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underthewingsofthblackeagle · 3 years

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Foto: Panorama Helsinki / Finland - Dom und Parlamentsplatz (by tap5a)

“We only do this for Fergus!” is a short Outlander Fan Fiction story and my contribution to the Outlander Prompt Exchange (Prompt 3: Fake Relationship AU: Jamie Fraser wants to formally adopt his foster son Fergus, but his application will probably not be approved… unless he is married and/or in a committed relationship. Enter one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp (Randall?) to this story) @outlanderpromptexchange

Chapter 12: The Secret Life of the Red Deer (1)

On Tuesday of the following week, Jamie came home shortly after lunchtime to give Claire a little more free time. He sat down with Fergus and helped him with his homework, then they went into the garden where the “two men” chased a few laps behind a football.

“Ball” by derJani

The temperature had dropped considerably since the beginning of October, but the fun they were having playing and the physical action well made up for the difference- After the sun came out from behind the clouds at around 4pm, they even worked up a bit of a sweat. A short time later Claire appeared on the first-floor balcony and announced that tea was ready. Jamie and Fergus entered the house through the garage door, changed their shoes in the basement and then took the lift to the second floor. There they changed their sweaty clothes and shortly after they sat in the dining room where Claire and Mrs Curtius had already set the table. Fergus noted with excitement that there was that tangerine cheese cake that he loved so much. Claire watched Fergus and had the impression that the physical activity had done him good, but had also tired him out a little. He would certainly fall asleep quickly tonight.

"Will you read to me, Papa?“ asked Fergus after he had eaten the second piece of cake and was clearly satiated.

Jamie smiled at him.

"Yes, I’d love to. You go on into the winter garden. I’ll have my tea and then I will join you.”

A moment later Jamie and Claire heard the sound of the electric train. Claire looked at Jamie:

"Don’t you feel like reading to him? I can …“

"No, no. I’m just a bit knocked out by the unaccustomed exercise and I want another cup of tea in peace.”

He smiled and Claire reached for the teapot to refill his cup. But before Jamie could reach for his cup, his smartphone rang. He looked at the screen and Claire saw his puzzled expression.

“Tea” by fotshot

“Matthieu! Good afternoon! How are you?”

Jamie was obviously surprised, but it didn’t seem like a negative surprise to her.

"Friday, you say?“ he continued, "Yes, that might work, but I’ll have to check with Claire first. I don’t know at the moment if anything else is already planned for Friday.”

He listened to the voice on the other side of the line for a moment, then said:

"Right, that’s how we’ll do it. I’ll call you first thing in the morning then and let you know. Sure. Please give my greetings to Teresa and your little crown prince!“

Once again a silence fell on Jamie’s side.

"Yes, Matthieu, I would be delighted. Thank you so much for calling! See you then.”

Jamie hung up, then turned to Claire.

"So, so, you have to ask Claire first,“ she said with a smile.

"Yes, at least I have to discuss it with you. Matthieu and Teresa von Klarenberg are good friends. They bought a house very near here over a year ago. It’s a beautiful, large property, but it needed extensive renovation. Parts had fallen into disrepair and it is a listed building. Matthieu will be at the site on Friday afternoon to see how the work is progressing. He asked if he could come by for a quick visit in the early evening.”

"Who are these von Klarenbergs?“

Before Jamie could answer Claire’s question a loud shout sounded from the wintergarden:

"Papaaaa! Paaaapaaa! Are you coming?!”

Claire and Jamie looked at each other and both rolled their eyes. Then Jaimie called out:

"Yeheees, Sooohon! I’m coming!“

Making his way towards the wintergarden, Jaime turned to Claire once more:

"I’ll tell you about the von Klarenberg family when we’ve put little Quengel to bed.”

Three hours later it was time. They had eaten dinner. Then they had put Fergus, who had almost fallen asleep at dinner, to bed. Again, Claire had barely needed to read one single page from his current favorite book, then he had disappeared into “the land of smiles”. Jamie and Claire left the pirate room on quiet feet.

"Shall we sit in the fireplace room for a moment? I wanted to tell you about the von Klarenberg family.“

“Fireplace” by StockSnap

A few minutes later they were sitting in the big comfortable armchairs in front of the burning fireplace, each with a glass of whisky in his hand:

"Matthieu von Klarenberg is the descendant of a noble family with roots in France but also in Silesia. It is said that the estate they owned until the end of the Second World War was originally a commandery of the Teutonic Order, also known as the Teutonic Knights. It is not known exactly. Another order could also be a possibility. The oldest known ancestor was a knight who probably came to Silesia with Henry VII. A descendant of this knight acquired the estate in the 15th century. Later it was rebuilt into a small baroque castle. In the 17th century they were first raised to the rank of barons, then in the 18th century to the rank of counts and finally to the rank of imperial counts. In 1850 they were elevated to the Prussian princely rank. However, all that remained was the title of count. Various German rulers were guests there during military conflicts and maneuvers - Frederick the Great, Wilhelm I and Wilhelm II. The family divided into different branches over the centuries, but they still managed to keep the estate together for a long time. But with the end of the First World War and the division of Upper Silesia, their economic decline began. Part of the family remained in Silesia, other family members lived in different parts of Europe. During the Second World War, the property was confiscated by the Nazis and as a result the rest of the family fled to the West. After the war, the family members gathered here in Berlin. They seized the opportunity and established themselves in the food trade. Over the decades, they thus managed to regain wealth. Matthieu’s father, who was born before the war, was Chief of the House for a long time. He died a few years ago and today Matthieu is head of the House of the Counts of Klarenberg. His wife, Teresa, comes from an Italian noble family that has been at home in the richest region of Italy, the Emilia-Romagna, for centuries. They owned a large vineyard there. Matthieu met her during a stay in Italy in autumn 2015. But that is a story in itself. And it’s not my tale to tell. But I’m sure, Matthieu will be happy to tell you the story if you ask him.”

Jamie sipped his whisky, then continued:

“Then in May 2016 Matthieu and Teresa got engaged and in September 2016 they got married.”

“That was quick,” Claire agreed.

“Yes,” Jamie agreed, “but clearly they are a good match.”

"Do … they have children?“

"Two. Their son, Maurice Justus, was born in August 2018 …”

"Oh, he’s almost Fergus’s age then.“

"Yes. This summer, in August, their daughter was born. Her name is Friederike.”

"And how long have you known the family?“

"Oh, since I was young. Matthieu’s father and my father knew each other, were friends, did business together … Matthieu is a year younger than me. We played together when our families met, celebrated together …”

"Did you also go to school together?“

"No, we lived too far apart for that. But we often saw each other during the holidays and, as I said, when our families met. That used to be the case quite often. Then our studies separated us. I began my studies in Berlin. Matthieu started studying in Paris the same year later. When I moved to Paris two years later, he had just got a place at Oxford. He stayed there for several years, while I returned to Berlin from Paris via Frankfurt am Main and Heidelberg. A few years before his father’s death, Mathieu also returned to Berlin and joined the family firm. After his father’s death, he got a very good offer from a German food consortium, which he accepted. He invested the profits widely and can now live off the profits and concentrate largely on his family and the things that interest him.”

"Does he know about us? I mean … Does he know the truth or …“

"No one but us … and Ned Gowan knows the truth. And let’s keep it that way.”

Again, Jamie drank from his whisky.

"Don’t you trust him?“ asked Claire, startled at the same time by her question. So, she immediately followed up with:

"Sorry, it’s none of my business.”

"You don’t have to apologize and yes, it is your business. Just ask.“

"Well, I … I mean, if he’s such a good friend, why …”

"He is a good friend, my best friend even. And yes, I trust him. I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment either and trust him with my life or Fergus’. But I am convinced that it is better to involve as few people as possible. Anyone can accidentally slip up. Anyone. The fewer people who know our secret, the less likely it is to happen.“

"I understand. And you would like … that … me to meet him?”

"Yes, I would be delighted. Of course, I could meet him in some restaurant in the city, but I’m sure he would find that very strange. He knows about you, I’m sure he’s read all the newspaper reports about us. And if I didn’t invite him here …“

"Then he would ask what’s going on with us?” continued Claire the sentence.

"Exactly. I could tell him some story, of course, but …“

"You don’t want to?”

"Yes, I don’t want to tell him any more than necessary …“

They were silent and both drank from their whisky.

“Whisky” by Peggychoucair

"Besides,” Jamie continued after a few moments, “I would be very happy for you to meet. I think you’ll like him.”

"You’re not trying to set me up now, are you?“

"No,” Jamie laughed impulsively and then put his hand over his mouth. After another sip of whisky, he chuckled softly to himself and shook his head:

"No, no. I wouldn’t be able to do that at all. Matthieu is … an extraordinarily loyal person. He loves his wife and children more than himself. He would never cheat on them. Not only because he loves his family more than anything, but also because he knows how it feels to be cheated on.“

"Do you plan to tell him the truth … later?”

"Yes, when it’s all over, when Fergus is my son, then I will speak to Matthieu. I know him well enough. I have every confidence that he will understand me. He is a father who loves his children more than anything and who knows what one would do for your children.“

Claire gave a soft sigh, then asked:

"What did you have in mind … for Friday night?”

"Matthieu could be here at 7pm. I would suggest we ask Mrs Curtius to prepare a light menu. Fergus will have his dinner beforehand, but he can still greet Matthieu. Afterwards, Mrs. Curtius can put him to bed. I will make a little deal with him.“

Jamie smiled:

"Fergus likes Matthieu and his family very much. Maurice and he have already become a bit friendly and Fergus was thrilled when I told him they were moving here near us. I think he will go for a little ‘deal’: He gets to say hello to Matthieu, but he has to agree to Mrs Curtius putting him to bed.”

Claire rolled her eyes and smiled, then took another sip of her whisky.

"Then after dinner we can sit down and have a drink and talk a little. Matthieu has a driver who will take him home.“

"Where do they live?”

"The family has owned a prestigious townhouse in Berlin for generations, it’s a building from the Gründerzeit. A nice house, very elaborately restored but not necessarily the right place for children. They have some small balconies and a little greenery in the courtyard of the house, but that is … “

"Nothing compared to a property with a garden and lake access in Potsdam?”

"Exactly.“

"Well, let’s get to know our soon-to-be neighbors better,” Clair said, holding out her empty whisky glass to Jamie. When he looked at her questioningly, she said with a smile:

"You could let the air out of this glass.“

Jamie smiled too, reached for a bottle of Scotch whisky and poured the amber liquid into her glas:

"So you’re okay with me inviting Matthieu?”

"Yes, of course,“ Claire replied, looking pensively at the golden sparkling whisky she was swirling gently back and forth in her glass, "let’s do it.” She looked at Jamie and said nonchalantly:

"This whisky has convinced me.“

Jamie watched in amazement as Claire took a large sip.

Noticing the expression on his face, she began to giggle softly.

"Of course, it wasn’t the whisky that convinced me, although it tastes very good. If Fergus likes Matthieu and his family so much, then we should take this opportunity to strengthen relations, especially with the children. Fergus has found some friends at school now, but the families live so far away … and I haven’t really found access to the mothers either. They are real helicopter mothers. I understand that they want to protect their children after all the kidnappings of children from rich industrial families. But Fergus needs more contact with friends of the same age and I would be happy if Fergus and Maurice could spend time together. How far is the family’s new house from here, then?”

"Well, it’s not a new house. It’s a Manor House built in the early 1920s by an industrialist. The property before that belonged to a royal court supplier, whose company, by the way, still exists today. If there was a direct road, it wouldn’t take five minutes to walk. Just up our street and then turn right. But unfortunately, the road ends in front of another house, the direct neighbor of the von Klarenbergs. The properties are separated by a high wall. So we have to go down the road, then turn left and go up the parallel road again. Number 8.“

Claire nodded and emptied her glass.

"Well, another sip?”

Jamie reached for the whisky decanter that sat on the small round table separating the two armchairs.

"Oh, no. Thanks,“ she said, "I’ve got to go to bed. Fergus has to go to school and if we’re going to have visitors on Friday night, I’ll have to plan that a bit with Mrs Curtius too.”

They both rose and Jamie escorted Claire to the front door:

"Good night Claire. Thank you for supporting me.“

"We’re doing it all for Fergus,” she said with a smile and then added, “Good night Jamie.”

#Outlander #Outlander Fan Fiction #We only do this for Fergus!#Fergus Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Berlin #Germany #Potsdam #Modern_AU

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sullustangin · 3 years

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Fictober Master Post

I completed Fictober21! I did all the prompts, and I did them on time. That was my goal. Here’s the rundown and links to everything I did. Feel free to interact either on the AO3 chapters or the individual Tumblr posts, whichever floats your boat.

SullustanGin’s Fictober2021 Collection on AO3 contains the following:

1. “I need you” -- Corso and Risha, post-Eternal Fleet

2. “You have no proof”/Flufftober Prompt: Sneaking out -- Theron/Eva, with Lana, sometime during KOtXX

3. “I’ve waited for this” -- Tim Drake, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, and Bruce Wayne; DCAU

4. “Fine, I give Up”/Flufftober Prompt: Fireworks -- Theron/Eva, minor mention of terrorism

5. “I’m not saying I told you so” -- Eva and Risha, early days of the search for Nok Drayen’s treasure

6. “Didn’t we already have this conversation?” -- Hugh/Dot with Phryne and Jack, MFMM, sometime after Season 2

7. "That could have gone better” -- Theron/Eva, with Satele Shan and kid!Shan, 37 ATC

8. “This is it, isn’t it” -- Phryne/Jack, sometime after Season 3

9. “There is no right side to this.” Eva, Risha, Corso, Bowdaar; before Smuggler Story Chapter 2

10. “It’s so quiet”/Flufftober Prompt: Pillow Talk -- Theron/Eva, a very mild M, 25 ATC (takes place 3 months after Nathema)

11. "I swear, it’s not always like this” -- Dot, Phryne, and the entire Williams family plus one pig; early days of Dot working for Phryne

12. “You keep me safe” -- Theron/Eva, with Bowdaar and Miot the Sullustan, between Chapters 9 and 10 of KOFTE (Star Fortresses)

13. "The things you make me do” -- Carth Onasi, with F!Revan, Mission, Zaalbar, Canderous, and Bastila, on Tatooine (first planet after Dantooine)

14. “Your information was wrong” -- Darmas Pollaran and Keeper, in between Smuggler Chapters 1 and 2. This can occur at the same time as #9.

15. “I like that in you” -- Theron, Marcus Trant, and Jonas Balkar, 10 ATC (after Lost Suns)

16. “Not this again” -- Theron/Eva, through the years: 15 ATC, 21 ATC, 25 ATC, 29 ATC; vague reference to PTSD

17. “I’m with you, you know that.” Theron/Eva, with Vette, Koth, Jakarro, and C2-D4, 29 ATC (takes place before #16) -- Mention of healthy pregnancy

18. “This was not part of the plan” -- Lana and Koth, after retrieving the Outlander, 21 ATC. Not a happy fic.

19. “I feel strange” -- Theron/Eva, sometime during KOtXX; references to drug use and sensuality

20. “That’s what I’m known for” -- Lana with Theron and Eva, anytime post-Rishi; silly fic

21. “What did I say?” -- Phryne/Jack, sometime after #6

22. “No Promises” -- Carth and Dustil, post KOTOR, implication of Carth/F!Revan

23. “This time, do what I say” -- Arcann, Koth, Lana, with cameo by Senya, sometime after KotET

24. “Is this supposed to impress me?” -- Bruce/Diana, with Lex Luthor DCAU

25. “Do you know what time it is?” -- Theron/Eva and Lana, post #19

26. “I’m sure this has never worked, ever” -- Kid!Shans, with Theron/Eva, 44 ATC

27. “You could have died!”/Flufftober: "I’m cold”; “Here, have my jacket” -- Theron/Eva, with the smuggler crew, 3 months post #10, just before Ossus

28. “I don’t have to explain myself” -- Jace Malcom, same time as #10, thoughts of Theron/Eva and Satele. Mention of Theron’s stupid haircuts.

29. “Why are we whispering?” Bruce and Diana and Clark

30. “Don’t ruin this” -- Carth/F!Revan, with Canderous; just before Leviathan

31. “Take me with you” -- SWTOR/KOTOR crossover with Theron/Eva and Carth/f!Revan and Dr. Oggurobb. Basically, my headcanon explanation for why my Revan isn’t Keanu Reeves.

#fictober21 #swtor #kotor #dcau #mfmm #oc: eva corolastor #theron shan #theron shan x smuggler #phryne fisher #phrack #jack robinson #carth onasi #f!revan #revanasi #batman x wonder woman

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autumnslance · 3 years

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About Plagiarism

I left a long, planned essay on Twitter tonight. I will copy the meat of it here for y’all, as recently a friend was copied (a rarer ship in the fandom, so very noticeable by the writer and their regular beta reader) and it seems we need a Talk, kids. Links and screenshots and my rambling underway.

