#not me dropping this when my outlander au is right there

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Some more AUs I've been loving. I'm trying to alternate between AU and canon verse rec lists so bear with me. Remember that if you like a fic you should definitely let the author know as such.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

theogony by @clare-with-no-i

The trip that Lily Evans expects to go on is the annual pre-dissertation jaunt to Athens with the rest of her Classical Civilizations PhD program. The trip she does not expect to go on is to 479 BCE, right on the cusp of one of the most important battles in the Greco-Persian war. Now, she has to navigate antiquity as she tries to find her way back to the 21st Century, God—or gods—help her.

James wants to win this war. No, James needs to win this war. He is a man of honor and duty, and even if it means dying a gruesome, bloody death, he will go down in history as one of Athens's great warriors. He will suffer no distractions; not even beautiful ones who speak strangely and refuse to listen to his orders.

 -- OR: The Outlander-Meets-Ancient-Greece Jily AU that no one asked for Maya dreams of.

I can't believe it took me this long to read this fic but OH MY GOD!! Clare's writing is phenomenal, I've known this for a while now, but THE DEDICATION TO HISTORICAL ACCURACY, I'm so impressed. If only I could put even half that amount of effort into my major essays for school. EVERYONE GO READ THIS NOW

Sweathearts' Special by @tinyluminaryzombie

What happens when your coffee shop nemesis, asks you to pretend to be a couple?

Or "I’ve been staring at the stupid cupcakes for the past hour, and they look way too good. Anyways, would you be willing to join forces and pretend to be together for the free cupcake and coffee?”

Welcome to Pettyville by @women-inthe-sequel

When Lily Evans accidentally sends a text to the wrong number, she isn’t expecting to find the right person behind it. She can’t stop talking to Prongs. The only thing is, Prongs can’t stop talking about the girl in his class. What could go wrong, other than the number?

A love square but it's just the same two idiots

Tall Dark and Glasses by @jamesunderwater

Tall Dark and Glasses (or TDG as he is more affectionately known) is the mysterious, painfully good-looking stranger who has been frequenting Lily's favourite coffee shop for months now. But despite having an embarrassing acronym for him, Lily, a burned-out STEM major, is too comfortable being a wallflower to go up to him herself. Thank god for playing cards, I guess.

coffee shops and copious amounts of sugar by @mystinkysocks

James decides to finally start revising, the coffee shop he attends introduces him to someone new!

As someone who spends an ungodly amount of time studying in public (at cafés and libraries), all I dream of is to one day live out my very own coffee shop AU

Unlicenced by @ohmygodshesinsane

Lily Evans begrudgingly agrees to get in the car with classmate and sometime-foe James Potter and his not-quite-earned P-plates after a particularly rubbish day.

Drop-Off also by @/ ohmygodshesinsane

James Potter takes Lily Evans home, and wants to make something clear.

Disclaimer that they’re Australian in this AU. You guys don't understand how much Lily Evans means to me. I want to give her a hug.

pretty, pretty boy by rosiemary0 (on ao3)

Pretty face, with golden brown eyes and strong cheekbones (one of which is adorned with a smudge of charcoal). Pretty hands—very, very pretty hands, Lily’s thoughts interject—which hold a jar each, one with water and the other paintbrushes.

Or the one where James is an artist and Lily hates socialising.

I'll Manage by @kaymardsa

James and Lily fall in love during the war.

In which Lily runs a refugee camp and James is an ex-sniper

I can't remember if I've recommended this fic already but again I recently re-read it and wanted to share

'Tis the Fucking Season by @thequibblah

Six-year absences. Yearly photograph burnings (figuratively). Low-cut tops. Two nosebleeds. Little red notebooks. The Past, with a capital P. The desire to pour your heart out to strangers (maybe pathologically). The desire to do unspeakably bad things to one James Potter. These are the ingredients that make up Lily Evans's holiday season.

Shelby the cabbie is in for a fucking ride.

I have been searching for this fic for two months and nearly gave up. An absolute classic that everyone should read!!

Two's a Crowd also by @/ thequibblah

Regency AU in which "the only thing Lily Evans can share with the Earl of Devon is a healthy dose of mutual dislike."

In Search of Something More by @kay-elle-cee

In the sunlit garden of her sister’s home, Lord Potter had promised Lily a life of her own design, with minimal expectations—her presence at community events, companionship, and an heir. As the two stumble into the routine of marriage and work to make a life together at Stinchcombe Hall, unsolicited feelings provoke each to start wondering if this is merely a marriage…or if it could be something more.

No, I will not shut up about this fic. Anything that Kelsey writes is bound to be amazing but this one holds a special place in my heart. Note that this is an ongoing fic though. I tend to recommend completed works but this one is too good not to include.

Pinkest Bluestocking of the Ton by @wearingaberetinparis 

Dearest Reader, the ton are abuzz with the latest gossip, and so it is my honour to impart to you the news that the Duke of Peverell has returned to London at last! A year after setting off on his tour of Europe, Lady Peverell's son has returned and rumour has it that his mother is preparing for the most joyous of occasions: a late summer wedding that sees her son wed the next Duchess of Peverell. It is my sincere hope that you have stored a bottle of wine for this most delightful of upcoming events for if ever there were a more determined mama, this writer is Icarus and this society paper has been scorched for flying too close to the sun.

A Jily Regency Romance inspired by Shondaland's "Bridgerton".

Again this is an ongoing fic, but it's too good not to include in this rec list! I haven’t caught up with all the chapters yet but I love the story so far!

A Heart of Coal also by @/ wearingaberetinparis

They say fortune favours the bold, yet Lily Evans was given her death sentence at seventeen. As soon as midnight strikes on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, her heart will turn to coal. Gryffindor knight James Potter, however, is the last to accept such a fate. For while Lily Evans’ curse foretells her death, his foreshadows a life without his unrequited true love at his side.

Fairytale AU in which the love is requited they're just idiots

Three Lemons and a Dragon by @thelighthousestale

Once upon a time, there lived a Prince named James who had to save his father's Kingdom by getting married. One day an older woman gifts him three lemons that will lead him to his true love.

Dillweed in a Fancy Metal Can by @eastwindmlk

When Lily gets dragged to a Renaissance Faire, she reluctantly agreed to go to the jousting event where she is pulled into the show against her will, or is it?

Lily represents me

Queen Foxtail also by @/ eastwindmlk

Once Upon A Time...

There was an arrogant prince who turned down every suitable match and drove his parents to do something drastic. Marry him off to the next merchant that steps through their gates.

across the universe by rcdwings (on ao3)

“So, you’re saying that in these other worlds, James Potter and Lily Evans exist, too?”

She hadn’t expected to hear that, hadn’t even thought about it that way. She was too busy thinking about if in those other worlds, she and her friends could be seventeen and free instead of the war torn teenagers they were. Now that he’d put it that way, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander.

“I would assume so,” she swallowed. “Not sure what we would be like, though.”

A beat, then a soft hum. “Anything,” he smiled at her, “There are countless worlds, right? We could be anything.”

only love can hurt like this by @fireblts 

Lily doesn’t quite know everything, but it feels pretty close.

The main thing she still doesn’t get is soulmates. Love doesn’t seem like something that should be painful. Or rather, love seems like it’s painful enough on its own without any help.

Soulmate AU - whenever your soulmate is hurt or in pain, you can feel it too.

Soulmate AUs are my comfort genre of fics. I haven't been feeling to well lately and rediscovering this fic was a delight

The Librarian of Hogsmeade Village by @ohmygodshesinsane

Lily's work as a librarian in the small village of Hogsmeade has kept her occupied for the past six years, forever keeping the wheels of the town on the track. As the holidays approach, she prepares to settle in with a nice mug of tea and a well-thumbed old book. When a new resident and his son arrive at her weekly story-reading, with cheeky smiles and big hearts, those plans are tossed out the window in favour of chasing love, for once - not escaping it.

Lily living the cozy life of my dreams. I think it's well known by now that I love reading about single parents and well James with his baby boy always puts a smile on my face.

Spitting Image by @charmsandtealeaves

James Potter always knew he wanted to build a family, he just hadn’t found the right person to build it with - yet. Freezing his sperm at Gringotts Sperm Bank was a no-brainer really. He’d have children when he found the right person, and now he had an insurance policy. Then Lily Evans walked into his place of work with her son - the spitting image of him.

linking this art that the talented @constancezin drew inspired by this fic

Every time I see that Ray has updated, reading the new chapter becomes the highlight of my day

The Stag Prince Across The Sea also by @/ charmsandtealeaves

The realm of Hogwarts had lived for decades in a carefully negotiated harmony between the leaders of the four clans. However, when the time came for son to marry daughter, the Slytherin King refused to offer his daughter's hand to any of the other grand houses’ suitors. As the Slytherin King departed the shore, bound for the ship that would allow him to escape across the Green Sea, he cast a curse on the great families.

“Let ye be marked. Marred by tooth, hoof, and claw. May your sons never be fit for any bride!”

Slytherin invoked an ancient magic, which transformed each family's eldest son into creatures under the light of the full moon. The Kings searched far and wide for a cure to no avail while trying to keep secret the wrong that had been done to them. Years passed and with them grew a sense of unrest, a kingdom on the precipice of collapse...

what love is, I think by @potterandevans-blog-blog

It's James Potter's birthday, his nineteenth to be exact. Some people, if they're lucky, find a tattoo on their back on their nineteenth birthday, a tattoo that can help them discover their soulmate. And if the antlers on his back are anything to go by, James might just have a soulmate of his own out there, somewhere.

oil be there for you by @abby10fanfic

Texting/Social Media AU: Lily and James haven't spoken for 2 years. But that's all about to change thanks to Peter and his involvement in an essential oil pyramid scheme. Featuring boss babes, toxin-free lifestyles, binding contracts, and a very oily journey.

[raina-at]

Weather

As those of you who follow my May ficlets surely know by now, I’ve set myself an unofficial goal to hit all of my AUs. So today I’m picking my quasi Narina AU called Lost Souls that, like, five people have read. This fic is what happens when I read Outlander, see Narnia, and read teenlock. (Tl,DR context for this ficlet: Sherlock and John are stuck in another dimension, that’s pretty much all you need to know. Also, they’re both about 18-20 in this ficlet, John is a medic, and Sherlock is working for local law enforcement)

--------

Weather, John thinks as he shakes out his umbrella, will never be a selling point of the British Isles, no matter in which dimension, no matter what they’re called. Sherlock gave him a long speech once about climate and sea levels and geology all being pretty much identical here, compared to the England they grew up in, so it stands to reason that the weather is equally rotten.

Well, since John has spent his entire life in England and then on the equivalent on Dera, he’s bloody well used to it.

Doesn’t mean he has to like it, though. 

He can handle rain and fog and everything in between. What he doesn’t like is when a day starts out beautiful and sunny and ends up in a deluge of truly epic proportions. He’s not that wet, because he was smart enough to stay at the clinic until the worst was over, but his coat will take ages to dry, and he dislikes the smell of drying wool. 

He’s just getting warm again, sitting on the sofa by the fire and enjoying a nice cuppa and the first chapter of a new novel Molly lent him when the door to their flat bangs open.

John turns around and starts laughing uncontrollably.

The thing about Sherlock is, he’s always gorgeous. But right now, soaked to the skin in his dark wool coat, hair wet and plastered to his head, dripping on the floor and wearing a pissy expression, he looks like nothing so much as a drowned cat. Specifically Toby, Molly’s black tomcat.

Sherlock glares at John, which makes the resemblance to a pissed off cat even greater. 

“I fail to see what’s so funny,” Sherlock grumps as he stalks into the sitting room, shedding his coat as he goes, letting it drop to the floor with a heavy splat.

“You look like Toby, that one time he fell into the suds bucket at the morgue,” John says between giggles. 

“I do not!” Sherlock all but hisses, which sets off John even more.

“Oh my god, now you sound like him too!”

Sherlock glares at him, then something in his eyes changes. He stalks over to John, who’s still on the sofa, and sits down straight in his lap.

“Oh my god, you’re cold!” John yelps, as the water dripping from Sherlock’s clothes start soaking through his trousers and shirt immediately.

“Warm me up, then,” Sherlock says, shaking his head so water droplets land all over John.

John laughs. “Great, now I’m getting wet because you don’t have the sense God gave small children to stay inside when it’s pouring outside.”

“Staying in just because it’s raining is boring, John,” Sherlock says, reeling John in and pressing his entire wet torso against John’s.  “You don’t want me catching cold, do you, Doctor?” Sherlock murmurs into John’s ear. Sherlock’s closeness, the whisper of breath against John’s ear, and Sherlock using his still very new title all together make John reconcile with the situation very quickly. The fact that he, the sofa, and the floor are getting soaked are of very minor importance compared to a wet, gorgeous and mischievous Sherlock Holmes in his lap.

He threads his fingers into Sherlock’s wet hair and pulls him in for a kiss. Sherlock tastes of rain and fresh air and pastries. “Mrs Hudson is baking?” John asks, pulling back a little.

“Very good,” Sherlock says, grinning at John, an obvious challenge sparking in his eyes and in the corner of his smile. “What else?”

John grins. Two can play this game, my friend, he thinks. He noses along Sherlock’s throat, smelling rain and traces of their soap and the faint trace of canal. He licks a few raindrops from Sherlock’s neck, and Sherlock gasps. “You went to see Billy.”

“Conjecture,” Sherlock murmurs, dipping his head back to give John better access to his neck.

“Fact,” John answers, sinking his teeth playfully into the taut muscle of Sherlock’s enticing throat. “You smell like the river,” he whispers, as he dips his tongue into Sherlock’s ear.

Sherlock moans, and John grins into Sherlock’s skin. It took them a good while to find their stride, physically speaking, given that neither of them had an inkling of an idea what they were doing. But by now John knows Sherlock’s body so well, he knows exactly which strings to pluck.

“What else?” Sherlock asks, his voice no longer quite steady.

John draws back, surveying Sherlock like he’s a crime scene, knowing that this sort of scrutiny will turn Sherlock on even more. He kisses Sherlock again, licking deep into his mouth, chasing taste and sensation. He licks the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, and Sherlock moans around John’s tongue, drawing him closer to deepen the kiss, but John moves back, putting a finger over Sherlock’s mouth. “Moff’s bakery. Powdered birch sugar, you were at the doughnuts again.”

Sherlock nods, pulling at John for more kisses. John happily obliges.

“One more,” Sherlock whispers against John’s lips.

John grins and draws back a little. He runs his hands under Sherlock’s sopping wet suit jacket, pushing it off Sherlock’s shoulders as he fleeces the pockets. Nothing of interest. Then he unbuttons Sherlock’s waistcoat, one button at the time. Sherlock’s shirt is sticking to his skin, almost translucent, and John can’t resist mouthing at the taut nipple outlined under the fabric, even as he deftly checks the pockets of Sherlock’s waistcoat for clues. The rain-soaked shirt and Sherlock’s warm skin beneath, Sherlock’s hands carding through his hair, holding his head to Sherlock’s chest, and the encouraging noises Sherlock is making are almost enough to drive the game from John’s mind.

But only almost. Because Sherlock’s shirt smells of beeswax and dusty shelves. “Library,” he murmurs around Sherlock’s nipple, grazing the delectable nub with his teeth.

Sherlock gasps and pulls John up for a searing kiss. John grins against Sherlock’s lips.

Game over, then, he thinks. I won. “Are you getting warmer, love?”

“Shut up,” Sherlock says, dipping them back to the sofa, trapping John under himself, pressing his entire wet, warm, enticing body against John’s.

John grins. “Make me.”

Sherlock’s eyes darken. “Not a problem.”

As Sherlock moves in to kiss the very thoughts out of John’s head, John thinks, Oh, I definitely won, before he surrenders entirely to the force of nature that is Sherlock unleashed. Thank god for rain. 

