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scapegrace74-blog · 2 years

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Artificial Nocturne, a Metric Universe Story

A/N This is an idea I’ve had banging around in my head for quite a while, and I’ve finally got it down on paper. It’s about Metric Jamie and Claire facing a huge test in their relationship, and how they react to it.

When I first wrote Lazy Dancer and Calculation Theme, the two ficlets that eventually became the multi-ficlet Metric Universe, I had no idea at what time they were set, beyond being modern. Since then, the Metric Universe has grown into a twenty-four (and counting!) installment beast with actual hooks into a particular point in history, so I've gone back and assigned Metric-canon-compliant timeframes to those first two stories. That's important, because this installment takes place a full three years after Jamie and Claire get together officially as a couple in No Light, No Light, and nine months after Calculation Theme, which up until now was the latest in the series, chronologically. This is a seasoned couple with a lot of water under the bridge. I have other ideas for ficlets that take place in the intervening years, but it felt important to get to this installment first.

With that said, this story is for all the readers who patiently waited for me to come back to this universe. I'm glad I didn't let you down, and I hope that you're satisfied with the result!

The entire Metric Universe, in chronological order, can be found here.

November 6, 2021, Spittalfields, London, England

The fact that the voice on the phone wasn’t Jenny was a harbinger of disaster arriving at their door. Claire knew the tone; had used it herself in countless conversations with loved ones. Measured. Clinical. At one remove from emotional connection. Being the recipient of such a call made her want to track down every family member she’d ever spoken to in such a way and beg their forgiveness.

Jamie slept, blissfully unaware of the anguish that awaited him on waking. Nearing midnight, it was far too late to catch a flight or train to Scotland. She briefly considered waiting until his alarm woke him for his early morning shift but dismissed the notion as selfish. If their situations were reversed, she would want to know. Pain did not lessen by being deferred, but the numbing of raw nerves took time.

He was asleep on his side, one arm curled on his pillow as though fending off a blow. She ached for his oft-fractured innocence, longed to take him inside her flesh where nothing more could hurt him.

“Jamie, wake up,” the night’s peacefulness shattered with her words. “There’s been an accident.”

***

Phone calls. Internet searches for last minute flights. Packing an overnight bag for an indeterminate trip. She understood why Jamie rushed into burning buildings. There was purpose in action, a conduit through which to siphon the poison of fear, the viscousness of futility.

“I’ll take an Uber tae Gatwick. There’s no need fer ye tae miss yer shift.”

They were standing in the kitchen, both staring vacantly at the fridge as though willing it to provide further imperatives to guide their shipwrecked purpose.

“Alright,” Claire replied without truly hearing him. “Did you remember to pack the Atkinson novel? I promised Jenny I’d return it the next time I saw her.”

This was skirting the borders of absurdity. Jenny’s spouse lay in an Inverness hospital, the victim of a farming accident that saw an over-turned tractor crush his body into Lallybroch’s fertile dirt. The literal last thing on her mind was a borrowed book.

“Aye.” Jamie opened the fridge door, peered inside, then let it swing closed again.

“Let’s go to bed,” she suggested. “There’s nothing to be done for a few hours yet.”

“I canna sleep, Claire,” Jamie protested, following her dutifully towards their room all the same.

“I know. Just rest your eyes.”

She slipped, fully dressed, beneath the covers. Beside her, Jamie lay still like the effigy of some noble lord, the sharp angles of his profile limned in silver-blue streetlight.

“I am a coward,” he confessed to the ceiling, “for I dinna want tomorrow tae come.

She took his chilled hand in her own and held on tight.

***

“What are you thinking about?” she asked as shadow continents drifted along their wall.

She knew he was awake from the measured cadence of his breathing, from the tight grip he maintained on her hand. She hadn’t expected prompt candour, however.

“How Ian helped me after the explosion. Jenny was flailing about wi’ all the subtlety of a jack-hammer, sticking her stubborn wee heid inta everything. I was in a terrible state, hooped up on morphine an’ feeling right sorry fer myself. Ian jes sat by my side, night after night. When I woke screamin’, he would use his voice tae calm me down. When I refused tae get outta bed, he dragged me up wi’ his own two hands. He stood in the middle of the path tae despair, and he wouldna let me get past. Ian Murray an’ the memory of ye: those were the two ropes I used tae pull myself back onto my feet.”

Considering Jamie’s memory of her at that point consisted of a drunken encounter and half an hour keeping him from flat-lining in her emergency room, she couldn’t imagine how she’d earned equal standing with his life-long best friend. It was a conversation best saved for another day.

“We have to believe that he’ll be okay,” she said, despising the hollowness of the words but unwilling to make empty promises.

Rather than responding, Jamie rolled into her side, burying his nose in the concavity of her neck. She half-expected tears, but he lay still, breath ratcheting like a xylophone on each exhale. After a time, his mouth began to move, pressing urgent moist kisses to her clavicle, nosing her shirt away so that he could reach the uppermost swell of her breast.

“It feels as though there’s a fist tight about my throat,” he muttered into her sternum. “I canna draw a decent breath.”

“Come closer and let me breath for you, then,” she offered, raising up to peel the uppermost layer of her clothing away.

In their three or so years together, they had made love a hundred different ways: shyly, tenderly, teasing or passionate as a raging storm. This was something new. A desperation that hurt to witness. An unfailingly considerate lover under normal circumstances, Jamie seemed driven purely by his own base needs. With impatient fingers, he shoved her underwear to the side, burying himself a hundred absolutions deep inside her body. This wasn’t about sex, she understood. He was seeking solace and succour from her at the most primitive level, chasing the tabula rasa of release.

With nerves raw as copper wire, Jamie finished within minutes. A rough expulsion of heated breath and he crumpled towards the mattress, his weight pressing her down like lead. She prayed he would drift to sleep and gain the temporary reprieve of oblivion, even if it meant laying crushed beneath him. Instead he rose silently to use the washroom, coming back with a warm cloth to clean between her legs.

“I love ye, Claire,” he whispered once they were again lying side by side, waiting for the muster call of dawn.

In the days and weeks that followed, she would revisit those words and remember how they had the finality of a farewell.

***

Their flat rang with the sepulchral expectancy of an empty train station. An independent loner since her youth, Claire nonetheless found herself filling the silence left by Jamie’s absence with inane chatter.

She spoke of her penultimate clinical rotation, and of her absolute certainty that gerontology was not the specialty for her. She narrated her list of chores, assuring him she wasn’t over-watering their spider plant and that his mobile phone was in no danger of being cut off for late payment. She debated the merits of various residency programs and confessed her doubts that she would be accepted to any of her top choices.

By contrast, their actual communication was brief and infrequent. Ian’s condition was no longer life-threatening, but the doctors had to amputate his left leg above the knee where the tractor had crushed the bones beyond repair. The surgery and post-operative rehabilitation took place in Edinburgh, forcing Jenny to chose between abandoning her husband or leaving her children and the estate in her brother's care. Jamie’s emotional state shifted from blind terror to a weary aloofness as the long road to recovery stretched before them. His grim mood added metaphorical distance to the physical divide already in place.

“I sure wish you were here to talk to,” she whispered to his pillow after a particularly grueling twenty-four hours. “My life only makes sense when I see it reflected in your eyes.”

***

Upon due consideration, Jamie determined that he would sooner run into a burning building than be solely responsible for putting two children under the age of six to bed every night. It wasn’t yet eight o’clock and his neck ached with the accumulated strain of holding his head upright.

Since arriving at Lallybroch three weeks earlier, his days had taken on a relentless sort of routine. Mornings revolved around dressing, feeding and transporting his niece and nephew to their primary school. Midday was reserved for the countless tasks and duties that went into the running of the estate: finishing the harvest, caring for the livestock, making minor repairs and keeping the house at least a step above squalor. By afternoon, he was mentally and physically exhausted but there were still five hours of child-minding, meal preparation, bathing and story reading before he could collapse, nerves brittle and eyes tacky, onto the sofa where he more-often-than-not fell asleep listening to the fire crackle, a half-finished dram of whisky teetering precariously in his hand.

It was from that sofa that he leapt, realizing he had failed to pack the children’s lunches for the next day. A cursory glance in the fridge confirmed that he had not shopped for groceries in several days. With few nutritious options to hand, he settled for toasting sliced bread with two dabs and a smear of butter. Despite his exhaustion, he smiled when he pictured Wee Jamie and Maggie discovering their bologna sandwiches decorated with happy faces the following day.

For the thousandth time, he considered at what juncture he would need to capitulate and accept the kindly offers of neighbours and more distant relatives to pitch in and carry part of the load. Jenny was insistent that the bairns’ routine be upset as little as possible, considering the many inevitable adjustments they would need to make once Ian came home. In principle, Jamie agreed. In practice, he was holding things together with only the most tenuous of grips.

Seen through the haze of fatigue and apprehension, his life in London took on the quality of a fevered dream. He yearned for Claire with a burning ache that migrated from his wame to the back of his throat. Not unlike Ian’s amputated limb, he diagnosed himself with phantom pains. A vital part of his life was missing. With time, he would adjust. His heart would learn to beat despite its missing half.

That’s not how the cardiovascular system works, my lad. He drifted to sleep with Claire’s voice correcting him, rounded vowels rolling about in her haughty mouth.

Insistent rapping infused his dream, translated as musket fire that startled him awake. The mantle clock read half eleven. He briefly considered leaving whatever maniac was beating down his door at that hour to the tender mercies of the night.

Upon unbolting the door, he was greeted by a sight so inexplicably astonishing that he wondered if he was still dreaming. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, face pale in the moonlight and curls as dark as peat, stood on his front step, a suitcase braced against her calf.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she asked when he showed no outward reaction. On the inside, his heart was bellowing away like a concertina.

“Aye,” he shook himself. “Aye, I’m jes startled tae see ye, Sassenach.”

He left her heavy suitcase at the base of the stairs and turned to find her looking around the great room as though she hadn’t visited a dozen times before. His own gaze took in the mess of toys on the floor and the half-finished glass of whisky on the table. The fire had burned low while he’d dozed. Hopefully the dim lighting at least hid the lines of strain on his face.

“Can I offer ye some tea? I’m afraid there isna much tae eat, unless ye favour bologna sandwiches.”

“Tea would be nice. I always forget how cold it gets up here at night.”

Such a statement would normally serve as the perfect opening to suggest they keep each other warm in the laird’s bed. Instead, he fled to the kitchen, tongue thick and dry in his mouth.

It shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was to find his girlfriend at his doorstep: Claire wasn’t a woman who sat back and let change happen to her. In all the scenarios he’d drawn of his near and distant future, however, this particular one hadn’t factored. He wasn’t ready to have this conversation.

The perfect geisha bow of her lips crimped as she blew across the steaming mug of tea. Across the narrow bridge of her nose were tiny nutmeg freckles that only became visible when she was tired. It had only been three weeks. How had he forgotten how completely and utterly besotted he was with her? It made what he had to say that much harder.

“No’ tae sound unwelcoming, but what are ye doin’ here, Claire?” he asked.

***

Claire saw the way Jamie was watching her like an oasis in the desert, as though she might vanish like mist as suddenly as she’d arrived. In trying to tamp down that very evident longing, he’d overcompensated towards surliness. It reminded her of their recent phone calls: Jamie valiantly trying not to sound overwhelmed while she listened to him grow more and more distant. It was obvious he felt obliged to face Ian’s accident and the upheaval it brought to his family alone. She’d given him time to come around, and when she’d grown impatient with that approach, she’d bought a one-way plane ticket to Scotland.

“I’ve come to help out,” she answered his question plainly. “However and wherever I can.”

Jamie bristled, his face an amalgam of relief and shame. Despite the fact he was surrounded by the evidence of his very thin hold on any semblance of control, he wasn’t going to make this easy. Fortunately, she was more than his match when it came to stubbornness.

“What about yer studies?” he countered. “Ye’ve jes the one clinical rotation left, and yer applications for a residency are…”

“I deferred them,” she interjected.

“…due anytime now and then the interviews and… what did ye jes say?” Russet eyebrows raised in dual arcs of shock.

“I said I deferred them. Hell, if Cat McInnis can miss a rotation to get a Brazilian butt lift, I can certainly take time off to support my boyfriend during a family emergency.”

