#that cloak of his took so much effort to rig properly

[haethel]

The Aviators - Garrett (Thief 2014)

Garrett rerigged from model by Tokami-Fuko; Music: The Aviators by Helen Jane Long; Motion: Theater Terepushikora by MeganeMishin; Stage: 穹窿ステージ Ver.1.1 (Kyuryu stage Ver.1.1) by まきがね (Makigane); Skydome: Scenery 10572 by btabc; Workingfloor2 ver0.0.8 by 針金P (wire P); Primal poppy taken from Thief Wiki; AdultShader by Elle / data P; dDarkShader ver.0.50β (Carol) (includes multiple light source effect by Bimuman P); Lighter OverBright AS013 Shaders by Spakaford1; MMD Falling Feathers by Spakaford1; ObjectLuminous by Beam-man; Other effects (authors unknown): NightFog, BlackOut3, XDOF, CheapLens

[pastelsandpining]

All I Want for Christmas (Yearning)

The third prompt in 12 Days of Christmas by @zelink-prompts​

Prompt List

**Note: For the stories actually involving Christmas, I and a few other authors changed the holiday to Hylia’s Day (credit to @fatefulfaerie​ for this) so that it’s more relevant to Hyrule

Cover Art: @neezlebums​ be sure to show some love to the original here! I cannot stress this enough guys, PLEASE go like and reblog his work. He spends hours upon hours on every single cover drawing and it’s super disheartening that he’s getting 8 notes max on things he’s working really hard on. So please give his post as much love as you give mine! 

Words: 1956

Summary: Link takes Zelda out to the Festival of Hylia in the hopes that she can enjoy it as a normal kid, and they share a moment during the fireworks show.

BotW pre-calamity (not HWAOC related)

**If I don’t have explicit warnings, read with caution. It simply means there’s nothing I could think of that could be potentially triggering, but I could’ve just missed something. In that case, please let me know and I’ll be more than happy to put a warning!**

Zelink-mas 2020  l  Masterlist

The concept of soulmates is rather simple for something so deep. Whether it be one soul torn into two, or a red string of fate, or two souls that found comfort in one another, the premise was the same. Lifetime after lifetime, for the eternity that was to come and go, two hearts cried out for one another. They searched high and low, across continents and oceans, across timelines and ages, yearning for their partner—their lost piece.

Yet fate could be a cruel player in the game of existence. It could drive a stake in between a set of mates, or prevent their meeting entirely. It could taunt them with the prospect of forever, and take it away at twice the speed. 

It could take those souls and resurrect them only in times of destruction and decimation. 

How much could a soul handle? How much could it stretch and bend before it shattered? Was it still marked by trauma all those years later, when it was finally placed into a vessel and sent back into the world?

The soul of a hero, for instance, would be battered and bruised until fate decided there was no use for it. 

And until that decision was made, the hero’s soul would stay by the goddess’s side, even thousands upon thousands of years later. 

An impending war, what they referred to as a Calamity, was nothing new to the old souls. Yet they were filled with optimism, a sort of youthful comfort that wrapped like a blanket, and old souls did not entirely push away childish ideas and schemes.

Said hero was scampering through the streets, hand in hand with the young goddess, both tucked under cloaks that fared as a decent disguise given most participants were too drunk to think otherwise at this point in the night. 

“You cheated,” Zelda accused through a fit of giggles, but she made no move to drop the stuffed sand seal.

“I did not,” Link defended with a borderline emergent smile as he stole a glance towards the booth they’d run from. “I was just… a little better than their usual customers.”

“Yes, because their regular customers consist of skilled soldiers of Hyrule.”

“You don’t know that.”

Zelda pressed a hand over her mouth and laughed again. It got harder to suppress his smile. Something about the freedom that came with sneaking out, on top of the thrill of being where they weren’t supposed to be, left him feeling giddy and mischievous. It’d taken a while to convince Zelda to come with him, but attending the Festival of Hylia to only bestow a blessing over the kingdom wasn’t fair. They’d attended earlier in the day, with the princess wearing a grand, white dress to make her look like the goddess, and all he wanted to do was give her a chance to experience the festival as a normal kid. It was the least she deserved, after spending all of her time and effort focused on the Calamity. Of course, the only way they could actually get out was in a disguise, but Link trusted the cloaks would do their jobs so long as the late night attendees were drinking properly.

“You’re positive we won’t get caught?” she asked, for what had to be the hundredth time since they’d left the castle.

“Do you trust me?” he asked in response, fixing his eyes on hers. They were twinkling even in the darkness, and he could see the Castle Town lights reflected in her irises. When he looked at her like this, when there was no one watching them with attentive eyes, he found it hard to believe she was only Hylian. She radiated a light they couldn’t see, but he knew it was there because she was always so warm. Her eyes were always so bright.

“Yes,” she answered with a nod. Once again, Link almost smiled. But instead, he pulled her by the hand over to another booth. The worker looked too tired to care, so he didn’t have to take much caution in sliding over the rupees and asking for a soft pretzel, a caramel apple that had caught Zelda’s eye, and a set of drinks. It was just a shame they had to release hands to hold it all. 

“We used to come to the festivals all the time,” Zelda said after a few bites, letting her shoulder brush against his. “My mother would play the goddess and do the blessings, but after that, father would take me around to the different games and let me play. I was never any good at it, but they gave me prizes anyway. Mother was brilliant, though. She knew just how to get past the games’ rigging.  After her death, father didn’t let me stay out as long. Once I was twelve, my only purpose at the festival was to give the blessings. Did your family always come?”

