansion but followed her here. If she had just stayed with me… I could have eradicated it from her, and the Silvers would still be safe.

“I was in the middle of abducting the Crimson Hag when the Silvers closed. It was a head-on collision with her, me and a solid wall of stone.”

                        Winter:

“Splat.” It wasn’t funny but she couldn’t help herself, she’d always had a bit of a perverse sense of humor. It came from being so isolated. She smiles softly before moving to rinse and wring out the cloth, bringing it back and resting it over the slowest healing wound. She’d been slowly working to heal away his injuries, little bursts of power at a time while the others were not there to frown or lecture. These druids, always acting like they controlled the world. 

“Your uncle made a mistake in a moment of weakness and shared a secret I gave him many years ago. I am fortunate he did not share everything or else there would be no turning back from this decision. I’d be stuck.” In a world she did not fit or understand. A world she was not certain she could survive. 

“The Hag will not be happy with you, no doubt she will be searching to seek her revenge. I suppose that means you want the Silvers open just as much as I but what is your plan once you have her there?” She pressed palm and cloth hard to a wound, ice crawling from her skin to his to knit together bone and flesh before melting away for her to wipe up. 

                        Christian:

“I care not for the hag or her revenge. She was nearly killed in the collision, it will take some time for her to heal. When she comes for me, I’ll be ready. Then I’ll destroy her once and for all.”

I’d have to come up with something else now, because there was no doubt that one day the Crimson Hag /would/ enact her revenge. I just had to hope she would busy herself with the Seelie Prince still strapped to her cliffside in the meantime while I came up with a new plan. Clearly baiting her with Unseelie offspring to lure her into the Silvers with me was off the table. I had hoped to use her to discover the King’s secrets. But that may not be possible if we came to blows once more.

DAMN RYODAN AND HIS POMPOUS AGENDA. 

Crying out in pain, I arched up off the bedding, rage no doubt flexing the broken parts of me, agitating the organs and bones that were still trying to mend. The fire nearly extinguished, frost creeping up the walls. If anyone but the snaw fae had been here, they would have frozen on the spot. I was suddenly thankful for her, even if the idea of her canoodling with my parents and uncles scared me.

“How do you know my family?” I swallowed down the surge in emotions and tried to focus. If I encased the ancient brick castle in ice, my whole family would die. Death lingered just below the surface, anxious to come out and play again. I required ample distraction.

                        Winter:

Her eyes fell partially closed as the air turned frigid, fire sputtering in the grand hearth and frost licking along her skin like a lover’s touch. A hum of pleasure purred at the back of her throat and her entire body shivered in delight, the only one in this castle that would feel invigorated or comforted by such ice and power. It gave her strength where she was weakening which meant her eyes snapped with cold fire when he upset the wounds she was taking such care to heal. Her hand snaked up his torso to grip his jaw, once blue eyes now a burning white as she frowned her disapproval. “Cease. I can only do so much when you insist on that bloody temper.” With a sharp swat to his jaw she moved to rinse the cloth once more, muttering about the stubbornness of Scots and Druids. 

“You’re a fool to mess with that thing. She is the worst of my Father’s creations.” Head shaking she sat by his shoulder, sweeping her hair back over her shoulder so it fell down her back and over his wing once more. “Now keep your temper in check and your body still. Or I’ll leave you here to mend on your own.” A pale brow was lifted as she waited for him to unclench and calm, with that brief burst of his power she felt recharged and channeled the flush of power into healing him. 

“Has Drustan never told you of the spell that allowed him to travel time? Or Cian of his times in the Silvers?” She was sure he had heard of her but had not realized. Her life was heavily entwined with this family, first by fate and the rest by choice. “The Lady Winter or… I believe Drustan has a few less flattering names he called me. Ice witch. I suppose.” A soft, musical laugh filled the room as frost spread across his torso at her touch, sinking into his body to knit together organs and re-torn flesh. “Dageus called me his Snow Queen for a time.” That was all she said about Dageus, her mouth tightening at the corners and her eyes darkening to sea blue. She did not know if his mistake cut worse than Ryodan’s betrayal or not. “Your Father and your siblings are the only of the MacKeltars where fate has not deemed to throw us together.” She carefully did not mention him, he she knew. There was very few things in the Silvers she did not watch over or know about and the crashing of a druid into her lands. His transformation. The creatures of the silvers were a gossipy bunch that liked to tattle to her. Their Princess. 