“Nae, Sassenach," he shook his head adamantly. "Ye’ve worked sae hard tae become a doctor, and I willna be the one standin’ in yer way…”

“Well, it’s a good thing it isn’t your decision, then, isn’t it?” she sniped, growing exasperated with his near monastic insistence on self-sacrifice. Jamie was many things, but he wasn’t a monk.

“I may ne’er return to London, Claire,” Jamie confessed with the air of a man playing the last card in a very bad hand. “Even once his rehabilitation is complete, Ian will ne’er be able tae work the farm as he once did. I owe it tae the memory of my parents tae stay here and help Jenny any way that I can.”

“I know all those things, Jamie. It’s why I’m here.”

“I canna ask ye tae give up yer dreams tae become a farmer’s wife!”

The words echoed through the large room, seeming to increase in volume the longer neither of them acknowledged them. Claire waited for Jamie to recant his Freudian slip, to explain away the word’s significance by referencing his obvious exhaustion and agitation. Instead, he sat a foot away from her, his breath soughing in great gusts, eyes shiny with anguish.

“I need to ask,” Claire spoke slowly, “which aspect of that statement you find the more impossible. Is it the part where I don an apron and a wooden spoon? Or the bit where we would be joined in holy matrimony?”

Beside her, Jamie let out a disbelieving huff.

“Surely ye ken I want tae marry ye,” he said, not looking directly at her.

“Given that you’ve not once, in all the time we’ve been together, mentioned that fact? No, no I don’t ken that, Jamie.”

“I was waitin’ fer ye to finish yer schooling,” he explained as though this should have been self-evident. “Which is what we were discussin’ before we got sidetracked…”

“Sidetracked,” Claire scoffed. Admitting the intention to ask for her hand in less than a year’s time was a trunk line issue, as far as she was concerned.

“Aye, sidetracked,” Jamie persisted. “Tae be sae close tae becoming a doctor, only to walk away jes because my plans have gone tae shite...” he petered off, shaking his head where it rested between his palms.

“First of all, your plans are my plans. That’s the way this commitment thing works, as far as I can tell. And more importantly, the last I checked, Scotland was still participating in the British medical system. I can make arrangements to finish my last clinical rotation and complete my residency up here, when the time is right.”

Finally making eye contact, Jamie’s mouth opened and closed like a landed fish. Generally logical above reproach, there had to be a reason that particular solution to their dilemma hadn’t occurred to him.

“What’s this really about?” she whispered, taking his hand in her own. It was the first time they’d touched since she’d arrived, and a current of warmth flowed from his body to hers.

“I dinna want tae be a burden,” he whispered back. “T’would kill me if I ever felt ye resented me.”

Foolish man. Foolish, obstinate, noble and flawed man.

“That’s the brutal joy and utter calamity of love, Jamie. That we want to spare the ones we hold most dear. But what feels like a burden to the asker, the recipient wears like a mantle of honour. You taught me that.”

Crystal blue eyes filled with tears as he regarded her with such tender hope that she felt the back of her own throat grow tight. Seeing the storm before it arrived, she opened her arms and allowed him to collapse into her, his sobs soaking through her cotton shirt. She drew her hands through his hair, stroking him like a fretful child.

“Shhhh, shhhhh, it’s alright. I’m here. You’re okay. I’m here.”

Over and over again until he finally calmed. They lay curled together on the sofa, silent save the occasional sniffle from Jamie and pop of sap from the fire.

“Did you really mean it?” she asked, trusting him to know what she meant.

Instead of answering, Jamie rose and went to the mantle, where a small box sat amongst other family keepsakes. When he returned, he was holding a small object.

“I’ve been holding onto this since that first time ye came here, when ye asked if ye were my Lady Lallybroch.”

A delicate and intricate silver ring, warm from the heat of Jamie’s hand, was pressed into her palm. It was her turn to weep, apparently.

“You knew you wanted to marry me way back then?” she choked out.

“Nay, Sassenach. I kent I wanted ye tae be mine the first time I saw ye, drunk and imperious, in my local pub.”

She handed the ring back to him, her grip shaking and weak. For a second, Jamie looked defeated, thinking she was rejecting his proposal. Then he noticed her extended left hand. With a long exhale he carefully placed the ring on her finger. Something intangible and abiding slid home in her soul as well. Looking into Jamie’s eyes, she could tell he felt the same way. There was the two of them now, autonomous yet intertwined as surely as twin planets.

Healing kisses, breathless laughter, rapturous tears. Sometimes all three at once. Until Jamie interrupted their celebration with an enormous yawn.

“Sassenach, dinna think I’ve forgotten that I owe ye an orgasm,” Jamie began.

“You’ve been gone for three weeks, Fraser. I’d say you owe me quite a few more than that,” she retorted from her spot nestled against his chest which rumbled as he chuckled.

“Fair enough. But that only makes what I’m about tae ask all the more shocking. Would ye mind terribly if we simply went tae sleep? I’m ded on my feet, and I willna make love tae my fiancée fer the first time when I canna serve her properly.”

Claire rose and extended her ring-adorned hand.

“What time do Jamie and Maggie wake up in the morning?” she asked as they ascended the staircase towards the laird’s room.

“Wi’ the lark, the wee heathens. They’re usually bangin’ on my door by six thirty.”

“I’m setting my alarm for five o’clock,” she advised as they slid into the four-poster bed, meeting with a sigh in the middle.

“I admire yer strategic thinkin’, Sassenach. Wi’ preparedness like that, ye’ll make a braw doctor.”

Their bodies banished the air between them, two elements that yearned for each other at some molecular level.

“Sassenach?” Jamie mumbled when she thought he had already dozed off.

“Mmmm?”

“Waz’a Brazilian butt lift?”

A half-hearted kick to his shins was her answer.

“Ne’er mind,” he sighed as both hands drifted down to grasp her arse. “Canna improve on perfection.”

And with that, he fell asleep.

#my writing #outlander #fanfiction

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bike42 · 7 months

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Sunday September 17, 2023

After another comfortable night in our little Inverness cottage, we packed up, converted our roller bags to their backpack configuration, and strapped our day packs on the front. Jeff rolled our smaller bag along with him. Weather-dot-com said it was is the thirties, so we set our with gloves and hats and our Gore-Tex jackets! We walked the 1.2 miles up to the Kingsmill Hotel, the site where we were to meet our Backroads group at 10am.

We arrived first, and it was fun to meet the first two couples that arrived - all from Wisconsin! They are veterans of many Backroads trips - this is our first experience with the company. Then a couple from Chicago arrived, then a newlywed couple (married Thursday in Inverness) arrived, then a mother/daughter/friend of mom … then two more couples that we’ve not yet interacted with much. Then we met our guides, Jenn and Keith, and our support person, Jules. More on all that later!

They piled all of our luggage into a large van, and we climbed into the three vans for a 90 minute drive to Torridon on the west coast of Scotland. The first 30 minutes of the drive I saw sights from yesterday, then we were climbing into the hills. We went past many lakes (lochs) and small villages. The terrain switched back and forth from forested areas to Heather-covered hills. After about an hour, we entered a National park area and a small one lane road with occasional turn outs for oncoming traffic. A slow way to travel - patience required. There were parking lots at trailheads full of cars and lots of RVs from all over Europe.

Eventually we got to the tiny town of Torridon where they’d arranged to have Liz from the Wee Whistle Stop Cafe shut down her cafe for the day and prepared lunch for us! It was a fantastic array of smoked salmon, salads and homemade bread. She’s also going to make our lunches the next two days - lucky us!

Keith gave a talk on how things will work overall and how we can us the Backroads app to be more self sufficient! He also was clear that their job is to make magic happen for us … and that we shouldn’t stew about something all week then hit them on the survey at the end of the trip! Jenn talked about safety, and our route for today’s hike.

Back in the vans for about a 10 minute drive to Loch Damh to start the hike - 4 miles along Loch Damh, the River Bagly, and along Loch Torridon until we get to our hotel. Not sure how they get the other vans back to the hotel, but I guess that’s how Jules works his magic!

It had rained a bit on the drive over, but the rain held off for the two hours that we hiked. It stayed cool, and I hiked with two layers and my rain jacket and was surprised I didn’t overheat! We walked through mud, puddles and rocks initially, but that last three miles was on nice wide trail - easy to walk and talk at the same time!

We enjoyed the hike, and what fun to arrive at the hotel and find Jules had coolers of drinks and snacks set out for us. I had a canned Gin and Tonic and some snacks; Jeff had a beer that was not the best, he said. Then we checked into The Torridon - a former hunting lodge turned luxury hotel. It’s quaint and rustic in the common rooms on the ground floor (with a whisky room and a library), but our suite is luxurious! Comfortable chairs overlooking the cow and the loch, a fantastic modern bathroom and massive comfortable bed. Two nights here - lucky us!

We showered and relaxed, then headed down to meet the group for a glass of wine in the library, along with another ice breaker. We headed to a group dinner after that, four amazing courses that were artistic in presentation. The wait staff gave us great detail on each portion, and between the six at our table we were somewhat successful at discerning what we were eating. Perfect portion sizes too!

After dinner, most of us retreated to the bar for some whisky. I sampled a more smoky variety this time - ok, but think I’ll stick to straight single malt going forward!

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dipbluray · 8 months

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Might wanna send it to ChatGPT

The Manchurian candidacy's bootstrap role in Socrates’ picket fence syllabus on how to Lagrange token formulation with Sudoku interpolation

Are digital stocks really organic

Modern tokenisation in currency is so not new, it’s really nothing to asset about the fiat

In fact competition, barter and the trade have been bragging rights for very tough brokerage systems alike. Not to mention trading micro stocks and real attributes in the federal reserve exchange. But as far as digital assets can rattle, fiat indexes and currencies are beset to revolutionize curriculum in bestark libertarian extents.

Don’t be losing custodian rights

Stop gap right here, bargain the prize pool

Each electoral district(chamber) choosing an ex-cabaret of parliament to get the most votes, whether or not these instantly get at least majority votes of the voting pool each(poll kinetic bot purchase) must win as a party. The central depository (CDP) account, traded by the SGX provides integration of clearing, settlement and depository facilities for exchange in the securities bunting market that includes both equities and fixed income instruments within a trial period as proof of deposit. Simply put, whether it's buying blue chips or suspending stocks, you'd need to exercise some of those buyer rights to warrant and dossier the CDP account to proceed.

Voter testimonial declaration

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In liberal societies of the past (Inverness, Nairn and Lochaber 1985), singular party lobbying with at least 25% percentage points basically meant that single-intervening districts with plurality votes produce dual political party adjudications with variance outcomes in token representation. Plurality vote systems discourage robust electoral systems that use token volition to dethrone non-political legislation that may take place in sweepstakes, swap sets and arbitrage positions typically conducted in election commissions such as camping voter interests. The lone party (Representation of the Party Act 1989, also known as Reform Party Representation) simply tweaks votes from token interest instead, which could spend influence outcome or gain nothing more for the singular voting system. Any other party roll will typically need to build up its token's credibility and majority votes over a series of open fire rounds even if it raises issue for writ of election.

Not another neutral Bea

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How to weasel for the correct ratios

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Diversifying most in portfolio managing styles that leverage both suitable discount rate and present value dollar-for-dollar or as provided by rendered legislature.

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ao3feed-tolkien · 1 year

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A Shadow in the South

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/F5jkWzr

by StarryTreks

After getting fired from her cushy finance job in New York City, part-time witch Abigail Inverness gets a concerning phone call from an old friend. A single blood-curdling event drags her back to her small hometown in Louisiana-a place she swore never to return-with spells blazing to finish some unresolved business from her past...or die trying.