------

Tags under the cut as usual, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty @salmonsown

[sophiebaek]

Lady Sophia Maria Gunningworth

Coming Soon:

They had loved her since the morning she was born at Penwood Park. The Earl and Countess had the bells rung from sunrise to set to announce the birth of their beloved daughter. Lady Sophia Maria Gunningworth.

or

Legitimate Sophie

[versadies]

ophichius/body switch soulmate au +xiao or childe pretty please? for xiao it can be like, when the body switch happens the reader feels the burden of the karmic debt so xiao starts taking care of himself/leaving instructions on what to do just so his soulmate doesn't have to suffer as much. reader is the traveler, in inazuma and xiao just quietly appreciated being free from karmic debt even for a day, and appreciating inazuma's beautiful sights whilst reader is just. in wangshuu inn. suffering

delicate (hc scenario)

penpal: bless you for such an incredible idea ! hope you like this along with your other request on childe <<3

prompt: ophiuchus the snake, body-switch soulmate au

pairing/s: xiao x gn!traveler!reader

sypnosis: hc on how you and xiao went through the whole day in each other's body.

includes: reader is not aether/lumine and is a random traveler (sorry to anon if you meant by reader being aether/lumine), reader suffering cuz of karmic debt, mentions of physical pain, mentions of violence, pure fluff

the moment xiao opens his eyes from his quick nap, the first thing he sees is the view of narukami island.

the yaksha was alerted at first, wondering how he came from hunting around dihua marsh for demons to sitting down beneath a tree with a new environment he hasn’t been in before.

it wasn’t until he realized he’s in a different outfit and different body that he found out that today’s the special day.

he hopes you aren’t in too much pain.

he observes his surroundings for a moment, then his eyes moved down to his appearance, only to see an outfit that is deemed fit for a traveler. his soulmate is a traveler in inazuma?

now that the yaksha thinks about it, he has heard the unfortunate fate the people of inazuma has to go through with the new rules that the current archon has set up, with her soldiers taking away people's visions, discrimination against outlanders, and the borders being closed around the nation.

xiao immediately checks around his– or rather his soulmate's– body to see if they have a vision, feeling relieved when he felt the familiar form of a vision hidden underneath his clothing.

all he needs to do is hide the vision and not go to the city, where he's sure a lot of vision hunters will be found.

this shouldn't be too hard, right?

meanwhile, you're currently writhing in pain in your soulmate's body, confused with what's happening to you– or rather, your soulmate's body.

you honestly had never such intense pain until now, how the hell does your soulmate deal with this? did he get a rare illness?

you couldn't think straight, your mind throbbing in pain as your body continued to ache and ache with voices running in your he–

"xiao? are you okay?" you shakily look up at the woman, who was staring at you with a concerned look on her face.

before you could try to let out a word, you immediately dropped on the floor, gasping out from the continuous pain. when does it ever stop? you rather go back to inazuma and suffer their new regulations instead of going through this pain–

"you're not xiao, are you?" she asks, causing you to nod profusely in response as you clench your fists together, closing your eyes shut whilst ignoring the woman, who was busy looking for something in her clothing.

"here." you open your eyes to see her handing you what looked like a pill. as if the woman read your mind, she quickly clarified what the pill is. "it's a painkiller. your uh, soulmate gave it to me and told me to give it to you in case you two swit–"

without letting the woman continue, you immediately snatched the pill from her and swallow it whole.

it took what felt like more than 20 minutes for the pain to finally subside, causing you to finally sigh in relief. although the pain was still there, it surely wasn't as painful and unbearable as before.

by the time you calmed yourself down, you slowly stood up from the cold floor and look at the woman gratefully. "you have my thanks, miss...?"

"verr goldet," she responds with a gentle smile. "i'm the owner of this inn. if there's anyone you should thank for, it's definitely your soulmate. you would've suffered the whole period of your body swap if it weren't for his thoughtfulness."

you nodded in understanding. "i see.. but i still am grateful for you stepping in."

"it's no problem, though i'm sure you're starving right now, would you like to eat?"

"yes please."

unlike what you recently went through in xiao's body, xiao was having perhaps one of the most peaceful time he has ever experienced. after all, when will he find an opportunity to not suffer from his karmic debt in this lifetime?

although killing the opponents who came in his way was a hassle, he still found his time enjoyable– with the exception of his mind thinking a lot about your wellbeing in his body. surely verr goldet must've given you the painmeds, right?

besides that, you must've seen the instructions he left for you– but what if you didn't see it and had to go through so much pain later on?

"please be okay." he mumbled under his breath, letting out a worried sigh and continued walking around the land.

unnoticed by the yaksha, you were indeed okay.

"i can see why my soulmate would love these," you commented to verr as you take more bites of the sweet dessert. "what does he do daily?"

verr lets out a nervous laugh. "to be honest, i don't really know what else he does other than hunting demons around the nation. though, you don't have to worry about doing it since xiao insisted that you can spend the whole day here instead."

"oh..." you look down at your plate with a deep frown. what if there's a demon that's hurting people and you couldn't do anything about it?

before you could ask verr, she immediately looks up at where the reception area is. "i have to go now. if you want to know anything, i recall xiao telling me to tell you to look at the instructions in your pocket. i'll be back!" she said before rushing upstairs to tend to one of the visitors, leaving you alone with your food.

you searched for the pocket around your pants, pulling out the piece of paper and read the list.

"should the pain meds run out, please visit a man named zhongli in liyue harbor."

"don't try to hunt for demons unless you want to experience more pain to endure."

"please come to verr goldet if you need something or require food. almond tofu is the only thing i can stomache, unfortunately."

"do not come to public areas if you have no reason to go there. karmic debt– the pain you're going through right now– can be affective to others."

the rest was all more rules for you to read and you're honestly thankful for xiao to write all of this for your sake, now regretting that you didn't do the same for him. what if he isn't aware of what's happening to inazuma?

you take another bite of almond tofu, silently hoping that xiao is doing okay back in your homeland.

to tell you the truth, xiao's definitely doing alright.

the yaksha had never went out of liyue for a very long time until now. sure, he could admit that nothing can beat the beautiful views that liyue can offer but inazuma is a sight to see.

everywhere he went, he found himself being fascinated by everything in this land, looking through ruins and staring at flowers that he himself hasn't seen in all of his life.

not to mention the fact that the mobs that lurks around the areas are different than the ones in liyue.

he would be lying if he said he hadn't thought of getting you out of the nation and come to liyue harbor, but he knew it wasn't up to him to decide on that. if it weren't for his duty in protecting liyue, xiao would've wanted to try and go to inazuma just to keep you safe, but what if you dislike him after everything you went through in his body? what if you didn't like him because he's immortal–

"they won't think such thing." he mumbled to himself, still slightly taken back by the sound of your voice coming out from his mouth as he sat down in an abandoned adventurer camp he spotted, looking forward to try out foods that he can make with the ingredients he found in your inventory.

as the day went by, you spent there in wangshu inn, writing a letter for xiao to read by the time the body switch is over along with visiting the man who can provide you more pain meds. xiao on the other hand spent time adventuring around inazuma trying to not get caught by vision hunters, enjoying his time without karmic debt.

by the end of the day, as the moon rises, the both of you finally found yourselves back in your bodies– with you sighing in relief that you've already finished writing the letter and not having to be in pain again whilst xiao was happy to be back in his homeland.

you then noticed you're in watatsumi island, your home being not too far away from where you're standing, causing you to smile. who knew xiao unknowingly took you back to where you've been heading to?

xiao on the other hand, was sitting on the rooftop of wangshu inn, reading the letter you left with his heart pounding at the words you wrote just for his eyes.

his shoulders instantly relaxes when he reads that you were okay throughout the day–

his mouth twitches upward when he reads the last words you wrote.

"once i come to liyue harbor and escape from inazuma, i wish to meet you and enjoy almond tofus with you."

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning Into Stone

A/N  Another long drive, another Outlander fanfic idea that dropped into my brain out of nowhere, shoving aside the historical AU I have been wrestling with for months.  Here’s the pitch: Claire Beauchamp is a psychiatrist specializing in grief counselling.  Jamie Fraser is referred to her by his sister, who is worried for his well-being after a series of family tragedies.  You can probably guess the rest, but I’m going to write it anyway.   The title is taken from a song by the amazing Phantogram that was playing as the story idea came to me.

After losing my WIP virginity posting Ginger Snap, I’m going out on that limb again and posting this first chapter with only a rough outline mapped out in my head.  You people are a terrible influence!  Also, there will be some trigger warnings on future chapters, so please watch out for those.   And now, on with our show.

Claire Beauchamp glanced down at the leather-bound calendar open on her desk.  The ivory page for Thursday was packed to the margins, each hourly block filled with the name of a patient followed by a series of cuneiform symbols she used to remind herself of the last session, course of treatment, overall progress, all while maintaining strict confidentiality.  Not even Geillis Duncan, her office administrator and very good friend, knew how to decode the script.

Geillis liked to laugh at the old-fashioned day planner, reminding Claire that their practice utilized software that could perform the same function electronically, but she enjoyed the act of physically logging each session.  The solid heft of her Mont Blanc pen in her hand, a medical school graduation gift from her Uncle Lamb.  The scratch and grab of the nub as it bled black ink over virgin paper.  It was a tactile ceremony in a detached world.  Geillis would nod and then tell her she needed to get laid.

Speak of the devil, a sharp rap on her office door was followed by the appearance of her strawberry blonde head. blue eyes alight with mischief.

“Yer two o’clock is here.  Did ye need more time tae finish bolting down tha’ chaff ye call a salad, or can I show him in?”

“It’s kale,” she defended.  “It’s full of anti-oxidants.”

A disdainful scoff was the only response.

“Yes, Geil, please show Mister...” she glanced down at her planner, “...Fraser in, thank you.”

The tiny rectangle contained only a name, which meant this was their first appointment.  Geillis vetted all prospective patients, but Claire preferred to go into the first meeting blind, with no assumptions or pre-conceptions.  

She wondered what misfortune had caused Mr. Fraser to seek out her psychiatric services.  The death of a child, perhaps, or the end of an extra-marital affair.  People grieved for very different reasons and worked through or around that grief with a surprising variety of coping mechanisms.   Most called upon her practice in much the same way they would a breakdown truck when their car’s engine failed.  They simply wanted to get back on the road to happiness.

Despite the degrees and accreditations that decorated her office wall, Claire wasn’t certain such a thing was possible.  In her experience, grief was a phantom limb that never really went away.  The best one could hope for was to learn healthier ways of living with it.  

The sound of Geillis clearing her throat snapped her back to the present.

“Was there something else, Geil?”

“Och, no’ really.  Just, when yer considerin’ how tae thank me later on, remember tha’ my favourite stone is an emerald, that I prefer gold tae silver, but platinum is ne’er amiss.”

“What are you on about, Duncan?”  But her friend had already disappeared back into the reception area, leaving behind only the glow of her Cheshire smile.  Claire was shaking her head, bemused, when another knock rang out, this one considerably heavier than the first.

“Come in,” she called as she looked up.  And up.  And up some more.

The man who now practically filled her office door had to be at least six foot four, with powerful shoulders and a broad torso encased in a blue henley.  His nearly endless legs were likewise muscular, as testified by the stretch of his jeans across each thigh.  As if his physique wasn’t remarkable enough, he had a head of outrageously wavy red hair, worn long enough to graze the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck, but swept back from a high brow by a judicious use of product.  His face was angular in a pleasingly unique way, with a day or two’s growth of beard counter-balancing an almost youthful, earnest appearance.  But his most striking feature by far were his aquamarine eyes that shimmered like a tropical sea.  Eyes that were currently observing her with perplexity.

“Dr. Beauchamp?” a deep Scottish brogue inquired.  He pronounced it as though she were French.

“Yes,” she startled.  “That’s me.  And it’s pronounced Beecham.  Please, come in Mister Fraser.”  She shuffled a few items around her desk needlessly as she tried to compose herself.  Damn Geillis for not giving her a bit more warning that her newest client was some sort of fitness model.

“Thank ye,” he replied.  “An’ it’s pronounced Jamie, if ye please.”   She added wit to the growing list of the man’s attributes.

If anything, he grew even more impressive as he approached.  She could see he was nervous, although hiding it well.  His striking eyes darted about the room, trying to get a sense of his environment.  She indicated the well-upholstered armchair that sat to one side of her desk.

“Have a seat,” she invited.

With a surprising amount of grace for one so tall, he eased into the chair but didn’t lean back.  The fingers of his left hand tapped restlessly against his thigh.  She watched him quietly, waiting for him to speak.  This was a trick she had learned when she first started practicing psychiatry, but in this case it also allowed her to continue her appraisal.  He was, she concluded, the most attractive man she’d ever seen in the flesh.

“No couch,” he finally observed.

“No.  That’s a bit of a Hollywood trope, I’m afraid.  Lying prone in front of a stranger is hardly conducive to feeling at ease.”

He nodded his acceptance of her logic, but was otherwise silent.

“So,” she spoke at last, unable to wait him out, “what caused you to seek out counselling, Jamie?”  His name suited him, she thought as she spoke it for the first time.  Both boyish and imposing at once.

“I didna.  Twas my sister, Jenny, who insisted I see a doctor.”  His mobile mouth twisted into a grimace.  She could imagine the sibling discord that such a demand would have caused.  Whoever this Jenny was, she was made of strong stuff.  Unfortunately for her, a hostile patient would receive no benefit from merely visiting her office.  Counselling was a participatory process, and she could tell from the stubborn set of Jamie’s shoulders that he had no intention of participating.

“I see,” she said carefully.  “Well, it’s your time and your dime, Mr. Fraser.  This session lasts for forty-five minutes, and you’ve not been here for five.  There’s a carafe of hot water on the table over there, if you care for some tea.  Or you’re welcome to just enjoy that comfortable chair for another forty minutes.  I’ll be working on some administrative necessities.”

She turned her chair away from him, but from the corner of her eye she could see his gobsmacked expression.  He had clearly expected her to cajole and manipulate him into co-operating, but that simply wasn’t her style.

“I meant no offence, doctor.  I’m certain ye’re verra good at what ye do.  Tis only... well, Jenny is my older sister, ye ken.  She practically raised me.  And so ofttimes she treats me like a muckle-sized bairn, and no’ a man who’s capable of lookin’ after himself.”

As he spoke, Jamie leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, expressive hands gesturing in front of his face.  Hostile to the notion of counselling he might be, but he clearly wanted her to understand it wasn’t a slight.  As a physician, she had been trained to never take a patient’s reactions personally, but it didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate the effort.

“No offence taken, Jamie.  If you don’t need my assistance, I’m happy for you.  That’s one less person hurting in the world.”

“I didna say I wasna hurting.  But I can handle it my own way.  I am handling it, that is,” he hurried to add.

Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and walked over to the small table where she kept an assortment of herbal teas and a tray of Geillis’ homemade biscuits.  Bending over, Jamie set about making himself some; chamomile by the smell of it.  The sound of spoon ringing off porcelain as he stirred in some honey made her smile, reminding her of Lamb and his obsession with the lost art of afternoon tea.

“Can I make ye a cup?”

The question was so unexpected, it took her a moment to process it.  The tea was there as a distraction for her patients, to give them something to do with their bodies as they worked through difficult emotions.  None of them had ever thought to offer her a reprieve as well.

“No, thank you.  I just finished lunch.”

He dipped a shortbread into the steaming tea, then ate it in a single bite.  Instead of sitting back down, he began to browse the framed certificates and photographs along the far wall as he sipped his tea.  With his back turned, her eyes dipped to admire his ass, which filled out his jeans perfectly.  When she caught herself, she gave her head a shake, appalled at her lack of professional detachment.  Maybe Geillis was right.  Maybe she really did need to get laid.

“How long have ye been a doctor?” Jamie asked without turning around.

“Ten years,” she replied.  “But I’ve only been a psychiatrist for the last two.”

It was a dangerous topic, and she blamed his ass for letting the words slip out.  Fortunately, his inquisitiveness took him in an entirely different direction.

“Were ye some kind of prodigy, then? Ye hardly seem old enough tae have yer own practice, let alone fer a decade.  If ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he added quickly, as though realizing what he’d just said.

“Not at all.  And you hardly seem young enough to be a, what was it? A muckle-sized bairn?”

As he turned to look her way, she understood the expression ‘shot-gun smile’ for the first time.  It spread across his face like a sunbeam, transforming what was already remarkable into a work of art.  If she hadn’t been sitting, she likely would have stumbled backward from the force of the blow.  Scrambling for something familiar to keep her from making a very grave fool of herself in front of this man, she clasped her clinical training with both hands.

“Are you and your sister close?” 

“Aye, when we’re no’ tryin’ not tae kill the other.  Our Mam died when I was only four, and with Da workin’ dawn til dark on the farm, Jenny was parent, teacher an’ playmate all rolled inta one.”

“You’re not from Edinburgh, then?”  Although what that had to do with his counselling, she hadn’t a clue. 

“Nah, I hail from a wee village in the Highlands ye’ve likely ne’er heard of called Broch Mordha.”  She shook her head to indicate she was indeed unfamiliar with it.  Jamie launched into a detailed description of the place, his hands sculpting the landscape out of thin air.  He obviously cared very deeply for his home, and she felt a twinge of jealousy, having never known that feeling of deep belonging  herself.

“And what brought you to Old Smoky?” she asked as he wound down, her interest piqued.  It was like slamming a lead door on his previously sunny disposition.

“Family obligations.” Said in such a way as to make it clear that no further words would be forthcoming on the topic.  She regretted her nosiness immediately, despite what it revealed about his emotional state.  Jamie was most certainly grieving something, but handling it he was not.

Before she could find a way back to the easy flow of conversation, a chime from her laptop indicated that the session was up.  She couldn’t bear to dismiss him without trying to set things right.