“Almost every year. My father always took us the first night,” Link spoke with a nod. “Because he was on duty the other two. He tried getting my sister and I to play the games, but I was only interested in the food.”

Another giggle passed the princess’s lips. 

“It sounds like you haven’t changed at all,” she replied, nudging him again. 

“Except now I know how to win,” he said and gestured to the stuffed sand seal.

“I still think you cheated.”

“They cheated us first.”

Zelda had no argument to that one. Link tossed the paper from his pretzel into the trash, then adjusted the fasten on his cloak.

“Do you think we’ll be able to see the fireworks?” she asked. “I used to watch them from my window all the time.”

“I don’t know if it’s better than the view from your window, but I know a place,” he replied. Zelda slipped an arm around his, like she’d done it a thousand times before, and he ducked his head to hide his face from the overhanging light.

“I’ll have to see it in order to judge,” she said simply. He fought back a smile and pulled her through the streets of Castle Town once more, until they’d reached the outskirts. 

Link jumped up to grab the tree branch above them, then turned and held his hands out to her. Apparently his intentions were clear because even in the darkness, he could see that Zelda was appalled.

“We can’t climb on a random person’s house! Link! Get down!” she yelled in a whisper, but he just let the grin cover his face.

“It’s empty. For sale, I think,” he replied with a shrug. She looked around, as if she wanted to make sure they were really alone, before taking his hands. He pulled her into the tree effortlessly, then boosted her up onto the roof of a Castle Town house. “It’s no castle view, but you won’t be eye-level with the fireworks.”

“You can see the entire festival from here,” she spoke when he joined her at the top. “It’s not just lights. You can see everything. How did you..?”

“There was one year when my father had to attend all three nights, so it was just my sister and I. We ran out of rupees trying one of the games, and she was really upset, so I just.. snatched a prize and ran. We climbed onto a roof and stayed there for the rest of the festival, until I was sure he hadn’t sent any soldiers after us. It gave us a pretty good view.”

“You thief!” Zelda accused, giving him a shove. Link bit back a laugh.

“You’re the only person I’ve ever told. So now you’re the holder of some pretty powerful information.”

She hummed in thought and leaned her head against the plushie.

“I could do so much with this. I could tell everyone and finally have my freedom from you.”

“I don’t know if stealing a plushie from a festival booth ten years ago is enough to get me demoted.”

“It’s a serious crime,” but he could hear the laughter in Zelda’s voice. He turned to face her just as the first of the fireworks went off, drowning her in a soft yellow light. Even if he wanted to watch the fireworks, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She was in a category all of her own, and the word beautiful couldn’t describe her in her entirety. 

He could call her hair golden, but it still didn’t capture her richness. He could compare her eyes to emeralds, and it still wouldn’t tell how precious they were. He could say her voice was a melody, and it still couldn’t describe how much he loved the song she sang each time she spoke. With every passing day, she grew more and more into the goddess whose blood she carried in her veins. She radiated a power and displayed a wisdom he’d never seen before, yet it felt so familiar to him that it never surprised him. He could watch her for hours, whether she was studying the Sheikah technology or praying at the foot of a goddess statue (not that he did, obviously, because that was sacred and private). It didn’t feel like a job--it never had. He’d give his life for her over and over again, like it was written into his blood and soul. Like he’d done it before. 

With how far they’d come, Link wondered just how much could one feel for a single person. If he could shield her from the world, he would. But she didn’t need that. Zelda was strong and independent, but what he wouldn’t give to remain by her side for as long as he could.

She took his arm again and rested her head against his shoulder. Her hold was as gentle as she. Her fingers intertwined with his and he gave her hand a small squeeze.

“Link?” 

He hummed to let her know he was listening and ready to answer any question she wanted to ask. 

“What do you want for Hylia’s Day?”

The gift giving tradition held true even to this year, but Link didn’t quite know how to answer her. What he really wanted was her. He wanted her to be happy and safe and secure. He wanted the goddess to respond, and for her powers to awaken so she could just enjoy whatever time they had left. 

Was there a stronger word that fit this feeling than yearning? Yearning for Zelda and her life and her future. 

He bit his cheek in thought, because none of that could be said aloud.

“I want a promise,” he replied at last. “that once this is all over, you’ll keep researching. And that maybe I can stay your knight attendant for as long as you can tolerate me.”

She almost laughed.

“Link.. I can’t promise anything. If I can’t awaken this power, then-“

“You will,” he said, holding her hand tighter. “I believe in you.”

Zelda smiled at him—weak and small, but it still filled him with a warmth that made him feel all the more confident.

“I want a day off to just relax with our friends,” she stated, returning her head to his shoulder.

“All of our friends?”

“Yes, even Revali.”

Link chuckled and shook his head, watching the last of the fireworks pop. He’d never felt more relaxed than he did then. It was like they belonged there. Something about her was so calming that he didn’t want to go back to the castle just yet. 

“Thank you,” she spoke softly into the quieting night. “For tonight.”

He wished he could kiss her.

Instead, he gave her hand a squeeze and said, “Anything you want, Princess. Just say the word.”

[anoutlandishfanfic]

Metamorphosis Ch.26: Over the Sea

The Premise: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night with Jamie? How would that change the plot points we all know and love?