Words: 5686, Chapters: 1/7, Language: English

Fandoms: The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power (TV 2022)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M

Characters: Durin IV (Tolkien), Disa (The Rings of Power), Elrond Peredhel, Galadriel | Artanis, Sauron | Mairon, Halbrand (The Rings of Power), Ereinion Gil-galad, Isildur (Tolkien), Elendil the Tall, Bronwyn (The Rings of Power), Arondir (The Rings of Power), Tar-Míriel, Theo (The Rings of Power)

Relationships: Disa (The Rings of Power)/ Durin IV (Tolkien), Galadriel | Artanis/Halbrand (The Rings of Power), Galadriel | Artanis/Sauron | Mairon, Arondir/Bronwyn (The Rings of Power), Elendil the Tall/Tar-Míriel

Additional Tags: Galbrand, Haladriel, homophobic cops, Homophobic Language, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Monster Slayer AU, Smut, just FYI, galadriel is a witch, elrond is bi, how many lotr nods does it take to inspire violence, i guess we'll find out, Cunnilingus, There will be sex, if you don't like don't read, seriously what are you doing here mate, halbrand is a mechanic, You're Welcome, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Sex, takes place in louisiana mostly, galadriel worked in finance, circa 2008, Slow Burn, not instalove

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/F5jkWzr

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Tolkien #JRR Tolkien #Tolkien works #ao3 #fan fiction

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existentialmagazine · 2 years

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Review: Pizza Crunch formulate a sound rooted in nostalgia amidst modern flair, showcased best in their new alt-rock single ‘Wilting Youth’

Set to take over the alternative-rock scene from different ends of Scotland, four-piece Pizza Crunch pair an ‘80s post-punk strut with glimpses of noughties nonchalance to create a modernised sound amidst nostalgic influence. After only a short period of time together, the group have released a number of singles, all of which catching the eyes of radio stations, promoters, publications, and of course that of a small but dedicated audience. From their features on BBC Introducing, BBC Radio 6 Music as Steve Lamacq’s spotlight artist and Amazing Radio, Pizza Crunch continue to excel and their headlining shows over the summer in Manchester, Inverness, London, Newcastle and Glasgow can only continue to exceed the hype for their one-of-a-kind creations.

Returning back to the scene, Pizza Crunch are yet again sharing an astounding new single ‘Wilting Youth’, the outcome of a year and a half long project, and it certainly doesn’t fail to impress. Buried in nostalgic tones, almost as an ode to the past amidst a clean, fresh modern approach, ‘Wilting Youth’ serves up a warmth and familiarity that’s sure to appeal to your soul as it guides you safely through its three-minute experience. From the striking bassline to the softened but catchy drum beat, the soundscape of ‘Wilting Youth’ immediately offers a bed of delicate tones and intricate riffs right from the get-go that swoop up your interest and cradle your mind. As we hit the bridge, things fade out in the most whimsical and wonderful way, leaving electric guitar notes to ring out and sees a steadily rising drum beat, further making the atmosphere of ‘Wilting Youth’ feel like some kind of dream amidst the echoes. Vocalist Ewan Hearns adds a further layer of hazy padding to the mix, bringing a one-of-a-kind deep range that carries the weight and emotion of every single word sung, encompassing that of an entire haunting performance like it’s easy to portray. ‘Wilting Youth’ is sure to capture your interest, hooking both new and old listeners and keeping them excitedly waiting to hear more from Pizza Crunch - as surely a band so devoted to such a fully-padded listening experience can only continue to provide the most gripping musical experiences.

Revolving around the idea of fading juvenility and a youth lost in time, ‘Wilting Youth’ mournfully reflects on how the vibrant days of the past are set to never return amidst the journey into adulthood and ever-growing responsibilities taking over. Finding yourself needing to let go of the magic of your childhood and teenage years, ‘Wilting Youth’ painfully dissects how no matter how desperately you cling onto days of colour and irresponsibility, those moments were always doomed to be fleeting - and growing up is inevitable. Closing out painfully with the lines, ‘Do I have to succumb to all the time, why can’t I just hang on? No matter how tirelessly you cling, you will be ripped from’, much of ‘Wilting Youth’ encompasses truly thoughtful lyricism, albeit tender and aching to hear and relate to at times, it’s all the more powerful as listeners find themselves wholly feeling every word - and clinging onto the track, hoping it never has to end either. After spending your younger years craving the ability to make your own decisions, live on your own, and be an adult with a real job, it’s ironic how much ‘Wilting Youth’ really expresses the way tables turn as you enter the later years of your life and find yourself looking back with a plea to return to simpler days.

Lyricist Ewan Hearns shared further on the lyricism that, “I remember actually putting pen to paper for this track a lot more vividly than others. I was sitting in the park on a sunny day during summer, the day was ending and so was my time at university, and I also feared a relationship might be ending. I think all these changes meant that I’d kind of accepted the days I sing about fondly in Young Excitement were gone, and instead of searching for their return I’d come to terms with the fact that they’d dissolved.”

If ‘Wilting Youth’ sums up how you’ve been longing for the blissful past to return, or if Pizza Crunch’s truly nostalgically brimming sound caught your eye, you can check out the new song for yourself here!

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Graham Noble

#music #singlereview #pizzacrunch

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isablooo · 2 years

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I know this is just me but I'm never a fan of modern vampire media using the names of pre-existing vampire characters and then making the character entirely unrelated to them (unless it's Dracula because he's so ubiquitous that idm). I've seen more characters called 'Carmilla', just because it's the first female vampire name that comes up from a quick google search, than I have seen actual adaptations of the book Carmilla!!

Netflix Castlevania is a big perpetrator of this. I find Netflix Carmilla compelling as a character for sure!! But it was a bit of a sting getting excited when she first showed up and then coming to realise she had nothing to do with Carmilla at all, apart from living in Styria. And like, idm!! Make cool, dynamic new vampire characters!! But the need to justify their existence by tacking on the name of a pre-existing vampire character is bizarre and lazy to me???

Also I got the biggest whiplash when Varney the vampire showed up in Netflix Castlevania. SO many questions about that weird plot twist with him, and I found it so jarring (and kinda funny) that they dressed him like a Victorian with an inverness coat so that he looked like he came straight out of the original penny dreadful despite the fact that they ESTABLISHED specifically that the show is set in the 15th century! (But that's one of my more general issues with the character designs in the show lol)

But anyway, there's just a clear disinterest in engaging with the source material it’s referencing and yet it still tries to reference it for kudos. It comes off as a little tacky!!

And that's why What we do in the Shadows is still the best vampire media to come out in the 21st century imho. They just get it!! The show rarely if ever mentions pre-existing vampire characters, most of the cast are original characters. Instead, if you've ever played a vampire in a movie, you're canonically a vampire in wwdits (Like Tilda Swinton is a vampire since she was in Only lovers left alive, Wesley Snipes from Blade is a dhampir etc etc) That shit is so funny. Van Helsing is also canonically real in the world of wwdits because of how he embellishes Guillermo’s character arc!

Ofc I’m not saying that including these pre-existing vampire characters is bad because I personally love 19th century vampire lit, it’s the main thing that interests me about vampires and I’m doing a whole ass dissertation on it, but I would like there to actually be engagement with the source material and the character (and their legacy) if they are included.

#Maybe I'm just bitter because I haven't seen a good Carmilla adaptation. Please recommend good Carmilla adaptations.#sorry to rant ive just been having a lot of thoughts #text post #long post #vampire #vampires #castlevania netflix #dracula #carmilla #wwdits #what we do in the shadows #gothic #castlevania

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thelallybrochlibrary · 3 years

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Category List: Sick & Injured Jamie

Well folks, here it is! Another category list. We all know how often Claire is either sick or injured in some of our favorite duo’s adventures, but we wanted to explore a list where the tables were turned. In this category list you will find stories where Jamie is the one who is either sick or injured. These stories are a mix of canon compliant and alternative universe!

This category has the potential to be simply massive, knowing how accident-and-chaos-prone our lad is. We’ve tried our best to include as many as we can, but as always, please let us know if we should be adding any to our list.

XX, The Librarians

American Pie by @jesuisprest747

A continuation of Blood Sugar, American Pie covers the ups and downs of the two years following Jamie and Claire's wedding.

An Endless Night & Vergangenheit by @phoenixflames12

Captain James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser, late of the 51st Highland Division and prisioner in Oflag VII Cprison Camp, Salzburg writes home to his wife Claire in a desperate attempt to remember his homeland.

Be sure to check out the accompanying fics and ficlets right here.

An Outlander Affair to Remember by AbbyDebeaupre

Jamie and Claire’s lives change course when fate brings them together. Blindsided, in more ways than one, will they find the courage to let go of their past fears and illusions and learn once again to trust what their hearts tell them is true?

Atonement by @smashing-teacups

Jamie Fraser suffers a horrific car accident and wakes up in the hospital to find his life forever changed. His sole comfort comes in the companionship he finds with Claire Beauchamp, a nurse who understands his suffering more than he knows.

Appetency by @lallybrochloser

appetency- (n.) intense desire or a strong, natural craving; chemical attraction

While Claire Beauchamp thrives as an A&E doctor at Raigmore Hospital in Inverness, she knows something is missing in her life. Something simple, yet crucial. Her life outside the hospital is sparse, save for the few fellow workers she calls friends. That changes when she finds herself staring into the ocean blue eyes of the Scottish Ambulance Service’s newest paramedic.

Bean sídhe by @kalendraashtar

Claire is the Bean sídhe, a legend in the Scottish Highlands. Loved by some and feared by many, she leads a mysterious life. But when her path crosses Jamie's, both their lives and the clans are forever changed.

Closing Time @abreathofsnowandwaffles

Claire Beauchamp is a second year medical student. Due to many late nights with her clinicals, and studying for her pharmacology class, she’s at wits end. One Friday night she decides not to join Joe Abernathy and her other friends out at Church, their local hangout spot, but instead winds up in a dive bar close to her flat with a very nice whisky selection. In fact, one of the best one she’s ever seen. When the bartender calls her ‘Sassenach’ and pours her a double, Claire gets a feeling in her chest she’s never felt before.

Colder Weather by @abreathofsnowandwaffles

3 years he had been gone - and oh, had things changed.

Come Back To Me by Jade2010

An Outlander modern AU set in 2020 where Jamie and Claire are a married couple. And and Jamie is comatose after an accident.

Dr. B Medicine Woman by @crossinginstyle

Claire Beauchamp is trying to make her way as a woman doctor in the 19th century. After the death of her uncle and only supporter, she decides to risk everything to travel to a small frontier town in Colorado in need of a doctor. There, she meets Mac, a mysterious, quiet man who lives among the Cheyenne, and becomes a sudden mother to three orphaned children.

First Time Here? by @crossinginstyle

Inspired by that one tweet I saw posted on Tumblr, the one that says;

"Shoutout to my bartender. I've been here on dates with 4 different dudes in the last 6 months and he hits me with "Ma'am, is this your first time here? every time. #GoodLookinOutMyMan"

Or, the one where Jamie is a bartender and Claire is a long-time customer who keeps bringing in disappointing dates in the months after dumping Frank.

For Every Season by duskwatcher

Can a Great Love ever truly end? When Claire's worst fears are realized, can she face the sunset of their lives with grace? "Though lovers be lost, love shall not; And death shall have no dominion."

For the Last Time by @jesuisprest747

A continuation of the unfinished fic For Every Season in which Claire diagnoses Jamie with a terminal illness.

let us not talk falsely now by @gotham-ruaidh

Imagine if Jamie was a wounded soldier and Claire a combat nurse who met in a field hospital during the Vietnam War.

Love In The Time Of Quarantine by @holdhertightandsayhername

Jamie and Claire both live in Edinburgh. Unfortunately, they only went out once before the Covid-19 lockdown was enforced. This is a sneak-peek of their text messages...

Punishment by @lenny9987

What if Jamie decided not to intervene on Laoghaire’s behalf? He does not take a beating for her? Would Geillis keep Claire from intervening? What if Claire did intervene?

Red Jamie and the White Lady by @diversemediums and @takemeawaytocamelot

Claire Beauchamp is dragged by her best friend and flatmate, Geillis Duncan, to go visit a powerful psychic to prove once and for all that true love exists. Claire is a practical woman and finds the idea of true love pointless. Jamie Fraser is a powerful psychic who can glimpse the future. When he meets Claire, something changes. Like they were destined to find each other.

Safe by @sbstevenson2

Six years after her husband's death, Claire Fraser and her daughters are on vacation when they're met with the surprise of their lives.

Safe With Me by luvofmylonglife

Claire Beauchamp finds most of her sexual fulfillment with the porn videos of a hot Scot called Mac Dubh, despite 10 years of marriage to Professor Randall. But then one day she comes face to face with her fantasy man who is now an EMT at her hospital, and Claire struggles to find her footing when everything she thinks she knows about love starts to change.

The Long Way Back by @holdhertightandsayhername

In the summer of 1917, Claire Fraser finds a way back to her husband Jamie, haunted by his memories of the Great War in France.

The Midwife by @magnoliasinbloom

Following in her mother’s footsteps, Claire’s skills as a midwife take her to France and Scotland. When her journey leads her to James Fraser, she will have to decide if she will follow her calling or her heart.

the one thing older than war by @iihappydaysii

While on a bison hunt with Lord John Grey, Jamie Fraser gets bit by a venomous snake. With death just around the corner, Jamie makes a long-held confession. (A rewrite of 5x09.)