------

Apparently we need to discuss what is and isn’t plagiarism. Especially in FanFic where we're interacting with the same characters, settings, ideas. Let’s start with the dictionary and continue the thread from there (I like the word origin/history personally):

Definition of plagiarize

transitive verb : to steal and pass off (the ideas or words of another) as one's own : use (another's production) without crediting the source

intransitive verb : to commit literary theft : present as new and original an idea or product derived from an existing source

The Kidnapping Roots of Plagiarize

If schools wish to impress upon their students how serious an offense plagiarism is, they might start with an explanation of the word’s history. Plagiarize (and plagiarism) comes from the Latin plagiarius “kidnapper.” This word, derived from the Latin plaga (“a net used by hunters to catch game”), extended its meaning in Latin to include a person who stole the words, rather than the children, of another. When plagiarius first entered English in the form plagiary, it kept its original reference to kidnapping, a sense that is now quite obsolete.

“Ideas” is fuzzy in the Merriam-Webster definition. There are story archetypes that exist in many forms. Joseph Campbell’s Monomyth/Hero's Journey outlines many famous stories. And it's popular to say that “Avatar” is “Dances with Wolves” is “Pocahontas” is “The Last Samurai” etc.

But note how while those films have similar plotlines--”Military Guy falls for Native woman, learns to appreciate her Culture, stands up to Evil Bosses”--none of them execute those ideas in the same way. Sully’s story is different from Dunbar’s not just cuz one’s a Science Fiction epic and the other a Western. Disney's “Pocahontas” Very Loosely takes history and uses the same story beats. The Last Samurai uses the Meiji era Westernization. Same ideas, different executions, even beyond settings.

None of these are plagiarizing each other though the ideas are similar. They’re told in their own ways, own language; both in the genres they belong to (Western, Pseudo-History, SciFi, Animated) and how characters interact with each other and settings. Original dialogues (variable quality).

We also see this in books as similar novel plots get published in waves so we end up with bunches of post-apocalypse teen revolutionaries or various vampires or lots of young wizard stories all at once. Sometimes ideas just happen like this; multiple discovery, simultaneous invention, concurrent inspiration, cognitive emergence are all phrases I’ve seen for it. So it happens in original content as well, and legality gets fuzzy (Also why you don't send authors your fanfic ideas).

In existing properties, this gets trickier but even “Elementary”’s Holmes and Watson are nothing like the BBC’s “Sherlock” characters. Who are nothing like other versions of the Detective and his Doctor pal over the decades in various media properties.

FanFic's in a similar position where like Sherlock Holmes we play with the same characters, setting, and storyarcs but give our own spin to them. People can and will have similar ideas about plots. Trick is to use your own words. Take the characters and make the story your own.

I have a good example courtesy of @raelly-writing. We both ship Wolcred. We both wrote soft post-Paglth’an scenes with Thancred and our WoLs. Both features the couples helping each other undress, examining injuries, bathing, bantering. My fic was written soon after 5.5 part 1 came out. Dara’s is much more recent. Yet at no point reading hers did I feel she was copying my words. The PoVs differ. Our characters focus on different things. Mine has a mini-arc concerning the Nutkin.

The links for comparison’s sake (and maybe leave kudos/comments if so inclined please and thanks). Note while the scenes are very similar no phrases are written in the same way. Mine: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417882/chapters/76059467 Dara’s: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26067565/chapters/81832915

Dara and I both hang out in certain Discords and I know conversations about Thancred and WoL caring for each other post-battle has come up in those channels and we've both participated. It’s a stock FanFic scene to boot. Cuz it's soft and feels warm and snuggly.

I HAVE been copied before, back in WoW. My case is pretty clear cut so here are the images of my old RP Haven profile (1st, old RP website) and the plagiarist’s RSP (2nd, an in game mod to share descriptions and basic info).

This was a decade ago on Shadow Council and I think the character deleted so any Availa’s in WoW now aren’t the same person. I left the names to point out what changed. Just the names and a word or 2 to make sense for the class changes as well. Otherwise lifted directly from my RP profile.

The funny part is how the person got caught. Literally walked into our weekly RP Guild meeting that I was running and asked to join. Folks noticed right away the similar backstory; after all there may have been more Outland-born Azerothians. My initial excitement at a character I could weave into our story turned to gut-twisting rage and grief as I recognized my own exact words though. Words I’d carefully crafted and constantly iterated on to improve over time (before and after this incident, until the site died).

When caught they tried to claim their significant other had leveled the character for them and made up the backstory based on Skyrim. If you know WoW’s Outland story and Skyrim’s plot you know how ridiculous that is. Also tried to lie about other drama I knew about thanks to roommate's characters but hey. I had to be blunt that I’d shared the info with Haven mods and other guild officers Alliance and Horde. That we would not “laugh about this” one day though lucky this was “just” RP not original or academic work. Cuz if it'd been monetized or academic I would've raked them through the coals.

I felt violated. Hurt. Had anxiety attacks. They took MY WORDS and tried to claim them as theirs. Have another character born in Outland trained by Draenei; Awesome! Our characters have an instant connect in similarities and differences of that experience. Don’t steal my characters wholesale!

Then the audacity of trying to come into my guild as if no one would notice. ShC wasn’t a large server by then, still active but not nearly Wyrmrest Accord or Moon Guard big. My character was well known due to my writing and RP. Speaking of how easy it is to get caught in specific spaces...A case of a self-published novelist getting noticed for plagiarizing fanfic was discovered recently (explicit erotica examples through the thread).

One way they got noticed was how much content they put out in only a year, lifted from fandom. The examples in Kokom’s threads show how the material was altered but still recognizable. In some cases, just the names are changed as in my experience. In other passages more has changed but you can still see the bones of the original fic poking through in the descriptions and character interactions, even with adjustments made.

Similar ideas happen. Similar plots exist. Same 'ships with friends are fun! In FanFic we’re working with the same material. It’s possible to write a similar scene differently. To make that scene and characters your own. All we’re asking is not to copy others' words. Others' characters. Others' specific phrases and descriptions used to bring those words, those characters, to life. Use your own. In the end you’ll be happier.

I get wanting to have what the perceived “popular people” have. I get seeing concepts others succeed with and wanting some of that too. We all get a bit jealous now and then for various reasons. Sometimes we don't even realize it, consciously. But do it in your own way. Maybe check to see if you’re getting a bit too close to the “inspiration” you admired, maybe reread often. Don’t hurt your fellow creatives. If you do and get caught don’t try to double down. Have the grace to be abashed at least and work to do better. Eventually you WILL get caught. All it takes is once to throw all else you've done into question. Ao3 doesn’t take kindly to plagiarists. Nor do a lot of fan communities focused on writing and RP. Getting back that trust is hard. The internet doesn’t forget easily, for good or ill.

#writing #blogging #about me #social media #plagiarism #fanfiction #Ao3

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alittlewhump · 3 years

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Unbidden - Act 1, chapter 2

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: None, still pretty light here.

It wasn't long before they reached a small encampment where another woman called out to the one who had been guiding Morgan. "Fiona, I swear you're the worst scout we have. There's something following you, you know."

The rogue - Fiona - put her hands on her hips.

"I'll have you know, Akara, that this is an adventurer. He's going to combat our evil."

"And why didn't you send him to the den?"

"I just wanted your blessing, ma'am."

"More like you didn't want to go out of your way." The woman, evidently a superior of some sort, looked Morgan over with a cool gaze. "There's a monster den about half an hour's walk to the west of here. They've been giving us some trouble. If you can exterminate them, we'll talk."

Talking was very low on the list of things Morgan wanted to do. But eliminating a nest of evil creatures - that was a good task, easily defined with no messy human contact. And, of course, it would also contribute in a small way toward restoring the Balance, to fulfilling the request that had sent him out here in the first place. Surely it was more than just one den causing problems, but they likely wanted to test his ability. He nodded to show he'd understood, then turned to go. The two women continued to talk as he left.

"Is he mute, or what?"

"Nah, he talks. But listen, you'll never believe this -"

He stopped listening. There were more important things to think about, like whether or not it would be worth the effort to concentrate on making clay golems instead of using skeletons. He debated as he walked, keeping an ear out for sounds of danger. Skeletons were plentiful in these parts, he'd discovered. So that was convenient. He paused to raise two out of a boggy patch of ground. Two was a good number, enough to draw enemy attention away without draining his energy too much. He could only manage one earth golem at a time, but if other risen skeletons were attacking the Sisterhood... yes, the extra effort was probably worth it to ease future interactions. He could always reserve the skeletons for use away from the encampment, lay them back down into the earth outside their view.

Morgan stopped, crouching down to touch the ground. He sent out a tendril of magical energy, spreading it thin to form a humanoid shape. The earth lifted, obedient but slow, a form rising up ponderously. It took almost a minute to fully form, and Morgan was breathing hard by the end of it. It was a small golem, only a little taller than him but considerably sturdier. It would do for now. He was admittedly a little out of practice, but he resolved to keep working at it. Later, after this den was taken care of.

It was early the next morning by the time Morgan returned to the rogue encampment. The nest of imp demons had presented a challenge, but not an insurmountable one. He'd had to rest afterwards, taking a few hours to meditate. It wasn't quite sleeping, but it was close enough. He'd also remembered to put his skeletons back into the ground outside the view of the little town. A clay golem plodded along by his side; he was just more comfortable with at least one construct to protect him.

A familiar voice raised a call as he approached the town gate. "Hey, ghoul boy's back!" The encroaching forces of darkness must have taken a toll on their numbers, Morgan surmised. Why else would a scout have two watch shifts so close to one another? The sooner he could get to the root of the problem, the better - for all of them.

The gate rolled open and a new woman approached. Judging by her more impressive-looking armour, Morgan guessed her to be some sort of commander. When she spoke, she certainly had the tone of a leader.

"I didn't think we'd see you back here, outlander. Did you clear the den of monsters?"

"They were demons, not monsters." He hung back by the gates, reluctant to enter without an explicit invitation.

"Demons. Monsters. I don't care what they are other than dead. Are they dead?"

"Yes."

"Good. Welcome to the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye - what's left of it, anyway. Fiona says you're here to cleanse the evil from this place. She also says you came out of the woods alongside some skeletons, so I'm not sure what to believe. Tell me about yourself, stranger."

A few more women clad in light armour had appeared, hanging back behind their leader. Not so different from the imps he'd just finished with, Morgan thought - skittish, wary. He decided to keep that comparison to himself. No sense in actively antagonizing them. They were already poised to dislike him based on his school of magic, based on his experience so far. It was possible that whoever had sent the request to his Order had done so in secret. It was also possible that they had passed on already, given the sorry state of things. He tried to skirt the issue delicately.

"I am a follower of Rathma. We are charged with maintaining the Balance between light and darkness. We received word of a source of evil nearby that threatens to disrupt that Balance. I seek to destroy it. If you can direct me-"

"The priests of Rathma are necromancers, are they not?" This was the woman from before, Akara. He hadn't noticed her standing behind the rest of them. He recognized the disdain in her face, her voice. He'd been hoping to avoid this type of interaction, but he'd never been able to figure out a good way to dodge the question without lying outright. And while he could technically lie - there wasn't anything physically or magically preventing it - he had never developed the barest shred of skill in the art of deceit, and it was impossibly difficult to guess what people would or wouldn't believe in any given situation. In cases where the truth would be unwelcome, the best option was usually to try to deflect.

"I don't intend to do you any harm," he tried.

"Answer the question, then. Yes or no."

Well, it had been worth trying. It seemed like Akara knew the answer anyway, and just wanted to hear it from him, for some reason.

"Yes."

Most of the women took a horrified step back, grimacing in disgust or fear. He didn't let it bother him on a personal level - it was easiest to work from the assumption that everyone would have these sorts of feelings toward him, based on either his appearance or his affiliation - but it rarely bade well for situations like this in which he needed information. The commander didn't flinch, which was heartening. She turned to face Akara.

"We can't afford to be choosy right now, Priestess. Whatever his methods, this is the best chance we've had in a while. I'm not going to waste it." She turned back to Morgan. "You'd do best to start by finding Deckard Cain. Word is, he knows just about everything there is to know. If he still lives, he should be able to tell you more about the evil that blights our land here."

He listened carefully as she described this scholar and his last known whereabouts. It was a good plan, to gather as much information as possible before properly facing down whatever evil had rooted there. It would likely take a few days to reach Tristram, which would give him time to work on his golems. He was pleased with these developments until the commander turned to address the women huddled behind her.

"Blaise, you'll go with him."

What? No, this wouldn't do at all. Other people just complicated things. What Morgan needed was the simplicity of solitude with his golems. He raised his hands in protest. "Madam, I really don't-"

"What the fuck, Kashya?" That was presumably Blaise, voicing a much louder objection. "Are you still mad about that thing last week? I said I was sorry, I don't deserve-"

"That wasn't a request," Kashya said calmly. "I think you're the best one for the job, and I won't hear any arguments. Now get your things together for the journey." The assembled rogues huddled in a group, chattering quietly amongst themselves as Blaise turned on her heel and stalked away. Morgan took a few steps toward their commander.

"Please, madam Kashya, I ask you to reconsider-"

"When I said no arguments, I meant it. Two heads are better than one. Now you can wait outside; you're making my girls nervous."

Morgan waited outside. It was clear that the matter was not open for discussion. He guessed that pushing it further would only serve to alienate the single person who seemed at all willing to work with him. One was better than none, so he would try to stay on her good side.

#my writing #story: unbidden

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polandspringz · 3 years

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A collection of one-shot stories focused around the people of Teyvat trying to understand their new friend. Each chapter will be different, so check titles, summaries, and notes for each. I don't know how long this will be, but I've had a few ideas floating in my head for a while to write for Genshin, so for convenience sake I figured I would compile them all into one piece in the archive. Most of these stories will be focused on the relationships between the Traveler and one or two other characters, sometimes playing around with how game mechanics could fit into the world of Teyvat realistically. I hope you enjoy!

Story 1 Summary: Jean confronts the Traveler about some complaints they've been getting from the people of Mondstadt.

Tumblr version of the story under read-more as well!

“Honorary Knight,” Jean called out, “Do you have time to spare? I wanted to… talk to you about something?”

The Traveler paused and turned towards Jean, nodding silently. Paimon was with them; they had been stopped in the middle of the city’s market plaza, finishing up a supply run between updating commissions and handing in bounties. The Acting Grandmaster looked nervous, for the few months the Traveler had known her, she had always seemed awkward and insecure when it came to social interactions, but perhaps that was just with them. The Traveler wasn’t the most talkative, and Paimon reminded them constantly that their blank stare always messed up their first impressions (“Seriously, what would you do without Paimon?!”).

Jean walked up to them, one hand pressed against her chest as her boots clicked along the cobblestone. “Good. I’m sorry for this, but could you come to the Knights’ Headquarters with me? I think it’s best we speak about this alone.”

“Someone has filed a complaint against the Traveler?!” Paimon squeaked. They were seated in Jean’s office, and somehow her floating body jumped another foot in the air when she became angry, “Who would do such a thing? Geez, you would think the people of Mondstadt would be thankful after everything we’ve done for them!”

“Everything I’ve done, Paimon,” The Traveler quipped, their lips curving into the slightest smile that those who didn’t know them would blink and miss it, “You just tag along and eat my food.”

“That’s not true and you know it! Paimon has helped you out so much-”

“Ahem,” Jean cleared her throat, “I’m sorry, but I’d like to continue, if that’s alright. I wasn’t sure how to approach this with you, I was worried that you would be upset…”

The Traveler leaned forward, pressing their palms against their thighs as they did, the picture of calm as they spoke, “I’m not upset.”

“Well, Paimon is! How dare they?!”

They now understand why Jean had been so hesitant when she called out to them before. Even now, although she had a bit more confidence seated behind her desk, she averted her eyes and seemed to study the stack of books piled up on the corner of the wood, “I still am not well versed in the customs of this world. If I offended someone, I would like to know why in order to correct it.”

That seemed to get Jean to smile. Albeit, it was still a nervous one, but a smile nonetheless. “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re not upset, but perhaps I phrased it wrong. It wasn’t necessarily a complaint but… several concerns were raised to me by Mondstadt citizens.”

“Several people complained?!”

“Paimon, calm down. Jean,” The Traveler nodded for her to continue, “What was it about?”

She scratched her cheek and laughed airly, “Well… I received word that you were caught scaling rooftops and collecting… mushrooms?”

“Honorary Knight, please wait!”

Jean shouted, her hand outstretched towards the tails of the Traveler’s scarf as they darted down the steps of the Knights’. They bolted out of the office suddenly, the only clue that her and Paimon had to go on was the way the Traveler’s eyes widened before they leapt out of their seat. Paimon was hurriedly flying behind them, the constellation-like fairy dust she shed buffeted Jean as it fell into the wind. Athos and Porthos stumbled as the doors flew open, taking a second before they started to move, asking in confusion if Jean needed help apprehending them.