“Listen, Jamie, I understand that you only came here today to humour your sister, but I want you to consider something.  Whether we’re grieving or angry or jealous, or any destabilizing feeling, we’re often the worst surveyors of our own landscape.  Just like you can’t know your place on the sea without referencing the stars, it takes something external to ourselves to measure how far adrift we have become.  Your sister obviously loves you.  Ask yourself, what has she seen in you that prompted her to force you to seek help?”

They parted with cordial but muted goodbyes.  The door closed behind him, leaving Claire to stare at the blank rectangle in her planner that bore his name.  No coded symbols flowed from her pen.  When the door re-opened, it was Geillis, closing it firmly behind her.

“Weel, did I no’ tell ye?  Wee fox, tha’ one.  And he told me he liked my shortbread!”   Geillis said this as though it was some kind of sexual euphemism, which for all Claire knew, it was.

“Yes,” she replied distractedly.  “He’s very nice.”

“Nice!  Nice?  Tha’ man is tae nice what Wagyu is tae beef jerky.  Have ye completely lost yer senses, woman?”  

“Yes, well, he’s a patient, Geillis, as you well know.  And not one I’m likely to see again,” she added, acknowledging out loud what she already knew.

“Oh, no?” Geillis sing-songed.  “Thas’ strange, as he just made an appointment fer the same time next week.”

Claire’s eyes flew to where her friend looked on, smug as could be.

“Yer three o’clock called tae say she was runnin’ five minutes late.  I’ll leave ye tae think about yer... patient.”

Claire picked up her pen, trying to pull together something resembling a professional summary of her first appointment with Jamie.  Her mind replayed their interaction, but all she could remember was the way his eyes crinkled when he was listening attentively, the tidy half-moons of his fingernails, the seam of his jeans as it contoured his thigh, and the cymbal-crash in her chest that accompanied his smile.

Patient, she reminded herself.  Jamie Fraser is your patient. 

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

i'm SCREAMING over your outlander AU with pero. it works so well for him! okay so I absolutely love the scene of jamie and claire on their first night as a married couple where he thinks that he's supposed to fuck her from behind and that's it but she shows him how to be a little gentler with her. sooo can we get that with pero please???

Pairing: Tovar x Reader (Outlander AU) Rating: R - light smut, kissing, grumpiness, language [MASTERLIST] (Promt list is at the bottom if y’all wanna participate.)

The candlelight flickered quietly as the fire crackled. You wanted him to say something. Anything. The silence that had fallen between you both was too much to bear as the rest of the company drank and continued their rambunctious party downstairs in the tavern bar. You tilted your head back and drained what was left of your cup. The mead was overly sweet but it warmed you. Perhaps if you drank enough of it, this would be easier.

Pero watched you pour another glass and he made a sound of disgust deep in his throat.

"What?" You snapped at him, ignoring the way his bare legs hung over the bed.

"Nothing."

You ignored him. His foul mood always seemed to permeate those around him and you refused to let it happen to you.

You stood in your shift and corset, the wedding dress long forgotten on the back of the chair, and you knew you needed his help to undo the knots you couldn't see. He had offered with the dress and you had spurned him in favor of struggling with it on your own. When it came to you and Pero, it seemed you both had an issue of pride.

The floor creaked outside your door and even though it was locked, it unnerved you the way the guard placed at the top of the stairs was listening in.

"They really won't leave until--" you swallowed hard and bit your lip. "Until…"

"Until we fuck?"

You winced at his tone and turned back to him. "Could you not say it like that?"

"You're an enemy of the crown, hermosa. As am I." He shrugged and leaned against the wall, looking out the window into the dark town. "William is trying to save you, by making you a Spaniard. There can be no loopholes--"

"Oh, and you get no joy from this?" You sneered and he had the decency to look ashamed.

"No. I don't get joy from knowing you have to drink yourself into oblivion in order to stomach being in my bed."

Your face burned knowing you had hurt him unintentionally. He was right. If the crown thought your marriage was a sham in any way, then they could rightfully take you to prison. In order to be truly safe, you had to be a citizen of Spain and in this day and age the easiest way for that to happen was to marry one. And a true marriage meant consummating it.

You set down your cup heavily and squared your shoulders. "Alright. Let's do this."

Marching across the room, you grabbed him by the soft cloth of his nightshirt and yanked him forward. It could hardly be called a kiss. It was a clash of teeth and hungry mouths as the two of you eagerly devoured one another. You ignored the way the creak outside your door indicated the guard was leaning in to listen as Tovar groaned against your lips.

He grabbed handfuls of your hips, even daring to dip a little lower and grip the cheek of your ass to turn you around and shove you onto the bed. You let him, until he tried to push up your shift while you were on your hands and knees. The hard press of his cock made you slap his hands away in protest.

"Stop! Stop. Stop."

He jerked back like you had burned him and his wide eyes were filled with worry that he had done something wrong.

"What?? Is something wrong?" He asked, panting. When he realised you weren't hurt or afraid of him, his expression changed to one of confusion. "Is this...not how you do it?"

"No--I mean you can. We can." you fumbled as you turned around and faced him. "I'm not some farm animal." You felt foolish as you said it but it was suddenly very important to you that he understood that.

"I know that." He blushed as he snapped at you. Did you think he was an idiot?

"And I'm not a whore," you whispered.

Ah. There it was.

"Hermosa…" he said, almost tenderly and you made up your mind that Tovar was not the enemy. He was a brute. He was an excellent mercenary. A trained killer. But he was inexperienced in this. But most importantly, he was the one person in this entire world that you were certain didn't mean you any harm.

You turned slowly in his arms and lifted your hair out of the way. "Can you...can you help me untie this?"

He made a soft grunt of acknowledgement as he gently reached for you and started to unknot the laces. You leaned into him as he worked and your heart stopped racing. He smelled nice. Clean. The luxury of the inn allowing both of you to bathe before the impromptu wedding in the woods.

As the corset gave, he let it fall to the floor. You turned over your shoulder and put your hand on his face, letting your thumb trace over the scruff of his beard. His enchanting brown eyes were just about the only soft thing about him, and you held his gaze and you leaned in and kissed him.

His arm came around your waist and you moved his hand up to cup your exposed breast as your last piece of clothing fell from your shoulders to pool at your feet.

"Like this…" you coached him gently as you brought his fingers together to gently pinch your nipple. "Now, take this one," you kept your voice soft as you took his other hand and guided it between your legs.

He groaned deeply, letting his forehead drop to your shoulder as he felt how wet you were. "Hermosa--"

"I'm right here." You turned in his arms and pushed his nightshirt from his shoulders and cupped his face in your hands. "On top of me.." you said against his lips as you fell back into the bed and pulled him with you.

"Won't I," he gasped as you spread your legs and he fell between them. "Won't I squish you?"

"No," you giggled and quickly stopped to save him any embarrassment. "No, you won't."

"Do you promise to tell me if I do?" He asked with such an uncharacteristic innocence that you nodded without a second thought.

"I promise." As you spoke he let the rest of his body weight come down on you as you reached between your bodies for his cock. With some fumbling and sloppy kisses, the two of you managed to get comfortable. "I promise," you repeated with a gasp as he slid inside of you, only this time...you weren't entirely sure what you were promising.

--

October Outlander Tovar x Reader AU Prompt-fest!

[lordjohngreyreadingnook]

Lord John AU Event Master List

A very special thank you to all of the writers, artists, and readers who helped make the Lord John AU Event a success! All good things must come to an end, and the body of Lord John fanworks has grown immensely during this event.

Because Pan is still a geek, here’s an infographic with some of our stats. 

Below the cut, you’ll find a masterlist of all of the art and fics submitted for the event. Most of the fics can be found in the AO3 Collection, and all titles in the master list below are links to the original work posting (AO3 or Tumblr).

Here’s how we did!

Master List Below!

Art Links

“E-girl Claire and her boyfriend John” by @deanwinchesterangelfucker

“Gender-swapped, established relationship John and Jamie” by @deanwinchesterangelfucker

Fic Links

Title: extra credit Author: @iihappydaysii Rating: E Ship: Brian/John AU Category: High School Word Count: 2,532 Summary:  Brian Randall (Jamie Fraser's gay son, of course) needs to get his grade up in his trig class taught by who other than his father's friend, John Grey.

Title: Die for this Kingdom Author: @mistresspandorawritesthings Rating: M Ship: Jamie/John AU Category: Mob Word Count: 45,255 Summary:  All Jamie “Fortnight” Fraser wants is to provide a good, safe life for his family in Chicago. But with tragedies keeping him tangled in his uncle’s deadly schemes and one tenacious—and handsome—police officer determined to bring him in, Fortnight Fraser has a choice to make. Bend to Dougal’s will… or burn it all to the ground.

Title: Remember Hawaii Author: @mistresspandorawritesthings Rating: E Ship: Hector/John AU Category: Semi-Modern Word Count: 5,119 Summary:  The chances of John Grey unexpectedly seeing Hector Dalrymple in a group of Marines was always small but never zero. In the vastness of the Pacific Ocean, Hawaii is tiny. What are the odds they'd both be there at the same time?

Title: Tasting Sunshine Author: @andhopethatsoon Rating: E Ship: John/Stephan AU Category: Supernatural/Fantasy Word Count: 6,421 Summary:  Every fae and their godmother knows that you DON'T eat the oranges from THOSE trees or you will summon the Summer King who will demand your heart’s desire in return.

Title: At Operator’s Discretion Author: @mistresspandorawritesthings Rating: E Ship: Jamie/John AU Category: Assassins Word Count: 6,210 Summary:  John Grey is an operator specializing in surveillance and termination--that is, spying and murder. He keeps all this a secret from his husband, Alex Malcolm, for Alex's protection. But when a contract comes in for one James Fraser, Grey's life gets all kinds of complicated.

Title: Theatre Masks Author: @faeriesfanficblog Rating: G Ship: Jamie/John AU Category: Modern Word Count: 1,238 Summary:  A modern AU. Jamie Fraser is an autistic playwriter attending a theatre premiere with his husband Lord John Grey.

Title: The Wild Hunt Author: @mistresspandorawritesthings Rating: E Ship: Jamie/John/Tom AU Category: Supernatural/Fantasy Word Count: 8,033 Summary:  The Sorcerer is rumored to be the only being able to influence the Wild Hunt, the same Wild Hunt hell-bent on destroying the world to get to John Grey. But the Sorcerer's aid comes with stipulations.

Title: The Right Tool for the Job Author: @iihappydaysii & @mistresspandorawritesthings Rating: E Ship: Jamie/John AU Category: Modern Word Count: 5,825 Summary:  Jamie makes an embarrassing emergency call after a sexual mishap, and John Grey is the paramedic who shows up to help.

Title: gotta listen when the devil’s calling Author: @narastories Rating: E Ship: BJR/Jamie/John AU Category: Modern Word Count: 6,105 Summary:  John wasn't looking forward to his birthday. Aberdeen was cold and bloody far away. This year they also got a surprise travel companion last minute and John is convinced, it couldn't get any worse. But perhaps, it's not so bad after all.

Title: Off the Only Path I Knew (WIP) Author: @jesuisprest747 Rating: M Ship: Jamie/John AU Category: College/University Word Count: 8,920 Summary: Nothing about University is going as Jamie Fraser planned. He misses his family and friends back home, and the friends he's made at University don't feel quite right. Under pressure from his father, he is studying business instead of his true passion - Classics and Literature. To top it all off, his roommate barely speaks to him. A story about friendship, love, and following your heart.

Title: And Say We’ll Never Part Author: @mistresspandorawritesthings Rating: E Ship: Hector/John AU Category: Semi-Modern Word Count: 6,872 Summary: The war has been over for months, and the Allied forces are slowly demobilizing. With the help of his friend and battle buddy Harry Quarry, newly-discharged John Grey ensures that Hector has a home waiting for him.

Title: Lemon Drop Author: @mistresspandorawritesthings Rating: E Ship: Hal/John/Percy AU Category: Modern Word Count: 6,335 Summary:  Weeks into their mother's engagement, John and Hal still haven't been formally introduced to their soon-to-be step-brother. So Hal suggests they take matters into their own hands. And if it turns out Percy is up for a little fun... all the better.

Title: A Pocketful of Posies Author: @levisqueaks Rating: M Ship: Brian/John (end game); Jamie/John  AU Category: Modern Word Count: 3,483 Summary:  Jamie breaks up with John a mere week before his wedding to a girl John knew nothing about. 20 years later, John finally gets a little bit of closure.

Title: London Calling - Come out of the Cupboard Author: @angstosaur  Rating: E Ship: Claire/Jamie/John AU Category: Semi-modern Word Count: 24,337 Summary:  Setting – Bloomsbury, London, early 1980’s John is a newly qualified solicitor and is working in Holborn. When he was studying law in London his mother insisted he stay in her apartment in Bloomsbury. He agreed as long as he could share with his old school friend, Claire Beauchamp. Claire has just finished at medical school and has a post as a junior doctor at a large London Hospital. They’re just good friends. That’s all. Really. After all, John is gay. Then, Jamie Fraser enters their lives and suddenly all that was taken for granted is called into question.

Title: John Grey’s Anatomy (WIP) Author: @jesuisprest747​ Rating: E Ship: Claire/Jamie/John AU Category: Modern medical Word Count: 25,452 Summary:  When John Grey decided to move to America in early 2020 to escape his past and make a new start at Boston Memorial Hospital, he only wished to work hard at his anesthesiology fellowship and heal his broken heart. Little did he know that he would soon meet two people who would change his life forever, against the background of the world's first global pandemic in over a hundred years.

Title: Blood Bound (WIP) Author: @mistresspandorawritesthings​ Rating: E Ship: Jamie/John; Jenny/Minnie AU Category: Supernatural/fantasy Word Count: 2,862 Summary:  Jamie Fraser grew up with the knowledge of the unholy evil that walks the earth. For more generations than his father could count, Fraser women have been the lone soldiers charged with keeping the evil things at bay. But when one wrong move on a haunted bog in Ireland transforms Jamie into the very thing he was taught to help his sister eradicate, he's forced to reevaluate everything he thought he knew about monsters.

Title: Love is a three-edged sword (WIP) Author: @angstosaur  Rating: M Ship: Claire/Jamie/John AU Category: Authurian Word Count: 74,668 Summary: An Arthurian themed AU featuring characters from Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series of books and the Lord John Grey stories. The enduring love triangle of Arthur, Guinevere and Lancelot retold with a different twist. Expect canon to be used and abused, mythology to be woven in as desired and for there to be scenes of an explicit nature.T his is neither Outlander nor Arthurian legend as you may know it, or accept it, but it’s a story that called to me many months ago and I shall endeavour to write it. The characters are fictional and I’ve put them in an indeterminate time, so there will be less historical accuracy than my previous long story.

[haphazardlyparked]

the war AU

@gingerly-writing originally i started this as a response to your captured solider/person-enemy general thing  but then it just turned into a whole bunch of self-indulgence sooooo 

(i'm a softie at heart??)

---------------------

"Masara," a voice hissed in her ear, and Masara came back to her senses, only to swallow back a groan. Her whole body was an ache that burned at the edges, part magical exhaustion and part old-fashioned beating.

"Arlis," Masara murmured back, trying not to move. Trying to catalogue her hurts before she tested them, trying to remember what had happened. She did not say, You young fool.

Masara's heart––already burning her chest with grief and war––had leapt into her throat and turned to fear when she'd seen Arlis emerge from the tunnel pass, adept enough with the spells that she could open the hidden routes on her own. Masara's young, foolish squire, who had followed her because she thought her knight-mistress had gone off to do something brave, when all Masara was was reckless, desperate––and desperately hopeful.

Panam as heir was safe, the king was on his way to the Yina stronghold, and Fathmir, who had been at the holy mountain's summit since the new moon, could be made High Priest soon. The heart of Amir would be preserved, even though Amirasa had fallen. Even though things might had been different, before the assassination and the war.

Masara knew her part now. She was the most experienced knight traveling with her uncle––fleeing, navigating the twisting paths and hidden tunnels that wound through the foothills of the Endless Ridge. The king had to make it to the safety of Mount Yina, and that was worth Masara's life.

In some small measure, Amir would survive, watchful and isolated while her southern lands became a battlefield between two imperial powers. Ancient Lapur to the southwest, hemmed in by the Blasted Plains, and Kas to the northeast, a young and eager threat.

Masara had dreamed of her kingdom’s waning. She had felt the shadow of death hanging over her head since Panam had brought news of the High Priest's assassination.

When she had volunteered to lead the pursuers away from the king's trail as he and a fragment of his court ran for holy Yina, the king had faced her as her father wold have––grieved, yet proud. But he had faced her as her king, too, grimly resigned to her sacrifice.

"You might have been one of our greatest queens, if my sister and I chose differently," he had whispered.