Once again, we tried our best with this one, but we are sure that there’s fics that have fallen through the cracks or ones that we forgot. Let us know if you know of any that fit this category that we missed!

xx The Librarians

#outlander #outlander fanfic #*category #category: sick/injured Jamie #the lalllybroch library

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sanctus-ingenium · 8 months

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any tips or stuff youve learned along the way on making a headworld "series bible" of sorts?

discord categories & channels (ft. the old working title of Where Hate Rules because i forgot to change it). i have a discord server with just me in it where I have a channel category for each writing project.

scroll down for a spreadsheet data blast

General - image dump, place to throw in new ideas so I don't forget them, plot points, etc

Worldbuilding - this is for stuff that's set in stone, not vague concepts. maps, diagrams, etc (i have a lot of diesel engine block diagrams and celestial illustrations in there as well as every holy beast)

Character log - literally just a list of characters. put in every character in the same format (i.e Name, Age, Profession, Physical Description, Hometown)

Writing Place - for prose. I write in libreoffice but when I'm out of the house on mobile or just doing test paragraphs they go here because I'd rather kill myself than use google docs ever. Each new piece of writing has an easily-searched title.

After this I have a channel for every main character. In here I put art relating to them, backstory, motivations, any random thoughts I have about them and so on. You don't wanna see how many of these I have for my Inver channel category lmaoo.

No, there are better ways to visualise Inver's absolutely massive series bible!

Discord is obviously only useful if you're online and I don't like storing so much shit in the cloud. And what if I need rows AND columns?

man i love spreadsheets. zoom in and get a load of that sweet sweet fossit guide.

this is me kissing microsoft excel with tongue to produce a datasheet about the modern-day ranger barracks in Inver (year 2017, Pascal's time) but any spreadsheet program will do. Even (gag) google sheets. I made this because in the modern era, rangers are ecologists! They participate in land management as well as faery relations.

Okay so. First thing you want to do is freeze the top row so that it remains in place when you scroll. Then populate the boxes. Here, each ranger organisation (column 1) is given its own bg colour based on its main tartan colour so visual reference is easy. The characters tab is similar - frozen top row with basic categories, then a colour-coded list of rangers.

I have one of these for 1800s Inver as well! Luckily I only had to do the habitats once since they didn't change much over the years.

Hopefully that helps?? Basically: if you're lazy and need to generate ideas and data on the go, pick discord. If you want to be more specific, make a spreadsheet or 6.

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scotianostra · 2 years

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On April 25th 1852 an earthquake lasting several seconds shook Comrie in Perthshire, accompanied by an “ominous rumbling.”

Known as Shaky Toun or, in Gaelic, Am Baile Critheanach, Comrie is the earthquake capital of Scotland and indeed the British Isles. Despite the country not being generally associated with earthquakes we actually housed the world’s first seismometer, which was built and installed in Comrie.

The first written records of earthquakes in the British Isles also came out of Scotland at Iona, some time in the 6th century by St Columba.

The first reported earthquake in Comrie was recorded as far back as 1788, and an early seismometer was installed in the village in 1840. Built on a rocky outcrop (so it directly experiences any tremors), in a field to the west of the village, Comrie is also home to Earthquake House, one of Europe’s smallest listed buildings.

It was once a centre for seismology, recording tremors that were common to the area in the 19th century.

Built in 1869, it was the first purpose-built earthquake observation centre in the world - just a shame it was built a few decades too late, as seismic activity had declined somewhat in the area by the time it was built. It is said that during the 1830s, over 7,000 earth tremors were recorded in the area.

In 1816 an earthquake took place, so fierce, it was felt over much of Scotland.Lasting six minutes, an Inverness sailor claimed he was “tossed on his bed, as he had never been tossed out at sea, for five full minutes.”

In 1839. measuring an estimated 4.8 on the Richter scale, another powerful quake was felt across the country. Many houses in Comrie were damaged and the impact caused a dam near Stirling to fail.

Known as the Great Earthquake of 1839, the action prompted postmaster Peter Macfarlane and shoemaker James Drummond, known as the ‘Comrie Pioneers’, to set up an instrument to measure earthquakes and began keeping formal records.

In 1869 a fresh set of tremors momentarily renewed interest in earthquakes. But by 1911 technology had moved on, and the building became redundant. The building was refurbished in 1988 after falling into neglect, and remains active - a modern seismograph, and a model of an early wooden seismoscope invented by Robert Mallett are installed at the house. Although the original has now been replaced with more modern equipment, a replica is still on show. It is so sensitive that it managed to pick up the tsunami on Boxing Day 2004 in Indonesia.

The last Earthquake o hit Shaky Toun was just last June when residents reported hearing a "really loud bang" while one person said "it sounded like an explosion". On Facebook, one person said the thought a "massive truck just hit my building," while another said said "it was the biggest tremor I have ever felt having lived here my whole life". She added: "My house shook too and cannot ever remember that happening before."

#Scotland #scottish #comrie #shaky toun #Perth and Kinross #scottish highlands #earthquake

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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

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Ginger Snap, Chapter 2

A/N I am breaking probably the only rule I gave myself when I started writing fanfic, which was Don’t Ever Post a WIP. But lord knows I’m not immune to peer pressure and the narcotic that is reader feedback, so here it is, the second chapter of what is now an open-ended modern AU story about Jamie the Chef and Claire the Kitchen Disaster. Still a first person Claire POV, so I apologize in advance for any stray pronouns.

For the first chapter, I recommend reading it on Ao3, since I’ve made some minor edits since I first posted it on Tumblr. See above re. not planning on posting a WIP.

Oh, and funny story. When I decided to check the location of the real Ginger Snap catering company in Edinburgh, it was squished between “FrazersOnline” and “McKenzie Flooring”. If that’s not kismet, I don’t know what is. The location I describe below, however, is based on a catering venue here in Ottawa called Urban Element, where I’ve attended a few team-building events. I have yet to set anything on fire, though.

I checked my phone for the third time, confirming I wasn’t lost.

Frank and I moved to Edinburgh over the summer, just in time for him to start his position as Associate Professor of History at the University of Edinburgh. Despite our years spent in America, neither of us cared overmuch for driving, so we chose a flat (or rather, Frank chose a flat and I concurred) not far from campus. Therefore, this was the first time I’d ventured as far afield as Leith, a maritime enclave just to the north of the capital that couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to be grittily working class or artistically hip.

When I finally reached the address, I had to smile. No main street pretensions or non-descript commercial frontage for Ginger Snap Catering. Before me stood a two-story red brick fire station, still emblazoned with the crest of the Scottish Fire and Rescue Services. The two massive truck bays were now enclosed by see-through doors that could be drawn back on a sunny day. Through these a warm yellow light could be seen, spilling onto the grey, damp pavement.

A petite woman with dark hair manned the small reception area, a red-haired toddler clinging to her like a marsupial. She held a phone to one ear while simultaneously pacing the polished concrete floor. I stood as unobtrusively as possible near the door, but in such an open space it was impossible not to overhear her side of the conversation.

“... they willna take ‘im back until ‘is fever goes down... aye, an hour ago when I picked him up but it hasn’t... nay, i dinna think it’s... tis jus’ terrible timing with two weddings t’morrow... Could ye? Och, I owe ye Mrs. Fitz, a million times o’er... Anytime, we’ll be here. Alright, soon.”

The speaker turned to me, the harried look of a working mother sharpening her already honed features.

“I apologize fer keeping ye waiting. What can I do fer ye t’day?”

Before I could respond, the young boy, probably no older than two, began to fuss, rubbing his flushed cheek against his mother’s shoulder.

“Och, mo ghille, Mam kens ye’re poorly. Mrs. Fitz is coming as fast as she may.”

Unable to quell my instinct to diagnose and then cure, I spoke up.

“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. Based on his age and the way he’s holding his head, it may be an ear infection.” At the woman’s penetrating look, I hastened to explain: “I’m a doctor. Would you mind if I took a closer look?”

Permission granted, I carefully palpated the boy under the jaw and peered as best I could without an otoscope into the offending ear canal. Confident in my diagnosis, I recommended treatment with a warm compress, an over-the-counter analgesic ear drop, and children’s paracetamol to control his fever. If, after twenty-four hours the symptoms had not improved, they could consider seeing his pediatrician for antibiotics, but these were only truly necessary for a persistent infection.

“Och, ye ‘ave no idea what a relief it is tae hear ye say so, lass. He’s my first bairn, ye ken, an’ I can ne’er tell if I’m over-reacting or being negligent. Can ye say thank ye tae the nice doctor, Wee Jamie?”

My stomach jumped. “Wee Jamie? Is he related by chance to Jamie Fraser?”

“Aye, tis his nephew. I’m Jamie’s sister, Jenny. Ye ken my brother, then?”

The pieces fell into place, and my insides settled.

“We’ve spoken before,” I explained. “I’m Claire Beauchamp. You and your brother helped me with a dinner party emergency last Tuesday. I came to return your market bags, and to thank you again for coming to my aid during my hour of need.”

Jenny and I spoke for another ten minutes, sharing the superficial narratives of two strangers brought together by circumstance. She was warm and thistly by turns, and I felt a longing for the honesty of female friendship that I’d given up when we left Boston. Eventually a matronly woman arrived to collect Wee Jamie. I carefully wrote down the exact names and dosages of my prescribed remedy.

After Mrs. Fitz and Wee Jamie had left, it occurred to me that Jenny needed to get back to work. I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do, even if I hadn’t thanked Jamie himself. As I began to make my goodbyes, however, Jenny interjected. “If ye’re no’ in a rush, why dinna ye join our afternoon cooking class? My brother will be demonstrating how tae make quiche. Tis the least we can do, after ye helped Wee Jamie.”

Which was how I found myself standing behind one of six cooking stations arranged across the fire station’s main area, a bright red apron covering my black slacks and saffron turtleneck. My impetuous curls were slowly breaking ranks from where I’d slicked them into a bun that morning. I worried I looked like a human Pez dispenser.

I glanced at the workstation immediately to my left. A slight woman who I guessed to be roughly my own age was engrossed in her phone, a cheeky smirk playing on her berried lips. Her strawberry blond hair was swept into an effortless chignon that made me twitch with envy. She looked up from her screen and caught me looking her way.

“Geillis Duncan,” she said, offering a well-manicured hand.

“Claire Beauchamp. Pleased to meet you.”

“Is it yer first time taking a class, Claire?” At my nod, she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially: “Ye’re in for a treat.”

Before I could enquire what she meant, a murmur amongst the other students (all women, save one) was accompanied by the heavy tread of work boots on polished concrete and a familiar Scottish burr.

“Good afternoon, everyone. Thank ye fer joining me on this dreich Scottish day. I ken a few of ye are new, so let’s start with a brief overview of yer stations and some basic safety reminders, before we tackle the quiche.”

Today Jamie was wearing a pair of olive pants that tapered down his endless legs and a technical shirt that clung valiantly to his upper body. He looked like he’d just stepped off the nearest rock climbing pitch. I wondered if he owned anything that answered to the name of a professional wardrobe, but I couldn’t deny that he looked impressive, in an athleisure sort of way.

“See what I mean?” Geillis hissed at me as Jamie made his way to the front of the hall, speaking now about optimal burner temperatures. “That man is a dozen kinds of yes.”

I concentrated on each step of the ostensibly simple recipe. Pie crust had been the previous week’s assignment, so I had only to blind bake the prepared dough already at my workstation. Once I had the crust centered exactly in the pie pan, pierced with a fork in orderly rows and placed in the oven, I rushed to catch up with the others. I’d missed Jamie’s instructions regarding pan frying the bacon, so I increased the flame, thinking I could make up a little time. The fatty meat crackled pleasingly as I set it in the lightly greased pan. I was inordinately proud of myself.

Things went very badly, very fast. First, my eyes wouldn’t stop watering as I meticulously peeled then dissected the onion into near-transparent crescents. Tears obscured my vision and I tried to wipe them away without contaminating my hands. To my left I could make out Geillis skillfully cracking eggs into a glass bowl, her pie crust already elegantly filled with crispy morsels of bacon and caramelized onion bits.

A vague sense of having forgotten something important tickled my mind. My pie crust! Grabbing a silicone glove (I wasn’t making that mistake twice) I rushed to the wall oven and extracted the pan. Giddy with relief, I saw the dough was only a little dark around the edges.