We’re coming down the home stretch folks! Our get away car is in the harbor! We just gotta get em there! 

You can find a Master List of chapters here on tumblr or read the whole thing on AO3. 

February 21st, 1744; The Abbey, Scotland Jamie.

I stifled a groan in Claire’s curls as the church bell tolled three, my arms reflexively tightening around her as I tried to ignore the fact that it was time to get out of bed.

I hated to wake her.

The night had not been an easy one for my wife — were they ever these days? — and Claire only just managed to fall back asleep, but I knew she’d need a wee bit of extra time to dress this morning… as her appearance was vital to our ruse.

Smoothing the tousled curls away from her brow, I placed a kiss on her temple, then trailed one after the other until I reached the base of her neck. She stirred at my touch, her eyelids flickering and one corner of her mouth pulling upwards towards a smile, but didn’t wake. My hand lowered to her hip, then slid along the distended curve of her abdomen as my lips found hers.

Her own hands moved then, reaching and finding me in the darkness.

“Good morning,” I murmured into her palm, brushing a kiss across it as her hand drifted round to the back of my head.

One eye cracked open to scowl at me at this greeting, her words slightly jumbled but still coherent, “Thisn’t morning, y’oaf. Dark’out.”

I curled my lips between my teeth to keep from grinning at her offended expression, the innocence of slumber still lingering on her face and made her appear very much like a spoiled, pouting child.  

Claire felt my suppressed amusement and struggled to open both her eyes. Her brow furrowed with the effort it took to spear me with what I’m sure was meant to be her best look of consternation, but it fell short. I kissed her soundly in an effort to keep from laughing outright, rousing us both completely and bringing us directly back to why we’d risen at this inhospitable hour of the morn.

She sighed a moment later, a wistful look dancing across her now clear eyes.

“It’s time, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” I swallowed hard, excitement mixing with the fear of the unknown as my stomach churned.

“Time to leave.”

... Half past 4am.

The wind howled around us as we stepped from the shelter of the abbey out into the open courtyard, cautiously picking our way across the frozen cobblestones. It’s nasty chill bit at any patch of exposed skin it could sink its teeth into and my cheeks and hands were already red and raw from ensuring the rig was properly loaded with our things.

I hastily grabbed for the carriage door, lunging for it before it was really in reach as I was eager to get Claire out of the cold, but she was of a different mind.

“You won’t say a word if we’re stopped, will you?” she inquired, pulling up short and studying my face intently. “Or only in French if you must? That cap’ll do to hide your hair, but there’s no mistaking your voice.”

My hand instinctively went to the back of my neck, feeling the rough wool of my knitted hat. It would keep me warm, certainly, but pulled low as it was, it went a long way to hide the telltale auburn hair that was plastered all over my broadsheets.

“Aye, er, oui Madame,” I promised, squeezing her hand reassuringly with a forced smile as I helped her onto the first step.

Wobbly as a new foal, I steadied her as she picked her way into the dark carriage. Murtagh held his lantern high, giving her light to see as she eased herself into the padded cushions and meticulously arranged the folds of her cloak.

“The same goes for you, hmm?” Claire’s head snapped up to look at us, her gaze locking onto my godfather’s. Her eyes narrowed in a rather unreadable expression of consternation mixed with something akin to a challenge as she continued, “Not a word from the both of you. Let Francis do the work and the talking until we’re aboard ship.”

I caught the twitch of my godfather’s lips out the corner of my eye — despite his heavy beard and the early morning darkness — and marveled yet again at the relationship the two of them had formed while I was away.

“And I can quite handle myself, thank you very much,” she added in afterthought and under her breath, almost as if to reassure herself as it was to us.

Claire caught the mirth bubbling up beneath my gathering nerves and reached out her hand to me. I took it in an instant, leaning in and keeping my voice low, even though I was sure no one but our present company could hear us.

“May your brilliant mind and unbridled tongue keep us safe, my love,” I blessed her in French, then dropped my hand to the swell of our children. “And may you both bide until we are safe.”

She crossed herself, the barest hint of a shudder running through her, and I dove into the carriage beside her, pulling her into my arms and vowing, “No harm will come to you, Claire. I give you my word.”

“I know,” she murmured back after a moment and I loosened my grip.

Sitting back, she waved me off.

“We need to leave if we’re going to catch the tide,” she insisted with a smile that gained confidence by the second. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

I blinked at her for a moment, which made her laugh — a heartily welcome sound — and I shook my head with a smile of my own.

“Oui, Madame,” I stepped back onto the ledge of the doorway, “I am entirely at your service, my Lady Beauchamp.”

She nodded curtly and dismissed me fully, all but shoving me out into cold with a single look.

I grinned at her and exited the carriage, shutting the door firmly behind me. Turning, I moved to join Murtagh on the bench up top but hesitated a moment before climbing aboard.

That they might be safe… both she and the children.

My eyes slid shut, my heart offering up the rest of a prayer that I could not put into words.

“Come along, a bhalaich.”

Murtagh’s command was urgent yet gentle and I reflexively moved to do so, hastily crossing myself before climbing up beside him with a fluidity that hadn’t been mine since before my injury. I nodded to him and with a flick of the reins, he set us into motion.

I held my breath as we passed through the main gate and left our safe haven behind.

There would be no going back.

We hadn’t traveled long before we encountered the first crofter’s hut, still shut up and slumbering in the early morning dew. I scanned the road ahead and caught sight of a small copse of trees off to the left side. This particular stretch of road wasn’t bounded by forest, so it would make a perfect lookout post, should a soldier or two want to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the abbey.