Masara could scarcely meet her uncle's eyes.

"I dreamed a fire would burn away my future, during my rites,” she confessed. One did not usually speak of the visions, if there were any, but Masara thought she could ease her uncle’s conscience. “When Panam came with word of my father's death... I already knew how this could end. This is my decision, Uncle."

"May the Lady Sascrin guard your path, Masara," the king said.

The knight knelt, and kissed her uncle's hand, and when she rose––when the king drew her to her feet to hug her one last time, the farewell embrace she never had from her father––she smiled.

"It will be your job to look after Arlis now,” she said when they pulled away from each other. She stepped back.

Arlis was a jealous squire, and would likely be furious when she realized Masara had ridden to battle without her. Later, she would come to understand that she was too young for this.

And then the little fool had burst from one of the rocky passages, into the pitched skirmish while Masara charged a company with a twilit illusion, riding alongside moonbeams, and dropped the bridge to cut off pursuit of the king’s path.

She thought the destroyed bridge would been a good place to die, right up until she saw Arlis and realized with a ringing clarity, Not now. Her squire needed her.

Masara's vision filled with molten silver, magic in her hands and spitting down the length of her blade, and Arlis flickered across the field in her mind's eye, a star to be guarded. When they reached each other—the knight a blur of spell and steel, her squire a smaller whirlwind no less fierce for her youth, and Kassan footmen with their blue-rimmed shields and clumsy swords—Arlis screamed, and Masara's world exploded.

In the tent, when she opened her eyes, the physical ache seemed to coalesce in her chest as she put everything back together again.

There was her beloved, fool squire whom Masara would protect with her last breath; and beyond that, all the things that threatened her.

Masara and Arlis were tied side by side to foldable campaign chairs, which was quite civilized, all things considered. She could see spells crawling on the walls of the tent, and smelled the distinctive sting of burning a sharp, distinctive incense. Natural inhibitors of magic.

"Do you know where we are?" Masara spoke. Her voice was cracked and barely audible; her throat dry as dust. Unlike Arlis, she was tied to her chair by only one arm, because the other was broken. She woke with it cradled against her chest in a sling.

"I'm sorry, sir, I––” Arlis began urgently, quick and breathless, all the words she'd been thinking while Masara was unconscious now tumbling out. Masara let her relieve herself. "I shouldn't have followed, and then I ruined your plan and you went down––and I panicked. I surrendered. I thought they were going to kill you!”

“You did as you should have done, Arlis," Masara assured her squire when she fell silent. “I am grateful to be alive."

It was true. Masara had made her peace with her sacrifice, but she hadn't wanted to die. If she could live––and she had somehow, for Arlis or thanks to her––she would. (She wondered if this meant her vision was wrong; or if there was another fire threatening her horizons.)

"But Masara," Arlis mumbled. “You weren’t about to surrender.”

“That only means you have proven yourself wiser than me.”

“But... I told them who you are.”

Masara considered her broken arm––splinted and bandaged, carefully tended to like the rest of her battered body, and found Arlis's confession did not surprise her.

"And yourself, too?" Masara asked.

"Yes."

"Good," Masara said firmly. "We are alive now, and I will not see you die, Arlis."

Her squire knew enough to hear the grim promise.

"Sir," she acknowledged. "I don't think they'll hurt me. They think I'm a child––a poor, misguided girl-child who accidentally maimed some soldiers..." Arlis indulged in a little complaining, and when Masara recalled her visit to the Kassan court years ago, she decided Arlis was probably justified. And yet, they still burned the incense; they still spelled the tent. They were cautious.

"They were horrified when they realized you were a woman, and that was before I explained you are a high lady," Arlis continued. "After that, they bundled us up and had a surgeon come; you were stabbed through the shoulder, by the way. I tried to do what I could, on the road yesterday. They put us in a wagon and set a guard. They don't think very highly of me, and didn’t notice I what I was doing."

Masara considered that, and realized that was why that whole upper side of her hurt, not just the broken arm.

"Thank you, Arlis," she sighed. "It's called battlefield healing for a reason, and you've always been one of the best. I am fortunate." It really wasn't much more than cleansing wounds and dulling pain, but it was more than nothing.

Arlis grinned. "Am I better than Guira?"

Masara ignored the question, as she always did. She smiled, and then her lip split. Grimacing––carefully––she asked, “How long was I out?”

“The rest of the evening and all of yesterday. We stopped last night, and I slept, so it may be morning again,” Arlis reported. “You destroyed the footbridge we used, and that was the only easy path for a large party, so they've had to retreat back out of the foothills. They didn't stop until they were out, which was late last night."

Masara was shocked to hear she had been unconscious for so long--but something in the back of her head disagreed, remembered a dream, perhaps. Later. She said instead, "These are Sascrin's foothills; outlanders think they are cursed. Even I only turned back to make very, very certain they would too."

Some things were too important to leave to should and probably; the king had understood that when Masara proposed remaining behind to guard their rear.

Arlis didn't ask her what the plan was now. She didn't ask what it had been, either.

Trust, or insight? Masara thought it was the former, and she tried to turn her worry into resolve. Her uncle had depended on her before; now Arlis did.

"Has anyone spoken to you?"

"Only a captain," Arlis reported. “He said their general could decide what to do with nobility."

"And have you seen a mage?"

"No. But I do think there's one around. The tent could've been prepared, but the incense smells... intent."

Masara tilted her head––carefully, to avoid tugging at any other injuries she wasn't fully aware of––and smiled lopsided at Arlis, trying to avoid the split. "Very good," she said, winced, and licked at the cut. "I thought you might notice that; that's the scent of the mage's spell. Now, what other kinds of magic inhibitors are they using?”

"Sir," Arlis protested, half-indignant, but she was looking at the canvas around them. She knew better than to try and fuss more over Masara's wounds; she'd already done what she could. It was nothing she would not recover from, she decided––given a chance to recover, of course.

"We're currently bound to chairs in a spelled tent, Arlis," Masara said. "We might as well have a brief lesson."

Masara heard rather than saw Arlis's roll of the eyes. She could never keep from that airy, "As you say, sir."

But Masara saw how she relaxed a little, easing back into her seat and straining  less at her bonds.

"Let's begin with the standard suppression spells," Masara went on. "One of the nice thing about them is that they're always visible, as it's active magic, and look––these weavers didn't even try for subtlety. Tell me which ones you know already."

Arlis and Masara discussing the fire protection spell woven into the seams of the tent, where the different cuts of fabric had been sewn together, and how they served to isolate each separate piece of fabric, when they were interrupted.

"It looks newly done," Masara murmured. "And it looks northern too, not like a spell that's been fully assimilated." That was the thing about magic. There were always spells and brews you could learn, but they worked best when you had truly made it yours, or if it was yours.

Masara often wished the fireless explosions Arlis was so fond of hadn't been her obvious calling.

"How can you––" Arlis began, but then the tent flap opened and a man stuck his head in.

He came all the way in when he saw Masara was awake, daylight flashing through the opening, and stood before them.

"Good," he observed after an assessing gaze. "Surgeon said if you were out the whole two days, we might have problems."

He wasn't a very tall man, but he was broad-shouldered and confident, a soldier in a blue cloak. He had the olive skin and dark hair of some of the Kassan, though with clearer, lighter eyes that spoke of some northern heritage. Or magic and vanity.

The soldier crossed his arms and frowned when Masara said nothing. It took Masara a moment to realize he had been expecting her to speak––he had asked no question. She instead had been looking to Arlis, to see if her squire recognized the soldier, but a twitch of Arlis's fingers said, he's new, and Masara wondered again where they were. The tent also kept them from hearing just what kind of camp lay outside. Masara would bet it was far larger than the one company that braved the foothills and her attack, if the general was said to be coming.

"Are you injured?" the soldier demanded, eyes narrowing.

Masara smiled––carefully, lopsided.

"I believe so," she answered.

The soldier's frown didn't change. "Well enough to speak the general now, I see."

"Lead on!" Arlis challenged boldly, unwilling to be overlooked and left behind. Masara didn't bother to check her.

"Oh no," the soldier corrected with a grim smile. "Do you think we're letting you out of this nice tent? The general's on his way here. You should be honored. Him coming to you." The soldier sounded disgruntled enough by the necessary breach of etiquette that not even Arlis commented.

They didn't have to wait long. The soldier left the tent after another moment of silence––did he think either Masara or Aris would say something, unprompted?––and then the flap opened again, and he returned. This time, he was followed by a younger man, another soldier, alert and brisk. He'd become very tan under the Amirran sun, his hair burnished to a golden blond currently bare of a crown, but Masara was surprised to recognize the general.

Arlis shifted by her side, suspicious. The general regarded the both of them in silence, his pale brown eyes almost dark in the tent's dim light.

"Leave it open, Kinlo," the general––if that was how he chose to style himself––said, and Kinlo, the first soldier, went to pull back the opening. Clear morning light spilled inside, silhouetting the general, and from his slight smirk, he knew its effect. "They won't run."

Masara quite honestly didn't feel up to a break for freedom, so he was right, which was mildly irritating. The smoke of the incense kept her weak, as though she hadn't slept or rested in days.

"We're in the middle of my camp. Surrounded by thousands of men," the general explained reasonably. One couldn't hope to escape or be rescued against such odds. Amir's people really would be penned into the foothills, with Yina as her only stronghold. "Of course," the general said, "we will treat a high lady of the land and..." he trailed off, and frowned at Arlis.  What stories had his men had told of Masara and Arlis's capture?

Arlis's fingers twitched. Treat us with honor, I bet, she signed. Masara affected not to notice, and did not smile.

"Well?" the general prompted.

Masara lifted her gaze and fixed on the shadows by the door. "I didn't realize you wanted an answer," she excused herself. "The young Lady Arlis is my squire, if that is what you were looking for."

The general nodded, as if all was now confirmed for him, and he stepped to the side, away from the tent opening. It was strange to think of such a man––young, open-faced, eager for action and the field itself––ordering the High Priest's death. This general had plenty of battlefields to choose from, without provoking a new series of them. But he had advisers, and they were apparently in the capital, directing the empire while the general was here.

"And it was the two of you who blocked the advance company?"

Masara inclined her head as far as she could.

"You wouldn't have gotten far anyway." Arlis raised her voice in a taunt. "The foothills can be quite haunted, you know."'

The general snorted. "I don't doubt it. I don't think 'foothills' is fair name for them, either. It's like calling the Henori river a little creek. I'm ready to forget the whole campaign." He sounded matter-of-fact.

"By all means, do," Masara suggested.

"But there's Lapur to worry about. And your mages."

"Our mages," Masara repeated, turning it into a question with an arched brow. The movement pulled at a scrape on her cheek by her hairline.

The general looked at her, slow and considering.

"Yes. Mine are worried. My advisers tell me it's unnatural that you don't use spells. Materials, incantations - the common instruments." He paused, then added: "Is it?"

Masara spoke before Arlis could. "Your imperial majesty," she said blandly, deciding now was as good a moment as any to dispense with all pretense, "why should any Amirran spill our secrets to you?"

Arlis frowned, backing down. She hadn't known who the general was, and Masara could tell she was swiftly reconsidering their situation.  

"I have found some who were very talkative, actually," the emperor-general retorted. Arlis hissed at the implication of torture––but Masara frowned at the general’s honest, untroubled irritation, and heard her quiet oft-ignored fear confirmed.

There was a traitor.

How else could Amirasa have fallen? And their escape to the foothills had been too close, too harried. Masara signed another hold to Arlis, one that called for caution, and said nothing.

"Unfortunately, they do not know much about your magics."

"You have captured Amirasa," Masara replied mildly, though the admission was ash on her tongue. She didn't dare ask for the general's chatty Amirran, not yet. "If your mages cannot see the spells of our city, that does not mean anything."

"They see those spells," the emperor-general clarified. "The battle magic, on the other hand..."

He trailed off expectantly, but neither Arlis nor Masara rose to fill the silence. When it stretched on, the emperor straightened, chin lifting as though he suddenly felt the weight of his crown, and said, "Even if you don't talk, you will be useful bargaining tools. Perhaps now your king will be tempted to meet me at a crossroads. What do you think, High Lady Masara?"

Masara offered the lopsided smile she could, but without warmth. "If negotiation is what you wish, I will write to my king myself."

"You doubt me?" the general demanded.

"Your army holds our ancient capital. You have done nothing but kill our people and claim our land."

"I sent an ambassador, and your king gave him back and declared war."

"Ambassador?" Arlis snapped. "Is that a new word for assassin?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The High Priest," Masara answered succinctly. It came out flat, an accusation torn free of the sudden hollow chasm that threatened her. It appeared suddenly, as usual, and nearly all-encompassing. She breathed through it slowly, counting in her head to ten.

"He was the head of a militant religious order," the general replied carefully, sensing the delicacy of the topic. "The greatest obstacle to diplomacy. He would never accept surrender."

Arlis scowled, but Masara called for her silence again––she was never very obedient for long, but she held her tongue for the moment.

"And did your sources also believe Amir would be amenable to surrender after an assassination?" Masara asked, with pointed equanimity.

The emperor-general frowned, and crossed his arms, and then changed the subject.

"I think the most important thing to remember is Lapur. They cannot be allowed to grow past the Blighted lands."

"How gratifying, that our kingdom can be a foothold in your imperial wars."

It wasn't exactly a fair assessment; Lapur worried Amir, too, with its constant, probing incursions north of the desert, into the no man's land usually left to Amir.

But it was Kas, young and full of its own power who had invaded, not Lapur.

The emperor-general's eyes narrowed, glinting nearly like gold as he coolly declared, "Say what you will, High Lady. But we cannot afford an Amirran succession crisis, not with Lapur so close and so restless."

Masara gestured minutely, freeing Arlis while she considered the general's words.

"That was your reasoning for your conquest of Seriona," Arlis burst out, after holding her tongue for what surely felt like ages to her. "We are not Seriona. In Amir, we know our king and our prince!"

The general frowned at Arlis, but replied to her as seriously as he had to Masara. "And if your king should prefer his niece over his son?" he challenged.

Arlis strained briefly, forgetting she was tied up as she tried to point at Masara. "We are here," she settled for instead, spitting the words out furiously. "A lone knight sacrificed to hold off your whole company, the high lady, the king's supposed favorite––doesn't that tell you anything?"

A new uneasiness settled in Masara's chest as she realized how badly she had underestimated her young squire. Arlis understood Masara's decision... and she was still a fool for endangering herself. In the past half year of border skirmishes, the outbreak of war, and their flight from Amirasa, Arlis had grown up a great deal.

Masara felt she herself had aged decades.

The general's expression didn't change, yet Masara still felt a shift in his attitude.

"It tells me more than you know," he said, and then waved his hand, dismissing the matter. "My ladies, I've been distracted from my purpose. I simply wished to inform you that you will be hostages until a suitable agreement can be come to with your king, which I hope will come swiftly. Until then, you will be kept with the camp quite safely, and we will do our best to see you treated with honor. If you need anything within reason, you need only shout to the guards." He glanced at Arlis, and added, "I don't think you'll have an issue with that."

Arlis regarded the general balefully. He ignored the young squire's glares, and asked Masara directly, "Should I send the surgeon to you again, my lady?"

Arlis fumed under her breath about it being his fault anyway; Masara's mind spun.

"That would be appreciated, your imperial majesty," she said quietly, focused more on the realizations that were slowly coming together for her, overcoming her unwillingness to see them.

"In the field, I prefer the title Imperial General. Hokiraj," said the emperor, magnanimous in his role as captor, familiarity offered as a flattering courtesy.

"Well then, Imperial General. It appears we are in your hands," Masara returned in kind, though distracted.

The imperial general coughed, made a vague noise of agreement, and then made his departure with, "I will send that surgeon along. Later, we will discuss that letter and what terms your king may agree to.”

As soon as he was gone, Kinlo followed him out and shut the tent. The haste of his exit went on unremarked, and it was Arlis who finally broke the silence.

“I think there’s a traitor, sir,” she whispered, reluctant to speak her fear too loudly.

Her squire was so old at fourteen, yet Masara wanted to protect her still. "I think I know who it is,” she prevaricated.

The king had broached the idea of changing the succession only once that Masara knew of, and only idly. Masara knew he would never act without his son’s complete agreement; it was how rule had been decided between himself and his older sister, Masara’s mother. He had thought he might have Panam’s approval.

Only Panam and Masara were not siblings, and it had been a while since they had been close as such.

Oh, cousin, she thought, unease dripping through her memories of Panam like oil. Could you really?

But Masara could not let despair overcome her. She had Arlis to protect... and Amir, too. However she could. 

[booksarelife-stuff]

The Story of Us- Chapter 5

Jily (James Potter/ Lily Evans), minor wolfstar

Word Count: 3,999

Modern Muggle AU. When Lily Evans meets the man across the hall due to a fire alarm, she has no idea that a new chapter of her life has begun. Featuring a librarian Lily and sports journalist James.