Before I could return victorious to my station, Jamie uttered a Scottish noise of alarm from his vantage at the front of the class. We both rushed across the room to where my rashers of bacon now resembled blackened shoe laces obscured by a heavy veil of smoke. With practiced ease, Jamie lifted the entire skillet into the adjacent sink and turned on the cold water. A cloud of steam enveloped his head, highlighting his auburn curls. I bit my lip as he looked my way in amusement.

“I hope ye werena planning on serving quiche to yer faculty guests t’night, Ms. Beauchamp?”

I stood meekly next to Geillis for the remainder of the class, no longer trusted around open flame without adult supervision. She graciously allowed me to extract her quiche when it was done baking. It looked like a magazine cover. Meanwhile, my workstation looked like the scene of an industrial accident.

While we were waiting for her quiche to cook, Geillis and I got to know each other a little better. She was a Highland lass from up near Inverness. Married to a wealthy older man, her life sounded like an endless quest for diversion. Despite this, or because of it, she had a sharp-witted frankness that I appreciated. She was also a hard-core gossip.

“Wee besom,” she remarked with a nod towards a blond girl who was currently monopolizing Jamie’s attention with endless questions punctuated by manufactured giggles and flicks of her pin-straight hair. “Tha’s Laoghaire Mackenzie of the Mackenzie brewing dynasty. They’ve a live-in cook, so there’s only one reason she attends these classes, and it isna for the quiche.”

I watched Jamie laugh over something the girl said, mineral eyes alight and his perfect white teeth on display. I suppose I couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t here for the quiche either.

The interminable ninety minute lesson finally ended. I thanked Geillis profusely and we exchanged numbers before she rushed off for her reiki treatment. Gathering my trench coat and purse, I tried to slink away without calling any further attention to myself.

“Ms. Beauchamp!”

I cursed under my breath, then turned to face him.

“Please, call me Claire. After I nearly burned down your place of business, we should probably be on a first name basis.”

Jamie chuckled. It sounded more natural and lived-in than his earlier response to Laoghaire, but I was likely fooling myself.

“Och, wha’s a cooking demonstration wi’out a wee bit of drama. Will ye be joining us next week? We’ll be making ceviche, sae I willna need tae put the fire brigade on stand-by.”

“Bastard,” I replied to his cheeky smirk. “Alas, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a cook. It appears to be the one science I can’t master.”

“Cooking isna a science, Claire,” he explained with sincere intensity. “Tis an art. Perhaps tha’s the root of yer struggle.”

“Perhaps it is. But in that case, I may as well give up now. I haven’t an artistic bone in my body.”

His languorous perusal of said body lit a different kind of flame in my belly. Geillis was right; he really was a dozen kinds of yes.

“I canna say as I agree. Come back any time if ye’d like tae try again.”

I blushed, thoroughly discomfited by his blatant flirting. He knew about Frank. He’d fled from him onto my fire escape, for Christ’s sake! Maybe when you looked like James Fraser, every interaction with a woman was merely a chance to hone your craft. Or maybe he was truly ignorant of his effect.

“I’ll take that under advisement. Thank you again, Jamie.”

“Until the next time, Arsonist.”

#my writing #outlander #ginger snap

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adsosfraser · 3 years

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The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Six

Read on AO3

Before Claire could journey up to Inverness, she had to settle some matters first in London. The first thing she did was walk up the grand steps of her parents’ bank and walk through the marble columns of the main entrance. A little over two-thirds was left in her account, and she withdrew it all. She walked out, two hundred pounds heavier. The pound notes were neatly stacked into piles of twenty in her suitcase. It was all that remained of her inheritance which had been pretty substantial; the rest had been spent on various celebrations in her life and her travels with her uncle. In total, her trip up to Inverness would be very comfortable, and she would have some to spare for a mockup dress, with guidance of course as Mrs. Graham had assured her.

The first thing she did was purchase a train ticket at King’s Cross Station to Edinburgh for the next day. She was almost giddy when she felt the smooth surface of the ticket and her receipt shoved into her hands.

The pawn shops in London had infinitely more variety than Inverness, she was certain. There was practically one on every corner in London, but only one she could remember in the general area of Inverness. She couldn’t very well bring a banknote with her into the past. But she could find something to trade. No matter what century, gold, silver, and jewellery always held value.

She glanced through the miscellaneous items dotted throughout the store and finally assumed a stance before the jewellery counter. Dainty rings laid within velvet boxes and chains strung across the shelves enclosed in glass carefully haphazard. Her eyes paused on an emerald. Jamie’s birthstone. Next to it was a ruby, much like the ring meant for her baby, set into a gold necklace. She pointed at the different necklaces, bracelets, and rings for the attendant to put aside for her. With one final point, she was ready at the register with her money. At the last minute, she spied a stack of pictures and postcards depicting the world’s modern marvels. An airplane, skyscrapers, tug boats, telephones, even the atom bomb were included in the stack. She added it to her items and smiled up at the cashier. She left, with little less than half of what she had withdrawn that day from her purchases at the train station and the pawnshop. She could always purchase more in Inverness.

Claire hurried over to her next stop; the sun would be sinking soon. Her body stopped before the small metal door. A locker in the storage facility. It contained mementos from her childhood. Pictures of her parents and notes from the various friends she had made across the world with her uncle. It was the only tangible thing that anchored her to one spot. While she constantly left for new places, it had been reassuring to know that the locker would always be there for her to remember. She shuffled through the items and pulled out some of her baby pictures where she screamed with cake smeared over her face, her parents’ smiles shining brightly behind her. One with her mouth covered in ice cream on a pier at Brighton with her parents, months before the accident. The rest were her dirty and dusty with her uncle, beaming with curiosity at various excavation sites. Claire glanced slightly at the envelope that contained things pertaining to her time with Frank and shoved it back deep into the locker. There was a final one of her during the beginning of her nurse’s training, smiling optimistically for the camera in her uniform at the train station, oblivious to the gruesome years to come sewing back shattered men and hiding from the sky itself.

She boarded the train without fuss the next morning. No one was travelling during the New Year. They were all settled in with their families enjoying their feasts. So Claire enjoyed the luxury of an empty compartment within the train and patted her suitcase reassuringly.

The Reverend would be away for the week to substitute for a minister who had taken ill on short notice. The house was left to Roger, Claire, and Mrs. Graham.

“Och, Claire, it’s sae fine seeing ye again.” The short woman gathered her in her arms, bringing her down to her level. “Would ye like a cuppa?”

“That would be wonderful Mrs. Graham, thank you.”

She puttered about in the kitchen and instructed Claire to place her luggage in the second room to the right up the stairs. The door creaked open to a light room covered in a rosey wallpaper. Claire was glad it wasn’t the same room she had stayed in months ago. She set her things on the bed and returned downstairs to where the elderly woman had already set up the cups with tea on the small circular table. Tarot cards were strewn all over the tablecloth. Claire presumed Mrs. Graham wanted to take a peek into her future once again. Seeing no use in delaying the inevitable, Claire launched into her questions.

“What do you know about the stones Mrs. Graham?”

“Och, please call me Mairi, lass. I’m sae glad ye called over before ye arrived here, didna want ye to be disappointed. I looked through some of my mother’s old things, and there were many journals passed down through the matrilineal line. It would have been a mess to try to find them in short notice, but I managed to find the box just in time. One of them details the subject of powerful stones holding the Earth’s energy itself within them. Ye can read through dear and I’ll wait fer any questions.” She stood up to fetch something from the counter near the oven and returned with a smooth brown book.

She looked closely over the scribbled notes and drawings in the small leather-bound book. It most likely could fit into her coat pocket and she was amazed at the artistry of something so old. The pages were weathered yellow like they had been soaked in tea and there were tears in some spots, but it didn’t hinder the journal’s abilities to instruct. Within it contained certainties, speculations, doubts, and even contradictions coming back to scribble that human sacrifice was indeed not necessary and strongly discouraged from the earlier statement regarding it as a necessity. Different hands amended the pages, added different textured paper when the pages ran out, and ripped out some to little stubs close to the spine.

A calendar was sketched into the very first page, listing fire festivals at each point of a star. Imbolc. That was the closest date. She had missed Yule while in the ward and cursed herself. She would have to wait a month more, if the information written down in the battered book was to be believed. After months of separation, what more was one month? But her soul agonised over the fact that she was so close to the stones, but their strange attributes limited her. Would the nagging feeling of anxiety for her son ever waver? Or did this new sabbatical mean she would be too late?

“So Imbolc, a fire feast?”

“Aye, most all o’ the journals in my grove ha’ something similar. It’s always, a gem and a fire feast. Many other suggestions have been quite unsettling.”

“So when I came through, on April the 16th, I was two weeks away-”

“Lass dinna work yerself up o’er that jes now. Ye canna blame anyone, it’s jes,” the kind woman squeezed Claire’s hand in comfort, “jes the way things went.”

“But, I put my baby in danger, and it killed him.” She couldn’t help the wobble of her lip and the big fat tear that rolled down her cheek.

“Ye dinna even ken if he could ha’ gone through at the proper time anyway.” Mrs. Graham hooked her weathered finger under Claire’s chin and brought her gaze towards her. “I know it might not be what ye want to hear right now, but perhaps yer baby saved ye. Ye couldna ha’ travelled alone, even wi’ yer wee gem.”

“But why take my baby? Why not me?”

“The way I see it, the stones only wanted one tae live that day. And if yer baby survived while ye died, weel it wouldna ha’ survived anyway wi’out ye. It doesna do well to dwell on the past lass. The only thing ye can do is look to the future and move forward. Go to yer lad. Yer soul kens what yer brain refuses to. The boy needs ye.”

“What if I’m too late? The death certificate-”

“Have faith, Claire, yer- Frank researched tirelessly to find his fate. If he wasna going to make it, yer soul wouldna be in overdrive to return to him.”

“Yes, of course. Faith.”

“Fer now we bide, and I’ll help ye prepare. These are lean years yer returning to, ye’ll need all the help ye can get.”

The greying woman stood up to leave but Claire placed a hand on her arm to stop her. “Thank you Mairi, for everything.”

For the next month, Claire helped Mrs. Graham tidy the manse and watch after Roger. Her heart had warmed to the small boy instantly and she played planes with him whenever he asked, mimicking the noises and spreading out her arms wide to fly across the garden. Reverend Wakefield, much to his own chagrin, helped Claire smuggle some supplies from the hospital, during his visits to the ailing and injured who couldn’t attend church. He even found a set of knives that were close to being pitched before he intervened and saved them from the dumpster. Claire passed those weeks amongst pleasant company in the manse, and knew she would miss her friends dearly. To her surprise, Graham Munro, the kind boy who had brought her to the hospital from the stones, visited the manse occasionally and would take up a game of cards with her and Roger. The seven-year-old won almost every game they played; Claire and Graham had made the mistake of having him lose and much to their dismay he had started a tantrum that lasted for four hours. One evening, he had sulked into Claire’s room, his cheeks tracked with fresh tears from a nightmare and she pulled him close, murmuring to the young boy. Yes, she would miss them all terribly.

Mrs. Graham worked on the logistics of Claire’s dress; she was impossible at sewing, knitting, and practically any other domestic task. A plain white slip dress was transformed into a shift, extra yards of wool were donated through her druid friends which turned into her various layers of skirts, and an old blue raincoat fit for a giant was found in the closet and transformed into a cloak of sorts to cover the fact of missing stays.

On the First of February, close to midnight, Claire, Roger, Mrs. Graham, and Reverend Wakefield climbed into the Reverend’s black car. Roger was bouncing off the back seat next to Claire, excited at being awake way past his bedtime. Reverend Wakefield had driven them to the stones to humour them, still not quite believing in the absurd story. A leather messenger bag sat on Claire’s lap, practically bursting from the contents within it. She had already dressed into her new clothes that would not be so conspicuous in the eighteenth century. Her heart raced as the headlights from the car illuminated the grey stone at the top of the hill.

Claire offered a short sentence of gratitude for the Reverend’s hospitality and then moved on to her fast friend Mairi. He lingered back behind the line of the stones with his arms around Roger. Claire shared a heartfelt goodbye with Mrs. Graham and thanked her profusely. Tears clung to her eyelashes and she pecked the small woman on the cheek. Roger was inconsolable when he felt the atmosphere shift. He thought it was a fun adventure with his new friend, not the finality of a goodbye.