And they certainly would.

My gut clenched as we approached, wishing the lanterns posted on the corners of the carriage were bright enough to see what we were about to ride into. The mare on the right snorted to her teammate and I flinched. It took everything within me to not grab the reins from Murtagh’s hands and turn us around.

“Steady,” Murtagh coaxed in the language Claire had instructed us… one I knew he didn’t particularly care to use.

To anyone listening, it’d be logical that he would have been speaking to the horses, but I knew it was intended for me.

… Claire.

The carriage began to slow and I spat out an emphatic, “Fuck!”

I bit down hard on my lower lip, the sharp pain competing against my rolling stomach and spasming back. The deep, frozen ruts of the lane did little to ensure a smooth ride to the harbor and the combination of my raw nerves and the carraige’s jolting, jostling motions were enough to set me completely on edge.

Lifting a hand to the ridiculous bonnet atop my head, I adjusted it slightly and then arranged my skirts around me. Our success was dependent on my looking every inch a respectable woman of wealth and I was determined to have everything in place when that door opened. We came to a complete stop long before I was ready and I forced myself to take as deep of a breath as was possible in my current state.

Here we bloody go, Beauchamp.

Male voices began to bark orders, sending a shiver down my spine, and I steeled myself for the gust of frigid air mingled with danger that was sure to come at any moment. I didn’t have to wait long, for the door opened in the next second and I saw the face of Lady Margaret’s most trusted footman, Francis.

His expression gave nothing away as he offered his hand in assistance — the as yet unseen redcoats obviously requested I present myself — and I donned my most affected air, slipping into the personage I’d crafted in my wakeful hours of the night.

“Tell them I wish to speak to their commanding officer,” I sniffed, drawing my cloak tighter around me, “and do shut the door, Francis, or I shall catch my death of a chill.”

One brow twitched and I caught the briefest of smiles flicker across the chap’s face before he disappeared back into the night, doing exactly as I’d asked.

More voices sounded in conversation outside the carriage, taking on an air of confusion as a whole, with the exception of Francis’ Lowland lilt.

“Ye better do as th’Lady asks, ye ken,” he warned and I couldn’t help but grin in the dark in spite of my nerves. “She’s not one t’bide... an’ she’s a ship t’meet.”

There was a shuffling of feet and a clanking of metal, but one person had obviously moved off and all discussion faded away into nothing. A few moments passed in anxious silence until a new disgruntled voice suddenly asked, “Have you found something, then?”

Bile rose at the back of my throat as I thought of them finding Jamie up above me, but I didn’t waver from my plan.

Negatory remarks followed the new voice’s inquiry and the officer — for indeed, he must be — was informed of the situation.

Francis opened the door again and I launched into my tirade, “What is the meaning of this inconvenience, Captain?! If my ship departs without me, I shall ensure that you are stripped of your position, paraded through the streets barefoot in nothing but sackcloth and ashes, and unable to find a place of employment as anything but His Majesty’s scullery maid!”

The officer stood slack jawed just outside the door in perfect response to my tirade, obviously not expecting a well-bred, highly enraged, loyal British subject on the road at this hour.

“Do come in and explain yourself,” I huffed, beckoning him forward, “you must have a reason for holding up honest traffic in the middle of the night like a Highland bandit.”

His mouth snapped shut at this and his brows rose all the way to the edge of his wig as he climbed inside, a lantern in hand. I blinked at the sudden brightness, but it only helped to permanently affix my scowl.

“Now, who do I have the pleasure of addressing?” I titled my head to the side, feigning interest while looking very much like an addled bird, I was sure.

“Captain George Brooks, my lady, of, ah, His Majesty’s Third Battalion,” he cleared his throat, stammering slightly. “I, well, I sincerely apologize for Private Richardsen’s rather forward behavior and, well, the delay.”

He studied me quite openly, his gaze taking in my fine clothing and warm cloak. The captain seemed to take me for what I appeared to be, for he quickly continued, “You see, Madam, we have word that an escaped convict has sought sanctuary within the abbey and are stopping and searching every conveyance that leaves the place.”

I stiffened at the word convict, but used it to my advantage.

“I must tell you, Captain, that I was the guest of the good brethren and can assure you no such man exists,” I leveled him with a look that made him squirm. “And, certainly, no one of such quality is among my men.”

“I consider the Scottish brutes to be a detestable sort and am on my way now to leave this godforsaken country,” I sniffed, forcing myself not to choke on the absolute fallacy of my own words.

Captain Brooks nodded at this, but it was clear from his gathering frown he had questions for me.

“There’s a respectable tavern in the village where my men are quartered,” he shifted, leaning forward slightly. “Why stay with the heretics when other suitable — and dare I say safer — lodging was available?”

I snorted, feigning disgust, “I’d rather sleep in the gutter than under the roof of a Highland villager, Captain… and as for the heretic Papists, you forget that a good many of His Majesty’s subjects are such.”

He caught sight of the jet rosary on display around my neck and had the good grace to wince.

“My apologies, Lady…,” he trailed off.

“Beauchamp,” I supplied for him, ready to rattle off my concocted scenario. “My husband is Lieutenant Commander Alexander Beauchamp of the Royal Navy and I’m meeting him in Portsmouth… that is, if you and your men will permit us to be on our way.”