Masterlist    Read on A03    Chapter 6

Chapter 5- but we were dancing

The options Mary presented to Lily were amazing. Lily didn’t think she could pull them off, despite Mary’s insistence that she would be stunning. In the end, Lily settled on an emerald green velvet dress that Mary insisted would look amazing on her and bring out her eyes. 

Lily had gotten Dorcas to come over to do her make-up because Lily was hopeless at eyeliner and she didn’t feel like winding herself up by re-doing it ten times before it only came out decent. 

“Can I see your dress?” Dorcas asked, lightly blending out the blush on Lily’s cheeks. 

“Sure,” Lily said, glancing at her analog clock on her bedside table. “We got time.”

“Do you know what James is wearing?” she asked. 

“Probably a suit,” Lily replied. Dorcas snorted. 

“Yes, probably,” she agreed. “I bet he is going to look dashing. Better than that walrus Petunia is marrying.”

Lily knew for a fact that James at his worst would look better than Vernon, but she didn’t even want to think about James and how dashing he’s going to look. 

“You’re all done!” she announced after putting some highlighter on the tip of her nose. She held out a mirror and Lily couldn’t believe how good she looked. The winged eyeliner and bright red lipstick were a bit much for the “natural” look Lily wanted, but Dorcas’s work was amazing. 

Lily told her as much as she went to her bathroom, the dress in the bag hanging from the door. Mary had already pressed it and made sure it fit her measurements, but Lily still hadn’t opened it. 

The dress was off the shoulder, so it exposed her collarbone and shoulders. There was a ruffle along the bust and sleeves to make her bust look bigger than it was.  There was a slit that opened up to her knee and Lily was thankful it didn’t climb higher.

When Lily looked in the mirror, she realized that Mary was right. The dress hugged her beautifully and her green eyes were shining. Her red hair stood out as well, even though Dorcas had pulled it up until an elegant knot on the back of her head, with a few pieces curled and framing her face. 

Dorcus gasped when Lily stepped out of the bathroom.

“You look drop-dead gorgeous,” she said, as Lily reached for her shoes. 

“It’s not too much, is it?” Lily asked. 

Dorcas shook her head. 

“No, but I don’t know how James is going to feel,” she said, a cheeky smile on her face. 

Lily spun around. 

“What does that mean?” 

“Oh come on Lily,” Dorcas said. “You have got to be joking.”

“I’m not.”

She sighed. 

“He couldn’t take his eyes off of you at the party,” she started. “You guys have lunch, what twice a week now? He watches Outlander with you! Outlander!”

Lily turned away and tried to focus on putting her heel on. She tried to ignore the implication of what Dorcas was saying because then that would cause her heart to start racing. 

“I’m just saying, if it isn’t into you, then I don’t know what he’s doing,” Dorcas said. 

“What if I’m not into him?” Lily whispered. 

Dorcas scoffed. 

“Then I’d be doubting your sexuality Lily,” she said. “I’m a lesbian and I think he is quite fit.”

“I don’t know yet,” Lily said. “I really like him but…”

“Scared?”

“A little yeah.”

“I think you would regret not trying,” Dorcas said, a tone of finality in her voice. Lily didn’t say anything more as Dorcas began checking her face and seeing any final touches that needed to be made. 

It wasn’t long before there was a knock on the door. Lily felt butterflies erupt in her stomach as Dorcas went to go answer it.

“James! You clean up nicely,” she heard Dorcas say. Lily took a deep breath and walked out of the hallway towards her living room where her front door is located. 

When she stepped in, her breath caught as she got sight of him. He was wearing a grey suit, one that had to be tailor made because it fit perfectly on him. His hair was a little more tame, but artfully messy. When Lily met his eyes, he was looking at her with wide eyes and his mouth open a bit. 

“Hey,” he said, breaking the silence. 

“Hi,” Lily replied. 

“You look gorgeous,” he said. 

“Thanks. Mary and Dorcas really came through for me,” Lily said. “You look nice.”

Lily wanted to kick herself. That was the lamest thing she could have said. 

James didn’t seem to mind as he smiled back. 

“Well, I should get going,” Dorcas interjected. Lily looked at her, a little ashamed to admit that she had forgotten she was in the room with them. 

“Bye! Thank you for the make-up!” Lily said, giving her friend a quick hug. Dorcas patted James on the arm before leaving. 

“So, ready to go?” James asked. Lily nodded and grabbed her phone and her keyes. She realized that she didn’t have anything to carry them in, but James took them and put them in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. 

Lily liked that he offered his arm to her as they waited for the elevator. She also liked that he volunteered to drive them there after Remus told him that Lily was a tiny bit scared of driving. He helped her into the car and Lily thought her heart was going to burst. 

“So I made a road trip playlist,” he said. “I put some bangers on there. I hope you don’t mind.”

Lily turned to him and smiled. “No I don’t.”

The drive was fun and it alone almost made Lily thankful this night. She was surprised that James knew every lyric to the Taylor Swift songs he put on the playlist. They had just done a wonderful rendition of “Better than Revenge” when James pulled into the parking lot of the ballroom that not doubtedly, Vernon’s family rented out.

“So why did her sister decide to have a black-tie engagement party?” James asked, turning his car off. 

“To show that she's better and classier than the rest,” Lily replied, rolling her eyes. 

“If this is the engagement party, I wonder what the wedding will be like,” he replied. 

“Probably the most outrageous thing you’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t know about that,” James said looking at her. “Some of the kids I went to school with are having some crazy weddings. One of them had the whole bridal party on horses.”

Lily laughed. 

“Don’t tell Petunia that. She’ll get ideas.” 

James opened his door and stepped out. Lily went to open hers but James was too quick. He hurried over to her side and opened the door for her and offered a hand to help her stand. 

Lily didn’t expect to be jumped on by her mother the second they walked in. 

“Lily, dear!” Rose Evans yelled, making Lily jump. She barely had time to drop James’s arm before her mother’s arms were around her. 

“Hello, mum,” she said, hugging her tightly. Her mom pulled away and inspected Lily. 

Lily looked awfully like her mum, but in a slightly different font. Lily was a head taller and her dark red hair was the obvious difference, but other than that, they had the same nose that turned up and eyes. 

Mum was looking her up and down. Lily inspected her as well. She was still looking good in her willowy frame. She was wearing a light pink dress that was only fitting for the mother of the bride.

“You look beautiful, dear,” she said. She looked at James, and her eyes widened. Lily could see the excitement in her eyes. “You must be Lily’s boyfriend Tuney talked on the phone with!”

“Mum-” Lily started, purposely not looking at James. “He’s not-”

“You are dashing! What’s your name, dear?” Rose said, talking over Lily. Lily felt her stomach drop.

“James Potter, ma’am,” James said, not missing a beat. He flashed her a charming smile. 

“Lovely! It’s been awhile since Lily has brought anyone over to meet the family!” Rose said, looking like she was on cloud nine. 

“That’s because-” Lily started. 

“I’m a special one, what can I say?” James said. 

“Well, go get your seats! There’s gonna be a toast before the party kicks off,” Rose said, ushering them forward. 

James smiled and nodded and grabbed Lily’s hand. He laced their fingers together. 

“I did not tell Petunia you were my boyfriend,” Lily whispered as soon as Rose was behind them. 

“I know,” James said. “But I couldn’t dash your mum’s dreams.”

Lily snorted. 

“Was charming mothers a class at your posh boarding school?” she whispered. 

“Yes, actually. It was after ‘How to smile like a politician,’,” James remarked. 

Lily laughed a little as they walked to the main ballroom. 

Lily couldn’t believe how much Vernon had dished out for the engagement party. Lily knows there was no way Petunia could afford it with her career as a make-up saleswoman for that pyramid scheme she worked for. 

The centerpieces were huge, filled with roses that were painted gold. There were fancy name plates in a cursive that was barely legible. Petunia’s colors were an awful combination of hot pink and a bright orange. The table cloths were alternating between those colors. 

There was a live band that was setting up, composed of cellos, harps, and other instruments that indicated to Lily she was not going to be able to dance to the Cupid Shuffle tonight. 

“Wow, this is something,” James said. Lily could tell she was holding back laughter. 

“I think that pink is bright enough to burn my eyes,” Lily whispered. 

There was an usher, who guided them to their seats. Lily wanted to roll her eyes at her sister, placing her in the back corner and probably with Vernon’s cousin who they had deemed to be lesser than them. 

James pulled her seat out for her. Lily rolled her eyes at him. 

“What a gentleman, thank you,” she said. 

“My Mum would have my head if I didn’t act my best today,” he replied, sitting next to her. 

“Does your mum know you’re here?” Lily asked, looking over at him. He nodded, his black curls bouncing a little. 

“I tell my mum everything,” he said. Lily wondered what that must be like. “Speaking of which, you have been invited to an event of mine.”

Lily raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Yep. Sirius and mostly likely Remus will be going,” he said. Lily hummed. 

“What kind of an event?” she asked. 

“It’s the Potter’s annual charity event and auction,” he said, like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s more laid back than this, like a cocktail party if you will.”

Lily blinked at him. 

“How rich are your parents?” Lily asked. James glanced at her, smiling a bit. 

“My father is Fleamont Potter, Lily,” he said. 

“No offense, but am I supposed to know who that is?”

“I’d be surprised if you did. He invented hairspray,” James said. 

Lily laughed. 

“Okay, you got me,” Lily said. “What did he really do?”

James took a sip of his water, his eyes not leaving Lily’s. 

“You have got to be kidding.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my pretend girlfriend.”

“Give me my phone.”

He handed it to her and did a Google search, only to see that James was absolutely right. 

“What the fuck?” she whispered. 

“Language Evans!” 

She handed her phone back to him, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. 

“Crazy, I know,” he said. 

“Why didn’t you mention this?” she asked. James shrugged. 

“Didn’t seem important.”

Lily rolled her eyes. Only James would think it wasn’t important that his father had invented the very product she had sprayed all over hair for most of her life. 

Turns out they were seated with Vernon’s cousins who they had deemed untowardly. Surprisingly enough though, they were the ones that Lily actually imagined having a shot at getting along with. 

James had so much charm, it was practically oozing out of him. He had charmed the socks off of Vernon’s cousin, Elizabeth with a simple tale from his uni days. 

Mingling was not one of her strong suits, but James made it a lot easier. 

Lily’s gut twisted when the speeches started to kick off the night. The first one to go was her sister’s best friend from secondary school, Makayla, who had assisted in making Lily’s life a nightmare. 

Her speech was fine until they started talking about the “good ol’ days.”

“One of my fondest moments from our friendship early on was when we found her sister eating alone outside,” Makayla started. Lily’s breath caught at the mention of this and she stiffened. 

She felt James grab her hand. He laced his fingers through her’s and squeezed once. 

“We felt so bad for her! So we decided to sit with her,” Makayla continued. “We knew it would damage our reputation, but that’s what you do for family.”

There were a few laughs.

“That was until Lily started to get smart with her mouth and Petunia dumped her lunch all over Lily!”

Lily remembers it like it was yesterday. She had been reading a book, when her sister’s hoard of girls descended over her. They were spewing fake compliments, Petunia’s backhanded ones as well, Lily had had enough and looked straight at her sister and fired back at her. 

Lily had beans in her hair for the rest of the day. 

No one laughed, but Makayla trucked on to the story of how she met Vernon. 

Lily’s pulse rate was up and she could feel her cheeks flush with anger. She almost wanted to leave the room, but James was holding her hand. She squeezed it and James leaned over. 

“I take it, that's not the whole story?” he whispered. Lily shook her head stiffly. 

She didn’t pay attention to anyone else’s speeches. She kept her eyes down and was content to staying in a bad mood until James started a thumb war on her lap. 

He had just won for the second time when everyone started standing. Lily looked around in confusion. 

“I think we can get up and mingle now,” James said. “Or maybe we’re supposed to go greet the bride and groom?”

There was a line forming in front of Vernon and Petunia. Lily’s eyes passed over them and on to the snack table that only a few others were at. Lily eyed the champagne. 

“Snacks?” she asked. 

“Lead the way.” 

James, once again, lended Lily his arm as they made their way through the crowd. 

“What kind of party doesn’t have a chocolate fountain?” James asked as they neared the snacks. 

“They probably thought it wasn’t posh,” Lily replied. 

“I’ve been to plenty of posh parties and there has always been a chocolate fountain,” James replied. Lily laughed a little. 

“What about a cheese fountain?” she asked. 

“That sounds disgusting.”

“You can grab a tortilla chip and cover it in cheese.”

“Nasty, Evans.”

James grabbed a plate and let Lily fill it with whatever she wanted. She made sure to grab enough for both of them, James only turning down champagne. 

“Well, I’m going to need a lot to get through this night,” Lily said, taking a sip. 

“I wish I could,” James said, sighing. 

“Thanks for driving,” she said, smiling at him. 

“You only use me, Evans,” James lamented before popping a strawberry into his mouth. 

Lily was about to reply when Makayla walked up. She was looking at James though, like Lily was completely invisible. Lily fought the urge to grab James and run but Makayla was quick. 

Lily wasn’t in the business of hating other women, though it was hard to fight the societal pressures that had been pushed upon her since she was a kid. She didn’t hate Makayla because she was pretty or because popular in school. She hated her because Lily had spent many days crying and fearing her presence. 

“I don’t believe we met before?” she asked, extending a hand to James. “Are you one of Vernon’s cousins?”

James almost snorted, but Lily could see he was fighting his prep school education. He shook her hand. 

“No, I’m Lily’s boyfriend,” he said, smiling widely. 

Lily didn’t miss how her face fell a bit. She took a big gulp of her champagne. James put his arm around Lily and brought her closer. 

“Oh! I didn’t know Lily had a boyfriend. Petunia failed to mention that,” she said.

“This is the first time I’m meeting the family,” James said, smoothly. “We haven’t been dating long.”

“Oh well, this is a perfect occasion for that,” Makayla agreed. She finally turned her gaze to Lily. “How have you been Lily?”

“I’ve been good, thanks,” Lily said, forcing herself to smile and keep her tone light. 

“Still in school?”

“Post-grad,” Lily replied, evenly. Makayla hummed and turned her eyes to James again. James quickly stuffed food in his mouth, avoiding having to answer another question. 

“This has been lovely, but we really should be queuing to see Petunia and Vernon,” Lily said. “See you later.”

James followed Lily as they walked to the back of the queue. 

“I’m offended,” James said when they stopped. “She thought I was related to Vernon.”

“I bet she didn’t,” Lily mused. “She probably used that as an opener.”

James scoffed. “That’s a bloody fucking horrible opener.”

Lily laughed. They shared the snacks and Lily told him about the people she was recognizing. She didn’t have any cousins and her aunt had passed sometime ago, so it was only Vernon’s family and she didn’t know much about them. 

The couple in front of them started talking, revealing them to be Vernon’s cousins who had been shunned because she had gotten a divorce. It was nice bonding by being the family outcasts. 

Lily didn’t feel nervous until she was staring at her sister. 

Petunia was wearing a dress that Lily could admit was very pretty, but the sneer on her face is what made her ugly to Lily. Vernon was wearing an black suit with an orange shirt that blinded Lily’s eyes. 

“Lily,” Petunia said, stiffly. “How lovely to see you.”

Lily was determined not to live up to Petunia expectations, no matter how much she wanted to yell at her. 

“Lovely to see you as well,” Lily replied. “And Vernon as well.”

Lily saw Vernon eyeing James. 

“I’m James,” he said, a posh smile on his face. “I’m Lily’s date.”

“Or boyfriend, as you had decided to call it,” Lily added. 

“What do you James?” Vernon asked, shaking his hand. 

“Oh, I’m a trust fund baby,” James said smiling. “I don’t really need to work. I may go get a job at a McDonalds though. It’ll keep me on my toes.”

Lily bit back a smile as Vernon started to turn red. 

“Really?” he gasped. 

“No, just kidding,” James said. “I’m a journalist.”

The way Petunia’s jaw dropped, Lily would think that someone had committed a horrible sin right in front of her. 

“Is this the company you’ve been keeping, sister?” Petunia hissed. 

“Yep. Every night. We live together now,” Lily said, knowing it would make Petunia blow a gasket. It worked. 

“Vernon and I aren’t even living together yet! And we’re engaged,” she whispered scandalized. 

“Hm, maybe we shouldn’t tell them about the pregnancy scare?” James said, turning to Lily. 

Lily pulled him away as Petunia let out a little shriek. Lily was holding in a laugh as they walked through the tables. 

“Too far?” James asked. Lily shook her head. 

“No, just far enough,” she said. “They’re going to think you’re a sinning vagrant like me.”

James rolled his eyes. “If anyone here is a vagrant, it’s me Evans.”