“No Miss Claire! I dinna want ye to leave!” He slobbered into her stomach and held tight to the buttons of her cloak.

“I’m sorry, Roger. I’ll miss playing pilot with you terribly. Will you keep this safe for me?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a toy rocket, the new fascination of young boys. Planes were old news, but space was exciting.

“Aye!” He tried to be brave like his father said his parents had been. She shoved back the hair from his eyes as he looked up at her with glassy eyes and a snotty nose.

“What do ye say, Roger?”

“Thank ye, Miss Claire!” He hugged her tight.

He took the plastic object from Claire’s hands and skipped over to his father. His mood had instantly changed and he was happily distracted from the severity of the moment. They all walked slowly towards the stones, Roger hand in hand with his father. The buzzing swarmed through Claire’s ears and she was standing near the centre cleft now.

“Father, what’s that noise?”

“Stay put Roger.” He tightened his grip on his son’s shoulders, fear laced into his voice.

With one last tearful glance of goodbye, Claire vanished. The group was left stunned, even Mrs. Graham. Hearing certainly was not seeing.

“Mama?” She felt the soft curiosity of a child’s mind amongst all the screams of anguish and hopelessness. “It’s okay. You can go home now.”

She pulled her towards her, guiding her mother gently.

“I love you, mama. Tell da I love him too.”

Was it really the child she had lost, or a delusion her mind had conjured? One thing she was certain of though deep in her bones. She had been a girl. A beautiful soul.

#jamie x claire #outlander fanfiction #adsofraser writing #craigh na dun #fergus fraser #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #canon divergence #frank randall #roger mackenzie #brianna fraser #mrs graham #reverend wakefield #lol i'm really vomiting out these words quickly #outlander fanfic

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mymelodyheart · 3 years

Text

All I Want For Christmas Is You Chapter 9 ~The Christmas Spirits~

Previously in Christmas Eve Rush

Her hand flew to her chest, and her eyes almost popped out at the realisation. "Good Lord. You're in love with her, aren't ye? It's all over your face. Oh my God!"

"Please? We dinnae have a lot of time," he whispered, almost close to tears. "Ye're the only one who can get through to Claire."

A few heartbeats passed as he held his breath.

"Fine! Let's do this!" Suddenly spurred by excitement into action, she quickly grabbed a piece of paper and pen and handed it to him. "Write down your number, and I'll update you after I've called Claire."

"Ye will?"

"Yes, yes ..." she muttered. "Come on, chop-chop!" She clapped her hands at him.

Elated with the turn of event, he didn't waste any more time and rapidly scribbled his number and pushed the piece of paper back to her. "Thank ye. I owe ye big time." When an afterthought came to him, he shoved his hand into his pocket, took out a spare key to his cottage and placed it on the table. It was meant to be for Claire. "Another favour, I have a dog and kitten in the house and ..."

"I got it." She grinned and made a shooing motion. "Now go!"

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

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Claire sat at the airport's cafe, every sound of someone's laughter and the sight of happy couples holding hands, driving a knife into her chest. She still had a few hours to go before its time to go through security. With a heavy heart, she miserably flipped the pages of a glossy magazine, unseeing its pages' articles and pictures. It had taken every iota of her resolve and will power to leave Broch Mordha, and now Annalise had made her book a later flight because her friend was on the way and wanted to talk. Damn her for making this more difficult! In truth, she wanted to know what Jamie had told her friend and wondered what he would have said if she'd confronted him instead of running away. Now that she was finally out of his life was he even thinking about her? Staying in Broch Mordha would have most probably increased the likelihood of her believing his excuses and running back into his arms. She just couldn't handle the emotional fallout.

"I beg your pardon, is this seat taken?" a soft feminine voice asked.

Claire briefly glanced up, offered a weak smile and motioned for the woman to sit. She wasn't in the state nor mood for small talks so she put her head down and pretended to read, hoping the woman would take a hint.

Restless, she glanced again at her phone to check the time. Annalise should be here soon. Is she planning to fly with me? I hope not! She noticed the cafe was beginning to get busy with people waiting for love ones to arrive or the check-in counter to open. Tomorrow at this time, she'd be home. The thought of spending Christmas in London in the cramped apartment made her doubly miserable. She loved the open spaces of the Highlands and quaint villages. Although the weather could be quite grim, the landscape's natural beauty and loads of fresh air more than made up for it. With its tranquil settings, it was an ideal place to start her writing career. She'd put it on hold for far too long, working for a publishing company that gave her very little satisfaction and yesterday she'd even fantasised of moving to Broch Mordha and making it a reality to be closer to Jamie. How could I have been so stupid?

"Highlands in December is romantic, isn't it?" The woman sharing her table smiled pleasantly. "I love this place. There's something magical about it, don't you agree?"

Ah, another English woman to fall for the Highland charm! She was about to give some generic answer about the Highlands' ancient history lending the romance a hint of mysticism when the harsh truth chose that moment to free itself. "Kind of deceiving though, isn't it? I got caught up in that so-called magic, but some wanker decided to exploit it and use my heart to make fertiliser. I've only known him for a couple of days, but I can't stand being in this place anymore without thinking about him and his stupid, stupid handsome face. And the way he looked at me." She blew a breath and blinked back the tears. "I guess I was just plain naive and a bloody dimwit for thinking smooth talkers only existed in big cities like London. I tell you what, they're rife everywhere and you can never be too careful."

If the woman had been surprised by Claire's outburst, it didn't show. "Now, now, I'm quite sure there is a perfect explanation. Lovely and sweet as you look, I see the wisdom that belies your age in your eyes. You don't seem like a person to be taken by someone's smooth line at all."

She let out an almost deranged laugh. "Well, obviously, I am. I took one look at a beautiful face, and all logic went south. So there," Claire huffed.

The other woman looked away and sipped her tea. She was much older than Claire thought - in her forties maybe or could be fifties, but it was hard to tell. She had a dark, sleek modern bob hairstyle that contradicted the mumsy grey slacks, woollen jumper and lack of makeup and accessories. Her face was kind though, and there was a serenity in her demeanour she found comforting and familiar.

Claire regretted her oversharing and decided to shut her mouth and continued reading.

"I met my husband many years ago here. Not far from where we are now. A place called Broch Mordha."

Claire's head shot up. "Oh! Is your husband Scottish?"

"No, he's English. We met one summer while watching a Highland game. He lived in Broch Mordha while doing some research for work, and I was on holiday. We fell in love and eventually married. And every year from thereon we celebrated our anniversary here. It's a very special place for us."

"That's very sweet," Claire remarked, trying not to think of Jamie and what could have been for them if he hadn't been a knobhead.

The woman let out a soft laugh and daintily wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Sweet isn't the description I would have used to describe the circumstance of how we met; nevertheless, it turned out my darling husband is my soul mate and marrying him had been the best decision I've ever made in my life."

"Good for you ..." Claire whispered, subtly glancing once more at the time on her phone. She hoped Annalise would be here soon because the last thing she needed right now was to hear someone else's happily forever after. But in the end, curiosity got the better of her. "So what made you change your mind about him?"

The woman sighed and took out her book. "My husband was an insensitive clod, and when he eventually saw the error of his ways and asked for forgiveness, I gave him a second chance. Forgiving him didn't change the past, and I realised in the end, if I hadn't forgiven him, my actions would have robbed me of the best years of my life. And of course, a beautiful daughter who turned out to be everything I've ever hoped for and much more." She smiled and then turned her attention to reading. Obviously, oversharing was now over.

"I see ..." Claire muttered. Well, what had she expected? A magical solution? She almost laughed out loud. No such thing!

It was too late for her and Jamie anyway. She was on her way to London, and he'd probably moved on now that she was gone. It was definitely better this way. Out of sight, out of mind.

**********

He switched off the ignition of his car and texted Annalise to inform her he'd arrived at his destination. She'd messaged him earlier letting him know Claire would be at D'Lish cafe. Scanning his vicinity, Jamie drew in a lungful of air. He'd only been in Inverness Airport's parking lot a few minutes, and already his nerves were on tenterhooks. From the congested traffic and beeping cars to stressed people madly rushing about, Jamie realised how far from his world he'd strayed, and the distance was only under an hour's drive.

He hadn't even stepped out of his car, and already he was counting the minutes till he was back within the peaceful haven of Broch Mordha. But he'd made up his mind. He wasn't going back without Claire and had taken his passport with him just in case he would have to follow her all the way to London. How he was going to manage that with his unpredictable episodes, he had no idea. He hoped he would be able to keep his panic attacks at bay long enough until he found her and convinced her to come back home.

"I'll walk in with you," Harry said quietly out of the blue as if he'd sense his trepidation. "My flight isn't till later, and my wife is probably enjoying her cuppa tea somewhere."

The tightness in his body relaxed, and Jamie nodded gratefully. Harry seemed to always understand his situation, popping out of the blue at the strangest times. Jamie had never questioned it and put it down to simply Harry being unusually perceptive and a good friend.

They quietly walked side by side towards the airport and when they entered the building, moving bodies and a sea of faces swarmed his vision. The racket and clamour of people going about their business surrounded him, and Christmas crowds trying to make it home before Christmas jostled too close, their cacophony of voices chattering excitedly.

Jamie swallowed the mounting panic and fixed his thoughts on Claire, breathing deeply in through his nose and with a heaving chest, letting it all out with a whoosh. His eyes darted and saw people smiling and nodding animatedly, laughter and children's squeals infiltrating his consciousness, their sound accompanied by an air of anticipation that told him it was a season of joy.

Jamie managed to put a grim smile on his face and concentrated on getting one foot in front of the other, apologising now and again whenever he accidentally bumped into someone, almost stumbling like an intoxicated man. Although aware of Harry's presence, perspiration coated his skin, and he could feel a bead of sweat running down his temple. The usually comfortable soft fabric of his sweatshirt chaffed and squeezed him like a clamp almost suffocating him. The chaotic din typical of an airport during the holiday season came in a huge rush of waves, at first faint, then building to a deafening sound that roared in his ears, shattering his foundation and foothold.

Oh, God, please, not now. Jamie knew it was happening. Attempting not to panic, he began to employ a technique that more often than not worked. He tried listening to his mother's singing in his head, the one that stuck most in his mind and brought him comfort when he'd been amidst a conflict in a war zone, a song that sang him to sleep when he was a wee bairn.

He stopped a few metres away from the cafe where Claire was supposed to be waiting and took a moment to draw in oxygen, clinging to his mother's singing in his head. Goodnight, you moonlight ladies. Rockabye, sweet baby, James. Deep greens and blues are the colours I choose. Won't you let me go down in my dreams? And rockabye, sweet baby, James.

He dimly recognised where he was, busy eateries, cafes and shops lined a wide area, a focal point for those waiting for love ones to arrive or passengers before heading to security that led to the departure area. Someone's child screamed nearby, and the sound of suitcases dragging on its wheels seemed to rumble and reverberate on the ground. Christmas light decorations that normally shimmered unobtrusively and gave a soft glow suddenly seemed to flash all around him, and the Christmas songs playing in the background became disembodied sounds. Jamie froze, gripped in the throes of a colossal panic attack that forced him to sink halfway to his knees.

Everything seemed to fade in and out, but it was Harry's voice he eventually clung to, his mother's singing hushing into the recesses of his head. The Englishman repeated his name and grabbed hold of his elbow, preventing him from collapsing to the floor and leading him firmly away from the moving crowd. Jamie pitched himself against the giant column and fought the crippling dread chipping away at his sanity.

He glanced around frantically, but Harry's hand grabbed his face and forced him to look straight into amber eyes.

"Breathe, Jamie. Everything is going to be alright. Just keep breathing."

"H-Harry ...I n-need to ..."

"It's alright. I know. I'm not going anywhere. Just breath."

Jamie unzipped his jacket and fought for air, sucking in a lungful. And then, again and again, gasping and coughing as he doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees. Harry's strong hand massaged his back in a circular motion, the older man's presence calm and controlled, breathing with him, encouraging to gradually take in more air.

It took a while to normalise his breathing, his heart to calm down and the cold sweat to evaporate. As he regained more control, though wobbly at first, he straightened up. Gathering his bearings, he ignored the odd looks from passersby, by now already used to it.

Harry gave him a reassuring smile. "Feeling much better?"