My companion shifted uncomfortably once more, groveling, “Yes, well, I see there is no reason that you should not be allowed to travel on. I shall send a man ahead to alert the guard at the port. They’ll see that you board and depart without interference.”

“How good of you, Captain,” I commented, forcing a smile as a sudden wave of nausea overtook me.

Hurry up, Captain, or you shall be wearing my breakfast.

... Jamie.

The captain strode out the door of the carriage, nearly knocking Francis off his feet, and beckoned wildly to his lieutenant. I tensed, nearly grabbing the reins out of Murtagh’s hands, but instead steeled myself as I caught his orders on the wind.

“Ride ahead,” he motioned for a horse to be brought round, bellowing, “Tell Phillips to let them through without trouble and ensure no one delays their departure... And If I hear that so much as a seagull spoke out of turn to the Lady Beauchamp, I shall have both your head and your commission, Hawkins!”

Lieutenant Hawkins swung into the saddle with a barked yes, sir and was barreling down the path ahead of us a moment later.

I blinked in surprise, then let the darkness of the night hide the beginnings of a smile that warmed my face.

Well done, mo nighean donn.

…

Claire.

The remainder of the ride to the harbor was something akin to cruel and unusual punishment.

The road had gotten better some time ago — the carriage no longer pitching from side to side with every rut we hit — but I still felt every stone, every bump we drove over. The muscles of my lower back and left hip spasmed with a ferocity that I had never experienced, protesting their rough handling in a language that I could not ignore. My stomach rolled, my chest heaved, and it was everything I could do not to lose my cookies all over Lady Margaret’s velvet cushions.

Breathe, Beauchamp.

I slid my eyes shut. It was dark as the deepest cave around me, but somehow the feeling of closing my eyes still gave me a barrier to the outside world.

You did it.

We’d passed through the checkpoint undetected, sent on our way the very man in charge of the entire operation. I couldn’t let my guard down yet, though, couldn’t celebrate this victory until we were really, truly well on our way on the open sea.

I shook my head, trying to fixate on something steady, something outside of the tossing, tumbling barrel I was currently deposited in.

Jamie.

I did allow myself to smile then.

What did he think of it all? Of our walking through right under the redcoats' noses?

I was thankful he had Murtagh at his side through the whole ordeal, but I still wished I could have been with him. For my presence beside him to steady his nerves.

Who are you kidding, Beauchamp?

You couldn’t have climbed up there next to him if your life depended on it.

Well… maybe only if it truly depended on it.

My hands moved, my arms cradling the curve of my distended abdomen as I shifted against the seat cushions. Climbing aboard this conveyance had been interesting enough… I didn’t want to think of what getting aboard the Demeter would entail.

The footman Francis was a short, sender slip of a thing, and while that suited his career perfectly, it wouldn’t suffice should I need assistance boarding the ship.

No one would think twice of Jamie’s strong form helping me… would they?

My heart lurched to a stop, skipped a beat, then thundered on as the carriage began to slow and I realized the next hurdle was upon us. We didn’t stop, but continued to crawl along for many minutes, allowing me time to right myself and prepare for act two of my facade.

When Francis did open the door… I was ready.

… Around 5am, Aboard the Demeter; Jamie.

A dhia, what a woman.

I shook my head in amused astonishment as I watched Claire’s rigid form dismiss Colonel Phillips with a flick of her hand, then turned to the captain of the ship and pointedly asked for shelter from the cold. We hadn’t the time to inform him of her ruse before we boarded, but he gruffly acquiesced and motioned for her to follow him into the cabin.

Seeing that Phillips had disembarked and none of his men were looking towards the ship, I slipped into the shadows of the gathering dawn and trailed after them.

“I do apologize for my tone on deck, Captain,” I heard her sigh as I entered the small, cluttered room. “We sincerely appreciate your kindness and understand the risk you’re taking in bringing us aboard.”

“Aye, well,” he shifted from foot to foot, not quite sure what to make of my wife, “‘Tis nothin’ much… so long as ye stay within an’ out of my men’s way, ye ken.”

I’d gathered in our short time on deck that the crew’s opinion of my wife was something akin to an omen of bad luck — as a woman aboard ship often was — and had no intention of letting her out that door again until we were disembarking onto French soil.

Claire turned as the ship’s captain left, realizing I was there for the first time and her face completely crumpled. She looked as though her body was about to follow suit and was at her side in a moment, gathering her into my arms and tucking her head securely beneath my chin. I could feel her begin to tremble from head to toe against me and looked wildly around for a place for her to sit.

Not readily finding one, she clung to me as we stood in the middle of the room, swaying slightly with the motion of the ship.

“Ifrinn,” I muttered when I found I could finally speak, “I shouldna let you do tha’, mo chridhe.”

“We didn’t have a choice,” came her soft reply, muffled by the front of my coat.

I shrugged at this, knowing she was right, but wishing my heavily pregnant wife hadn’t had to be the one to navigate us through the lion’s den.

“But ye did verra well, indeed,” I had to admit, more than a hint of pride coloring my voice.

She snorted in objection to this and I grinned, turning back her hood and shedding her of that ridiculous cap in one movement. Placing a kiss amid her curls, my hand cupped the back of her head.

Lifting her chin, she looked up at me, fatigue evident in her eyes. I kissed her soundly then and she turned in my arms, looping her own around my neck with a contented sigh.

“Are you cold?” I asked, placing a kiss on her warm neck but had felt her chilled cheek against my own.