Lily’s mother was waiting for them by their table and Lily’s laughter stopped. She hoped her mother wasn’t going to be stern with her. She felt like a kid again. 

“What did you say to get Petunia so mad?” Rose asked, swirling her glass around in the cup. 

“Oh, normal stuff,” Lily replied. Rose smiled. 

“I can’t believe you found a willing accomplice,” Rose said, gesturing to James. 

“I prefer partners in crime,” James replied. 

Rose smiled. 

“I’m going to ask that you guys stay for about an hour before you sneak out,” she said. 

Lily huffed as she was just about to ask James if they could leave and go get McDonalds. 

“Fine.”

With that Rose left, giving them a small smile. Lily and James some more snacks and soon the little band was playing. James stood up and offered his hand. 

“Uh,” Lily said, staring at it. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“Not a problem. I’ll teach you.”

The truth was that Lily could probably get the gist of it fairly quickly, but the issue was that she had never danced with anyone before. Like never, ever, danced with anyone before. Not even at the little dodgy dances that school threw. She went to one and no one had asked her. 

For some reason, it was nerve racking, being that close to James. Sure, she sat next to him on the couch, shoulders bumping, their legs touching. But this seemed intimate.

Too intimate for their friendly relationship. 

James squeezed her hand as he led her to the dance floor. He gave her his wide, easy smile. It made her feeling comfortable, knowing that he was going to be embarrassed by her as they danced. 

They ended up doing the stereotypical slow dance that wasn’t really a dance. Just swaying with their arms around each other. 

Petunia only seemed to have picked ballads for this occasion because not a single song went to an upbeat tempo. So their position was cemented, one hand with their finger’s threaded together, his other on her waist and her other resting in between shoulder blades. 

“I’ll teach you to properly dance,” he said. “One day.”

“When will I ever need that?” she asked, smiling a little. James smiled too. 

“If you are accompanying me to any and all Potter events, you’ll need to know.”

Lily groaned but she wasn’t bothered in the slightest. 

It fell silent between them. Lily looked up at him, taking in his jaw and the way the lights of the room reflected in his glasses. 

Another ballad started and Lily realized she liked this. A lot. She liked being this close to James, she liked grabbing his hand, she liked sharing laughs between them. 

She liked James. A lot. More than she ought to. She wondered how this snuck up on her like that. She didn’t know the exact moment she started feeling that way, but based on the intensity, it had to have been for a while. 

James glanced down at her and she averted her eyes, staring at his tie. 

He adjusted their position. He encouraged Lily to get closer and she obliged. Her arm went around him and she rested her head on his shoulder while his hand rested on her back. He kept their fingers threaded together though. 

Lily’s heart was thumping and she hoped James couldn’t feel it, as there was no room to speak of between their bodies. She could hear James’s thumping.. 

She could melt right there in that very spot, that’s how close they were. She wanted to be this way forever. 

Lily forgot that the back of her shoulders were bare from how the neckline of the dress was until she felt James’s hand gently trace a circle on her bare skin. It made her body start to tingle and long to feel his hands everywhere on her. 

The song changed and Lily realized she was going to have to do something about this. But not right now.

“I think it’s been an hour,” she whispered. 

“Wanna get out of here?” 

“Yes please.”

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 98

DISCLAIMER: This is a modern AU crossover story with Outlander and La Femme Nikita. LFN and its characters do not belong to me nor do those from Outlander.

THANK YOU so much for reading.  I’m sure it was disappointing to read that Claire’s rescue moment was fleeting and that their escape was foiled. Unfortunately, it was inevitable as the triad were aware that James Fraser had entered the monastery.  Nevertheless, the retrieval teams with Murtagh are getting closer and the triad may yet be the ones who have underestimated Section One. Until then, there is still a little more heartbreak for our two.  

 SYNOPSIS: Jamie and Claire are both now incarcerated.  Jamie is taken away in the hope that he will capitulate to Jonathon Randal’s methods of persuasion.

This chapter contains violence.  Previous chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

 CHAPTER 98 (V)

 Jonathon Randall had been observing the captives from the doorway but once having seen and heard enough, he sauntered over. He glanced from one person to the other before standing in front of the cages with a sarcastic yet knowing smile curving his thin mouth. There was no mistaking the body language of the two people. It wouldn’t take a genius to put two and two together. There was obviously a strong connection between the two people and Karen had confirmed as much. He looked at Jamie. “Ahh! ... A heroic rescue attempt by a fellow operative, how ... romantic ... but it didn’t work, did it Fraser?” he added mockingly. Jamie glanced indifferently at the man who had been responsible for causing his Claire so much pain and suffering. He would not give him the satisfaction of an answer, instead an intense loathing for Randall and everything he stood for wracked through his body. If given half a chance he would have strangled him with his bare hands and think nothing of it ... except now he was not able to do so. However, Randall’s time would come and he would deal with him accordingly on his terms. Watching Jamie Fraser intensely Jonathon tried to see any emotion on his face. The man was indomitable though and the only reaction he got from him was a blank expression. He was cold, unmoved by their plight and the self-assuredness that surrounded him was worrying. Like Claire he would be hard to break. Nevertheless, James Fraser would be the means to an end. This sabotage concerning the triad had gone on for too long. Sun Yee Lok was biting at his heels to resolve the situation and the elimination of both these Section One operatives was his end game.

He would so enjoy torturing this man and he had plans in mind that would certainly test a lesser man. He looked forward to matching wits with James Fraser and seeing him capitulate.  He had to show Section One that the triad was much more powerful than anyone they could send to outwit and outsmart them.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jonathon Randall’s gaze narrowed as he glanced towards Claire Beauchamp. They had already subjected her to torture that would have broken a lesser man ... but as a woman she had proven to be made of a strong constitution. Would seeing Fraser suffer lower her defences? Could she bear to see him suffer even greater torture than she herself had endured? He would like to see her reaction to that.

He smiled dryly before walking closer to Claire’s cage and studied her face intently. Randall threw another glance back towards Jamie who in turn watched him. His eyes, then words revealed the thoughts that had been coursing through his mind since observing the two captives.

“Hmm ... I see that there’s a certain closeness between you and Claire, Fraser … perhaps something more.” Jamie said nothing just merely observed his face.

Randall’s face seldom showed what he was thinking presenting instead a bland and impenetrable façade. However, this time a sly look of cunning appeared in Jonathon’s eyes as he glanced from him to Claire then back to Jamie again. Then with some glee in his voice he remonstrated.

“Ahhh.  It all makes sense now. I remember that you talked in your sleep Claire Beauchamp about this man and now that I see the two of you together your words run hollow my dear. There is a connection between the two of you and one that goes deeper than just friendship.”

With a look that would kill, they both refused to comply to his slurs. He could go to Hell for all they cared, for they would never admit to anything concerning each other under coercion. He could speculate all he wanted about the two of them ... but they would never capitulate.

Cold, steely eyes canvassed the two prisoners and despite them not responding to his tirade he continued. “You're lovers. ... When you work with bodies as much as I do, you learn to watch every move, every twitch, and you two are lovers ... Yes ... this should be very interesting.”

He could barely wipe the malicious smile from his mouth very pleased with his summation of the two Section One operatives. If in fact they were lovers then this should prove to be very interesting as he could play one off against the other. But who would yield first? He looked forward to the challenge.  

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Turning his head Jamie pointedly looked at Jonathon Randall. He knew what his captor was eluding to but he was prepared for what may come.

Many a target in the White Room had thought they had the upper hand, that is until the Torture Twins appeared.  Would Randall employ such torture methods too?  He had been trained to tolerate severe pain but he would not let his Sassenach be subjected to any more suffering. Jonathon Randall was a sadist and he knew at some point he would try his methods on him but he was ready for whatever may transpire between them.

Jamie watched as Randall began a tirade to try and convince him of his intentions.  

“I want to try and save time and any further discomfort for either of you. Right now, I can make this easy on everyone ... if I get what I want.” Jamie’s blank stare was his only answer and he gazed stonily ahead. Jonathon Randall blinked at him indifferently. “Oh, well, don’t say I didn’t try.” Staring at him without emotion, Jamie didn’t flinch with the knowledge of what was to come. He knew what Randall’s next words would be as too did Claire. Angry that he couldn’t crack either of these two people, those callous eyes locked on Jamie’s as a slight sneer appeared on his mouth then turning to the guards he ordered, “Take him!” Following Randall’s orders, they stepped forward, lowered Jamie’s cage and roughly yanked him out of his enclosure. “What do you want from us?” Claire yelled out frightened for she knew what they were about to do. “All in good time Miss Beauchamp ... There are a few things that need taking care of first.” Worriedly she grabbed the wire grill of her cage not knowing that the wire was cutting into her flesh. Blood began to trickle down her fingers ... but she felt nothing. Jamie’s imminent pain suddenly became her pain. With her heart in her mouth, worry and anxiety made her ache with anguish. Stretching her neck Claire watched as the guards dragged Jamie down some stairs until he disappeared from sight. Tears filled her eyes. She lowered her head in sadness but an unexpected sense of throbbing made her look down at her fingers. She was bleeding but she cared nothing about her own pain.

Closing her eyes, Claire prayed that Jamie’s torture session would be swift. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* “We're going to be wildly acquainted in the next few hours Mr Fraser,” Jonathon Randall stated as he gestured to his guards to prepare him for the water then the electro-shock treatment. Ignoring his statement, Jamie cast his two sidekicks a disinterested glance. “May I call you Jamie?” He asked condescendingly.

“I care not. But if ye're expecting me to cooperate, you'll be sorely disappointed.”

Standing to the side Jonathon Randall watched his captor’s reaction and he watched the guards as they carried out his orders. Cold water splashed and puddled on the floor as Jamie was targeted with what appeared to be a fire hose. He staggered back as he lost his footing but managed to remain standing despite the pressure from the water.

“Once more,” Randall said dispassionately.

Flinching Jamie coughed under the second drenching shower of water but he stood his ground this time eyeing his captor with deadly contempt.

Jonathon Randall strode forward and took him by the hair yanking his head back shaking it like a drowned animal so that drops of water splattered on the walls. Jamie’s eyes were dull slits as he peered back at him. Randall in turn, threw his head back in disgust wiping his hand down the side of his trousers and turned away. However, his eyes must have caught the flicker of movement because he began to turn back but not in time to brace himself against the Section One operative’s sudden lunge.

Jamie’s arms went around Randall’s neck with his forearm braced on his windpipe.  Randall turned purple and began to sag and Jamie loosened his hand just long enough to drive it into his kidney. The blow was enough to make his persecutor give at the knees.   However, before he could strike another blow, Jamie was tackled by two triad members and held forcibly while Jonathon Randal stood up holding his hand to his side and eyed his captive with a deadly glare.

Nicely fought Fraser but futile nonetheless.”  Regaining his breath back Randall’s voice was hoarse but as composed as ever. “Take him,” he then ordered gesturing to his men.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Strapping him into a chair they placed a device on to Jamie’s head with wires leading to two different pieces of equipment. Smirking, Jonathon grabbed one of the devices and went over to Jamie. 

“Our time together here... is but a momentary reprieve for your Mr Fraser but ... “

“What is it ye want from me, Randall?” Jamie asked somewhat aggrieved.

“Let me tell you how it’s going to be ... You will tell me everything I want to know, and much that I don't care about. I will ask, and you will leap … that's it! And … I expect you to answer my questions or else …” He left his sentence up in the air knowing that Fraser would put two and two together as to his meaning.

“And what would that be?”

“That you are involved in triad business. You cannot escape me Fraser. Surrender this information ... this pride that you hide behind and admit that, you're terrified.”

Standing in front of the chair Randall glared at Jamie with sinister glee then without severing his glance, then pressed the button on the apparatus. The sound of an electric current crackled in the air.

Excruciating pain raced through Jamie’s nervous system, however, he refused to show his interrogator any capitulation whatsoever. Jonathon gave him another dose or two of their torture techniques seeming to take great delight in seeing him suffer. His sadistic nature reared its ugly head again and again.

“On the contrary.  Ye dinna frighten me Randall.  It is ye who should be frightened.”

He laughed at Jamie’s audacity. “Give me what I ask and I will give you the death that you deserve. Clean, honourable, and of your own choosing. You could have a Roman death. You could fall on your sword like Brutus. Or maybe a Greek demise. Socrates took hemlock.  No... Perhaps you do not want to see my face at the end. I understand. I can simply slit your throat from behind. It's messy, but ... the choice is yours.”

“How will I ever choose?”

“But choose you must.”

Sweat began to pour from Jamie’s brow and blood oozed out of his nose brought on by the shock to his body. His eyes were as cold as steel and he glared at Jonathon Randall. “Your weaponry and tactics in entering the monastery suggest Section One, am I right?” 

Jamie showed no emotion, response, or movement. He looked disdainfully at Randall, then looked away.

“First, you must give me the answers I require. And make no mistake, I will have your responses before you leave this world.”

“All right. But I won't admit defeat.”

“I have to declare. There is a part of me that would be crestfallen if you did Mr Fraser. You do know that every man can be broken though?  It's... truly nothing to be ashamed of. It just takes time and I have plenty of that.”

“Ye’re the broken one Randall.”

The two men parried with a battle of wills and a struggle for supremacy. However, the conflict for domination was most prominent from Randall who certainly had the upper hand in this situation.

“I see we might need a little more persuasion.”

Noting his captor’s indifference, he gestured to one of his men.  Ordering him to increase more of the same, Jonathon Randall stood to the side watching as his commands were carried out. “Where is the extracting agent for Karen?” he asked as an afterthought. Still there was no response. Jamie refused to answer as he was bombarded with one question after another. “What is your involvement in the deaths of Tony Wong and Madame Cheung? .... “What do you know about the Rising Dragons?” Jamie closed his eyes. He heard the questions but remained stoic in his demeanour. “You answer me James Fraser! Or we can start this procedure right from the top once more.” Jonathon Randall looked annoyed and extremely exasperated with his failure to react to the torture treatment or to his questions. Jamie’s refusal to answer made him livid. When he zapped him again, two red lights on the head device came on. “What's it like to feel pain?” he goaded enjoying seeing Fraser suffer. It was evident that Jamie was smarting with the effects of the shock treatment, but he refused to answer any of Randall’s questions. The pain was excruciating. He felt it pool behind his eyes, his ears throbbed, his nose was bleeding and even his teeth felt the piercing pain that riddled his head. “Why do you force me to treat you in such an abominable way? Why do you choose to spend the few hours left to you refusing to answer my questions? Why do you force me to hurt you?”

“I’ll … kill ye Randall ... Arrgghh ...”

Jonathon ignored his retort.  “I could make this so much easier for you. Don't fight me. How far are you going to let me take this? … Hmm? … You may wish you were dead, Mr. Fraser, but I can assure you I'm too good at what I do to let that happen. Is Claire really worth all this Jamie, or would she do even half as much for you? ”

“Ye can go straight to ...”

Cutting off his reply, he zapped him again. “Ah … I see you are still alert Mr. Fraser.”

Jamie's eyes rolled back in his head in total pain knowing that the Rising Dragons would seek their pound of flesh in order to make him talk. 

“Perhaps this time you will tell us what we want to know.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ However, that was not to be. Jonathon turned away, shaking his head in disbelief at not being able to break him. “We'll have another session after you've had time to consider the price you pay for silence.” Crouching down behind him, Randall reached under the head devise and grabbed a handful of Jamie’s hair, exposing his neck. “We have some more questions to ask you before you're disposed of. We're curious how you found out about us.” Fraser’s silence was exacerbating Jonathon Randall’s frustration. Bringing up his other hand to show Jamie that he was holding a syringe; he injected a drug into his neck. No sooner had he done that, than Jamie's head dropped forward as the drug immediately took effect. Standing up Randall nodded to the two men guarding him. “Get him prepared ... and watch him ... I’ll be back.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Jonathon Randall returned to the torture room sometime later, he moved to stand in front of Jamie, who was confined in the high-tech metal frame chair staring into space. He’d been heavily sedated; his expression appeared vacant.

“His blood level is at 88. Should I increase?” asked the guard standing nearby controlling the various machinery. 

Randall stood so he was almost in Jamie's face, but he showed no indication that he was aware of his presence. “No. That should be enough. ... Let's begin Mr Fraser. Where is the extracting formula for the isotope?” Jamie answered in a trance-like tone. “In the left pocket of my mission jacket.” Watching for any change on the screen to Fraser’s vital signs, the guard answered, “His brain way patterns are stable,  He’s telling the truth.”

“Did Section One order Claire to kill Tony Wong and Madame Cheung?” 