“No! It’s alright! I’ll- I’ll handle it!” She placated, throwing a wave up as she continued to run after.

The Traveler circled the stone wall as they climbed the steps towards the Archon Statue, Paimon and Jean’s voices tuned out to their ears as they hurried ahead. They had been so busy with commissions they had forgotten… They had spent days collecting everything but they had gotten distracted… They needed to hurry-

“Paimon! Do you have any idea why they’re running away?” Jean said as she caught up to the pixie.

“Paimon doesn’t know! It might be about the mushrooms though!”

“Do you know why they were collecting them?”

“Not a clue! Paimon followed them when they were doing it a few times, but they never answered Paimon’s questions about why either!”

“That’s… strange,” Jean’s eyes narrowed as she watched the Traveler push through the crowds of the upper plaza, running straight towards the cathedral doors. Jean hadn’t expected things to end up like this at all. She had nothing but trust in the Honorary Knight, and while most of the questions raised to her about their activities had been just confusion, there were a few citizens- those who Jean normally categorized as easily paranoid or held biases towards outsiders and outlanders- who had voiced their concerns with suggestions of more dubious things. Jean had dismissed them, but as she watched the Cathedral doors fly open, thought of the way the Traveler had just fled when questioned, thoughts of her sister being just inside those doors, she pressed her lips into a thin line and steadied herself before she threw out her hand with an order-

“Aramis! Otto!” Both patrolling knights snapped to attention, “Catch the Honorary Knight!”

The heavy doors to the Cathedral were slammed open with a gust of Anemo power, and all eyes turned to the entrance. Hymns and the organ playing stopped, a melody of silence that made way for the Traveler’s footfalls as they pounded across the mosaic tile, racing up towards the Deaconess standing on the stairs to the mezzanine. Barbara’s hands jumped to the banister, ready to help in case of an emergency, but then she saw Aramis and Otto rushing in with weapons drawn, shouting for the Traveler to stop, and her sister right behind with her hand on the hilt of her own sword-

“H-honorary Knight!” Barbara regretted how her voice broke as she called out. As the Traveler got closer, she moved away from the base of the stairs, stopping at the top in front of the organ pipes with one of the columns acting as a defense should she need to jump behind it, “What’s the matter?”

The Traveler slowed to a stop in front of the door to the Basement. Barbara’s hands jumped to the catalyst book on her hip. They had returned the Holy Lyre der Himmel before and apologized for taking it, but was there a chance they would steal it again? Or something else? Why else were her sister and the Knights rushing in so desperately?

“Barbara,” The Traveler gasped as they looked up at the Deaconess. Their shoulders rose and fell as they breathed for just a moment before they froze when two swords crossed in front of them, stalling them back when they took a step towards the stairs.

“Stand down, Honorary Knight,” Aramis said, his voice stern, but the conflict evident as he said their title. What else was he supposed to call them in a moment like this? He looked to Otto who was just as lost. Paimon’s body did a somersault as she came to a sudden stop, her hands flailing when she saw the swords. Now only Jean’s heels could be heard clattering upon the floor as she ran to catch up with everyone, not having the time to throw reassurances at the startled church-goers standing in their pews.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Paimon put her hands on her hips, “We may have been a bit shady, but that’s no reason to draw swords on us!”

“No one is drawing a sword on you, Paimon,” Jean said, keeping her hand on her sheath as she rounded around the group, standing in front of the basement door and between Barbara and the Traveler, “It was just a precaution.”

“Sister, what’s going on?”

“Honorary Knight,” she raised her chin and looked down at them slightly, her eyes narrowed into an expression more befitting of the Acting Grandmaster, “I’m sorry, but you gave us quite a scare fleeing like that. I hope you know I don’t suspect you of any ill will, but you acted strangely and I was… concerned. Please, can we finish our questioning?”

The Traveler did not smile or frown, something that unnerved Jean even as she tried to keep her tone even and polite. Her facade slipped as they began to move, their expression neutral and their eyes hidden as they shut for a moment as they reached for their bag. Jean quickly drew her sword, Aramis and Otto flinched, theirs scraping against the other’s as they followed the Traveler’s movements. They did not appear to be drawing a sword, but…

From the satchel the Traveler withdrew several Philanemo Mushrooms- the items in question. Jean’s face fell in confusion when she saw them tied into bunches, and she became even more confused when the Traveler withdrew other items from the bag- and raised them up towards Barbara. There was a scroll, a set of vials filled with some swirling liquid- it almost looked like living water- and a small, sheer bag full of blue crystal shards.

“Are those… for me?” Barbara asked, stepping out from behind the column and towards the edge of the mezzanine. The Traveler nodded.

“What… what are they?” Jean faltered, slowly lowering her weapon, “Why did you answer my question before?”

“Hold on, Sister,” Jean could not see over her shoulder, but she heard Barbara’s heels moving back, then clicking together as her feet skipped past one another and moved to echo along the stairs, “Let me get a closer look.”

“Barbara, wait! It could be dangerous, the Honorary Knight fled when I asked and-”

Jean was forced into sheathing her sword when Barbara cut in front of her, and Aramis and Otto pulled their swords away as well when the Deaconess stepped closer. The Traveler lowered their arms as Barbara came down, handing the items off when the young woman whispered, “Let me see, please?”

She looked over the scroll before handing it back, and then poured out the gems in her hand and counted them alongside examining the vials. After a moment, her eyes lit up.

“Just as I thought! These are for an Ascension Ritual, aren’t they?”

The Traveler nodded.

“An Ascension Ritual? Then why didn’t you say so?” Jean sighed, motioning for Aramis and Otto to sheath their weapons finally. Jean pressed her face into one of her hands and shook her head, “You scared me for a minute when you ran out like that…”

“False alarm everyone!” Barbara sing-songed to the rest of the Cathedral, “Please return to your worship! We’ll get that hymn started up again in a few minutes.”

There was a murmur amongst the visitors who seemed unconvinced but relieved that it was nothing serious. Barbara’s eyes went to one of the children, Lily, who was sitting with her father near the back. She would have to make sure the girl wasn’t too frightened by what happened later, maybe she would sing a special song to help cheer the girl up if needed.

“Geez! Why didn’t you tell Paimon they were for an Ascension Ritual either?! This whole mess could have been avoided if you just talked more!”

“Honorary Knight, why did you run away when I asked you before? You made me worried that you might have been up to something nefarious.”

“Sister, how could the Honorary Knight ever do anything nefarious! They’re the Honorary Knight of Mondstadt for a reason,” Barbara said, the crystals clinking together in her hand, reminding her that she still had them, “Oh! I’m sorry, let me give these back to you-”

“No,” The Traveler pushed Barbara’s hand back towards her, handing off the rest of the materials to her as well, “For you.”

“W-what?”

“I… collected them for you. They’re what you need for your ascension ritual, right? Four vials of cleansing heart, sealed scrolls, Varunda Lazurite fragments and…”

“And Philanemo Mushrooms,” Jean finished.

“I was supposed to give them to you a few days ago, but forgot. When Jean asked me about them before… I suddenly remembered. That’s why I ran here as soon as possible.”

“Couldn’t you have waited until after you explained it all to Grandmaster Jean and avoided this whole mess?” Paimon complained. The Traveler shook their head.

“I didn’t want to forget again. And… I wanted Barbara to join us again as soon as possible.”

“Wait a moment! Honorary Knight, did you get all these things for me because you wanted me to get stronger?” Her hand fell to her side, “I’m sorry if last time I joined you, I was too weak…”

Seeing Barbara’s forlorn expression, the Traveler shook their head.

“You… got hurt last time you were with me. I felt bad so… It’s not that I want you to get stronger, but that I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Oh?” The Deaconess lifted her head and smiled a bit at that.

The Traveler continued, forcing the rest of the words out, “I know you are busy with your duties here, but I like having you travel with me. I might be going to Liyue soon, and was hoping that maybe you could accompany me for part of the journey there…?”

Barbara reached out, and placed a hand on their shoulder, the corners of her eyes smiling as well this time, “Of course, I would love to. Let me just put these in my office for now,” she said, lifting her hand full of the materials, “I will have to do the Ascension Ritual later tonight after worship hours are over. If you would like to join me for it, you are more than welcome to. When are you setting out for Liyue?”

“By next week.”

“Alright then. Thank you for this, Honorary Knight,” Barbara said, pulling them into a hug, “I’ll get everything in order so I can travel with you again.”

The Traveler reached up and fisted their hand in the fabric of Barbara’s dress, along the small of her back, returning the hug.

“Maybe you can help them work on their communication skills when you travel with them this time,” Paimon crossed her arms and sighed, meeting the eyes of Jean, who could only huff out a sigh of relief while her mind began to process of checking off the list of worries that would soon form when her sister got ready to set out on the road.

#genshin impact #barbara gunnhildr #jean gunnhildr #traveler #lumine #aether #paimon #my writing #writing

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mockingjayne12 · 4 years

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Take Me Home - Chapter 3

(Jamie x Claire / Outlander Fic)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

CHAPTER THREE:

She can feel the spray of scalding hot drops hit her back, their rhythmic pounding against her flesh vibrate through her, seeping into her skin, the heat of water the only warmth she allows herself to feel. Her brown hair becomes blacker still, creating a shield, shrouding her in darkness.

“What are you, stalking me?” She hears herself say, the shock of seeing the red haired actor staring up at her with his impossibly blue eyes.

Her music softly plays through the trickling of water, the kind Gillian refers to as “doom and gloom” but whose words touch her in a way she doesn’t permit others to attempt, making her feel that maybe she’s not so alone. She pulls her knees closer to her body, collapsed into a ball.

He nearly chokes on his laughter, her face turning red with an almost blush at her assumption.

“I dinna think it’s stalking, as ye say, if I was asked,” he teases, that grin she can’t wipe from her eyes playing on his lips.

“Asked?” She balks, and he points at Gillian, who’s not so subtly eavesdropping from her table behind them.

“I’m going kill her,” Claire mutters under her breath.

As if noticing that she was letting on that he’d thrown her off, she straightens, her long neck peeking from its collar, the tips of her eyes covered by fringe, leaving a narrowing effect down upon this man. She can feel her heart beating loudly against her ears.

“What can I get for you?”

“I dinna ken, what’s good?” He asks with a raise of his brow, and a grin that she can’t quite tell if he’s trying to be cute or just oblivious to her mood.

Her hands drop by her side, her pad hitting her apron with an exasperated sigh.

“I do have other tables to get to…” And she swears his grin falters a bit before perking back up with a shake of his head, his curls floating across his eyes, like fire threatening to be extinguished by the blue sea it hovers over.

“Two coffees,” he says, and she balks again, the thought of someone joining him having never crossed her mind. And she silently kicks herself for believing this was anything other than a coincidence, him being here. He certainly didn’t show up for her. Of course not. And she quickly turns to escape before her glass face gives away that she ever thought differently.

Heading to the back, she glances at the mirror that hangs above the employee sink, and sees her hair sticking out in all directions, her fringe curling at the ends, and she quickly sweeps them to the side. The stain on her shirt has set, a ring of embarrassment displayed for all, tie crooked, and the black of smudged makeup creasing in the crinkles her eyes give way to when she smiles, which isn’t too often these days. Turning on the faucet, she cups the water between her palms before splashing the liquid against her face, the droplets momentarily waking her, before she attempts to wipe away the black evidence of sadness with her finger.

Sitting in the bed of her tub, the shower pours down on her, and she looks up into the water, never quite drowning her in its wake, instead trickling against her, escaping from her presence the way she wishes she could do to herself.

“Here you go,” she says, placing one coffee in front of him, and the other on the other end of the table, likely for some blonde he’ll have meeting him. “Would you like to wait until the rest of your party gets here…” but her question trails off, as she sees him laugh just a bit to himself. “Is there something funny?”

“No,” he quickly says. “I’ll wait,” his tongue comes to lick his lips, and she swears if she had still been holding the coffee mugs, she’d have spilled them right into his lap.

“Hmph,” she says with a flick of her head, and nearly running right into Gillian carrying a tray of drinks.

“Careful, Sassenach,” she hears over her shoulder, tempted to turn towards him with her tongue stuck out like a two year old, as she slinks off to her other tables.

Claire shakes her head, sending water hitting the curtain, her hair refusing to relent, clinging to her, like soot against snow, polluting her mind with conversations she knows she needs to rid herself free of.

She finds herself peeking over at his table as the rush begins. A flurry of people begging for her attention, demands that have her questioning if they were this picky in their every day life or just when it came to food. Every time she’d head over to refill his coffee, which was beginning to become impressive he could consume so much (the second cup still sat full) she’d be beckoned over to one of her more demanding tables, which was okay by her, it gave her an excuse to avoid James. But her eyes refused to get the memo, constantly travelling over, raking over his strong back, to the red curls that gathered on his neck, the glint from the sun coming in through the window he sat by, striking the scar that rested on his cheekbone, and not for the first time, she finds herself wondering what it would feel like to run her finger over the mar of imperfection.

The water puddles in the bend of her arm, caught between her connecting flesh, with one movement she lets it go, splashing into to where her feet rest, and her toes curl at the sudden deluge.

“Get back to work, Beauchamp,” her manager’s voice grating on her nerves, interrupting her daydream. Gillian always claimed he had a crush on her, but Claire mostly found the man to be harmless. As long as she kept her head down and showed up for her shifts, he wasn’t too hard on her. But when he’d lean against the counter just a little too close, she’d find an excuse to be busy.

“Going, Christie,” her emphasis on his surname not unnoticed. But the rush had died down at this point, only a few patrons remained, one being James.

Sidling up to his table, she almost feels badly for the man who’d clearly been stood up. Almost.

“Hot date didn’t show up?” She asks with a raised brow, her finger idly tracing her own mar of imperfection.

“Verdict’s still out,” he says with a shrug.

“Maybe next time,” she offers, and then scrunches her face at the idea of acting hopeful for his love life.

“We’ll see,” he says with a glint in his eye, and then she hears the giggles from a few tables back. Glancing over she sees two women having clearly spotted James.

“Never short on admirers, I see,” she says as he stands, and Claire nearly stumbles backwards to get out of his way, his hands shooting out to steady her, briefly, before quickly letting go, her mouth hanging open as he makes his way towards the door, a quick nod and smile sent towards the two women who’d sent him fleeing.

“Hey, you forgot to…” she’s about to say, when he turns, his hand running through his hair, and then he’s off. “…pay.” She huffs, moving to clear the mugs, when she finds a bill tucked underneath the second cup of coffee.

Momentarily breaking from her sitting position, she reaches for the drain, stopping the water’s escape, left with no choice but to gather around her.

“Bitch, what was that for?” Gillian screeches, Claire’s hand having slapped her shoulder.

“You told him to come here?” She practically growls, her anger having stewed enough to skip a meal on her break.

“Told who?” Gillian says, voice going high, acting innocent, twisting a piece of her own red hair between her fingers.

“Fuck off, you told him to come here as some sort of pity date,” she argues, flopping back in her chair out back, the sun beating down on her pale face.

“Honey, if you think that was a date…” Gillian starts, tilting her head in horror at the thought.

“You know what I mean,” Claire’s words tinged in defeat.

“I simply suggested that if he wanted to see you again, he should stop by…that’s all,” her shrug acting as if it really was nothing to get angry about.

“Yeah, well, he clearly felt sorry for me, as he left me this,” she yanks a hundred dollar bill from her apron. “Like he can just…buy me off like that. I swear, they’re all the same.”

“At least he didn’t try to shove it into your shirt,” her friend counters with a sheepish grin.

“Yeah, well, I’m going to bloody shove this up his arse if he shows up again,” taking the money and putting it into a separate pocket.

“I love it when you get all British on me,” Gillian teases, causing Claire to roll her eyes.

There’s a break in the music as the song changes, a soft instrumental piece begins to play, the keys of a piano almost twinkle her vision with its sound, causing a settling feeling to manifest in her stomach. It’s a nostalgic piece, one she can’t place, but that builds within her, until she’s breathing heavily. The water climbing up above her ankles, just deep enough that she can easily lay down now.

She’s not sure why she’s surprised then the next day, as she’s pulling her mess of curls into a top knot, when Gillian runs up behind her with a beaming smile on her face.

“He’s back,” she practically sings.

“You’re kidding,” Claire says with an annoyed tone, but she can’t help the way her heart begins to beat just a little faster, as she quickly looks down to see that at least today she’s managed not to spill anything on herself. Yet.

Marching out onto the floor, she quickly arrives at his table, the same one he’d been at yesterday, and she nearly does a double take, the glasses he’s wearing today somehow making him even cuter than usual, but she shakes her head, her indignation back within a second, and slams the hundred dollar bill down on the table.

“I’m not a charity case, James,” she sneers, and his shocked face looks up at her as if she’d slapped him.