“No, not very,” she rested her head against my shoulder. “It’s much better in here.”

I nodded, agreeing as my gaze lifted and I began to examine the quarters we’d been given.

Captain’s quarters they may be, but it was also clearly a storeroom for a good portion of  his cargo. Crates stacked upon crates loomed around us like a forest of trees, with bundles and baskets cast about on the floor in unorganized chaos. There didn’t seem to be a bed to be found  in any resemblance of the word and this gave me no amount of disquiet.

Resigning myself to a sturdy crate that was roughly sitting height to my left, I slowly moved Claire in that direction, easing her down onto it as I went in search for better accommodations. She flapped a weary hand at me, encouraging me on my way as she loosened her stays and let out a shaky breath.

I wove in and out of the stacks of goods, desperate to find a place for my wife to lay down. There were large wooden trunks and canvas wrapped parcels, small wooden crates and barrels of various volumes and heights… but no bed. I discovered something resembling a hammock slung in one corner, but as that would never do, I dismissed it immediately and continued my search, doubling back and returning a different way than I’d come.

“Jamie?”

Claire’s voice had me leaping over a canvas wrapped bundle and grabbing for the bucket I’d caught out the corner of my eye. I reached her just in time for her to deposit her breakfast in the receptacle, her eyes wide and cheeks gone an unearthly pale.

“Christ, I’m sorry,” I gushed, keeping a stray curl from getting in the way of things. “I shouldn’t have left yer side… tis the same wi’ me, too.”

In truth, our current rhythmic motion was nothing compared to what we’d experience once we left the harbor, but I had the good sense to let that be.

Claire shook her head, glowering into the depths of the bucket and grumbled, “It was that bloody roller coaster.”

“Mhmm,” I commented noncommittally, not entirely sure what that was but fairly confident she meant the carriage ride here. “Aye, well, ye’re off it now.”

She retched again, as if the very mention of the conveyance had set her stomach into motion again.

“Shh, my own, it will be better in a moment,” I assured her in Gaelic as I knelt beside her, smoothing back the hair from her face and rubbing her back.

Offering her my handkerchief when she appeared to be done, I took the fragrant bucket from her and set it aside, though within arm’s reach should she need it again.

“Are you alright?” she squeaked, the color beginning to creep back into her cheeks.

I stared at her, my brows nearly to my hairline as I asked incredulously, “Me?!”

“Yes, you,” the frown was back, but I could see that the wheels were churning furiously behind those amber eyes. “You were just paraded in front of an entire battalion of redcoats… that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

I shook my head, shrugging off her concern, assuring, “I’m fine, Sassenach. They didna give me so much as a second glance, thanks to you.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

A slow smile tugged at my lips at her slow, deliberate enunciation of every syllable of this declaration.  

“Aye, I ken jus’ what ye mean,” I reached for her hands, twining my fingers between hers, “an’ I think ye ken me better than I ken myself, at times.”

She snorted at this, dismissing the notion.

“If I do, then it’s the same with me,” she muttered, wiping at her face.

I grinned, squeezing her hands tightly.

“Oh, aye, mo nighean donn… I do, indeed.”

[elisaphoenix13]

Conflict Ch.2

The next few hours of hurtling through space were spent in relative quiet. Stephen made himself as comfortable as possible on some slabs of metal as Tony tinkered with something he found laying around, and at one point Peter joined the sorcerer and sprawled across his lap with a piece of alien tech of his own. The doctor leans his head back against another piece of metal, with the comforting reassurance of Peter's weight on him, not even caring that some parts of the teens suit were digging into his thigh. Stephen did notice the tech in the vigilante's hands spark on occasion though.

"You're going to--" Peter yelps quietly when the tech zaps him. "...hurt yourself." Stephen finishes lamely.

Peter grins. "You think we can take some of this stuff home?"

"I'm pretty sure I'll have to stop your father from taking the whole ship back."

"No need." Tony says from across the platform. "I don't think this rig has a self-park function. Underoos, come help. Now."

Peter rolls off of Stephen's lap and jumps to his feet in response, and the sorcerer stands and joins them at the steering gimbals. Tony suits up again to use the strength of his armor to control the mechanism with Peter, and the teen looks out the large window followed with 'Uh...we might wanna turn!' Peter repeats himself as they attempt to turn the ship, and Stephen, coming to the conclusion that they would not land safely after partially crashing into a structure, conjures a shield around the trio.

What's left of the ship crashes onto the planet, throwing the adults off their feet (and possibly Peter but he was nowhere to be seen; Stephen hoped he hadn't been thrown off the ship) and the broken vessel settles with a groan. The shield fizzles away as the sorcerer moves to his feet and makes his way over to Tony, who was halfway to his feet, to help him back up.

"You alright?"

"Yeah." Tony grunts with the effort it takes to get up. "That was close."

Stephen nods in agreement as Peter webs down from the ceiling hanging upside down. "Let me just say, if aliens wind up implanting eggs in my chest or something..." Both parents turn to regard their son. "...and I eat one of you, I'm sorry."

Okay, no more alien movies for the cub, Stephen notes to himself.

Tony points at the teen with annoyance. "I do not want another single pop culture reference out of you for the rest of the trip. Understand?"

Peter waves his free hand wildly before gesturing behind himself. "I'm trying to say that something is coming."