Jamie hesitated a moment, then his eyes rolled back and he seemed to black out. Jonathon Randall became impatient and repeated the question. “I asked you a question, Mr Fraser. Did Section One order Claire to kill Tony Wong and Madame Cheung?” Again no answer was given. The injector arms pumped more of the drugs into Jamie’s arms. Sweat was pouring down his body and he seemed barely conscious. Seeing his target nearly comatose, Jonathon turned to the guard monitoring his vital signs and enquired worriedly, “What's the problem?” “It's likely he's programmed to resist certain types of memory de-sensing.” “Can we work around it?” He turned the dial up on the machine administering the drug. “I've boosted the dosage. He should be ready.”

 “Good.” 

Jonathon Randall repeated the question for the third time. “Did Section One order you and Claire to kill Tony Wong and Madame Cheung?” It was obvious that Jamie was trying to resist the effects of the drugs, but they were too powerful for him. His vacant eyes looked up. His mouth moved and something came out, but it was barely audible. “C'mon, spit it out Fraser ... or should I fetch Claire for some of the same treatment and ask her again?” He goaded with malign glee. His head screamed Nooooo!!!! His Sassenach could not bear any more torture. She had been through enough. I can bear pain myself but I couldna bear hers, he repeated in his mind. That would take more strength than I have.  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Seeing a glimmer of hope that James Fraser was about to capitulate, Jonathon Randall kept up his persistent questioning. “Do I need to ask again or will you give me an answer?”

Jamie turned his head and tried to focus on his antagonist. He blinked his eyes. Once ... twice, then he looked at Jonathon Randall. If he could save his Claire from further suffering and another bout of torture then he would. He uttered a soft reply with a husky breath. Leaning forward Randall taunted him with a smirk on his face. “I'm sorry Jamie; I can't hear you … speak up! ... What did you say?” “Aye,” he muttered quietly. “Louder, so I can hear.” “All right ... all right … I'll tell ye ... Yes.” Jonathon Randall was most pleased. At long last the triad had the answers they wanted. All that was left now was to eliminate the couple.

“Game over Fraser … take him away!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued on Friday 7th February

[renee-writer]

Songs of an Outlander Chapter One Fergus

A/N from @ladymeraud

Renee writer and I are about to in bark on another story. This story will be an extension of a work by HCKYGRL72 called “somewhere over the rainbow on AO3” I have complete permission from the author of this story to give it some more story. I will also be have come creative fun with some Disney stories. As we know Claire went about to the 18th century in 1946. There where only a few Disney movies that she would have seen. As a military nurse working with the Americans and the other, she would have seen first run movies. Now some of the song in this story Disney didn’t release until the 1950’s Claire would have not seen them but for fun. Let’s have some fun and after 14 days of only going to work and an hour out to exercise, or shop for food, I personally need to be creative. As always, if anyone needs to see the email that HCKYGRL72 gave me to write this little story. I am very ok with sending it to you. This is to be an AU canon. I own nothing not the rights to any story by HCKYGRL72, Disney or outlander. So here we go sit back and have some fun.

At the End of Over the Rainbow

She ends the tale to the whistles and applause of her listeners. She smiles and bows. Jamie watches her closely. Though she seems happy, there is a note of sadness about her. He sees a single tear fall from her eye. He wishes to wipe it away and keep more from falling. Maybe someday.

“Mistress Claire, thank you so much for telling us the story. It was so enchanted with the wee people and the witches!” Hamish exclaims.

“And the magic slipper shoes and the big wind.” Another bairn adds. Jamie can tell she is getting tired and makes his way through the throng of children.

“Mistress Claire needs her rest. Come, let ye be off to your parents.” They move reluctantly away.

“Thank you Jamie.”

“May I see ye to your room Claire?”

“You may. Thank you.” He takes her arm and they head down the long halls.

“It was quite a tale. I've heard none like it.”

“It come from the colonies. My uncle told it to me.” Her eyes drop and he kens she isn’t being fully truthful but will not press her on it. She's a right to her secrets after all. “My Uncle Lamb was full of tales. He kept me entertained.” He smiles at her, struck by the far off look in her eyes. Somewhere over the Rainbow indeed.

They have reached her door and stop. “Thank you for seeing me safe Jamie.”

“You are welcome anytime a chridhe.” Jamie said. She looked at him but didn’t ask what that had meant. She would find out at some time. She smiled at him and closed the door.

“Good night Claire,” he said as she closed the door. “Good night mo chridhe’ he whispered.

She leans against the closed door with a sigh. She knows she needs to get back to the stones, back to her own time but she was drawn to the lad. To Jamie.

The next morning finds her humming another song, from her time, from the Disney film, Cinderella. She finds herself happy. She knows it has a lot to do with Jamie and that scares her.

They dance around each other over the next month. Brushing against each other in the halls, smiling across the table in the Great Hall. Careful conversation. Each are exquisitely aware of what is between them.

One day, the day before he is reluctantly to join Dougal, in collecting rents, he heads into her surgery. He needs to see her before he leaves. He stops in awe at what he sees.

She stands, swaying, with a small bundle in her arms. She is softly singing. “I know you. I know you once upon a dream. I know you.”

“Miss Beauchamp. Claire?”

“Jamie. Look. Someone has left me a present. A little boy, around three months, in a basket outside my surgery.”

He walks up to examine the baby. He is a beauty, with dark curls, a shade darker then the lass that holds him.

“A fine brawl lad.” He agrees.

“He is. Oh Jamie! I want to keep him. Do you think Himself will let me.”

“He will wonder if he is yours.”

“Mine! No Jamie. I have never been pregnant.” A vale of sadness covers her again. He longs to make her smile.

“I ken Claire. I ken he isn’t your son, by birth. Let’s go see if he can still be yours.” As he hoped, her smile returns. He leads the bairn and her out.

They enter Column’s office. “Jamie, Miss Beauchamp, and who is this, then?”

“It seems someone left a bairn, a lad, at Miss Beauchamp’s doorstep.”

“I wish to keep him. Oh please, may I?”

“How can I be sure he isn't yours? Those skirts hide a lot.”

“My Laird, the lad is near three months. Not two months ago, Miss Beauchamp rode before me in naught but a shift. Trust me, she was not near delivery.”

“I see. Well, I will talk to Ned, when he returns with the rents, about the legal aspects of it. But, yes Miss Beauchamp, you may keep the lad. He needs a name.”

“Thank you,” she wishes to do a little gig but restrains herself, “What is a good Scottish name?”

“Fergus.” Jamie offers.

“Fergus Henry Beauchamp. Will that do?” She asks Column.

“Perfectly. There is a lass, Annie Mackenzie. She lost her own bairn to the fairies.” All three cross themselves. “I will send her to you to wet nurse him.”

“Thank you. I will supplement with goat's milk.”

He nods.

“Jamie, I ken my brother wishes for you to travel with him to collect the rents.”

“Aye. I am to leave out tomorrow.”

“Ye were too. I feel that you would be a better service to me here. With most of the fighting men gone. Besides, Miss Beauchamp and the young lad, could use your protection.”

“Aye. I am at you and Miss Beauchamp's service.” He bows low to both of them.

“Verra good. Escort them back to her chamber. I will see Annie sent to them.” She curtsies, as well as she can, and they head out.

“What were you singing to the lad?” Jamie asks as they head back.

“Oh, a song from another tale. Cinderella.”

“Cinder Ella?”

“She laughs, full of incredible joy. “Yes. A lass named Ella is renamed such when her mean step-mother, sets her to cleaning out the fireplaces.” She recalls watching it with other nurses in a tent when it first came out and dreaming of her own Prince Charming, her husband Frank. Now she dreams of the red haired man beside her. She flushes at the thought.

“I see. Cinder from the fireplaces, eh?”

“Just so.”

He found her in the Great Hall at dinner that night. The lad, Fergus, is beside her in a basket. She is making faces at him and he hears her laugh from across the room. He is drawn to it like the moon draws the tide to the shore.

“May I join you Claire?”

“Yes Jamie.” He sits across from her as she lifts the lad up. She begins to feed him with a contraption that has what looks like o coo's teat at the end. “The wet nurse could only give him so much. I need to supplement with goats milk. He can have porridge and milk in about a month.” God, she is so beautiful with a bairn in her arms. “Jamie? Are you with me?”

“I am. Sorry.”

He walks her back to her room that night.

“He is a miracle.” She states as she changes his clod. He stands and watches her. “I couldn’t have one. We tried, my late husband and I. I don't know who's fault it was. It might have been him but, I felt responsible. To be gifted with this beautiful boy, it feels so wonderful!”

“Ye were meant to be a mam. He is a blessed lad.”

“Thank you Jamie.” She lays the baby, now asleep in a cradle by her bed. “He will sleep for three hours or so.”

“Aye. Do ye and the lad have enough wood for tonight?”

“I am not sure.”

He walks over to check. He starts the fire, building it up. He stacks more by the now roaring fire. He then turns and rejoins her. He sees another tear running down her eye.

“Claire?”

“I am just so happy. I never thought it would be so.” He can't resist. He reaches out to brush the tear from her eye. Their eyes meet. Her breath catches as he lowers his head. He kisses her cheek where the tear had been before taking her lips. What was meant to be a quick press of lips becomes more. She opens up under him. It is only a wail from the bairn that stops them from doing only God knows what.

She is quickly to her feet. “My luv, what is wrong?” She pats his belly and he falls back to sleep. She returns to Jamie, who is manly trying to get himself together.

“I thank you Jamie for all you did today.”

“You are verra welcome Claire. I will be here for whatever ye and he needs.” She smiles and kisses his check.

“Good night Jamie.”

“Good night Claire.” He floats away on a cloud.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Calculation Theme

A/N  Another little ficlet in the Outlander modern AU I’ve decided to call the Metric universe, since both stories have thus far been inspired by songs from that band.   

Although not necessary to understand this fic, and in no way told in a linear fashion, here is the other ficlet in this universe: Lazy Dancer. 

All you need to know is that Jamie is a firefighter, Claire is a nurse and medical student, and they live together in present day London.

This story also fulfills the prompt from @gotham-ruaidh‘s writing workshop: I understand none of those things (found in bold in the text).

An irritated sigh sounded from their shared desk beneath the drafty living room window.  Jamie was balancing his cheque book, and was in a foul mood as a result.  The autumnal waves of his hair were arranged in tussocks by the frequent passage of his fingers.

Even with both of them gainfully employed, the cost of living in London was daunting.  Neither of them owned a car, and their professions demanded proximity to his firehouse and her hospital.  Combined with her medical school tuition, and the cost of keeping food in the fridge and the bill collectors at bay, there was precious little left over each month.  Hence Jamie’s current mood.

She took a sip of her tepid tea, and was immediately seized by a coughing fit.  Several minutes passed in a dizzy fugue before she could focus again.  She read Jamie’s concern in the tight brackets of his shoulders.

“Ye’re still sick,” he said needlessly.   She didn’t bother responding.  They both knew her night shifts on the pediatric ward combined with the long hours and stress of her final year at medical school meant she was sick more often than she was well.  It was the price she paid to chase her dream.  One of the prices.

“Ye’re sick.  I’m tired all the time from worry.  I dinna remember the last time we spent a night out t’gether.  And t’has assuming I could afford tae take ye anywhere but the nearest chip wagon.”

She knew Jamie spoke out of concern, that he did not mean it as a reprimand, but exhaustion left her nerves thin and patience torn.  Defensiveness rose up like a third body between them.

“Well, I’ve good news then, lad.  I’m in line for a tidy raise, once I complete my exams and start my residency.”

It was a skillfully placed incision, worthy of a future surgeon.  She’d cut Jamie exactly where she knew it would hurt the most: his damnable outdated masculine pride in being a good provider.   She braced for his predictable outburst, shame cresting over her in a hot wave.

Instead, he stood and looked out the window in silence, which was somehow worse.  She placed her tea, forgotten, on the second-hand coffee table and tried to come up with words to suture the damage she’d caused.

“Some days, I dinna recognize my life,” Jamie said, leaping ahead of her thoughts.  “There’s no horizon here.  Jus’ row after row of ugly buildings, stretching out in a grid tae infinity.   Everything’s a number: how many ‘ours tae go til ye’re done workin’, how few quid ye ‘ave left tae yer name, how many stops on the Tube tae the market, how many wee pills ye ‘ave left that keep a bairn from comin’...”  He broke off, realizing he’d said more than he meant.

She approached quietly, palm coming to rest on the quivering mutiny beneath his flesh.

“It’s the life we both chose, Jamie.  To serve others.  To strive for better.  To carve out some little space between those things for our love.  Are you saying you want something different now?”  

She was glad they weren’t looking each other in the eye, or she might not have been brave enough to give these tiny words voice when they could end everything: the snowflake to start an avalanche.

“I dinna know what I’m sayin’, Claire.  Only that I’m the kind of tired tha’ sleep canna mend.”  His shoulders rounded as he dropped his chin to his chest.  She’d never seen him so beaten.

“You do understand that this is only temporary, right?  That it’s for the best?  I’ll finish school and winter will end.  Maybe we could head up to Lallybroch at Easter.  I know nothing makes me appreciate my life in the city more than watching Ian and Jenny work the farm from sun-up to sundown,” she tried for levity.

“I understand none of those things,” Jamie responded, missing the joke.

“What can I do to help?”

Jamie finally turned towards her, and the pain in his eyes made them icy as an alpine lake.  She reached up to cup the ridge of his jaw.

“Can ye hold me t’gether in yer arms, Sassenach, til I’m able tae do it myself?”

“Always.”   She wrapped herself around his torso, so strong and yet so vulnerable.   They stood there, swaying ever so slightly from side to side, as the world outside the window faded away to nothing.

[a-tamed-dragon]

HTTYD: Outlander!au

In the words of Squidward Tentacles: “Well, here you go.”

It only took 2 hours to produce about 1K words of the blurb I was ranting about earlier. I guess it is my work-in-progress for now to see if anyone out there would be interested in reading more. 

The Outlander AU - this is just a blip where Astrid is picked up my the Haddock’s. The setting is the same as the HTTYD-verse and so are the characters. The storyline, however, will follow Outlander but veer around if I keep writing it to fit the characters and plot better. Maybe dragons? Let’s see where this test-drive takes us. 

Let me know if you are interested in more, DM me or comment on this post :) It just takes a single person to sway me haha.

Best,

Prue

———-

I looked around me- looked for a way out, but what good would being alone and exposed be as it has led to this. Barefoot and in a shift with no weapon on me- not the best odds, therefore foolish to take the chance on my own. No. Escape, as of right now, was not an option.

           As I looked out into the trees, seeing my breath rise in the near frigid temperature, gentle hands announced themselves on my waist with barely a graze.

            “It’s time we get on our way, Mistress” He spoke quietly into my ear from behind my back, keeping a politeness that, although not dissipating my still ravenous impulse to comic a crime, kept it in check. The safest thing to do was to keep within, at least for now, everyone’s good graces.

           He lifted me up to side-saddle at that. His fingertips were nearly inches away from meeting when they wrapped around me. His hands were big, in fact, every one of them was taller than the averagr man. The one who had lifted me, though, was lean but strong enough to lift me a few feet intot he air with absolute ease.

           “Tuff, ride ahead and tell Stoick what we are bringing.” The large, balding man with the peg leg shouted form his Clydesdale of black and white to the absolutely morose young man hidden behind a combination of pure grime and matted, wiry hair. If you can call it that. I guess I am a ‘what’, then.

           “I will hold it with my life, good sir.” He said with solute and a nod before riding off into the now falling darkness.

I watched from my perch, fully aware of .. of… I couldn’t recall his name... Ren.. lifting himself up behind me. I adjusted with him like a rag doll of sorts as I was too busy absorbing what I was seeing and hearing. They all oggled me, the greasy black haired one and the large mustachiod one pulled up on there horses while talking in the group but could not stare more clearly at me. I starred back, trying to hold the chatter of my teeth from showing from the cold.

The addition of another person in the single-person suited saddle had me pushed forward, causing me to sway and nearly lose my balance. Ren was talking over me when I gasped:

“Jesus Fu-“

“Wooh.” he stopped and steadied me with a grasp on my left arm. “Can’t have you falling.”

He chuckled under his breath, a half-smile pulled the corner of his lips up, a crooked left smile. It was humorous, amused, and calm. As cold as I was, and despite how bitterly stubborn to stay bitterly cold that I was, a protest died in my belly once Ren’s arms encircled me from below my elbows and along my hips to still hold the reigns. He maneuvered his heavy cloak to fall around me too, engulfing me in a warmth that I would silently relish as it kept me from freezing, but show an outward reluctance for.

With a shout the 4 men’s horses moved out. We lead in the front, the rotund man just nearly behind us, followed by the other two. The movement of a horse was not something I was used to and to keep from slipping my back was pressed into the riders chest while he kept his elbows ineard to lock me in place as we traversed the terrain.

It was silent for a long while until the oldest man began singing something in a language entirely foreign to me. The other two in the back pitched in and they proceeded to perhaps scare every living creature within ear shot. That’s when he decided to say something-

“Falling asleep, are you?”  He whispered lowly. 