“Never thought ye were, Sassenach,” he tries, but she’s not buying it.

“Who gives this much for two cups of coffee? Do you think I’m that desperate for money?”

“No, I—“

“Because I’m not,” she says with a crossing of her arms.

“Wait, why didn’t ye use it to pay for my coffee?”

Her face begins to heat, her arms awkwardly adjusting, as she looks anywhere but him.

“You saved it just to make a point…”

“Yeah, so…”

“Stubborn,” he laughs.

“Stop, it’s not funny.”

“It’s a wee bit funny,” he says, making his accent thicker to drive the point across.

She narrows her eyes at him.

“Fine, consider it a downpayment.”

“For what?” Her hands come to rest on her hips, her mouth pursing, and she can see he’s fighting back a comment.

“For all the coffee I’m going to order,” he says matter of factly, a curl slipping underneath his lenses, and she has to dig her nails into her palm not to reach out and move it out of his eyes.

“I’m never going to get rid of you, am I?” She sighs, her annoyance rising at the same rate as her hope. He was persistent, she’d give him that. But it was only a matter of time until he got bored of whatever game he was playing and left.

“Not so long as ye’ll have me,” and there’s no hint of a grin with this, and she feels a warmth spread over her.

“Yeah, well…” she fumbles for words. “I’m not allowed to kick people out so…”

“So…I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” he says, pulling out a book, the cover having been removed, so she can’t see what it is he’s reading.

“Great,” her sarcasm out in full force with an obviously fake smile. “I’ll go get your coffee.”

“Jamie,” he says, almost a whisper.

“What?”

“You called me James, but my friends and family call me, Jamie,” he explains, licking his lips.

“Well, I am neither, James.”

And she swears she hears him mutter something in Gaelic as she walks away.

The music makes its way further and further from her as the water rises up against her ears, every subtle movement sending a wave crashing against her, a euphoric sensation trickles through her as the spray of the water beats down, slowly taking over her body.

Their routine becomes the same, every day James shows up, is seated at the exact same table in her section all the way in the back of the restaurant, with the same book, the same order of coffee. Some days he’ll come in with his glasses already on, other days, he’ll pull out the case he has tucked in his pocket before diving into his book, always pausing whenever she approaches the table.

He attempts to engage her in conversation, but she knows how this goes, it’s only a matter of time before he gets bored and moves on. So she carefully avoids answering anything about herself, the walls around her built high and sturdy.

She lets her hands rest on the surface, a delicate balance between rising to the top and pressuring herself to the bottom. Her eyelashes feel heavy against her, wet and clumped, she teeters on the verge of being fully submerged and choosing to let her lips peek just above the surface.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” She’d asked one day, and he’d laughed, claiming his film was still in pre-production. And for as much as she acted annoyed at his appearance every day, she found it oddly comforting to have something to look forward to, although she’d never admit as much to herself. She found she didn’t dread coming into work as much, waking up before Adso clawed her, a “bounce in her step” as Gillian had noticed, only to be quickly denied by Claire. The banter between her and James had become one of few interactions she had throughout the week that wasn’t with either a pet or a coworker. He was careful not to cross the invisible line she’d set for them, but he’d notice when she came to work one day with her hair braided, rather than it’s usual top knot or the bandage on her finger (from her cat) to which he’d perked up at getting a piece of information about her, and ever since had made it a point to ask how the “wee cheetie” was doing. She wasn’t used to people being interested in her life, and most of the time she found herself holding her breath when he’d ask, like she was being backed into a corner with questions, her first inclination to lie or shoot back a sarcastic remark, feeling he was getting too close. But she couldn’t deny there was a thrill there.

Plunging her head down, she imagines the struggle, how easily she could let it all go, the tiny beads of water creating tiny bursts in her ears as they spray down on the full tub she’s created. Her eyes wide awake, refusing to close, her body tempted to buoyantly make its way to life, but her will demanding she weightily suspend herself between the choice to sink or swim just a moment longer.

“Well, don’t you smell nice today,” Gillian teases Claire as she rushes to clock in.

Pulling on a loose curl, her friend refuses to let up.

“So you two married yet or what?”

“He’s just a customer, G,” the blush crawling on up her face, reaching for the light sprinkling of freckles giving way to the feelings she refused to admit even to herself.

“Yeah, a customer that just happens to be rich, famous, hot as fuck, and did I say rich?”

Claire rolls her eyes reaching to tie her apron on.

“Like you said, I’m not his type,” she reiterates, tossing a look that begs for the subject to be dropped.

“Fine, fine,” she backs off, holding up her hands in surrender. “But if you don’t make a move soon, I will,” she winks.

Making her way out onto the floor, she looks to see if James has been seated, only to find his table empty.

Wiping her hands on her apron, she attempts to distract herself with her other tables, her eyes always wandering over to where she’d become accustomed to him being, nearly snapping when the hostess seats a group at the table that’s usually reserved for the bookish redhead. She can feel the hurt rising in her chest as the hours tick by and he never shows, and with it, comes the anger at having let her feelings reach a point where she’s actually upset at his absence. Her mind reeling at having thought, just for a second, that maybe he could like her. Maybe someone could actually care. But she’d been wrong. They were all the same.

By the time her shift ends, she’s near tears. Beating herself up with self-loathing foolishness that has her stripping off her clothes and crawling into the shower, flicking on her music, as she settles back to her old routine, washing away James Fraser from her life.

Bursting upright, she lets the water slide from her along with her anxiety, threatening to pour over the tub and flood her floor, and that first breath, the one she found she’d been holding longer than before she’d sunk underneath, feels all too familiar, the moment she has to accept that she’s still here. Not clean, not healed, but still here. Another day ahead of her.

A day that didn’t include James Fraser.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie fraser #claire fraser #jamie x claire

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ladyviolethummingbird · 2 years

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The Gloaming

An Outlander/Jane Eyre crossover fic

Chapter 1: Alone

Aged three and twenty James Fraser had nothing more than a second-hand suit and an old leather satchel to his name. In contrast to his current state, James’ upbringing was initially one of wealth and prosperity. Nestled in the heather-covered hills of the Scottish Highlands, the Frasers lived on their farm estate, Lallybroch. It was here, on a crisp Spring morning in the year 1821 that James - Jamie to his family - was born. His first few years of life were full of joy; a spirited child with a crop of auburn curls, he was doted on by his loving parents. Spending his days riding his horse and swimming in the stream, he wanted for nothing. Unfortunately at the tender age of eight, tragedy struck; his mother died of scarlet fever, his heartbroken father following mere weeks later. Jamie, now an orphan with no close family nearby, was all alone in the world.

According to the terms of his father’s will, Jamie was to live with his Uncle Dougal and his family in Edinburgh. When he came of age he would then return to the Highlands, taking his rightful place running Lallybroch. Dougal Mackenzie, however, was a greedy man and informed the lawyer managing the Fraser estate that Jamie had died of the fever too, thereby stealing the property for himself and leaving his young nephew with nothing. The worst part of it was that the boy knew nothing of the scheme, only that his beloved home was being taken over by new owners. His Uncle in possession of Lallybroch, Jamie was sent to a workhouse and soon happy days on the family farm were only a memory.

The years that followed were especially tough; fourteen-hour days spent chopping wood and crushing stones. Food was scant, water for washing - when there was any - ice cold. The overseer took a particular dislike to Jamie, frequently caning the child for the merest infraction. Jamie suffered terribly, pining for his parents as well as the fresh clean air of the countryside. He dreamed of the day he would escape the city and be surrounded by rolling green hills once more.

It was quite by chance that Jamie was finally able to leave the workhouse behind. After ten years he’d grown from a gangly youth to a strapping 6’4”; not as well built as he would have been on a proper diet but a man of strength nevertheless. One day he was driving the cart of chopped wood from the workhouse to a local blacksmith when the horse threw a shoe and reared back. Having known the way of horses practically since birth, Jamie brought the animal under control, saving both the cart and its load. The blacksmith - himself quite afraid of horses - was impressed.

“Lad, I’m expanding my business and looking for a farrier. Think ye might be interested?”

It was the first piece of good news Jamie had received since his parents died and he agreed immediately. For the next five years the young Scot learned his trade; making and fitting horseshoes as he cared for horses hoofs for miles around. Although much better than the workhouse, it was still a hard life; early starts and long days for very little pay. Still, Jamie was able to be around horses again which brought some comfort.

Fate however, was not on Jamie’s side. One chill winter’s morning the blacksmith complained of feeling poorly and by that evening he was dead; leaving the Jamie all alone once again. He hadn’t enough money to take on the business himself, so the shop was closed and he was turned out onto the street. With the little money Jamie had saved, he rented a small room above a pub; his funds stretching just enough to allow a roof over his head for one month, afterwhich he’d be homeless. Desperate to not have to return to the workhouse, Jamie was willing to do just about anything so long as it was honest work. With no money or connections to help him, his prospects were slim and helplessness threatened to descend. Finally Jamie hit upon an idea and with his last few pennies he placed an advertisement in The Times.

Young man seeking situation - skills as farrier, care of horses and in manual labour. Willing to work for accommodation.

Initial hope began to fade as the weeks ticked by with no responses. Not for the first time, Jamie wished his Da was still alive to guide him through troubled times. Or his Mam there to offer a comforting hug. Having no one to love him or for him to love in return brought a coldness Jamie worried he’d never escape. Three days before he was due to lose his bed, he received a reply.

Dear Mr Fraser,

We are in need of a riding instructor for the young Master of our estate. Room and board included, the salary offered is £50 per annum. Assistance with the management of the stables would also be required. If you are willing to accept our terms please reply via return post.

Yours sincerely,

Joseph Abernathy,

Wolverton Hall, Shetland.

Beaming at this good fortune, Jamie immediately dipped the quill into the ink pot to write and accept Mr Abernathy’s offer. Such was his excitement that his shaking hands spilled the black liquid across the parchment and he had to start over, but it mattered not. Packing his meagre possessions into his satchel Jamie began the journey northward and toward a meeting that would change his life forever.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #thanks for reading #jane eyre #the gloaming #ol fan fic #ol ff

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swtorpadawan · 4 years

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Awakenings - Chapter 8 : Small Favors

For one thing, she’d been rescued after spending the last three years imprisoned in carbonite by some Hutt crime lord and a group of thus-far unknown conspirators. She’d been blissfully reunited with Corellan Halcyon after three – technically six – years apart. She’d then found that he’d built an entire world – an Alliance, even – where they didn’t have to hide their relationship anymore. Theron Shan and Lana Beniko – Corellan’s senior advisors – had given them a whole two days to get “reacquainted”, sequestered on their old ship. (They’d both desperately needed it.) Afterwards, she’d made an impressive debut with the Eternal Alliance through her rather public sparring session with Corellan, and aside from her run-in with Xalek – and that freak of a Rattataki mercenary who Doc used to date and who’d tried to get under her skin – her introductions had gone well. She’d been ecstatic to reunite with Teeseven and Rusk; even seeing Seetoo Enntoo again had made her more emotional than she’d ever have expected. She’d reached out to Bela Kiwiiks, relieved that her old Master was still alive and thriving on a remote enclave for Jedi younglings. Kiwiiks had even tacitly approved of Kira’s ‘life choices’ with respect to Corellan and the Alliance. Perhaps most surprisingly, Kira had even made a new best friend. Vette had been fantastic these last few days; showing her around, introducing her to people, helping her redecorate her (and Corellan’s) quarters and generally being supportive. She’d been great.

For once, for maybe the first time ever, almost everything in her life was going great.

He, of course, had been amazing.

Corellan had held her gently when she’d been freed from that damned carbonite slab. She’d never admit to being afraid, but she’d honestly been terrified by the thought that that the Emperor was still within him, somewhere. He’d responded by being incredibly patient with her; letting her feel him out through the Force. Then when her mind and heart and soul had recognized that it was really him and only him, they had kissed and embraced and made love and reaffirmed their connection to each other and in that instant, he was anything but patient with her, and in ways that still brought a soft smile to her lips.

Once they were done, he had told her everything that had happened to him in her absence, and she’d done the same. Their meditations on the Defender – in between further sessions of love-making – had brought understanding. The scars on each other’s souls may never completely fade, but they had started to heal over. She could hardly imagine some of the choices Corellan had made along the way. The choice to bring so many former enemies into the fold of his Alliance. The choice to ally with the Sith Empire. The choice to no longer call himself Jedi. The choice to recruit Arcann. It was still too much to take in just yet.

But she understood.

Corellan did feel different to her in some ways. That was to be expected. No one could go through what he had without changing. But he hadn’t changed in the ways that mattered.

Not to her.

Life wasn’t all peaches and cream, of course. It had its bantha dung patties, as well.

She still didn’t know who Kabbura had been working with when he’d imprisoned her, and with the slimy Hutt dead, tracking them down would be a real challenge. Kira didn’t feel consumed by any kind of revenge, but she felt the need to be the one to close that book herself.

That was one.

She didn’t know if she should still call herself a Jedi. The Jedi in the Alliance had accepted her, and that was something. But the goal of making a place for herself within the Order that had once driven her so badly now seemed like something she should consider setting aside if it no longer suited her, considering her relationship with Corellan.

That was two.

She had still lost three years of her life. She may not have aged in that time, but the galaxy had still gone on without her.

That was three.

Kira squeezed her fingers into a fist, then buried her thoughts as she made her way through the saloon. Her old Jedi training was still useful for that sort of thing at least. As she walked, a few people she had already met perked up and greeted her with a friendly word and a nod, and these she returned. She did notice that other people were apparently still fascinated by the novelty of the Alliance Commander – the ‘invincible Outlander’ – having a ‘significant other’, quietly watching her with appraising looks from afar, sometimes exchanging a hushed whisper with a nearby companion.

She was getting used to that. It had annoyed her at first, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. And it was slowly getting better as people became accustomed to her presence. Her new outfit – this one a black and dark brown full body suit of light armor with plenty of pockets for little ‘surprises’ she could use in combat – suited her as well. She wouldn’t be caught by surprise again like she had by Kabbura on Nar Shaddaa.

Not ever again.

Kira glanced around the cantina, finally catching the hand wave from her quarry for today. He was standing near the bar, looking casual as usual with his snappy red jacket and stylish haircut.

Not that his posture fooled her.

“Hey, there.” She smiled as she approached him.

“Hey, stranger.” Theron Shan returned her smile. “How’s it going?”

“I’m doing pretty good.” Kira answered amicably.

Upon saying the words aloud, she realized that, much to her surprise, she actually was doing pretty good overall. She wouldn’t pretend that she hadn’t experienced hardships the last few years, or that there weren’t things she needed to work on now. But she could recognize those things without being consumed by them.

Ironic that I’m finally reflecting on things like a Jedi now. Kira thought to herself.

“You wanted to meet?” she continued.

Theron nodded, then gestured to catch the eye of the bartender, who was doing a good job pretending not to eavesdrop on them. Vette had introduced him to her earlier; he was a bear of a man with a thick white beard whom everyone seemed to call ‘Captain Rex’. Kira knew he’d been a veteran Republic soldier before joining the Alliance, and after the fighting he’d retired from field duty and started running the cantina. Finally prodded, he gave the duo his full attention.

Kira had taken to him quickly; he seemed an amicable guy who took people as they were and was a good listener. In other words, he was the perfect bartender. She was already on a first name basis with him. Still, even he seemed curious about her meeting with one of the senior advisors.

“Hey, you two.” He gave them a toothy grin. “What can I get you?”

Theron gestured to Kira.

“Go ahead and order. My treat.”

Kira raised an eyebrow at the offer. So it was going to be one of those kinds of talks. She though. But she played along, flashing a dazzling smile to Rex.

“Tatooine Sunset, if you please.”

“No problem, Kira.” Rex exclaimed cheerfully, then turned to Theron. “Agent Shan?”

Theron grimaced just a bit at the formal – and outdated – title. There’s a story there. Kira realized, but kept it to herself.

“That and a bottle of Corellian whiskey.” He added, laying a credit stick down on the bar. “With two glasses. Thanks, Rex.”

“Coming right up.” Rex nodded. He snatched up the credit stick then turned away and began preparing their drinks while Theron turned back to Kira.

“Tatooine Sunset? Really?” he chuckled.

She suppressed a cringe at the memory.

“Really, discovering that drink was the only positive takeaway I had from my time on that rock.”

The Shock Drum – a ground-quake causing superweapon – had almost destroyed the whole planet. Kira and Corellan had been forced to fight a sand demon that stank up their clothes once they’d finally killed it. Master Kiwiiks had been seriously injured and nearly killed. Kira and Corellan had been chased all over the desert by an insane Czerka corporate executive. Finally, they’d had to go head-to-head with an ancient Rakatan intelligence to stop it from breaking free to reign havoc on the galaxy.

Oh, and the sand had gotten everywhere.

“Yeah… I think I read that report.” Theron answered somberly. He let an awkward moment of silence fall between them before Rex returned with their drinks.