The sorcerer had enough time to make another note to himself to tell his psychotic family to lead with the more important details, right before something rolled at their feet and exploded, sending all three off their feet again. He hits a rounded part of the wall, tumbles to the floor, and finds other people storming the ship when he looks up.

Yay.

Stephen was barely on his feet before he had to conjure a shield to block the knives thrown at him by the one who yelled for Thanos. With a thought, he sends Levi to subdue the man and almost laughs when the cloak wraps itself around the guys head. Almost. It wouldn't be a good idea to anger these people any more. Stephen takes the chance to look around and find the other two fighting his duo, and narrows his eyes when the other man kicks Peter down. Thankfully the teen recovered quickly and jumped up into the rafters, but the man started to really test Stephen's patience when he shot at the vigilante.

Mama Bear was really fighting to get out now.

Then Mama Bear did come out when Peter lunged at his attacker and was immediately wrapped in an electrical rope. The teen yells out as the rope shocks him and Stephen rushes toward them as Tony frees himself from the magnet the main assailant placed on him and stomps on the greenish colored guy. Tony points one hand at the grounded attacker, and the other at the masked one holding Peter, and the sorcerer conjures a single shield as he joins the face off and Levi returns to his shoulders.

He waited though. The guy had a gun to his cub's head and he wasn't about to give him a reason to use it.

"Everybody stay where you are. Chill the eff out." The masked man shouts and then removes his mask before pointing his gun at Tony. "I'm gonna ask you this one time. Where is Gamora?"

Stephen blinks. Gamora? Who was that?

Tony seemed to read his mind and his helmet retracts. "Yeah. I'll do you one better. Who's Gamora?"

Then the moron under Tony's foot opened his mouth. "I'll do you one better. Why is Gamora?

The Sorcerer Supreme couldn't believe his ears. These guys were a bunch of idiots. He didn't even want to know how bad the insect woman was that was watching the whole thing carefully. If Stephen had to be honest though, she looked like she could be an idiot too.

"Tell me where she is or I swear I'll French fry this little freak."

Stephen opens his mouth but Tony beats him to the punch again. "Let's do it!" He shouts and ignores his husband's incredulous glance. "You shoot our kid and I'll blast him. Let's go!" The hand pointed at the one on the ground forms into a sort of shock cannon. "I wouldn't mind sicing my wife on you either. Mama Bear is scary."

The guy holding Peter looked confused but kept his anger. "You're not going to tell me? That's fine. I'll just kill all three of you and I'll beat it out of Thanos myself!" Stephen's heart jumps to his throat when the gun is pressed right up against Peter's head. "Starting with you."

He couldn't take this anymore. These people obviously weren't with Thanos, so they weren't the true enemy. At least they wouldn't be as soon as this guy let his son go.

"Wait...Thanos?" Stephen questions. "All right, let me ask you this. What master do you serve?"

Confusion was completely evident on the guys face now. "What master? Am I supposed to say Jesus?"

Tony and Stephen share a look that very obviously said 'Are you fucking kidding me?'

Tony looks back to the man and motions toward him. "You're from Earth."

"I'm not from Earth, I'm from Missouri."

Stephen really wanted to smack his head against the wall. Just talking to this guy made him feel like his IQ was dropping...dramatically. His poor cub had to endure the stupid right in his ear. It was bad enough that Peter looked more confused than afraid. He had a gun at his head and he looked bored.

"Yeah, that's on Earth, dipshit." Tony says. "What are you hassling us for?"

Peter finally asked the question his parents were wondering. "So you're not with Thanos?"

"With Thanos? No. I'm here to kill him...he took my girl. Wait, who are you?" The guy asks.

Something he probably should have in the first place but Stephen wasn't about to start a different argument. At least not until Peter was safe with him. Said teen's mask retracts, revealing an exasperated expression.

"We're the Avengers, man."

That was the comment that broke the ice. The other trio revealed that Thor had told them about the team, and when the other guy made a passing comment about the god not being that good-looking, Peter's nose scrunched up. It took a lot of willpower on both Tony's and Stephen's part not to smile about how adorable it looked.

Weapons were put away and Stephen dispelled the shield over his hand as they properly introduced themselves, and the sorcerer rolled his eyes when Peter and Quill bonded over having the same name. Leave it to their kid to befriend someone that was going to kill him not five minutes before. At this rate, he wouldn't be surprised if the teen won over Thanos with his puppy dog eyes. It was looking like a serious possibility.

Then again, Quill and his friends were idiots and that would be giving them too much credit.

"Hey Stark." Quill starts. "Didn't you say something about a wife?"

Tony glances at him from his survey of the planet. "Oh...right." The billionaire motions toward Stephen who was currently checking Peter for wounds...again. Mama Bear really was out for this trip. "Him."

Starlord looks between Stephen and Tony. "You guys are married? And Peter...?"

"Our kid. Adopted him after his last remaining relative died."

Drax looks at Tony curiously. "What's a Mama Bear?"

"Something you never want to personally experience."

"Strange is a guy right? Why do you call him your wife?" Quill asks.

Tony pats his shoulder. "Inside joke Quill. He's my wife, Mama Bear, and Peter's mom."

"And people think my team is weird."

"Oh...you are. We're just a different kind of weird. A smarter weird."

To Tony's surprise, Quill caught onto the jab. "Dude...did you just call us stupid?"

"Your words. Not mine."

"You're an asshole Stark. How are you married?"

"My wife is an asshole too. He's just a little nicer about it."