Jamie managed a nod as the initial feeling of shame and embarrassment took over the panic attack. Why am I even here? Claire deserved so much better than this and all his fucking issues. On top of it all, he'd managed to make her feel cheap when he was nothing but just half a man. There was no way she'd go back to Broch Mordha with him.

"Oh no, you don't. I know that look in your eyes. You've made it this far, old sport," Harry whispered fiercely, straightening his jacket. "Don't you even think of going back home without trying!"

Jamie blinked, confused. What the fuck? What does Harry know? But there was no time to ask questions, as he caught a glimpse of Claire past Harry's shoulder. She was in the cafe in the motion of getting up, her head bowed down while speaking on the phone.

Last night, he'd held Claire in his arms and now, the reality of the moment hit him hard as he saw her hand gripped the suitcase next to her, reminding him she's waiting to board a plane. He could hardly think over the furious pounding in his chest as a combination of relief at seeing her and fear of rejection surged through him. He barely registered himself, moving towards the cafe when Harry put a hand on his arm. He turned to meet his friend's eyes. "You're on your own now. For now. Remember to breathe."

Jamie swallowed hard and nodded.

"Now go and hurry."

**********

Claire panicked, her eyes darting around the cafe. Annalise had just called and confessed Jamie was on his way to talk to her. Her friend had insisted on giving Jamie a chance to explain and that he'd made a mistake.

But Claire couldn't do this. She didn't have this sort of experience nor the emotional strength to handle this kind of situation. All she knew and was aware of was how much Jamie had hurt her with his words.

She quickly stood up, said goodbye to the woman sat on her table, grabbed her bags and made her way out of the cafe. She kept her head down and tried not to look around in case Jamie spotted her. She began to walk faster, weaving through crowds of travellers as she wheeled her suitcase, images of Jamie encroaching her thoughts. A new voice was trying to make itself heard, telling her maybe she ought to listen to what Jamie had to say. But what was there to say? She'd seen what he wrote with her own eyes, and there was no explaining himself out of it.

She was just getting into the queue for the security check when a shout cut through the hubbub surrounding her.

"Sassenach!"

She stiffened, and her hand went slack around the suitcase's handle, sending its bulk toppling to the floor. It took a few heartbeats for her to turn around and face Jamie, afraid her resolve would collapse if she looked at him. When she finally saw him, he stood a few yards away, suspended in a sea of bustling chaos. Perspiration beaded his forehead, his face pale and eyes a little wild as they searched hers, snagging on the way she snatched her suitcase to an upright position and pulled it closer to her side. As always, ever since she first laid eyes on him, his unusual male beauty made her chest ache. A head taller than most, he looked out of place in the busy surroundings, his blue eyes penetrating through everything in their wake to reanimate her heart.

She waited for something to happen, but he just continued to stare at her, his body swaying a little. He looked like he was about to faint. Worry, combined with fear prickled her skin when she recalled his accounts of his PTSD condition. She'd made it this far, and now she was torn between going over to him and making her way to the security.

"What are you doing here?" she said a little harshly.

"Dinnae go in that plane.”

"It's too late for that."

Anguish fogged his handsome features. "I need ye to hear me out, Sassenach. Please."

Claire shook her head. "What is there to say, Jamie? That text you wrote, told me everything already."

"Please let me explain ..."

"I already know what you're going to say, Jamie. You're going to say you didn't mean to write that text. It's classic and cliche at the same time and utter bullshit." Claire's shoulders sagged, and she swallowed hard. "No, I'm sorry, I can't ..."

She started to step into the queue, but stopped, her heart caught in her throat when a passerby in a rush accidentally bumped into him, and he almost vaulted over. She saw how much it took out of him just to remain upright. She made a move to come to his aide, but he stopped her with a motion of his hand, telling her he would say his piece without any help. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took several deep breaths, discomfort, and distress in this busy environment evident on his face.

"You don't look well, Jamie. You should go home," she said, glancing around, aware of people looking at him.

"Damn it, Sassenach," he wheezed. "I'm gonnae make ye listen even if it kills me."

A stabbing pain went through her heart. "I can't do this, Jamie. I'm going."

"No!" He took another unsteady step forward. When Claire stayed put, relief washed over his face. "What I wrote to my sister about you was wrong ..."

Rage replaced the hurt she was feeling. "You made it sound I was just a notch on the bedpost," she snapped, angrily.

Jamie winced as a woman nearby gasped and glared at him, but they both ignored her. "No, Sassenach. You were never that ..."

"Your words winter fling said it all. What else could it mean?"

"Sometimes, what I think and what I feel doesn't translate into words ..."

"Or you don't think at all," she interrupted, tipping her head back to keep the tears from falling.

His head dropped. "No, I didnae think. What I said was inexcusable, and no explanation or apologies would take any of the hurt I caused ye back."

"It was a horrid thing to say about someone!"

His face flickered with regret and self-loathing. "It was, and I'm an arsehole for it."

"They why? Why Jamie? Is that how you talk about your conquests?"

His face paled even more. "No! You're not that at all. What we had was special, and I've never felt like this about someone before."

"You could have fooled me ..."

He took a careful step forward as if afraid she would bolt. "Sassenach, I said what I said not because that was what I thought about you and that's the truth. Partly, I text those words to get my sister off my case. She was badgering me for getting involved with ye because she was worried about me falling for someone from the city due to my condition. Another part of the reason I wrote that had to do with my fear of getting emotionally attached. I thought by labelling what we had as temporary, it would be easier to let ye go when the time comes. It was wrong ...so wrong. I wish I hadnae said it."

Claire could barely see him through the blur of tears. The awful pain she'd had in her heart all morning waned a little. She forced her feet to move, but the emotion in his voice kept her rooted in place.

"Christ, everything happened so fast between us. And I was rushing ahead before I could comprehend what was happening. When ye told me ye live in London, I was convinced that nothing could come out of this ...us ...whatever this is we have ....because I wouldnae ken how to live in yer world and it wouldnae be right to ask ye to give up yers. When I asked ye to extend yer stay, my intention was to make as many memories with ye because I needed to face the truth of my limitations. I was determined not to be that someone who held ye back and made ye regret what ye could've done. I said to mysel' whatever time ye could give me, I'd be grateful. Yet, here I am, begging ye not to get on that plane."

She wanted to go to him, take him in her arms and forget what had happened, but she needed more. She needed to know that this thing between them was more than just a handy itinerary with chemistry tossed into the mix. For her, it had always been more, but he's a man, and maybe it's just all about sex for him.

"Sorry, Jamie." Bracing her shoulders, she pulled her suitcase behind her and joined the line for security check-up.

"Wait!"

She and every person within hearing distance in the queue turned around to look at him.

This time, Jamie didn't flinch and looked at her straight in the eyes with unwavering intensity. "I cannae let ye go without giving it my best shot. I've used my condition as an excuse for far too long, yet not once did ye ever look at me as someone damaged. I dinnae want my condition to stop me anymore from going after what I want. I swear to God, ye havenae seen persistence yet, Sassenach. Ye have nae idea what it looks like until ye've seen it on me. I've fought for my life in a war zone before, and I'm doing it again now. If ye get on that bloody plane, be rest assured I will be on the next flight behind yours. I will show up in every God damned place ye go to until ye give me the time of day. And I willnae stop until I get it through yer pretty head how much ye mean to me. And if ye come back to me, I promise ye, I'm gonnae work my arse off to prove to ye every day how special ye are. Even if it means moving to London to be closer to ye. All I'm asking for is a second chance."

Looking at him, she knew he meant every word, and there was an intensity about him, that told her he would go through with his threat of following her to London. A lump stuck in Claire's throat, so huge she could barely speak. Her face crumpled, and she let the unshed tears she'd held all morning flow. Unable to stand a moment longer without feeling his arms around her, she let go of her grip on her suitcase and began to make a move towards him. Jamie fell back a few steps, both hands flying to rest on top of his head, relief and disbelief visible in every line of his body. She covered the distance separating them in three steps and flung herself into strong arms that circled around her without hesitation. Applause, cheers and whistles from passengers who had witnessed the scene erupted around them, making them both laugh through tears.

"Jesus Christ, Jamie," she stammered with a hiccup. "You really know how to cause a scene and really make it count."

A hand tunnelled through her hair, gripping her neck so he could angle her head and kiss her. "I'm so sorry, Sassenach. Oh, God, I'm so sorry," he muttered against her lips. "I was an idiot. I thought I wasnae gonnae make it."

A shudder passed through her. "I almost got on a plane and spent Christmas on my own."

Jamie fell back into the nearest seat, taking Claire with him. Obviously spent from all the emotions. "Dinnae remind me ...ever again, please. But just so ye know, I have my passport with me. I was ready to come after ye. Today."

Claire clung to him tighter. "It's Christmas, and we're together. Let's just focus on that."

"Christ, I thought I knew fear." His breath shook and fanned her skin. "That was the scariest situation I've been in."

She let out a sigh, inhaling his scent from the crook of his neck. How had she thought for one second that running away would have been a better option? She thought of the woman she spoke to earlier in the cafe and smiled.

Jamie shook her a little. "Ye're going to think this is mad, but I dinnae want to take another second for granted, so I'm just going to say it, so ye ken once and for all."

"Say what?" she whispered. Jamie tilted her face up for a slow, deep kiss, then stood, lifting her in his arms.

"I'm in love with ye, Sassenach. I ken it's too soon, but I want it out there just in case something happens and I dinnae get another chance to say it, or I do something stupid like making ye cry. Life's too short for over-analysing things and keeping something like that to myself."

She smiled through fresh tears. "I'm in love with you too, Jamie. And next time you say something stupid, I'm just going to get into a fight with you about it, instead of running away."

Jamie's laughter rumbled in his chest before his face turned serious. "Merry Christmas, Sassenach. May it be our first of many more to come."

Claire reached out and clasped his face with her hands and laid a soft kiss on his lips. Her heart broke open, and for the first time, all the pieces clicked together in a perfect puzzle, and everything made perfect sense. Because she'd learned early on you needed to take the bad with the good and embrace it all. Despite Jamie's condition and fear of uncertainty, she'd taken a gamble and trusted her guts, and by giving him a second chance, they'd ended up with the best thing of all.

Love at Christmas.

She knew it wasn't going to be smooth sailing forever. There were going to be long talks of how they ought to proceed with their relationship, compromises to be made, and probably many teething problems during their phase of getting to know each other. But as long they both keep their hearts open, they should have a fighting chance.

"Merry Christmas to you too," she whispered, her voice raspy with emotion.

"Shall we go home?" he murmured, smiling.

"Yes, let's go home."

Hand in hand they left the airport and headed back to Broch Mordha to celebrate Christmas.

Dear Readers,

Firstly, thank you for your best wishes and feedback from the previous chapter. This latest update was supposed to be published on Christmas day. Unfortunately, because I was so overly ambitious about the storyline, I was unable to deliver. I didn't want to rush it after having gone through the story in my head many times. Rushing it probably would have made me miss many of the elements I wanted to put in this story.

Anyway, I had a lovely quiet Christmas. With everything that's happening globally, it was more of a time for reflection for us instead of celebration. I am just grateful that my love ones are safe and healthy and hope you're own dearests are as well. As for this story's direction, I don't know how many chapters there are to go, but I can safely say there is another one after this. I will try to publish before New Year, and if I am unable to do so, I wish you all a New Year full of exciting possibilities, good health and lots of love. Keep the good vibes rolling and take care. X

#melodyheart #all I want for christmas is you #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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thetranquilteal · 3 years

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The Vintage Calendar [AO3] by @thetranquilteal

With the ending of her contract with the UK Armed Forces, all Claire Beauchamp wants for Christmas is to enjoy a quiet holiday in Scotland with her long-term boyfriend Frank Randall. While visiting with close friends, however, Claire is gifted with a vintage advent calendar that sets her life on a path she never expected... one that leads to Northern Badgers star, James Fraser.

Modern Day AU loosely based on the Netflix Christmas movie ‘The Holiday Calendar’. New chapter posted every day!

A/N: Welcome to The Vintage Calendar! This story is prewritten and scheduled to update with a new chapter each and every day from now until December 24 (along with intermittent updates to my other Christmas stories Wonderful and The Gift). I hope you enjoy this Hallmark-esque tale and I wish you all a happy holiday. A x

Prologue

“Now then, dear, tell me. What are your plans for Christmas?”