“Here we are.” He presented the tray with Kira’s fruity drink, the bottle of whiskey and the two glasses. “Need anything else?”

“Just a quiet corner, Captain. Thanks.”

“Lot of that going around.” The larger man just winked. “The booth in the back corner is open. Go ahead. I’ll keep people clear.”

Theron nodded his thanks and took up the tray in his arms, glancing to Kira. “Shall we?”

Kira rose an eyebrow but followed. The two took their seats at the booth in the corner, sitting opposite of each other. From here, she realized they could look out at the rest of the cantina with relative privacy. Theron took one of the glasses and poured himself a drink while Kira took up her drink.

Theron rose his glass to hers, giving her a slight smile.

“To new beginnings?”

“I’ll drink to that.” Kira smirked, gently clinking her glass against his, then taking a satisfying sip of her drink through her straw.

Ah. Rex knows how to mix these. Kira reflected happily. After savoring the taste, she turned back to Theron expectantly as he set his own drink down.

“So. You wanted to chat?”

“Oh, you know. Just wanted to see how you were adjusting to everything.” Theron gave her a charming, boyish grin, one that had probably beguiled dozens of beings the galaxy over, regardless of their gender or species. “You’ve had a busy week.”

Kira liked Theron. She liked him quite a bit. And she knew Corellan trusted him completely. But growing up on Korriban and then on Nar Shaddaa had taught her when she was being played. Also, he’d bought the whole bottle of whiskey with the two glasses for them both. The Jedi Knight folded her arms, her right eyebrow rising in suspicion.

“Uh-huh. Want to come clean with me, spy guy?”

Theron feigned a hurt expression on his face, then raised his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out what appeared to be a portable holo-device and setting it down on the table between them. The former Republic Strategic Information Service (or SIS) agent gave a sideways glance out at the occupants of the cantina – a look that Kira almost missed – and only then, apparently satisfied, simultaneously pressed two buttons on the communicator. It let out a low beep but didn’t seem to do anything else.

“Alright, you caught me. It’s a couple of things, I guess.” He chewed it over before beginning.

“The first is about him. I mean, we’ve been doing this for about a year and even now Lana and I… well, we get worried. I don’t think we always read him correctly. We can’t really tell when he’s pushing himself too hard. Or when something is genuinely bothering him. Or a lot of other things that you’d expect we’d have a feel for by now.”

Kira listened passively as Theron laid out his concerns, then looked down at the holo-device with a scrutinizing look.

“I take it that thing is jamming us?”

Theron nodded in confirmation.

“All electronic surveillance of us is blocked. Everyone trying to listen in from more than three meters out will hear nothing but white noise. And anyone who tries to read our lips will get a minor holo-distortion.”

Kira gave him a look of acknowledgement then sat back and studied Theron, chewing things over. She reminded herself again that Corellan trusted Theron – and Lana Beniko, for that matter – completely. She couldn’t relive all that they had experienced together, but she could acutely feel that connection. She couldn’t know everything, but she could understand what they meant to him.

Most people asking her about Corellan would have gotten promptly blown off. Possibly with a snappy barb, possibly with a drink to the face if they caught her on a bad day.

But she decided she should take Theron seriously. That didn’t mean she had to make it too easy on him.

“I get it. You and Lana have been working with him for all this time, but you still don’t ‘get’ him, do you? He’s an enigma you can’t crack and now you’re hoping I’ll clue you in?”

Theron sighed. “I mean… he’s just so damned heroic, you know?” he leaned towards her conspiratorially. “He always does the ‘noble’ thing, even when it seems stupid. And then he just fights his way out of it if it goes badly. The Sith and the former Imps revere him because of his strength. The former ‘Pubs respect him because he doesn’t get them killed pursuing his own petty goals. Hell, he didn’t want any of us to go with him to help rescue you.” His leaned back. “He’s this paragon to everyone else, and we know that’s not the real story.”

Theron scratched behind his head as he sipped his whiskey.

“It’s been a year, Kira. I knew him before, off and on, back when he was just the Hero of Tython. You were there. But now I’ve been working by his side almost constantly for a year and he still throws me off my game. Lana, too.”

He bit his lip, trying to find the words.

“We just want to know how to help him, because outside of the missions, I don’t think we’re doing a great job at that. And I know this is sensitive stuff. I know that. I’d never ask you to betray him. I was just hoping you could clue us in a bit. And Lana figured you’d be more likely to talk to me than to her.”

Kira nodded slowly. She didn’t dislike Lana Beniko, exactly. But she was Sith. She was a ruthless pragmatist who had once allowed Theron to be captured and tortured by the Revanites. She’d been the head of Sith Intelligence, no doubt ordering things that Kira didn’t want to think about. She had wanted to dissect Master Surro’s mind after that disaster with the Emperor on Ziost.

Then during Kira’s absence, she had found and freed Corellan on Zakuul, had helped him form the Alliance here on Odessen and had been by his side when he had toppled the Eternal Empire.

Best not to think about all that right now. Kira decided.

“How does he seem to be doing to you?” she was genuinely interested in Theron’s assessment. “Right now, I mean?”

“Honestly?” Theron chewed that over. “These last few days since you got here, he actually seems to be doing better than he’s been in ages. Dunno if you knew, but since the war ended, a few of us had been worried about him. He wasn’t angry or even distraught, but he seemed listless. It was like watching the most driven person I’ve ever met just go through the motions. But now? He’s completely re-energized. Driven. He smiles naturally; he even laughs.”

He paused in consideration.

“Really, I’ve never seen him this content before. This… happy.”

Kira gave him a soft grin, sipping her drink in quiet contentment.

“Neither have I.”

Theron blinked and sat back in his seat.

“What, really?”

Kira’s expression now widened into her trademark smirk.

“You know, back when it was just the six of us on the Defender, I remember it felt like there was always something in the way of him just letting go of everything.” Kira explained. “He did occasionally relax when I prodded, and he was always attentive and supportive to each of us with whatever each of us had going on. He never seemed to get too down on himself, but I could tell that some part of him was always thinking about the next challenge. If it wasn’t Vitiate, it was the rest of the Sith. If it wasn’t the Sith, it was the Hutts. If it wasn’t the Hutts, it was the Revanites. And if it wasn’t the Revanites, then it was worrying about your mom finding out about us.”

Kira immediately cringed and shot Theron an apologetic look.

“Uhm. No offense.”

Theron just let out a low groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. Kira had remembered a second too late that the subject of Satele Shan, former Grand Master of the Jedi Order, remained a sore issue for the former SIS agent, her son.

“Ugh. None taken.”

She nodded and pressed on. “Towards the end, before the invasion, I mean, it was starting to get to him. But it’s different now. He’s still driven but he’s… balanced, I guess. More important, like I said, he’s actually happy.”

“That’s a relief.” Theron let out a breath. “I’m thankful you’re willing to tell me that.”

“Well, I know how much Corellan thinks of you.” Kira smirked. “Also, I think you kind of get my personality, so I wouldn’t have to worry too much about saying the wrong thing.”

Theron chuckled.

“Yeah, I guess we’re both kind of used to being the snarkiest people in the room, aren’t we?”

“No surprise there.” Kira beamed. “Corellan’s never been great at sarcasm himself, but as long as I’ve known him, he’s been drawn to those kinds of people. Me. You. Doc. Even Scourge could get a witty line in every now and again.”

As she spoke, a stray memory from years before rose to the surface.

“Come to think of it, Orgus Din was his last Master before he was knighted.” She mused somberly, reflecting on the late Jedi Master, slain more than a decade ago. “If there’s ever been a Jedi on the Council more sarcastic than Master Orgus, I’d definitely want to meet them.”

“Wish I’d known him.” Theron seemed all too aware of what Kira was referring to. “Hey. Know who else is like that? Senya. She seems to have grown pretty close to the Commander.”

Kira pursed her lips. “Arcann’s mother.” She said quietly. “Valkorion’s … wife.” She let a small dose of venom slip into her voice.

“She’s stood by us.” Theron turned his head as he picked up her tone. “Notwithstanding the time she went AWOL to try to save Arcann, no one has fought harder for the Alliance than Senya Tirall. You should give her a chance.”

Kira remembered feeling the affection, respect and even reverence Corellan held for the former Knight of Zakuul. So she just nodded. One step at a time. She let out a breath.

“I will. When I’m ready.”

Theron just nodded in understanding, then pressed on, eager to change the subject.

“But yeah. I felt like a complete idiot when Teeseven showed all of us the holo of the two of you together.” He shook his head. “I missed the signs.”

“Heard about that.” Her eyebrows bumped up in amusement. “I love that droid. But wow. That must have been a fun meeting.”

“You have no idea. I mean… I’d seen the two of you together in person a bunch of times, and even together in action. Especially during that fight with Kael on Yavin.” Theron’s eyes widened and he face-palmed with another groan. “And then that Nar Shaddaa operation with Jonas on Nar Shaddaa! Dammit. I should have seen it. Some spy I turned out to be.”

“Yup. I still have the dress from that Nar Shaddaa trip, by the way.” Kira snickered, sipped her drink, then reached out and patted his shoulder. “Wouldn’t mind busting it out again one of these days.”

“Don’t sweat it, Shan.” She quipped. “We never really told anyone. Even Teeseven only knew because he saw us that one time on Dromund Kaas. Maybe a scarce few people figured it out along the way, but whoever they were seemed to have kept it quiet. We didn’t want to compromise anyone else.”

Theron sat back with an impressed look.

“You even kept it from your crew? For, what, four years?”

“Yeah.” Kira felt a twinge of embarrassment. “I mean, looking back, I would guess that Scourge probably figured it out. I mean, he was a Force-sensitive living in our cargo bay on our ship. Even with his emotions muted, he must have felt… something. But he never said anything. Guess I should have appreciated him more than I did.” She cast her eyes down at the table, surprised at her own emotions.

I miss Scourge. How messed up is that?

“Rusk hasn’t said anything, but I figure he suspected at the very least. Doc was only fooled because he was kind of an idiot and he didn’t see either of us clearly. He thought I was uptight because I turned him down hard, and he figured Corellan was repressed because he wouldn’t be his wingman to some club opening on Coruscant.” She shrugged. “We were discreet. We had a whole system to keep people in the dark. But… well, we were young and in love.” She gave Theron a cheeky look. “We probably weren’t being quite as careful as we thought we were.”

“Must have been tough.” Theron chuckled.

“I do actually miss those days sometimes.” She felt wistful at the remembrance. Force. I am getting sentimental in my old age. “For all our conflicting personalities, for all the fighting and the frantic pace, we eventually became a well-oiled machine. We all knew each other’s rolls and what to do.”

Theron sat up, intrigued.

“I take it a lot of that was from the tactics he setup?”

Kira remembered that Corellan had taken what he’d learn of strategy from his experiences with their old crew – with their diverse capabilities and backgrounds – and had implemented then on an entire para-military organization in the Eternal Alliance. If it had been anyone else, she’d have thought that would be impossible.

“Yeah. It was one of the toughest things to figure out when we first teamed up. He doesn’t really have a distinct fighting style. I mean, yeah, he fights using jar’kai techniques with his twin lightsabers, but he throws in moves from all the major forms.”

She leaned back, her brow furrowing.

“He doesn’t have just one thing going for him, see? He looks at his foes, his allies, the terrain, and the situation, and he just adapts to all of that brilliantly. What are his opponents’ strengths and their weakness? What are his actual goals? I used to hear other Jedi Masters on Tython talk about that sort of thing all the time, but he does it on a level none of them could touch. All instinctively.” She bit her lip. “And if they have a Force bond with you, you find yourself adapting right along with him. It doesn’t feel like they’re controlling you or anything; I’d never go for that. it’s more like they’re leading you while in a dance. And sometimes you’re leading them, too.”

“It took me weeks to figure all of this out, but once I did, it made fighting beside him amazing. It was better than…” A smirk came to her lips, impishly. “Well. I won’t say that because he’s actually really good at that, too.”

Theron rolled his eyes, dramatically. “Okay. Okay. Too much information there, Carsen.”

She let out a chuckle at him.

“Anyway, it’s not just about how he fights. He adapts to everything that way. Every situation he finds himself in. Regardless of whether it’s good for him to adapt. Diplomacy. Military strategy. Ship maintenance. Whatever. He adapts. So when you guys put him in charge of this outfit, all while he still had Valkorion bouncing around in his head, I think he made a lot of decisions on who he needed to become. To win against Zakuul, and against Valkorion. That’s why he’s projected this image of the ‘invincible hero’ to everyone. He thought that’s what they all needed.”

Kira looked up wistfully at Theron.

“Because losing wasn’t an option.”

Theron’s expression fell as his mouth opened to speak, but Kira cut him off, quickly reaching out and pressing a finger to his lips.

“I know. It was all for the greater good.” She sighed sadly, withdrawing her finger from him, and looking down at the table.

“It always is.”

Theron sat dumbstruck, looking at her sympathetically.

“Look, I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He stammered. “I mean, I thought about the strain we were putting on him and I know Koth did, too. But he just bounced back every time he got knocked down, and then he was just standing there, stoic as a duracrete wall. And we needed him. Force knows, we needed him. He once went missing on Dromund Kaas for less than a day, and Saresh was trying to seize control of the Alliance out from under us. We should have known it wasn’t that simple.”

Kira just shrugged helplessly.

“He’s spent his entire life becoming what other people needed him to become. I just want him to be him.” She bit her lip. Dammit. I don’t normally let this get to me. “And he does want this, Theron. The Alliance, I mean. It means so much to him I can’t even tell you. But even I can’t really tell if he wants it for himself, or for everyone else.”

She let that settle in.

“Something to think about, huh? Force, I wish you’d been here with us all this time. This all could have gone differently. We should have found you.” he shook his head. “No, I should have found you. I found your ship right where you left it. With your history, it should have been obvious you’d headed to Nar Shaddaa.” He reached for his glass, looking disgusted with himself.

She looked up at him.

“Don’t sweat it, Theron. I told him the same thing – that I wish I’d been here for this. He told me he was glad I wasn’t.”

Theron nearly coughed out his whiskey.

“What?” he stammered. “Why?”

“The Emperor, Theron.” Kira cringed at the memory. “If he’d ever known about us, he’d have used me against him.”

The former spy cursed. “Dammit.”

Kira’s lips quirked but her eyes remained downcast.

“A thousand-year old demigod living in his mind couldn’t figure out that we’d been together, Theron. Even though he knew perfectly well who I was. Those are the kinds of walls Corellan Halcyon puts up in his mind. So like I said, don’t sweat it too much for not picking up on it. And don’t beat yourself up too much for not finding me.”

It was hard for her to get the words out. But Theron deserved to hear them.

“I’m sorry anyway.” He insisted. “You deserved more, and so did he.”

Kira shook her head.

“He’s not used to relying on people outside of our crew for any length of time. Or at least he wasn’t before. Like I said, most people just want to press on with their lives. And more than one has let him down.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t want to be one of them.” He said determinably.

She eyed him for a moment, biting her lip. This conversation was bringing back more old memories, some best left forgotten. Theron inevitably caught her look; maybe he was learning to read her.

“What is it?”

She took in a long breath. At this point, she was becoming comfortable sharing things with Theron that she’d never shared with anyone.

He deserved the truth. For better and for worse.

“Ziost bothered him.” Kira offered quietly. “I mean, it bothered him a lot.”

Theron visibly cringed at the mention of the doomed Imperial world, where it had all gone so terribly wrong.

“Well, it shook us all up.” He managed. “I mean, even Lana was…”

Kira scowled at Theron in annoyance. His obtuseness grated.

“I don’t mean the planet getting wiped out, you idiot.” She snipped, keeping her voice low. “That was Vitiate. I don’t even mean the damned invasion. That was Saresh. I mean the part where you called in a super-secret Jedi strike team to deal with the damned Emperor when you had the Hero of Tython on speed-dial.”

The look of shock on his face would have been satisfying if she’d been trying to get to hassle him.

“Oh.” Theron fell back in his seat, sullenly.

Kira felt the pings of guilt at his reaction.

“Sorry.” She shivered and placed her hand on his. “Those were bad memories for me, too. I didn’t mean to hassle you about it. I just get defensive of him.”

“He never said anything.” Theron offered, still shaken.

“He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t want to acknowledge that it got to him. He doesn’t want to acknowledge that anything gets to him. And to be fair, not much does. But like I said - he’s been let down by a few allies over the years – Saresh, just to name one – and I think he really didn’t want to add you to that list of people.” She squeezed his hand. “He really does think highly of you, Theron. A lot. Like, we’ve teamed up with a lot of people, and he calls all of them his friend. And for most of them? We take care of their problem, then say our goodbyes, and that’s it. They go on with their lives, and we go on to the next disaster. Maybe they send us a nice thank you note. Beyond that, we probably never hear from them again.”

“Unless, of course, they needed our help again.”