                        Christian:

The swift sting of her palm on my jawline set me straight in a hurry. So did the snowstorm in her eyes, they reached far down to the Unseelie Prince where he was buried deep in my psyche and made the connection that eased his urges. It made me wonder if she was part of the Unseelie prison he’d been trapped in for so long before he awoke in my body. I worked on carefully relaxing muscles and limbs, wings spread wide beneath me. They nearly touched the walls on either side of us. The entire room had been turned into a bed, save for a narrow pathway from the door to the hearth where the snaw fae’s chair sat empty.

“The hag being the worst of the King’s creations is the exact reason why I wish to put her down. Death calls for her, he wants to swallow her whole and bury her memory forever. As do I.”

Before anger could boil up again, I set my eyes on the long trails of liquid silver that spilled down onto the black feathers of my wings. As the snaw fae moved, they washed my injuries in soft kisses.

“Winter…” I whispered softly. I did know of her, and suddenly several things my uncles had spoken to me about over the years slid into place. But what they had described sounded nothing like the fairy creature that sat before me now. Yet, when she wanted to be, she was clearly fierce enough to fit the bill. I had imagined a Yeti like creature, too big for its own body, fur and drool and fangs overbearing any semblance of humanity.

This snaw fae, however, was… stunning. Was it all al glamour? Or was it simply her power and ferocity that gave the child listening to his uncle’s tales visions of a monster?

“I like Snaw Fae better, lass, if I’m being honest,” I drawled softly, bruised and swollen knuckles slipping through the long locks of white that trailed close to me. “Tell me of your time with my uncles.”

                        Winter:

A laugh teased at the edges of her mouth and added a sparkle to her eyes, she’d seen that look before. The look of confusion and awe when someone realised who history. Her name carried weight in both the Sidhe world and the human. The King’s gift of transformation was just that, a gift. She could hide away with ease, with peace. Humming quietly she tossed the cloth into the water basin, watching water splash over the sides before turning her gaze back to him. 

There was recognition in his eyes now and something more. Something Princely and male and when his fingers combed through her pale, starbright hair she gifted him with a wide smile. The gentle tugs left her scalp tingling and gooseflesh raising along her arms. She did enjoy having her hair played with, missed the ladies maids that would brush and braid her hair back when the courts were alive and full. 

“Of course you do. It is the name you gifted me with.” Her tone was teasing and soft. “That is a long history to tell, Christian. I have known your uncles for centuries. Cian the longest I believe as he spent so long trapped within my Silvers.” Regret flashed across her features. “He spent some time with me between wandering the different realms. Though I am not sure what all he remembers.” She turned slightly to take his hand, carefully wrapping his bruised and swollen knuckles in the cool, white strands of her hair. “Dageus and I met before his foray into the darkness and then he stayed with me after. So lost was he to the dark druids I worried his mind would take flight but he found his peace.” As she spoke she left her lips brush against the strands of her hair and the swollen flesh of his fingers, healing him with words and power before letting him go back to playing with the soft locks of her hair. “That Dark Druid stole knowledge from my library and my mind. It is lucky for him that he lost some of his breakable, mortal form with the dark curse. My temper…” She smiles almost sheepishly at him and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “He spent time trapped within my Silvers as well but I was not as kind to him as I was Cian. He proved his worth and gained forgiveness with time and then I would go to him for information and with books, I came across in my travels. He keeps many things safe for me.” 

There was obviously more history there than she spoke of, an affection for the Dark Druid that had not dulled even with the turn of time. “Drustan though, he I believe has the most joy and affection towards me.” Her own face brightened as she spoke of the once Laird. “I was able to gift him a curse to pass through time and be with his Lady Gwen once more. Helped him become a modern fairytale Prince, kissed awake by his Princess.” Laughter filled the room like music as she shook her head, hair brushing against his body and wings as she did. “They invited me to their wedding in this time, I watched from the Silvers. Was a lovely affair.” 

                        Christian:

Her tales of my uncles brought peace to my mind. Whenever I felt lost to my Unseelie side, the things that brought me back where memories of my home, of Scotland, of the hills and ancient castles. Of my parents, and my uncles. The tales they told me as a child, adventures too big for this world--which eventually I understood was because they weren’t of this world at all. The snaw fae’s voice entrapped me, eyes unable to move from hers as she spoke of her time with each druid.