“Just a quiet day together, I think,” Claire sipped at her tea as she thought on her answer. It hadn’t been a long drive from their B&B in Inverness to the Reverend’s Manse but in truth she was still exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sit down and enjoy a hot cuppa, Christmas being the last thing on her mind. “I’m not sure if Frank mentioned, but I’ve not celebrated for some years now.”

“Oh?” Mrs Graham sipped at her own cup casually and Claire appreciated the lack of judgement in her voice.

“I always loved the holiday as a small child - the lights, the festivities, the magic of it all - but with no family to celebrate with and seeing the things that I have over the years... I suppose I’ve turned into quite the Scrooge,” Claire chuckled. “That being said, even if we did decide to do something for Christmas I would still request a quiet day in. No work. No responsibilities,” she sighed happily at the thought. “That’s all I could ever want.”

“Frank mentioned you were stationed overseas, a time or two?”

“That’s correct,” Claire nodded. “My primary role as an Army Nurse was with overseas Medical Regiments. And I enjoyed it, I truly did - it was a very rewarding career and incredibly satisfying - but most recently I was assigned to one of the local Defence Medical Group Hospitals and after a couple of months… well, I realised how tired I was. It was like I had lost that spark that kept me going for so long. By the time renewal for my contract came around I knew I had done all that I needed to do. That it was time for a change.”

“Starting with a holiday in Inverness.”

“Yes,” Claire smiled happily. “It was a hard decision to leave the Armed Forces after so many years but there are so many more options to explore as a civilian and it means spending more time with Frank.” She turned to look at her boyfriend sitting over at the table with Reverend Wakefield, a multitude of papers and books open in front of them. The look on his face as they studied was one that she had most certainly missed.

“Long distance relationships can be difficult,” Mrs Graham acknowledged and Claire turned back to her.

“It feels as though we hardly know each other these days,” Claire admitted quietly. “I’m really looking forward to spending an entire month together with nothing to distract us. I think that’s what we need at this point.”

“Well, if you decide you would like some company come Christmas you are always welcome here at the Manse. Reginald would certainly love to have you both here, as would I,” without waiting for an answer, Mrs Graham continued. “Now, drink up your cup and let’s see what we’ve got there.”

Claire wasn’t at all surprised by the request. Upon their arrival in Inverness, Frank had forewarned her of Mrs Graham’s ‘eccentricities’. Reading tea leaves, she understood, was but one of the older lady’s many hobbies. She tipped up her cup and swallowed the last of her tea before handing it over.

“Well?” Claire joked as she watched Mrs Graham tip her cup this way and that. “Am I going to meet a tall, dark stranger and take a trip across the sea?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Mrs Graham smiled briefly before becoming more serious, her brow creased in contemplation. “There’s an angel which means good news, especially good fortune in love,” she tilted her head, “a clover which means happiness and prosperity that, being near the top of the cup, will likely come quickly. And would you look at that… you might well be right about going on a journey, though not across the sea: the swallow indicates a journey with a pleasant ending. Show me your hand, dear.”

Claire did as requested and waited patiently as she studied the lines on her hand. To her surprise Mrs. Graham simply let go and pushed her chair back.

“Wait here, dear. I’ll be back in a wee moment.”

Claire leaned back and considered everything the older woman had mentioned. Growing up and travelling the world with her Uncle Lambert, she had heard and witnessed many things that were different, unusual - and oftentimes seemingly unexplainable - but she never could say she believed in the spiritual. Faith, even, was something she had come to question during her time in the Force but she couldn’t deny she liked the tale Mrs Graham had told. Good fortune, happiness and prosperity were all things she wished for - as did most other people, admittedly. She stood when Mrs Graham returned with a large wooden item in her arms, something house shaped with little numbered doors all over.

“An advent calendar?” Claire asked.

“Aye, t’was my grandmother’s once upon a time. And her grandmother’s before that.” Mrs Graham placed the calendar down on the table gently. “And now I want you to have it, Claire.”

“Me?”

“Why, yes.”

“Oh, Mrs. Graham. I couldn’t possibly. Surely your children should be the ones to receive a family heirloom? Didn’t you say your son and daughter-in-law were planning to start a family of their own? I’m sure they would appreciate such a beautiful item.”

And beautiful it was. While it was evident it had been crafted a long time ago, the paint remained unblemished and the detailing in perfect condition. Its colours, soft and neutral l rather than bold and tacky like so many contemporary decorations, appealed to her in particular.

“This calendar has been passed down through many a generation,’ Mrs. Graham nodded in agreement, ‘but... no’ necessarily in the family - though it does seem to keep coming back every now and again. I believe this calendar goes to those who need it rather than those who happen upon it."

“Your gift is so incredibly kind, I’m touched.” Claire meant every word but she couldn’t help but ask, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to give something so special to someone else? Someone who loves celebrating Christmas, perhaps?”

“No, dear, I’m certain. I already knew your opinion on Christmas before giving it to you,” she reminded her. “Besides, you dinnae ken, this old thing might just change your mind.”

Claire looked down at the vintage advent calendar, the intrinsic details even more breathtaking at close range. While she could concede that it was an incredible piece and would look rather wonderful placed on the dresser in the living space at Mrs Baird’s B&B...

A vintage advent calendar changing her view on Christmas? Unlikely.

A/N: Fun Fact: Mrs Graham’s tea leaf interpretations are real interpretations from ‘Tea-cup Reading and Fortune-Telling by Tea Leaves’ by A Highland Seer (2006). // Are you as sceptical of the vintage calendar as Claire? Let me know what you think!

#the vintage calendar #outlander #fan fiction #christmas #modern day au #prologue #jamie x claire #rated: hallmark

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bantarleton · 4 years

Text

The Battle of Glen Shiel

Yesterday I visited a battlefield famous for three things. Firstly, unlike most Scottish battles, it really was fought along the sides of a soaring highland glen. Secondly, it was the first recorded use of mortars during a pitched battle by the British Army, and thirdly, it’s the only known case of a Spanish soldier dying of heatstroke in a Scottish glen.

In 1718 Britain went to war with Spain in a conflict known as the War of the Quadruple Alliance. In 1719 the Spanish decided to try to invade Britain. In order to draw attention away from the south coast, they intended to instigate an uprising in the Jacobite clans in the highlands of Scotland. An expeditionary force consisting of 300 Spanish soldiers set out from Corunna carrying arms and money to equip those highland clans that still remained loyal to the exiled House of Stuart.

The last Jacobite rising had been in 1715, just four years earlier. It had been defeated by the British Army at the battle of Sheriffmuir. Despite this, loyalty to the Catholic Stuarts was still relatively strong in the highlands. The Spanish had high hopes of success.

That success was initially dashed when the main invasion force of over 5000 men, bound for England, was wrecked in a storm not long after leaving Cadiz. Having suffered the classical fate of Spanish forces invading Britain, the remainder limped home. The smaller 300-strong force bound for Scotland, however, didn’t know of the larger expedition’s fate. They arrived off the west coast in April 1719 and established a base at Eilean Dona castle, where they stored much of their money, arms and ammunition.

Below you can see Eilean Dona, the most photographed castle in Scotland.

The British government reacted swiftly to the threat. One Royal Navy ship-of-the-line and two frigates, the fifty-gun HMS Worcester, the forty-four-gun HMS Enterprise and twenty-gun HMS Flamborough, successfully traversed the sea loch and began to bombard the castle. Its small garrison surrendered to a Royal Navy landing party - most of the Jacobites were elsewhere, at nearby Glen Shiel, blocking the path of a British force lead by Colonel Wightman that had marched to meet them from Inverness.

Wightman himself was a veteran of Sheriffmuir, and his army was well-equipped and generally experience. It included dragoons, Loyalist highlanders from the clans Mackay and Monro, regular line infantry, a regiment of allied Dutch troops and four companies of Swiss who had been serving alongside the British in Holland, as well as a number of Coehorn mortars. These weapons, capable of lobbing shells at a high trajectory, had never before been used outside of siege operations.

The Jacobites chose to fortify the northern and southern slopes of the glen and barricade the military road running through it. This proved to be a mistake, for while the slopes were fearsome, adopting the defensive on them meant the clansmen couldn’t deliver their famed highland charge.

The view below is more or less the one Wightman would have experienced when his army arrived on June 10 1719. Though the road is modern, it follows the route of the old one through the glen. When the cars are parked is where Wightman drew up his regiments, stretching across the roadway. From right to left, they consisted of; Mackay’s highlanders, a composite regiment of British grenadiers, Montagu’s regiment, Harrison’s detached battalion, Huffel’s Dutch regiment (with the Swiss) and four companies of dismounted dragoons. On the left, past the small river that runs alongside the road, were Clayton’s regiment, with the Munro highlanders on the far left flank.

The Jacobites opposing the British forces were divided between the southern and norther slopes of the glen. On the south (left of the above picture) were the Murrays, MacDougall of Lorn, Mckenzie of Avoch, 100 of Seaforth’s men and 50 others. Opposite them to the north (the right of the picture) were highlanders under Lochiel, Lindcoat, the famous Rob Roy, Mackinnon and more Seaforths. Holding a small knoll on the right was the Spanish regiment, dug in.

Government forces began to bombard the southern slopes with their mortars, precipitating an attack led by dismounted dragoons. Four platoons of Clayton’s and Munro’s regiments then mounted several assaults up the extremely steep slopes, eventually forcing the Jacobites into a withdrawal that became a route along the southern slops of the glen. The image below shows where this fighting took place, with British forces sweeping along from the left to the right along an area that is now planted with trees (at the time it was bare).

Meanwhile, the coehorns were turned against the Spanish positions on the fortified promontory on the northern slopes of the glen and also the Jacobite barricade which blocked the road below the Spanish citadel. The barrage failed to dislodge the enemy and so thirty-five dismounted dragoons advanced to the attack. This assault, which appears to have met stiff resistance, was supported at the foot of the hill by Clayton’s and Munro’s regiments, which crossed the river and successfully assaulted the barricade. The image below shows the east side of the knoll held by the Spanish, as it would have appeared to the British assaulting up it.

The next image below shows the rear of that same Spanish position on the left, looking from the center of the glen. British forces eventually stormed up and over this.

The main body of the British Government army, comprising Harrison’s and Huffel’s regiments along with the grenadiers, moved across the northern slopes of the glen to engage with the Jacobite left, which was strung out across the northern slopes higher up and to the front (east) of the Spanish position. The Government troops, who had quite a steep climb to negotiate, first encountered Seaforth’s party on the far left, where they may have been concealed by rocks. Seaforth was wounded in the arm during the fire fight, and the left began to retire, despite the efforts of Rob Roy and the MacKinnons, who moved up to assist. Rob Roy’s men, seeing Seaforth’s contingent in retreat, followed suit, along with the Camerons who were sent up the hill from the centre. A general rout of the Jacobite line quickly ensued.

At around 8 pm, if not before, by which time most of the Highland units had departed, the Jacobite commander organised an orderly fighting retreat of the Spanish troops, who later surrendered. Despite the strength of the Jacobite position, the tenacity of the Government assault, along with the inexperience of the bulk of the Jacobite force in maintaining a fire fight and standing as a unit when others were seen to be leaving the field, ensured a Government victory. Wightman’s methodical tactics, defeating the Jacobite positions in detail, would be put to good use later in North America.

The painting below is the near-contemporary The Battle of Glenshiel 1719, Peter Tillemans. It is the most famous depiction of the battle, and a faithful one. We see Wightman in the centre organising the assault up the slops on both flanks. The white-coated troops on the right are the Dutch supporting the grenadiers and regular infantry’s assault.

Below is a map of the engagement with the troop movements laid out.

Below is also a picture of the plaque now at the base of the knoll held by the Spanish, one of whom supposedly perished from heatstroke (Scottish glens can get very hot in the summer). The battle has had a lasting impact on the landscape, the summit of the north hill of the glen is known as the ‘Sgurr nan Spainteach’ or the Hill of the Spaniards, with Coirein nan Spainteach ‘Little Corrie of the Spaniards’ to its east and Bealach nan Spainteach ‘the Pass of the Spaniards’, to the southwest.

The Jacobite campaign collapsed after Glen Shiel. The Stuart clans would rise one last time in 1745, to meet their bloody final defeat at the battle of Culloden just outside Inverness.

#glen shiel #glenshiel #battle of glen shiel #battle of glenshiel #1719 #jacobite #jacobites #jacobite rising #british army #redcoat #redcoats #18th century #history #military history #scotland #scottish #scottish history #scots

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