Kira paused, pulling her hand back and sipping her drink before continuing.

“So believe me, Theron. He didn’t look at you like that. He still doesn’t. He thinks the galaxy of you. He’s already told me plenty of stories. You know what he saw when he met you? He saw someone willing to break the rules if it meant doing the right thing. He’s never forgotten that. But you have to understand that some part of him worried that if most people saw beneath the robes – beneath the armor and the ‘hero’ mask – they’d all just take what they needed from him and then walk away.” She paused. “I think he’s figuring out he was wrong about that. Certainly with you, anyway.”

“Thanks.” Theron had finally collected himself by now, giving her a thankful look. Kira just chuckled.

“What I’m saying is, he truly values your friendship. A lot. Even if hasn’t been any good at showing it. So if you ever get an idea in your head that you’ll – I dunno – pretend to betray the Alliance as part of some convoluted plan so you can go undercover and infiltrate some conspiracy… well, please don’t do that. Because then I really would have to beat you up.”

Theron scoffed.

“Oh, come on! I’d never do something that ridiculous!” he blustered indignantly.

“Well, I’d certainly hope not!” she laughed at his reaction. “You’re a good friend to him, Theron.” She bit her lip in consideration, then hastily added. “You and Lana. You just didn’t understand how his mind worked. Hardly anyone does. He still surprises me, and I’ve got a Force bond with him.”

“Yeah.” Theron nodded in understanding. “You know, he spent ten minutes apologizing to us after your debriefing ended. For not trusting us with his relationship with you or that he’d been hurting inside. Then he spent the rest of the day authorizing more Alliance operations than he had in the previous six weeks combined. He’s been on a tear like that ever since. It is stretching our resources a little, but damn if it isn’t good to have him like this. The troops like it, too.”

Kira thought she knew exactly why Corellan Halcyon had suddenly started flexing his operational muscles and what it meant. As her cheeks started burning in a blush, she took another gulp of her drink, eternally grateful to the Force that Theron was apparently too caught in his speech to notice.

“But I’d never want to disappoint him again. Or you, for that matter. That’s why I hope you know you can trust me.” He leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Both with what you tell me here, and not to tell anyone about your past.”

Kira blinked once hard; her blush forgotten as her blood froze. The Jedi Knight set her glass down as she regarded the Alliance advisor, coolly. To the best of her knowledge, no one outside of the Jedi Council and her old crew knew about her history as a Child of the Emperor, or as a Sith. No one besides the remaining Children, anyway, and they’d been wiped out years ago.

Her eyes narrowed on those of the former Republic agent.

“You pull that little nugget out of my file, spy-guy?” she kept her voice level.

Theron shook his head vigorously.

“It wasn’t in your SIS file.” He said definitively. “I only put it together because of two completely unrelated assignments I worked on. Trant had me close the file on Godera’s errant weapons projects back when I was regulated to desk duty after my ‘trip’ to Hutta. That’s how I found out about Valis on that abandoned mining station. Years later, when we were prepping for the Korriban op, I noticed how Corellan deferred to you a few times when it came to getting around the Sith Academy. Eventually, I put all the pieces together. Never reported it to anyone, though. Not even Lana. I swear.”

He gave her a playful smile. “Your file was thick enough without the extra baggage.”

“Thanks. That’s a relief.” She let out a breath but then caught herself. “Wait, just how big is my SIS file?”

“Oh, it’s not that big. It only got priority at the time because of that resistance group you were running with after Zakuul invaded. Trent and his bosses were paranoid you’d all break the treaty and trigger a new war… which I know must sound rich coming from me considering that’s exactly what I helped do, later.”

Kira suppressed a despondent look at the mention of the resistance group she’d been running with after the defeat on Tython. It was one more wound she had to work through in her own time. Theron, meanwhile, pressed on, apparently oblivious.

“I’m kinda embarrassed that I was able to figure things out about your past but not your relationship. I guess it’s because he looked like a model Jedi otherwise. It was only later I started to see him differently. But genuinely, your file mostly covers jobs you, Corellan and your crew did for us – for the service, I mean, sorry, force of habit there – dating back to Reid Gandon on Coruscant. Nothing from before that, really. Just that you grew up on Nar Shaddaa before Master Kiwiiks recruited you into the Order.”

Kira scrunched up her face in contemplation, trying to remember.

“Reid Gandon. That was that thing with the Justicars, right?”

“That’s the one. Reid’s a good man. We go way back. You know the Justicars’ whole organization collapsed a few weeks after the two of you paid them a visit? I mean, they had other problems. Their supply of weapons from the Empire was cutoff, for one. Also, Illaynah – Major Antilles, I mean – led a Havoc Squad op down there around that same time. That’s two. Regardless, they never recovered.”

“Huh.” Kira shrugged, relieved to be talking about something that hadn’t left a wound. “Well. They were jerks.”

“Yeah, they were. But you and Corellan got that sort of thing a lot, huh? People just coming up to you and asking for help?” Theron mumbled in disbelief. “Has he ever met anyone who wasn’t trying to get something out of him?”

Kira’s memory again stirred at that, like a nexu cat discovering a mouse running past its nose.

“Well, Theron.” she gave him a sharp look, her eyebrows furrowing as her lips tweaked upward. “There was this one time, we were docked at Carrick Station, I actually just told him to go out and make a friend outside of our crew. Outside of the Jedi Order and the Republic military. Just someone who… he could just talk to and who he might share some common interests with. Just, you know, a friend.” She shrugged. “Whatever that means, anyway.”

Theron chuckled at the absurdity of Corellan Halcyon heading into Carrick Station in pursuit of a ‘normal’ friendship.

“Really? How’d that work out?”

Kira eyed him knowingly as she sipped her drink.

“You tell me.”

Several seconds passed before Theron’s eyes widened in realization.

“Oh, blast it. That’s when I met him at the cantina, wasn’t it? And practically the first thing I did was ask him to take on an off-the-books mission that the SIS wanted nothing to do with. And then a year later I was calling you guys in again for the Korriban op.” He turned away guiltily. “Kriff. I’ve used him just like everyone else did.”

Kira reached out and squeezed his hand again.

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself. He saves almost everyone he meets, never mind saving the whole galaxy from Vitiate’s ritual.”

Theron turned back to his drink, grumbling as he shook his head.

“Who does he think appointed him the galaxy’s defender, anyway?”

“Who knows?” Kira’s eyes looked towards the ceiling, having considered the same question more than a few times in her life. She withdrew her hand. “The Force. Your mother when she knighted him and named him the ‘Hero of Tython’. Scourge when he told him he was destined to kill the Emperor. Lana when she freed him from carbonite and told him he was the galaxy’s last hope to stop the Eternal Empire.”

Me. She thought to herself with a hint of bitterness. When I told him that I had been a Child of the Emperor and that the Sith would never stop hunting me. Corellan just stood there on our ship, having been a Jedi Knight for all of a month, and told me that he would protect me with his life. Those comforting words had filled Kira with a warmth that grew into a fire. And eventually, an eternal flame.

Was I using him all that time, too?

Kira hastily buried away that unwanted thought, mentally recognizing it as a lingering insecurity and refocusing on Theron.

I am not the lost child anymore.

“The point is, he’s spent his almost his entire adult life with people pleading with him for help, telling him that he was the only one who could save them. Look. He’s saved my life about… five times now, and that’s not counting stuff that happened in the ‘natural’ flow of combat. Believe me, that was a blow to my ego. I don’t like feeling like a damsel in distress. We’re supposed to be partners, dammit.”

She frowned, then looked back up at Theron.

“But if I can get over all that, then so can you.”

Theron looked away sullenly, digesting the bantha-sized heap she’d dumped on him. He finally offered a weak chuckle.

“Want to hear a funny story?”

“Sure.” Kira shrugged. She noted with some trepidation that he still wasn’t look at her.

“These last few weeks – ever since the war ended, really – he’d been… distracted. Like I told you before. He’s felt listless. I’ve caught him a few times looking up into the sky like there was something in the galaxy calling out to him.” He turned away from Kira, eyeing the wall. “I kept remembering the old stories about Revan that Master Zho taught me growing up. After Revan destroyed the Star Forge and saved the galaxy, I mean. He could have settled down with Bastila, they could have raised some kids together and he could have happily lived out the rest of his life. Instead, he couldn’t resist the call of whatever was calling out to him.”

He stared blankly at the table.

“Turned out, of course, that it was the Emperor that the Force was trying to warn Revan about. This was centuries before the Republic even knew the Sith Empire still existed. And following that call cost Revan everything he had, including his sanity.”

Theron’s eyes finally refocused on Kira with a hurt expression, like he was reliving something unpleasant.

“I was worried that the Commander was going to leave us. Like Revan left Bastila. That he’d grab his astromech droid and jump in his ship one day, fly off, and we’d never see him again.”

Theron reached for his drink only to find the glass empty. Before he could react, Kira took up the bottle and refilled it for him. Theron just nodded his thanks.

“I guess we all got lucky, huh?” he hoisted the glass in her direction in a melancholic toast, still with a gloomy look. “Revan was looking to chase down the next threat to the entire galaxy. Corellan was looking for you.”

Kira stared back at him expressively, letting the awkward silence sit.

“Sorry. It doesn’t sound as funny when I say it out loud.”

“Maybe not.” Kira assented. “Alright. While we’re telling jokes that aren’t funny, I have one for you.”

Theron shrugged. “Hit me.”

“I had this thought this one time. That if you had wound up growing up to be the Jedi hero and Corellan had wound up the emotionally repressed spy, you’d both probably both have lived happier lives.”

For the third time that day, Theron let out a pained groan.

“Maybe.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ouch.”

“You know I’m just teasing you, right?” she smiled up at him. “I wouldn’t talk about this to anyone else?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get that. You’re alright, Kira.” He gave her a smile, shrugging off his fugue. “On that note if I could ask for one more favor. Regarding the Alliance…”

Kira made a face. She’d seen this one coming.

“Uh-oh. This is that second thing you wanted to talk about, right? Is this about that thing with Xalek? Or the one with Kaliyo?”

Theron looked apologetic.

“Well, I know that both were way out of line. But the whole thing did worry us just a little.”

Kira knew by now that by ‘us’ he meant himself and Lana Beniko.

“I’d never take it further than that.” She exhaled. “Look. I’ve been to more than my share of Republic army bases, Theron. I get the whole concept of a ‘General’s spouse’, and all the problems that entails. There’s no way I’m gonna go ‘lord’ anything over anyone, and there’s not a chance I’m not gonna pull my weight around here.”

Theron nodded and sat back in relief.

“Thanks. I didn’t want to give you a hard time about it. The dynamic and identity of this whole operation – what makes the Eternal Alliance what it is – well, it’s still forming. It’s constantly evolving. Morale is high, and I think it’s a good thing overall that people realize the Commander is a person and not some ‘mythic hero’, but it does open up the possibility of people trying to influence him through… backdoor means.” He focused on her intently.

“We kinda need your help making sure things like that don’t happen.”

“I can do that.” Kira nodded in agreement, then gave him a hopeful look. “And you know what? Just as a gesture… I have, in fact, been approached by three different people this past week, asking me if I could ‘have a word’ with the Commander on their behalf. For more resources, or to approve some project or just for some other favor. I very politely told them all to go through you and Lana.”

“Really? Wow.” His eyes widened in surprise. “I mean, I appreciate that. I know Lana will, too.”

Kira studied the former SIS agent closely. She’d almost missed it.

“You already knew, didn’t you?” she smirked. She’d heard that Theron kept an eye on things around the Alliance base, and she believed it.

“Actually no!” Theron’s face turned jovial at the half-hearted protest, chuckling. He had cheered up considerably, and he seemed to be getting used to Kira being able to read him. “I only knew about Oggurobb requesting more funding for his new xenobiology lab and Gault’s little currency exchange scheme. What was the third?”

“The Mandalorians.” Kira grinned. “Khomo Fett talked to me. They were hoping for a larger allotment of recovered Zakuulan equipment.”

“Really?” Theron made a face. “Sheesh. We already gave them ten crates of personal weaponry!”

“They’re Mandos, Theron. They always want more guns.”

Theron rolled his eyes.

“Well, regardless, thanks for telling me. You can always bring these things to me, Kira. I won’t let it get back to anyone.”

“Appreciate that.” She rewarded him with a smirk. There was no sense in developing a reputation as a snitch. “I’m glad we worked this out. And to answer your original question, I’m not gonna tell you he’s doing perfect, Theron. The Emperor… Vitiate… Valkorion… Tenebrae… whatever the hell his name is this week… did a number on him. But yeah, he’s okay. He’s recovering. Honestly.”

Theron’s face suddenly turned in an amused expression as he covered his lips with his fingers. Kira made a face as she reached out and swatted him in the arm, playfully.

“And no. It is NOT just because he’s not sleeping alone anymore.”

That got another chuckle from Theron.

“Sorry. Sorry. It’s just kinda nice to see the both of you happy. You both deserve it.” He let out a breath. “I’m sorry we take up so much of his time. I know that can put a strain on things. It must be tough, even now.”

Kira appreciated Theron’s sentiment. She truly did. But the temptation to have some fun with him was too good to resist, so she smirked across the table at him.

“Theron Shan. Everything else I’ve been going through aside do I look like a woman who’s unsatisfied?”

Theron visibly rolled his eyes at the innuendo. “Alright, alright. Fair enough.”

“All that legendary stamina he has isn’t just for fighting, you know.” She pressed.

“Oh stop it.” Now he was starting to get flustered.

“I can deal with the rest of it knowing that the greatest warrior in the galaxy does this thing with his tongue…” she was getting vicious, now.

“Kira!” Theron barely kept his voice down, looking aghast. She noted with amusement that he had turned red with embarrassment. “I surrender. You’ve made your point.”

“Good, because I was going to start discussing the finesse of his swordplay, next.”

Theron groaned, head falling forward in his arms.

“Force. I need another drink.”

Kira managed to stifle her laugh, just watching him smugly.

“Anyway, Theron, I do appreciate your concern about Corellan. And Lana’s. And everyone else’s, for that matter. But making sure he’s doing okay isn’t your job.”

Her smirk widened as his head rose to look back up at her.

“That’s my job, Theron.”

He sat back, with an impressed look at her resolve. “Fair enough, Kira. I accept all of that, and I trust you. But can you do me the favor of telling us if he ever does need help? If there’s ever anything he needs from us that he’s too stubborn to ask us? Because I dealt with not knowing what he needed for almost two months and I don’t want to do that again.”

Kira looked across the table at Theron and felt trust and affection for how far he’d gone. For the galaxy, the Alliance, and for Corellan.

“I promise.” She vowed quietly, now with complete sincerity.

“Thanks.” Theron smiled like weight of the galaxy had been taken off his shoulders. “Still though. Joking aside, this must be rough. Sharing him with everyone else, I mean.”

Kira didn’t respond right away. She simply withdrew into herself for a long moment as, not for the first time that day, she studied Theron’s features in deep consideration.

Should I really trust him with this?

She gave a quick glance around the cantina. If anyone had been paying attention to them at the start of their talk, that had long since passed. People were going about their business. Finally satisfied that they had a reasonable amount of privacy here, she reached down to her waist and unclipped her lightsaber from her belt.

Theron blinked in surprise as she set the double-bladed weapon down on the table lengthwise, but to his credit, he demonstrated no other concern at being this close to such a lethal device. That done, she took up the hilt again in both hands, ignoring the activation stud. Instead, she carefully twisted both ends of the weapon, triggering a mechanism that allowed a small panel in the middle of the staff to slide out of place.

The hidden chamber revealed within Kira’s hilt was tiny, only a few millimeters wide, and not even as long. But it was large enough for what it contained within.

Kira held out the staff hilt towards Theron, just far enough for him to peer into the chamber.

The former SIS agent’s jaw dropped.

Kira’s lips turned up just a bit in another satisfied smile. She gave him a second, then withdrew the hilt, twisted both ends back into place. The weapon was once again much like any other deactivated double-bladed lightsaber. It clipped neatly to her belt, as she sat back to regard him.

Theron visibly swallowed as he recovered from the surprise. Rather shaken, he sipped his drink.

“How long?” he finally asked, struggling to look Kira in the eyes.

“Since before we met you.” She turned away from him now, looking just over his shoulder. Her expression grew wistful, as she remembered that one skiing adventure on Alderaan.

“And he still…?” he left the question unfinished.

“When I woke up, he said I could take it out and hold him to it whenever I wanted.” Kira answered it anyway. “That it was my choice. But he told me that he hoped that I would wait until I had given this place a chance. When I was totally comfortable here, with this place and these people.”

She closed her eyes and bit her lip.