It was not lost on me that I was going to have a chapter of my own one day. If she was able to handle Dageus at his most lost, and as the half-beast, he was now, she might just be able to contend with my own darkness. After all, I was of the Unseelie King, and of his Silvers as well. We were pieces from the same side of his chessboard.

She had been there all along. And always would be. Unless…

“Snaw Fae, are you still recovering from the White Mansion? Or is this new delicacy the result of being cut off from your Silvers?” My fingers left her hair and went to her neck, drawing her closer to me. “I need to know with what urgency we are presented.”

Winter:

She let him pull her closer, moving so her body was curved like a ‘C’ around his head and shoulders. The top of his head brushing against her thighs and hips, she carefully rested her cheek against him, tossing her hair so its full length spread across the black of his wings. “Delicacy. That is a sweet way to say weakness.” Her smooth cheek rubbed against his skin absently, teeth catching and pulled at her bottom lip as she watched him. 

“I am of the Silvers, being disconnected from them. Cut off completely. It’s as if a part of me has been cut out, left me unmade.” It was as if she was missing a limb, she caught herself constantly off-balance and off-guard. She wasn’t sure any of them completely understood how she was made, she knew the King had made her from the Silvers as well as Sidhe but not to what extent. “Your uncles believe I am no longer immortal.” Dageus thought she was dying but that was something she’d gleaned from eavesdropping and did not mention now. Not to the Prince who would no doubt injure himself again if upset. “I suppose that means there is some urgency.” 

                        Christian:

"Aye, lass. There is much urgency. The Nine have acted with authority they do not possess. They are not the guardians of the doorways to fae realms. The MacKeltar clan is. My druid heritage is. And I'll be damned if I will let those rodents destroy you for something my uncles and I could have handled. Those bastards nearly trapped my family inside the Silvers. Imagine where we'd be if my uncles hadn't retreated in time."

Ryodan's arrogance had nearly cost us the lives of the few remaining MacKleltar Druids. Dageus and myself were no longer pure, and while our immortality had its perks, we were not as we once were. We needed Drustan, and my father.

Letting out a slow breath before rage could overtake me once more, I locked eyes with Winter.

"I will make sure your Silvers are returned to you, Snaw Fae. The moment I have my strength back, Dageus and I will fix this. And take care of whatever darkness is trying to bleed through to this world." 

[rudimentaryrecollections]

Glasgow 01 – 05 July 2017

My things are dry. My feet rested. I go downstairs for breakfast. It is the best I’ve had this trip. Full English with black pudding, which I find I like. The bread is fried in butter. It is large with a lot of coffee. The perfect thing to restore me further.

I walk to the city centre and buy a groundsheet for a pound at Poundland, and dubin wax to reproof my boots. I also buy croc sandals, my boots are too heavy and painful for my feet now. I would take them to a doctor, but it appears there are none open on Saturday.

I catch the train to Glasgow. The city centre is nice, the standard affair of large old buildings and pleasant streets. I get rained on heavily and then the sky is nothing but sunshine. Welcome to Scotland.

And in my time here I discover Glasgow to be a bit rough around the edges. The city centre is nice, but it’s surrounds are still recovering from post-industrialisation. I see many taverns with no windows, derelict buildings, people tripping out (on drugs) and beggars in what appear to be nice suburbs close to the city centre. It appears that they are using street art, music and other culture to help rejuvenate the city, and there are many nice murals to be discovered which lively up their surroundings. Aye, it is being gentrified.

I walk the streets towards my Couchsurfer host’s house, which is about 20 minutes from the centre without getting lost.

To my surprise there is a male Tasmanian there too, Dom. This catches me off guard, but I am quick to adjust. At first I think he is her partner or housemate. But soon I learn he is also a Couchsurfer. He is younger than me, only 20. I give Eliza a bottle of wine for hosting me. She is in her thirties, so I wonder what wisdom she may have.

She feeds me soup and hurries me along, we have somewhere to be by 7. We follow the river Clyde to our destination, chatting along the way.

They seem a bit clicky, as Dom keeps talking about things that happened on their big night out yesterday. He reminds her of the unnecessary tequila shots they had at a nightclub, and questioned if he owed her anything for the drinks last night, which she dismisses. I be myself, and quietly acknowledge their chat, then take what opportunities I can to learn about each of them.

We go to a planetarium, and enjoy a dome show, travelling through the universe learning about stars, planets, constellations and spacecraft.

After we walk back and have some drinks. Eliza is tired from the night before, but Dom is in the mood to celebrate, as today marks one year since he left Australia.