[svartalfhild]

for the writing meme, the watcher and friends with number 5

“I didn’t agree to this”

Lann liked to think that she was a sensible woman.  She knew when to stop drinking, when to stop walking and rest for the night, when to stop indulging her pets, when to run away.  It seemed, however, that no amount of sensibility could prepare her for the damning collective influence of her friends.

This lesson began with a simple request: Kana asking her if it was alright if they put together a surprise for her birthday.  She hadn’t thought much of it.  Coming from Kana, the request had sounded positively sweet and innocent, so she had of course given her permission.  She should have asked questions.

It started with her being told by Durance when she got up on the morning of her birthday that she was confined to Brighthollow until further notice and all the shutters at the front of the house were nailed closed so that she couldn’t see out.  This wasn’t too terrible a thing, so she allowed it.  She had her books after all and some time to do a little light tarot reading.  

Occasionally, one of the others would come in, brushing snow off themselves and going to get something to eat or warming up by the fire.  Any questions she asked about what they were up to at the keep were quickly deflected.

By mid-afternoon, she started to hear activity right outside the house.  Muffled sounds of hammers driving nails reached her.  She could also hear her friends, mainly Kana and Sagani, giving each other instructions.  It sounded like they were setting up some sort of construction outside.  At one point, Lann even heard Pallegina frustratedly proclaim the snow “white hell powder”, which had the Watcher cackling, but also made her already burning curiosity even worse.  What the hell were they doing out there?

Lann began to contemplate how hard she would have to concentrate to telekinetically pull the nails out of the shutters, since Durance had deprived her of any tools that might successfully achieve denailing, but just as she was about make an attempt, she heard the front door open.  She rushed down to the front hall to find Aloth standing on the threshold.  He smiled pleasantly at her and beckoned with his hand.

“It’s time.  Grab your cloak,” he told her and without a moment’s hesitation, she snatched her cloak from its hook and hurried out the door, violet eyes bright with eagerness.

The sight that greeted her was...overwhelming, for lack of a better term. There in the courtyard, built from barrels and materials left over from the restoration efforts, was a godsdamn obstacle course, which appeared to lead to the doors of the keep.

“Why is there an obstacle course in my courtyard?” Lann asked, unable to quite believe what she was seeing.

“It’s how you get to your birthday surprise!” Kana piped up cheerfully from her right and she looked over to see the scholar smiling at her with his customary sharp-toothed grin.

“I didn’t agree to this.”

“It’ll be worth it, I promise,” Kana assured Lann.  She narrowed her eyes at him, but nonetheless squared her shoulders and took a deep breath as she turned back to the course.  It seemed designed to test agility and endurance.  Steeling herself, the Watcher did a running start before leaping, crawling, and climbing her way through the surprisingly difficult challenges presented to her.  Evidently a lot could be done with a few nails and recycled planks.  The snow would have made things even harder if she weren’t built to shrug off the cold.

She did just fine until she got to a wall the was far taller than her and had no footholds.  It was the last thing in her way and she was too tired and small to even get fingers over the top.  She stopped for a moment, taking deep breaths and thinking about how embarrassing it would be to admit failure.  A spark of anger at her friends for making her do this inspired her to take a knife from her boot and stab it into the wood of the wall and use it as a foothold to vault over the top.

Rolling out her landing, she sprang to her feet and glanced around for her friends and saw only Durance, who looked more than ever like a man suffering too many fools.

“Get up on this barrel and look back,” he told her gruffly.  With a frown she obeyed, perching herself on a barrel next to the priest and turned her gaze back the way she had come.

She was greeted by the sight of the rest of her friends making their way through the course, some more easily than others, though they helped each other.  Pallegina and Edér were the first to finish, Followed by Aloth, Sagani, and finally Kana (who had accidentally broken half the obstacles through sheer size).

“What was the point of this, Kana?” Lann inquired, trying to keep what remained of her annoyance out of her tone.

“You’ve been quite harsh to yourself lately, even told Edér that you’re nothing without us, but that’s not true and we wanted to show you.  You did this whole course by yourself, but we had to aid each other to make it.  That’s how strong you are, even without magic,” the chanter explained and though she strongly suspected that the course had been deliberately rigged to be easy for her and hard for the rest of them, she still had to resist the urge to shed tears.

“Oh.  I...I see,” she gasped, unable to say anything more without letting all her mushy emotions come spilling out.  They’d done all this to make her see that she was a badass.  Never in her sixty years of life would she have expected anyone to go to such lengths for her, let alone all of her friends.

“C’mon, let’s get inside.  That’s where the real fun starts,” Edér put in with a big smile and a large hand on Lann’s shoulder.  She silently allowed him to steer her into the keep, not trusting herself to react properly.

Inside, she found a sight that made her mouth fall open in awe and appreciation.  The main hall was decorated with streamers of blue and violet with braziers of matching flames.  A table had been set out before the Steward bearing an impressive cake and a number of wrapped gifts.  To her Wendish bumpkin eyes, it was absolutely lavish and far more than she had any right to expect.

“Oh my.  You didn’t...you didn’t have to do all of this.”

“No, but we did anyway, ‘cause it’s you,” Sagani countered, smirking up at her.  Just as Lann opened her mouth to reply, she was made speechless by Aloth calling out an arcane word, causing tiny colouful lights to begin to float in the air like errant snowflakes.

“Happy Birthday, Lann,” he said and the others echoed him, finally forcing tears to well up in her eyes.

Her friends were the best.