“I’ve been sharing Corellan Halcyon with the rest of the galaxy for years, Theron Shan. I can share him with you guys for a little longer if it gets all of us all to a better place. A better galaxy.” She sipped the last of her Tatooine Sunset, her deep blue eyes looking up at Theron. “I know that when I… cash this thing in, it won’t be the end of it. And that’s okay! Yeah, part of me wouldn’t mind spending the rest of my life lying on the beach on Rishi, working on my tan while he rubs me down with lotion. Or soaking in a hot spring with him. Or even just laying curled up in bed with him. But I’m an adrenaline junkie. I know I’d get bored of that eventually. I know there will be more missions, and fighting, and lunatics trying to burn down the galaxy. I’d just like to be able to kidnap him for a vacation now and again without worrying that it’ll plunge the galaxy into war.”

“But for now, it’s enough for me to have it, and to know what it means.”

She set the empty glass down.

“So yeah. I can play ball with you. I can objectively tell you when he needs time off. And I can promise to do all I can to help you and Lana keep the Alliance going, and not keep him in bed late into the mornings. But I do need something in return from you. And from Lana, I guess. Someday, I’ll ask the two of you to do something for me.”

Theron tried to keep his face nonplussed at the offer and did a pretty good job of it. No surprise, given that he’d been a professional spy. Playing it cool, he took the second empty glass Rex had given him and filled it, lightly pushing it in Kira’s direction before topping off his own glass.

“Sure. What is it you want?” he asked. Theron’s words were nonchalant, but he couldn’t entirely keep the wariness from his voice.

Kira felt her lips turn upward in a sincere smile. Her eyes drifted over Theron’s shoulder again, as she watched an assortment of Alliance members lingering around the cantina’s dance floor. Nothing particularly remarkable seemed to be going on. Most of them were just talking and laughing. A pair of couples were slowly dancing to that Force-awful Huttese music playing on the jukebox. They were just idly socializing.

They were just living.

She sipped the Corellian whiskey. It was a bit dry for her tastes, but even with her slight buzz going, it took the edge off. And even after her Sunset, she needed that right now.

“Someday I’ll ask for the two of you to tell him that he can finally stop fighting.” Kira’s voice dropped to a murmur. “He’s always been a hero. For as long as I’ve known him, and since long before your mother called him one. But he’s always had to be a hero because no one else could do it. Someday I need for the two of you to tell him that it’s okay. That he’s done enough for the galaxy. That its someone else’s turn to be the hero and get shot at. That he can just… walk off into the sunset.” With me on his arm. She didn’t bother to add. “That he can finally try to find some peace in this lifetime.”

“That he can finally just live.”

Her eyes refocused on Theron’s. He was looking back at her with a sympathetic look in his eyes.

“Don’t you think he deserves that much, Theron?” she pressed quietly, seeking affirmation.

Theron’s eyes turned away from her, regarding his glass. He finally downed the remainder of his drink.

“It… might be awhile before we can do that, Kira. A long while.”

“I know.” She had no illusions regarding the state of the galaxy, or of people’s natures. There’d always be someone causing trouble who needed to be dealt with, just as there’d always be someone out there who needed help.

But maybe – maybe – someone else could be the one to answer the bell when it rang.

“Okay.” Theron nodded. “I promise you: I’ll do everything in my power to find a way to make that future happen.” He looked back at her a bit puzzled. “I do wonder about one thing: What will he become if he’s not the hero?”

Kira bit her lip, then finished off her own drink.

“I dunno. I just know I’ll be there for him when it happens.” She looked down at the last drop of whiskey in her glass, then back up at him.

“Thanks for the drinks.” she offered.

“Well, thank you for the favors.” He smiled, raising his glass to her in a toast.

She grinned, picking up her own glass and clinking it to his for the second time that day.

“What’s a few small favors between friends?”

_________________________________________________

Author’s Notes: For the record, having your girlfriend come back into your life does not magically heal someone of trauma. But sometimes, it does help, especially when you’re the type of person who has a difficult time sharing their issues with others.

For those who’ve missed it, I am diverging dramatically from the storyline post-KOTET. Kira running with a resistance movement during the five-year gap was alluded to in the Master Ranos conversations but was then ignored or abandoned. The ‘Traitor’ arc basically doesn’t happen here with corresponding changes to other events.

More on all this another time.

One of the core themes of my Awakenings series is that while it absolutely sucks being the new kid in school, it can be even trickier if you’re the new kid, and you have no anonymity and the only thing people know about you is you’re dating the quarterback or the prom queen or whatever.

In my head-canon, the Jedi Council were never quite stupid enough to disclose Kira’s background to the SIS or to the Republic military. Since only the Children themselves and a small number of Vitiate’s inner circle seemed to have been aware of her history, it’s still a short list of people who know about it.

I make several references to several other head-canons during this story, some of which are planned for future works. For one, Theron worked with Corellan and his crew prior to the Korriban incursion. Later after Ziost, he brought them in for another quick op on Nar Shaddaa, this one involving Jonas Balkar. (I’ve started writing that one, but it’s been in work-in-process hell.)

I mention Kira’s encounter with Xalek in Awakenings – Chapter 7. I don’t know when I’ll write up the Kaliyo bit yet, even though I kind of like the idea I have. I obviously love Kira and Corellan as a couple, but I can’t emphasize enough that they have very different personalities. Theron is figuring that out here, much to his chagrin.

For more on the referenced ski trip on Alderaan between Corellan and Kira, please check out this piece. (It’s one of my favorites.)

In case it wasn’t clear, Kira is wearing essentially the same outfit she appears wearing beginning in the Onslaught expansion.

Reid Gandon is a mission-giving NPC who Republic characters can meet with on Coruscant. (I like to name drop the little people.)

Kira and Lana are developing an unusual dynamic that I hope to explore more in the future.

Rex from Rebels is a bartender in my head-canon. I do what I want.

Laura Bailey and Troy Baker are friends in real life. I don’t pretend their dynamic is anything like this, but I could see them teasing each other a bit.

The Tatooine Sunset is a real ‘Star Wars’ drink both in Legends and Canon. Kira is obviously drinking the alcoholic version here. Learn to make your own version here.

Finally, Corellan’s fighting approach lends a great deal to Sun-Tzu’s writings. He’s obviously never read Sun-Tzu, but he’d appreciate the underlying principles.

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arkannis · 4 years

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Thank you so much for all the time & effort you put into my ask! (Headcanon anon) I've got two more questions, hopefully they won't be as stressful/time consuming! First, what do you think the third expansion for eternal empire would have covered if people hadn't demanded a return to Pub vs Imp? And do you have any recommendations for fan content that develops Arcann's character/ gives more overall depth to the Eternal Empire arc?

You're welcome anon!.. I'm gonna try answer this as short as possible lol

I think they would have had more time to focus on the Outlander's relationship to Valkorion...it just seems all very abrupt! Especially if you're a non force sensitive. There's gotta be more reason than "you leave a mark wherever you go in the galaxy". JK and SW make sense because they're associated with the Emperor. BH, trooper, and smuggler would make sense leading an Alliance though. I'm not sure about IA though 😥 You're an agent, freelance or Empire, why would you take on such a...public, overt appearance... Valkorion would not be interested in u (imo). JC and SI still make sense though. JC is quite powerful in the Force. And I have no doubt in mind that they would have developed Arcann's redemption and possibly, a Vaylin redemption. Maybe would have had more time to focus on your companions - it seems cheap to just.... put them as alliance alerts 😐 I think the Echoes of Oblivion update wrapped up the loose ends regarding Vitiate and whatever happened in KOTET. Oh, and I also think they could have explored Thexan and Arcann's relationship. Maybe the Outlander's choices would have had more impact too... Oh, and also, your force sensitive Outlander claims to have mastered both sides of the Force... but I don't remember seeing a single cutscene where they used the opposing side's Force techniques 😐 Like hello, the Jedi might use Force lightning...I think that could have been somehow implemented as well in the third expansion - leading me to the point that the Outlander's training should have been more explored regarding the dark side and the light side. All they do is create a lightsaber or some weapon. Eh. You don't master the other side of the Force in hours. And it's hours because clearly the Outlander disappeared for a while and returned within like the same night.

I also wanted to see the destruction on the Republic's forces and the Imperial forces first hand. As in, what happened throughout those 5 years.

I'd like to see more information about the might of the Eternal Empire and how they fucked over both the Republic and Empire. It would be also interesting to examine the differences between Jedi, Sith, and the Knights. See, it's clear that the Knight's usage of both sides of the Force makes them powerful, amplified by their loyalty to Valkorion. Would the Jedi and Sith not have learned from the Knights? Would they have not learned to use the opposing side of the Force?

And secondly, Eternal Empire's history with Iokath droids. I want to know more about those Gemini droids. After SCORPIO "frees" them, it's clear they are sentient to an extent and they express emotions (one of the droids expressed being scared during KOTET)

And Arcann...like I stated earlier, I want to see his relationship with Thexan explored further. I wish we saw/heard Thexan speaking more.... I wish we knew more about Thexan. From what we only know, he excelled better than Arcann. But like, they loved each other anyways. I also wanted to see how Thexan and Vaylin interacted as well...

We also see a lot of Vaylin and Senya interaction, esp. in the trailer, but I hope we also got to see Senya interacting with the twins :,)

Regarding Arcann more specifically... I'd like to know what he actually did during the time period between Chapter 1 and The Dragon's Maw. I know the rumors were like uniting orphans on Nar Shaddaa and running a pleasure barge on Hutta (HELLO?? WHO SPREAD THIS RUMOR??). Probably had time to reflect on his own actions and trying to make a decision whether he should join the Alliance. And where did he get new clothes 😳 did he like sneak back inside his own house in zakuul LMFAOOO

hmm...cant think of anymore rn...

This is a bit off topic, but I think... I THINK OK... that during Theron betrayal arc, the Eternal Fleet and the Gravestone being destroyed was an excuse for the devs to go "well they're gone now, these two things that make the Alliance pretty much an entire faction on its own, so NOW you have to side with the pubs or imps!" Like BOOOOO we got to use the Fleet like once 😐

And by fancontent...umm...I actually... I actually don't know! There's actually quite little out there that I find, not enough for me to make a recommendation...! Or at least not enough that I know... I only know on here on tumblr. And maybe like a few Ao3 fics that left little impression on me... there could probably be on the forums...but not much... sorry anon :( Most content I see is on tumblr and that's when me and other people are adding onto headcanons and stuff....

#wowiee #arcann #zakuul hc #long post #asks

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cyn2k · 5 years

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Sherlock Fic Recs (mostly lesser-known)

All right, I’ve recommended individual fics from time to time,and I certainly reblog fic rec lists, but this is the first time I’ve tried to assemble a Sherlock rec list of my own. I’m trying to select stories I’ve not seen often (or ever) on other lists for this, and they are in no particular order. Mind the tags. Nearly all are end-game Johnlock, although a couple are more gen.

Since this is my first time writing a fic rec list, please let me know if you enjoyed it.

A Telling Touch - by MikayoToudaiji, 91K, E, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Post-Reichenbach. After Sherlock’s death, John manages to get himself re-enlisted and is sent back to war. But when two series of gruesome murders link home and outland together, John is suddenly faced with more battles than he could have imagined. A Reunion, multi-chapter, case fic.

This is one of my go-to fics. John is grieving the loss of Sherlock and back in the army, this time in Syria, courtesy of Mycroft, when he is called home due to the mysterious death of Irene Adler. Irene was the latest victim of a serial killer, but she has managed to leave John a mysterious message. Sherlock does eventually return, but badly injured. There’s a fascinating case fic, a very different and totally platonic Mary Morstan, Sebastian Moran makes an appearance, and a Mummy Holmes who’s absolutely lovely. I find this story so emotionally rewarding, on many levels.

Follow My Voice - by flawedamythyst, 9K, T, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Sherlock's voice is all John has.

John is in a coma, and his only link back to the world is Sherlock’s voice. Told mostly from John’s perspective, the payoff when John finally wakes up is lovely.

Meeting Clara - by BlueSkye12, 2K, G, no pairings (pre-Johnlock, perhaps, if you squint)

John and Sherlock have a chance meeting with John's former sister-in-law and Sherlock learns a thing or two about John's return from Afghanistan.

Sherlock learns exactly how much damage John suffered from the bullet that brought him to London and that fateful meeting at St. Bart’s. Clara is very protective of John, even if he’s no longer her brother-in-law.

Bitter Sweet - by distantstarlight, 17K, E, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Alpha John Watson is a retired army doctor with a chance to acquire an omega mate. He meets the most unusual omega he’s ever encountered.

A somewhat unusual take on A/B/O dynamics, where alphas need to have a use in life, either with a satisfactory career or as a parent to the next generation. Omegas, including Sherlock, are bought at auction, which some may find disturbing, but there’s no indications of maltreatment on anyone’s part. It’s Sherlock who has all the power in this relationship, although he’s deleted the reasons why. John may have to pay the price for that.

The Art of Seduction series - by flawedamythyst, 97K across 6 works, T to E, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/many OMCs, John Watson/OMC, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade

Sherlock ran a website called The Science Of Seduction, on which he gave advice on the best ways to get laid, wrote blog entries detailing the results of his various sexual 'experiments' and generally contributed to the stereotype of 'every gay man is a sex-mad playboy'. John avoided the thing like the plague. AU in which Sherlock treats sex like he does crime in canon. Inspired by Queer As Folk UK, but it very quickly went its own way.

I love this series. Sherlock is obsessed, not with crime, but with sex. John is his flatmate and pretty much the only gay man in London with whom Sherlock has not slept. John pines, Sherlock sleeps with most of gay London, and they all go dancing every weekend. Then Jim shows up and ruins everything. Or does he?

Semper Fidelis - by Blind_Author, 57K, M, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Anthea

Written for a prompt. Moriarty frames John and "Anthea" of betrayals which cause both of the Holmes brothers to cut them off. Cue BAMF!John and BAMF!"Anthea" doing their best to clear their names.

John and Anthea go on the run after they are both framed the same day. They protect one another and bond over the idiocy of their respective Holmeses. Both are in established, if hidden, relationships. They bond while on the run.

Evidence of Human Life - by thesardine, 17K, E, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Sherlock's sanity deteriorates while he and John are stranded on a deserted island.

I basically summed this up in my personal bookmark as: Sherlock and John on a deserted island. They hunt seals, Sherlock periodically goes nuts, and they start having sex.

This Doesn’t Feel Like Falling - by Dark3Star, 148K, E, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, pre Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade

When he fell from St. Barts, Sherlock knew he loved John Watson. John couldn't love him back (or so he thinks). Now that he's back from the dead things are back to normal... sort of. When a serial killer targets increasingly high profile gay couples Sherlock is on the case. With a, possibly ill-advised, plan Sherlock and John go undercover as a couple to uncover the truth.

Part 1 of a series, although this is by far the largest part. Your classic “married for a case” trope, taken to the extreme. There’s a decent case fic, a lot of mutual pining, and some interesting wedding planning. Heed the warnings, there are some pretty graphic depictions of violence when they finally confront the murderer.

The Secret Identity of John Watson - by scifigrl47, 27K, G, John Watson/OFC (but don’t let that scare you!)

Taken out of context, John Watson leads a terrifying life. You have to wonder what those poor women he dates thinks of it, especially if John decides to try keeping one away from Sherlock, and Sherlock decides that it'd be best if he could get rid of her. After all, Mycroft's taught him a thing or two about removing potential 'problems.'

Told from the point of view of the bank girl John saves and then dates. Guys, I am a total Johnlock shipper, and so is everyone else in this crack-fest, although they aren’t actually together. Samantha and her girlfriends are an absolute riot, and their impressions of both John and Sherlock are hysterical.

Small Steps - by crossroadrain, 16K, unrated, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

"It's John's birthday and all his army buddies have got him a prostitute for a laugh.

A/B/O fic, where Sherlock is an unwilling omega stripper hired to entertain for John’s birthday get-together with a bunch of his army buddies. When John takes him aside to protect him from his army buddies, he learns something more is going on. The writing is a little uneven, because the writer is not a native English speaker, but the story is quite good.

Endings - by Purple_Slippers_18, 3K, T, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Fifty years. Eighteen thousand two hundred and sixty two days. It was a long time to be alive, never mind the thirty-four years Sherlock had breathed before he'd met John, which the man in question most certainly did not. As far as Sherlock was concerned, his life – the one whose memories he hoarded like a dragon protecting caverns of stolen gold – began on that serendipitous January afternoon when two strangers met in the research labs at St. Bart's.

Not for those who can’t deal with MCD or find assisted suicide disturbing, but they’re so in love here. Retirement!Lock.

Body Language - by CeruleanDarkangelis,2K, T Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

There is a language to dancing; a call-and-response from one body to another. Even with the poncy kind of dancing I knew he was versed in, the kind that requires classes and counting and rules, there is communication between bodies. Watching him now, I’m more than pleased to discover that he understands my dialect as well.

This is just 2K of absolutely hot dancing seduction. There’s a follow-up fic, Touch Me, about what happens when they get home

Blind series - by inspiration_assaulted, 19K across 3 works, G to T, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Lt John Watson, 25, will do just about anything to stay in the Army, even if it means marrying a man he's never met. It's only for two years, and he'll probably be in Afghanistan the whole time. How much can his life really change?