He talks a lot, and seems to enjoy being the centre of attention. I generally like people who talk a lot, since I am quiet myself. However that can depend on the quality of the words. He enjoys telling me what I should do in my travels or how I could have done certain things better. I try to get to know Eliza. She is quiet like me and is not one to talk over someone else.

We go to a bar briefly and I do not let Eliza pay for any drinks, seeing as though she paid for the Planetarium. When Dom goes to the bathroom she talks to me quite freely, about her son in Poland, and how she was on MDMA the night before without Dom knowing. She did not remember getting home the night before, which raises an eyebrow from me.

We return to the flat after Dom’s round. Eliza puts on some candles and fairylights and the ambience is nice.

She cooks me a fillet of Quorn – a vegan chicken breast made from mushroom proteins. It is nice. Dom appears to get jealous of her niceties towards me, after she tells him his vodka tonic mix is too strong. He says, “What’s the matter, we were getting along just fine until Bluey here showed up!?” She ignores him, what other response could he have hoped to illicit?

It is not the first time he has called me Bluey that evening, which irritates me. Words won’t harm me, but when he says it there is venom in his tone. Dom has been in control of the music. He asks me if there is anything I would like to put on. I say the music is fine. Eventually he insists. I queue a track. It starts to play. It does not make it halfway through before he changes it.

When Eliza goes to the bathroom Dom talks quite openly to me about how Eliza turns into another person when she drinks, how she was grinding him on the dancefloor last night. I do not know why he tells me this. I smirk in my mind, thinking that alcohol and MDMA will make a person more feely. But outwardly I tell him that she did not remember getting home the night before, so she may not remember that either.

When it hits midnight it marks Dom’s anniversary of being overseas, and he has an emotional spiel. He takes selfies with us and we have tequila shots. The drinking continues into the wee hours and Dom is the first to retire, to the spare bedroom.

I am drunk. Eliza is too. She stacks the dishwasher, and now I am the one to drunkenly ramble. It would seem whoever is youngest in this home has the most to say. I express I would like to get to know her more personally. She expresses she is tired and it’s best to sleep.

I bid her good night and pass out on the couch. I get up at midday and tidy up. Eliza is up and bids me good morning. She does not remember the end of last night, which concerns her. No wonder, with two strange males in the house. My memory is hazy, but I tell her I recollect her putting the dishwasher on, before she went to bed, and I went to couch. She is relieved. She asks what I want to do today. I ask for suggestions. She suggests taking a train to Loch Lomond, a national park nearby. I say it sounds delightful.

Dom is up now. Today he was to go to Edinburgh. I assumed he would leave when he got up. But when he hears our plans he decides to take part. I am not thrilled by this. But like any time, I resolve to make the most of my situation.

My hangover has me anxious. My social batteries have already been worn down. My ability to take the initiative in situations has somewhat disappeared. I think I should organise breakfast, but before I know it Eliza has gone to the shops and comes back. She cooks a feast with Dom. They must think I am vegetarian, as they do not give me haggis. Dom does not like it, so I eat it. It is nice, a peppery liver flavour. For all it is made out to be an acquired taste, I quite like it.  

We catch the train to Balloch, which takes a little under an hour. Eliza and I sit exhausted. Dom sits and prattles away. Sometimes he says things that he has said the hour before. When Eliza yawns he says, “You need coffee.” Or “There is only one cure for a hangover, more vodka!” She yawns more than once during the day. He offers for us to put our jackets in his backpack. We both decline, we both have arms to hang them from, from where it is easier to put them on if we’re caught in a shower.

I tire of him, and long for the quiet of the trail. I practice mindfulness, and dismiss some of his comments with what I like to call conversation enders - ‘True,’ being my personal favourite.

We get cheap coffee at Balloch. It is strong and picks me back up. I am more talkative and humour Dom’s talking points. Loch Lomond is beautiful. Lakes and forest stretch as far as the eyes can see. Gentle drizzle rains down. We lap around some trails for a while then catch the train back. Dom insists on gifting me his lighter for my camping. Later he complains that I took it from him. I offer it back, and he murmurs that he can’t take it on the plane anyway.

As we walk back from the train Dom asks if he can stay for another night, as it is now quite late in the afternoon. Eliza politely inclines. He thanks her and says he will cook dinner.

I knew such a thing would happen. He offers me Eliza’s sons bedroom. I decline as I was comfortable on the couch. Back in the flat, I throw myself onto the catch and sigh. Alcohol withdrawal still affects me. I enjoy the quiet for three seconds before Dom follows me and says, “I know how you feel.” If he did he wouldn’t be talking. He asks me if I want the bedroom again. I decline as all my stuff is in this room.

Eliza suggests we watch a movie. The best suggestion. Movies provide noise, so extroverts don’t feel the need to chatter. Dom goes to the shops and cooks dinner while I show Eliza some Andrew Ucles videos. After dinner I put on Hunt for the Wilderpeople, which we all greatly enjoy, then Chef. Eliza goes to bed before Chef is over.

When it is over, Dom asks me for the third time if I want to sleep in the bed instead of the couch. I answer again that really it is fine, I sleep well on the couch. Having asked so many times, he seems to want his way with this. But I will be the first to rise out of us two, and I do not wish to tip toe around the living room in the morning.

Eliza has gone to work cleaning when I arise, and I make a strong coffee. I drink it and wander north along the Clyde. I am anxious still. I have no idea why I feel I have done something wrong, and make up reasons in my head. I practice mindfulness. Listen to the gulls, and see them float in the sky.

I remind myself of my characteristic introversion, and how it is nothing to feel ashamed of. I just needed space, time alone, to recharge my social batteries. Or some alcoholic juice. I always wanted to get really drunk in Glasgow, perhaps inspired by Irvine Welsh characters, and today will be the day. I buy a small bottle of rum and finish it before returning to Eliza’s to grab my bag.

She is on break from work. We eat lunch from our own food supplies together. Dom has left. Again I am now the one to chatter. I talk with her about her life, and what she has coming up. She will study Chemistry at university, which I encourage. She seems solemn, and I almost sense sadness that her house will be quiet again. Or perhaps I am mistaken in my intoxication, and really she is just tired. When it comes time to leave we hug twice and she asks me to send her photos. I know I will stay in Glasgow for at least another night, but I do not wish to impose on her. So I depart.

I am happy, my anxiety vanished in this last interaction.

My Couchsurfing experience complete, I set foot towards the centre of Glasgow. I drink beer on the street. Then in a pub as I charge my phone. I speak to Spanish travellers. I have no plans. I book a hostel near the Necropolis, a large graveyard on a hill. I wander through it. It is a sunny, beautiful day.

After being subject to chit-chat as relentless as the Northumberland drizzle for two days I appreciated being alone. Sitting in the sun alone. Reading a book alone. Watching the river Clyde alone. Drinking in the park alone. Alone but not lonely. Otherwise known as solitude. A valuable thing, as a dear friend once expressed to me. Aye my friend, solitude is bliss.

When I get to the hostel I pass out for a while in my bed. I awake still a bit drunk, and go to get some food. The hostel is called Tartan lodge. The walls are plain, except on some there are canvases coated in tartan cloth on the wall. It is not my idea of art, but better than nothing I suppose. I sleep easy. In the morning I am hungover.

I do not know where my room key is. I do not know if I paid a deposit for it. I am anxious again. I pay for my oblivious blitheness the day before with dehydration this morning. I panic about the key. I do not want to lose a deposit or pay a fee. There is one at reception on the desk. I sneakily take it and hand it in as I checkout. There was no deposit. Just a fee for losing one.

I laugh at the panic I felt before the key, and congratulate myself on my sleight of hand.

“Let’s not get drunk like yesterday on our own any more,” I agree with myself.

The day is grim, and I am aimless. I find a library and try to catch up on journal entries. The librarian gives me an hour PC code. I get through my York entry, and halfway through my Newcastle entry. It takes me a long time to write these. I assure myself that it will get easier, more succinct the more practiced I am. It is a good writing exercise, and if I keep it up I will see improvement. It is the last time I find myself doing a journal entry for three weeks.

I wander through Glasgow again. I go into the museum of Religious Life. It is more interesting than it sounds. The artworks are very inspired, and the beliefs and stories of Gods outside of Christianity are fascinating. Across the road is the oldest house in Glasgow, another museum. I walk through it and tire. After buying tinea foot powder, I look up the nearest hostel and head towards it.

Hot tub hostel, known for it’s hot tub. The receptionist tells me people bang in it. If I want to use it, I will need a staff member to turn it on. It takes an hour to heat up, and the rule is you must shower before using it. Sounds like a breeding ground for micro-organisms that would love the broken skin on my feet. I tell her I’m looking forward to a quiet night in, no hot tubs necessary.