Mycroft arranges a marriage between Sherlock and John, allowing John to stay in the army and Sherlock to pay for rehab. They write each other letters, but have never met. I originally read this story on FF.net and loved it. I was delighted to find it on AO3, which is easier on my eyes.

Words of One Syllable and At A Loss- GwendolynnFiction, 101K across 2 works on FF.net, M, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

The landmine at Baskerville leaves Sherlock deafened. Unable to stand living without his friend John agrees to learn to sign, but foreign languages cannot be learned in a void. Sherlock helps John learn to sign by finally learning to talk to him.

This was one of my early favorites when I first started reading Sherlock stories on fanfiction.net. The author has slightly different versions up on AO3, but I find these much more enjoyable, as their relationship just seems to work better. The followup story is what happens during the Moriarty trial and after the fall, when Sherlock has to return unexpectedly after John goes missing.

The Otter and the Hedgehog - by Trinity Fire, 23K on FF.net, T, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade.

Just when John and Sherlock think they have time to rest after a case, they get an unexpected surprise... Unexpected, yes, and fluffy!

This is a little uneven, and has a very awkward, very weird self-insert OC, but Sherlock the otter wandering around the flat tucking John the hedgehog into his scarf to carry him everywhere is just too cute!

Letters to a Soldier - by Pakmai, 70K on FF.net, T, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Captain John Watson is a soldier in Afghanistan. Sherlock Holmes has just been admitted to a drug rehab facility, assigned to write a letter to an unknown soldier. He doesn't expect to get a letter back from someone as interesting as John. John doesn't expect to get letter from a recovering drug addict. Together they form an unlikely friendship through letters.

I’ll admit, it’s been a while since I read this one, but this series turned me into a big fan of epistolary fics. The follow-up fic, Letters to a High-Functioning Sociopath, finished after I’d stopped reading regularly on FF, so I admit I don’t know how the series ended.

Flare - by iMusicalMinji, 6K on FF.net, T, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

John has a lot to learn about an elusive species when he ends up living with one. Like how he doesn't have to change under a full moon, how he is fireproof even if he cannot breathe fire himself, and how he loves the doctor. MythicalCreature!AU

A sweet dragon!Lock story, with some parental elements. Sherlock’s hoard made me laugh, and then I thought about it and it made sense.

#johnlock fic recs #Sherlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock

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underthewingsofthblackeagle · 4 years

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Foto: Panorama Helsinki / Finland - Dom und Parlamentsplatz (by tap5a)

“We only do this for Fergus!” is a short Outlander Fan Fiction story and my contribution to the Outlander Prompt Exchange (Prompt 3: Fake Relationship AU: Jamie Fraser wants to formally adopt his foster son Fergus, but his application will probably not be approved... unless he is married and/or in a committed relationship. Enter one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp (Randall?) to this story) @outlanderpromptexchange

Chapter 1: Life offers you many surprises

Berlin, Französische Straße Friday, 25 July 2025, 8.50 a.m.

Five minutes earlier, Claire Elisabeth Beauchamp had entered the large, light gray house, built in the neo-Renaissance style that dominated the whole Forum Fridericianum. In the lobby, which was dominated by marble and dark wood, Claire was greeted by a receptionist. She was asked to sit down for a moment in one of the dark leather armchairs, of which four were grouped around an elegant round table. As she waited, her eyes wandered up the high walls of the entrance hall. A few steps of a staircase led out of the hall through a large glass door that ended in a round arch at the top, reminiscent of a gate entrance. Above it was a large ornament of dark stones inlaid in the light marble. The ornament showed a circle, which, as it seemed, was formed from a belt. The words "Je suis prest" could be read in the curve of the circle and in the center of the ornament was the head of a stately stag, which looked directly at the observer.

“Französische Straße Berlin” by Jörg Zägel / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)

Claire knew that the French motto meant "I am ready!", but just as she was wondering what the sign meant, an older lady approached her. She introduced herself as Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons. This employee, whose blue costume gave the impression of a uniform, led Claire down various small staircases and long corridors to the room where she was now sitting. Wherever they had gone in this house, it had been extremely quiet. The heavy, dark red carpets that covered all the stairs and hallways, had swallowed every sound of their footsteps. Now she sat in a room whose furnishings were characterized by dark wood and light brass and whose dimensions were more like those of a hall. But it was the antechamber of the CEO’s office of "Fraser & Son International" and behind the large double-winged door that Claire was now looking at was the study of Dr. James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, one of the country's leading business owners. Until two weeks ago, Claire did not know the man's name or that of his company. She didn't care about the gossip press, which also reported on the local "high society" in Berlin. But then Geillis Duncan, her best friend, came by one evening and showed her a job ad from the "Wirtschaftswoche" newspaper. At first Claire was completely surprised. How did Geillis, who loved to read the gossip press, come to show her an ad from Germany's leading weekly magazine for managers?

"Dave left it on the kitchen table, and since I didn't have anything else at hand, I looked into it while having breakfast. But now take a look at this job ad!"

Geillis had emphatically pointed to an ad that featured the same ornament as the one she had seen in the lobby. Claire had started reading. A pedagogically trained caregiver was needed for an almost seven-year-old child. The woman should speak fluent German, English and French. Further foreign language skills were welcome but not required. Furthermore, an extensive general education and an impeccable curriculum vitae (i.e. no entries in the Federal Central Crime Register) were expected. Special emphasis was placed on the knowledge and practice of the literature written by Adolph Freiherr Knigge. Three times the current monthly salary was offered, 30 days paid vacation, free board and lodging, private health insurance 1st class.

"Just imagine Claire!" the girlfriend had exclaimed enthusiastically, "If you got this job and worked there for a few years, all your problems would be solved!”

Geillis was right, well, almost. Surely not all her problems would be solved. But the financial problems she had to deal with could at least be significantly reduced by this job. She had to acknowledge that and so Claire, Geillis and her friend Dave met that very evening to write a letter of application. Dave, who worked for a large media company at Potsdamer Platz, immediately agreed to help her with his knowledge. The next day, Claire had sent off the application. Then she had bought an updated edition of "The Knigge" and started reading it. Shortly after, Geillis came and brought her a large pile of current newspaper clippings so Claire could learn all she needed to know about the person of James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser and the family business he ran.

She learned a lot about the company from various business magazines, but the person of James Fraser seemed almost like a phantom. It seemed to her that this man also didn't care about the so-called "high society" and obviously he didn't deliver any headlines to the gossip press. There was neither an article about him nor a photo of him on the company's homepage. Even a Wikipedia article with his name only gave the basic data (birthday, place of birth, family, studies) and otherwise dealt more with the globally active company. "Fraser & Son International" was one of the few family-owned companies that to this day had no shareholders and, having invested in a wide range of economic sectors, not only survived the financial crisis of 2008 well, but had even emerged from it stronger. In this Wikipedia article, however, there was a photo by James Fraser. It showed him with a group of business leaders at a national conference. However, this picture was over eight years old and also very pixelated. At some point everything turned in Claire's head and she hoped that she had not learned all this information for nothing. If she would at least be invited for a job interview. Ten days later, she hadn't dared to hope that she would ever hear of Fraser & Son International, and to her surprise, her smartphone rang just before the lunch break began. A Dr. Ned Gowan called on behalf of the company, explained that he was the lawyer for "Fraser & Son International" and asked if she could come for an interview at the company's headquarters two days later at 9:00 am. She told him that she had to ask her department head to give her time off first and would call back. As the summer vacation period was over, it was no problem to get a day off and so she called Dr Gowan fifteen minutes later and agreed to meet him (and Dr. Fraser!) two days later. Claire had to be extremely restrained not to cheer out loud. This would have immediately drawn the attention of her colleagues in the department, and she definitely did not want to tell them about it. During lunch break, she left the clinic and sat down on a bench in a nearby park. From there she called Geillis and told her the good news. Right after the end of her shift, the friends met in the parking lot of the clinic to go into town together and pick out a suitable "outfit" for Claire's job interview. Geillis, who had worked as a freelance fashion consultant for many years before she met "the rich Dave", dragged her friend directly to the fashion department of the KaDeWe. There, after a while, they found a muted dark green business costume that emphasized Claire's figure but still looked respectable.

“Kaufhaus des Westens (KaDeWe) - Foto by Avi1111 dr. avishai teicher / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)

"That's perfect," exclaimed Geillis as Claire stepped out of the dressing room. "Yes, perfectly too expensive for me. Have you seen the price?" "Don't worry about that," Geillis replied. Then she whispered: "I'll pay for it. If the job doesn't work out, we'll just give it back afterwards. And if you get the job and want to keep it, you'll give me the money back when you get your first salary.”

They bought the costume and also a matching blouse and shoes. Claire was not allowed to think about the amount of money they had spent within a few hours or she would get sick. But that was all forgotten at that moment. Now it was time to concentrate and make a good impression. Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons had led her into this room and instructed her to use one of the twelve large brown leather armchairs. With the words "You will be called in when it is your turn," she had said goodbye. Claire had taken a seat and scanned the room as inconspicuously as possible. Seven other women sat in leather armchairs of the same type, which were set up on three side walls of the room, each separated by a small table. On the tables were glasses and bottles of mineral water, but none of the other women had made use of them. Claire had not intended to drink anything either. She was far too excited to drink, and she was afraid that she might have to go to the bathroom in the middle of her upcoming job interview. Slowly, her gaze wandered across the light-colored carpet to that large, two-winged mahogany wooden door. On each of the wings was a coat of arms, divided into four sections. On the upper left and the lower right quarter were three white flowers on a blue background. The upper right and the lower left quarter each showed three red, pointed crowns on a white background. Behind this door, Claire assumed, must be the director's room. What would she expect there? She did not know. Why had she only gotten involved in this thing that Geilis Duncan had suggested to her? Out of desperation? She wasn't sure. Only one thing was sure: she had never thought that she would have to have another job interview at the age of almost 30. But that was her life. Much of what had happened in her life had not been planned, nor had she ever expected her life to be like that. Claire Elisabeth Beauchamp, almost divorced Randall, had lost her parents in a car accident when she was five years old. For the next fifteen years she was raised in the loving care of her uncle 'Lamb'. Dr. Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, an archaeologist and Egyptologist whose research focus was on the Old Kingdom of Egypt and who was highly revered by his students, came to Berlin in 2015, where he taught at Humboldt University in the last years before his retirement. There Claire had also met her future husband, Dr. Frank Randall. He had been assigned to her uncle as a research assistant. Randall had courted her like no man before and they had already married in May 2016. The first four years of their marriage had gone in a way that Claire would still describe as happy today. Although, she was no longer quite so sure. What did happiness actually mean? Was there a definition for this term? And even if there was a definition for the term "happiness", was it really valid for all people? In any case, the first four years of her marriage had not been very negative. Together they had made regular trips to Paris, Madrid, Prague, Budapest, Dubrovnik, Palermo, Venice, Turin, Marseille, Amsterdam, Florence, Milan, Barcelona and Bruges.

“Palermo/Sizilien” by nataliaaggiato

Claire enjoyed getting to know these cities and experiencing their cultural particularities. When Lambert Beauchamp died unexpectedly in February 2019 as a result of a stroke, Frank had been kind and, in her opinion, very sensitive to her needs. But in the spring of 2020, a strange development had set in with him. At first Claire had blamed it on the effects of the corona pandemic. After the start of the lockdown, Frank was mainly at home, giving lectures via Zoom and otherwise writing a new book on the history of the Scottish Jacobite uprising in 1745. Claire, on the other hand, was working as a nurse in the children's clinic of Berlin's Charité hospital, as she had been before the crisis. Frank had insisted that Claire should give up her job. The possibility that she could become infected with the virus seemed too high to him. But Claire could not bring it over her heart to leave her fellow nurses alone, especially in such a severe time, and thanks to the strictly observed precautions she got through this difficult time without any problems. While she could be happy about the successes in her profession, the problems in her marriage with Frank seemed to become bigger and bigger. At some point, she felt that Frank was becoming more and more monosyllabic and that they were drifting apart rapidly. But evem then she thought this was a temporary phase that would end after the pandemic at the latest. At least she hoped so. When a vaccine against the virus was finally found in July 2021 and became available in December 2021, Claire breathed a sigh of relief. She and Frank would get vaccinated and then they could travel again. This would change Frank's mind and make her marriage blossom again. But it all turned out differently. Once they were vaccinated, Frank suddenly didn't feel like traveling anymore. Again and again he put off his work. Regularly he worked until late at night at the university and sometimes he spent whole nights there. It was always about important analyses, which he published in specialist publications and for which there were tight deadlines. Even on evenings when Claire was off, he was rarely at home, and whenever she tried to initiate a little marital tenderness, he was too tired for that. In the spring of 2022, they had slept together for the last time. A few months later, Frank had stopped kissing her goodbye, as he usually did when he left the house. What happened then had the potential to throw her completely off track. By the fall of 2022, a hunch that Claire had suppressed again and again had been confirmed. Frank had a mistress. When she returned from her work at the children's hospital one evening in October, she saw Frank saying goodbye to a slender blonde at the door of their shared house, kissing her intensely. She stood there frozen. Everything inside her urged her to turn around and run away. But then the anger that built up within her gained the upper hand. Like a burning ray that shot out of her stomach through her whole body, he took a breath. She ran to the front door, unlocked it and found Frank standing at the sink in the kitchen, where he was just rinsing out two wine glasses. He turned to her in surprise, but before he could say a word, Claire's purse hit him in the left half of his face with full force. Frank had lost his balance and had fallen over. His glasses had come off his head and had broken when he hit the kitchen floor. Claire no longer knew what insults she had used to call him. Frank had picked himself up and collected the parts of his glasses. He had not even set out to explain the situation or apologize.Claire would not have listened to him either. She had turned on her foot and had run into the shared bedroom. When she arrived there, she had taken Frank's bed linen, run back downstairs with it and threw it all into his study. Then she ran back into the bedroom again and locked herself inside. She did not know how long she had cried angrily. But before she had fallen asleep, she had made a plan. The next morning she went on the morning shift. During a break she called a lawyer and that same afternoon she went to see her to discuss the formalities of a divorce.

“Brille” by jottbe

Frank had had the injuries Claire had inflicted on him treated, but had not reported them to the police. It was only later that he let it show that he had orchestrated the whole situation. He had simply been too cowardly to have a conversation with her about a divorce, as two adults normally do. He probably wanted to make her feel guilty, too. Claire was convinced of that, at least. Frank had always been against her going back to work. When she accepted the job at the children's hospital a year after their wedding, he had expressed himself very negatively about it. What kind of impression would it leave on his colleagues if the wife of a prospective professor went to work? And in the last year of their marriage he had not missed any opportunity to tell her how much he felt neglected. It took three months before Claire was able to move into a small room in one of the Charité nurses' homes. During these three months she did everything she could to avoid Frank as much as possible. Anything she couldn't take with her to the nurses' home, she stored in her friend Geillis Duncan's basement. Claire hoped that the divorce would be finalized in October 2023 after the obligatory year of separation and that she could finally start a new life. But this time, too, everything turned out differently than she had hoped. It was a rainy autumn day in September 2023 and it was to be the last day in the life of Dr. Frank Randall. On a country road near Lübeck, where he had attended a conference for historians, Frank's car skidded for some unknown reason. The car broke through the barrier and then came to a halt in a field. There it was discovered the next morning by a farmer. When the police arrived at the scene of the accident, Dr. Frank Randall was strapped in the seat belt and sat in the driver's seat as if nothing had happened. He was uninjured and even still wearing his hat. But Frank Randall was dead. An autopsy performed later revealed that Frank had had a heart attack that caused him to lose control of the car, causing it to veer off the road. It was, as the police later said, very lucky that no other car had been hit. Claire was shaken.

“Lübeck” by scholty1970

But an even greater shock struck her on the day of the reading of the will. On that day, the notary told her that she would not inherit any money, only debts from Frank. Her still-husband had bought a condominium for his mistress for 250,000 euros, which he had signed over to her. For this gift Frank had gone into debt and Claire, who was still married to him by law, inherited his debts. It was one big nightmare. Although Claire had also inherited the rights to Frank's books, these reference books sold only in very manageable numbers and brought in little money. With her salary as a pediatric nurse, it would take her decades to pay off Frank's debts. Meanwhile, Sandy Travers, this bleached ...., was sitting in her apartment, probably enjoying herself with her next lover. Once again the anger about Frank rose in Claire's heart, but before she could think about him any further, a familiar voice tore her from these thoughts.

#Outlander #Outlander Fan Fiction #James Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #lambert beauchamp #Frank Randall #Fergus Fraser #Geillis Duncan #Ned Gowan #Berlin #Germany #Modern AU #Outlander Prompt Exchange

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