Wide awake I was, though, trying to memorize every bit of my surroundings to figure out how to get back. Where was I? When was I?  So engulfed in my own thoughts I barely heard him speak and questioned if I had even heard anything at all.

He waited, his breath in my hair. Where our heights nearly matched had his chin at my ear. He could not look clearly over my head. Finally, as he patiently waited for a response from me, I breathed:

“No.”

“Hm.” He hummed with a thought. “You know,” He shifted mis sentence and pulled the now nearly fallen cloak back around in front of me, I held it shut in front of my chest as he handed me the pelt. “If you tell me where you are from, or why you are out here, a wee lass all on her own, it’ll be easier for you than waiting until we get back home.”

Still looking perfectly straight ahead of me I replayed his words in my head again, choosing my response not on the merit of question response, but that of priority.

“Where is ‘home’?” As clearly as I tried to speak, I could not keep the trembling of chill and adrenalin out of my voice.

I knew he could here it and perhaps even feel it as I my entire body began trembling as the sun set and the temperature dropped even lower.

“Home?” He shifted yet again, I held my breathe, unsure of what he was doing as His left hand reached in between us and he pulled at the fabric in front lf him. Unsure I held my breathe and braced, ready to push away.

“ Why, it’s the most dangerous place in the world, it’s about... hmm... twelve days north of Hopeless,and”

He had pushed the fabric of his overlayer away and be scooched me back with his left arm bared across my mid section like I weighed nothing to press back into his chest. His mouth was right at my ear again, still not releasing me from his bar, causing me every nerve in my body to reanimate and grow nervously close to threshhold response.

“a few degrees south of Freezing to Death.”

“Where?” I interhected and tried to hold my impatience disinterest in his long-winded spiel.

He paused, I could feel his chin turn towards me, perhaps in mild surprise at my change jn nathre. As he was about to answer men began shouting in the back. Ren cursed under his breathe and slowed the horse down to a slow walk.

“Hello? Gentlemen, could you please hold your minds?” He shouted over his shoulder.

The round man began shouting at them also.

“ We was havin such a nice time and you have ta start up again?” He scolded.

I looked over Ren’s opposite shoulder but could not see far back enough as I was sitting side saddle to the right while looking over my left.

“Idiots.” Ren groaned, laughing it off.  

I was still looking over his shoulder, at what? Nothing in particular anymore. It had become too dark and hazy to see clearly; I could not make out a visual marker from the ground to the tree tops above.

The conversation had died with that; I would not know where I was so long as they did not know where I came from.

I fought the lull of sleep with all of my might, never has the will to sleep and the will to stay awake sparred so furiously for dominance. I could keep my eyes open, but it was getting hard to keep my head from going idle. Around what I felt like the hour and a half mark, with open eyes and a nearly fuzzy mind my head fell back and hit the captor’s shoulder. I snapped up again, shaking my head and releasing the cloak from my fist which had grown ridged- cricking as it lifted to rub my eyes.

“Sleep, Mistress, ‘till be an hour yet before we are home. If you’re not going to talk, then be ready to meet the redt of us.” He bunched the cloak around me again, using the arm which bared across me to now reach over and hold it closed in front of me just above my own.

I wouldn’t sleep, I did not know these men and would not let my gaurd down to sleep. I shook my head.

“ No?” He chuckled “ I’can tell you have the urge to from every time your head hits my shoulder.”

I couldn’t tell why be was talking, but it still made me nervous he would try something like the Red Coat.

I jumped again when the horse faltered for inly a second and I lost my balance.

“Heyyy, easy boy.” He called his horse. I had gripped his forearm that layed on my hip and pushed back into him. As the horse recovered and tread on he placed a bared arm around me again, the intimacy was more than uncomfortable and he said “ I apologize mistress for the close quaters.” There was an uncertainty now in his voice, implying he was nervous also, or atleast uneasy with having a strange woman in his saddle now.

His sense of propriety certainly was bordering archatic, but whatever kept his hands from me.

We were almost there, but where?

__________

There she is, guys. Let me know your thoughts, I would really appreciate feed-back.

Thanks!

[desperationandgin]

Market Price (Modern AU Outlander Fic; Jamie x Claire - COMPLETE)

Chapter Six: In the Morning

Rated: M (not explicit)

Also Read on: AO3

Previous Chapter

She could watch him sleep forever. She’s always been an early riser with her work schedule and she assumes he is too, being a farmer. So, Claire indulges while she can, laying on her side facing him as the sun begins to peek through her window shades. It’s just enough light to see his face, to see the way his lips turn up into a small smile and there’s such a swell of affection at that, wondering what he’s dreaming of. Reaching out, her fingers touch his curls lightly, pushing them away from his forehead before twisting one lightly around her finger.

“It’s no wonder ye had a condition to no’ hog the sheets. You have them wrapped around ye like a burrito.”

Claire looks down at herself and it’s true so she opens them, inviting him closer, sighing when he wraps his arms around her. “Well, you did say you run hot,” she counters, smiling with her head tucked against his chest. She tries to think back to the last leisurely morning she had in someone’s arms and nothing quite comes to mind. Mornings past consisted of somewhat formal greetings and questions about how she slept before promptly getting up, each of them readying themselves for separate days that never intersected again until she brought herself home from the hospital. Now, she’s honest to God snuggling. “I go back to work soon. Lunch picnics and early evening dates might go out of the window.”

Jamie’s fingers glide through her hair, lightly massaging her scalp as they do. “We could settle for midnight dates of making sure ye eat and sleep, then.” His voice is still low and gravelly with drowsiness and he nuzzles in against her temple.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” she admits, fingers gliding along his chest slowly before tilting her head up enough to see his face. “Would you, after a while?” Frank had grown to resent it, never made plans with her, to try and accommodate her. So many dinners with ‘colleagues’ she always wondered, in the back of her mind, if he was trying to replace her once he realized being married wouldn’t slow her down.

Silence falls over them both for a few moments but his fingers in her hair never falter. “I think, Sassenach, that you’re a rare woman. Full of piss and vinegar and wi’ a heart that has more to give, only no one’s ever given ye a chance.” His hand moves between them, over her chest to press against that steady thumping. “A heart is a delicate thing, ye ken. Especially one such as yours.”

Her breath, caught in her throat, makes her words sound quieter, more unsure than she means to when she speaks. “And how is my heart?”

“A wee bit bruised. It was no’ taken care of properly before. What are missed meals and long work hours compared to the way ye throw yer head back and laugh when I’ve said something that really gets ye going? Christ, to hear that laugh and see that smile, the way yer eyes go bonny and bright, would be worth a thousand rescheduled date nights.”

Claire’s head tucks under his chin, her voice muffled now when she speaks. “Do you always say such perfect things?”

“No. I suppose the inspiration from last night has carried over. It’s only…” Jamie pauses, then sits up, gently placing her on the pillow so he can look at her, see her face and watch her eyes. “It’s only that I’ve no’ ever felt this exact way before. As though ye make everything seem brighter. Ye dinna even have to be physically close. Just the way I ken I’ll see ye again is enough. Although, physically close is no’ a bad way to be.”

Reaching out, her fingers lightly move along his jaw, eyes moving over his face, taking in every feature before she finally speaks again. “Did you know you have the most incredible bone structure I’ve ever seen in my life?”

His eyes had closed before, to concentrate on the feel of her touch but now they open to look at her curiously. “Are ye always this complimentary when a man confesses to ye such deep feelings?”

“No one’s ever confessed something like that to me before. Did I not handle it right?” she asks even as her body shifts and she relocates over him, hips settling against his.

“It was a solid effort, and no one’s ever complimented my bone structure before.” Jamie’s hands move down the smooth expanse of her back until his hands can rest at her hips where his thumbs trace slow circles against her skin. “It was all true, by the way. I’m no’ sure I could ever let you go now.”

Going still, Claire studies a spot on his chest, tries to put into words what he does to her. “This frightens me, I think. I don’t mean I’m afraid of you, I mean I’ve always thought feeling this way this quickly wasn’t possible. That it was something better left for romance novels. Christ, even saying that out loud feels cliche.”

Reaching for her hand, Jamie presses her palm to his and watches the way they seem to fit together before bending his fingers to lace through hers. “I dinna ken what it is between us, whatever it is pushing us together, but it’s there.”

Looking at their hands, she can’t help the knot of feeling unsure in her stomach, of fear and right on its heels, excitement. “It feels right, Jamie.” Slowly, her hips rock; not urgently, just a slow back and forth. “But I can’t help but worry that after the weekend is over and I go back to work, you’ll be frustrated.”

His free hand, the one that’s been planted at her hip all this time, moves up her side slowly. His thumb grazes the side of her breast, sneaks around to stroke a nipple and he watches it harden before shifting his gaze to meet hers. “What will ye do, the first time I cancel on ye while ye’re off because I need to put together a last-minute restaurant order?”

Claire contemplates that, letting out a soft breath. “I would swing by and drop off a meal. Try not to interfere too much if there’s nothing I could do to help.”

“And what about a weekend where I’m so tired, I dinna want to bother wi’ going out once the farmer’s market has closed? When I only want to go home and shower and laze about all day?”

She catches on and smiles softly, tugging his hand to her lips and kissing the back of it. “That depends. Do you care for company?”

“Oh, aye. I’ll always care for yer company.” His hand cups her breast now, hips moving with more intent, watching as her eyes flutter closed then open again, their color darker with building arousal. “Do ye have an answer then? Something to quiet the worry?”

Claire leans over him a moment, close enough so that he can draw a nipple between his lips, understanding without her having to say a word. Lips parting and eyes closed, her response is breathless but unmistakable in its truth. “I trust you, Jamie.” Reaching to the nightstand, her fingers close around a condom and she opens it, scooting back to slide it over him, hard and wanting. Both hands plant on his chest, continuing to rock, to tease as she watches him.

“I trust ye too, Sassenach. I have since ye burned that lamb.” He raises his head to lavish attention to her opposite breast, groaning against her as his hands move to her hips once more, trying to keep her balanced. “Weel, I dinna trust ye wi’ cooking.”

Her laugh is stilted because it comes with a soft moan. “Why--why did that make you trust me?”

Sneaking a hand between them, his thumb seeks and finds her clit, rubbing slow circles there as he watches a flush spread on her skin. “Because ye trusted if ye messed it up I would no’ call the whole thing off.”

When she tries to speak, her words don’t quite make it as she whimpers and closes her eyes. Fighting for an actual thought process, she keeps rocking against his hand. “I was surprised. When you came back,” she admits. They’d known one another less than twelve hours; he’d had no obligation to return and with so much food.

“Couldna let ye starve,” he retorts, moving his fingers faster, delighting in the way she gasps loudly and the way her lips part. It’s an odd thing to notice, perhaps, the way freckles fall over her cheekbones and across her nose, but notice he does as he’s touching her, trying to make her come undone.

“Jamie, I want you inside of me.” She doesn’t even recognize her own voice, breathless and higher pitched.

“No,” he decides on a whim, shaking his head. “I want to watch ye.”

Claire’s eyes open, forehead creasing only as she studies his face to see if he’s serious. When she realizes he is, for a moment she wonders; what does she sound like, look like, feel like? And then, just as quickly, she doesn’t care because he smiles and his fingers move, touch sure and strong. Every stroke feels like he’s leaving a trail of fire in his wake and never in her life has she felt so exposed. But Christ, the way he makes her feel, the way he’s so sure of how he’s moving, watching her face, adjusting to how she responds. She’s positive it’s the fastest she’s ever come undone in her life. He leaves her panting, gasping, and still able to nod at an unasked question as his hand moves and his hips press closer.

The way he fills her makes both of them sigh, her body bowing until her forehead can press to his. The night before was hurried and frenzied, a getting to know one another that resulted in clashing teeth and frantic touching. There is none of that now. Now she realizes, as she pulls back just enough to see his face, that he’s making love to her. He’s trying to touch a part of her that no one else ever has, a part of her that he can keep. Gasping his name has him pushing up more urgently, has her sitting upright and pressing her hands to his stomach as they move in tandem. The need for friction and heat overrides slow and easy and she hears the sounds that tumble out of her, words that are nothing but moans mixed with pleas for more and more until there’s nothing. The first spark of her pleasure begins low in her pelvis and arcs up her spine, exploding out of her in a loud cry that’s half his name, half Christ as her body moves out of her own control. She feels his breathing change, can hear him panting, is aware that one hand stays low on her back while the other moves up to tangle into her hair. Claire hears him and she’s not sure he’s speaking English as he comes, his entire body tense until the only sound is their ragged breaths, the sound of her own heartbeat echoing in her ears.

When his arms tug her down against his chest she doesn’t protest it, too boneless to move away or to the side. They just woke but she can’t move, and so she drifts with eyes closed, listening to the staccato beating of his heart until the rhythm evens and slows a bit. She isn’t aware of how much time has passed when he speaks quietly.

“Sassenach?”

She hums, smiling at his chosen name for her that will, apparently, stick. “Hmm?” No words have yet found their way back to her.

“Do you ken I wil no’ expect ye to be less than the person ye’d like if ye decide to keep me around?”

For a few moments she’s quiet, but then, keeping her head down against his chest, she finally finds her ability to speak. “A part of me still worries, Jamie. I can’t help it right now. This week has been something I never expected.” A week. And not even a full one. “But for the record, I’ve decided to keep you around.”

At her words, his arms wind tighter around her and he kisses the side of her head, only barely containing a smile. “Oh? What was it that won ye over?”

“The sex isn’t bad.”

“Is no’ bad?”

“Is incredible,” she amends, finally rolling so that she can face him, propping herself up on her elbow.

“Much better,” Jamie decides, mirroring her position after relieving himself of the condom, tying it, tossing it in the bin under the nightstand. “Is that it, then? Ye found someone to properly bed ye and ye’re set?”

Claire smiles, letting out a soft breath and reaching out to push her fingers through his curls. “No, that isn’t it.” Her eyes search his, trying to make sense of the thoughts running through her mind. “I know you won’t try to make me into someone I’m not, Jamie. And I know you respect my job just as I respect yours.”

“I ken I’ll have to earn all of yer trust, Claire. But I promise I’ll no’ go anywhere for as long as it takes. If ye trust that for now, then the rest will come later,” Jamie assures her, reaching out to tuck curls behind her ear. “Beyond that, as I said Sassenach, I canna let ye go now.”

She laughs softly and lets her head fall down against her pillow. “Why is that?” she asks, amused and smitten. Happy.

“Because I’m no’ an eejit.” He seals that declaration with a kiss. “And ye kiss me like yer verra life depends on it. I do like that.”

“Oh, do you?” she asks even as she tugs him closer to press her lips to his until they’re both breathless.

“Exactly like that. I canna go another day in my life wi’ out that.” His hand moves down her back and over her hip, pulling her closer and pressing a kiss to her neck.

They stay content, wrapped in one another and touching, kissing, until she lets out a soft breath, reveals a new observation. “Did you know you smile in your sleep?” she asks with a smile of her own.

“Do I? No one’s ever told me as such before. Do I snore?”

“Mhmm, like a pot-bellied pig.”

Jamie gasps, offended. “I do no’, it was a trick question I already ken the answer to.”

“How do you know what sort of sounds you make in your sleep?” she protests, dodging fingers aiming to tickle.

“I’m no’ able to snore when my teeth are too busy chattering because ye tricked me about the conditions regarding yer blankets.”

When she laughs this time it's loud and uncontrolled, her eyes closing with it. She can feel him laughing with her though he stops just to watch her. To take in the roundness of the apples of her cheeks, the way her chin dimples.

“Ye’re the bonniest lass I’ve ever seen, Claire. Everything, from the curl of yer hair to that verra round arse.”

“Oh, stop,” she laughs, even as she lets her hand glide up and down his back slowly. Her fingers trace along the line of a scar, one of so many as she watches his face.

“Ye dinna mind them?” he asks, meaning the scars.

“No, Jamie. How could I?” With her free hand, she strokes his cheek, then drags her fingers up his jawline. “They’re a part of you that makes up a whole. When I touch them, I know you should have died, but you didn’t.”

“Verra nearly, and the pain, it made me want nothing more than to die. But I did no such thing. And now, here I am wi’ ye. In yer arms.”

Claire smiles softly and slides closer, so close that her forehead presses to his. “Here you are. With me.” Their lips meet and she wraps around him, an effort to be as close as possible. “Do you need to go?” she asks quietly. “Duties to tend to at the farm?”

Jamie’s face presses in against her neck. “Aye, quite a few duties.”

Her nose nuzzles against his, eyes closing. “Do you want me to let you go?”

His head drops, pressing a kiss to the curve of her neck.

“No, Sassenach. Dinna let go.”

EPILOGUE

This fic is now complete as was planned and written, however, look for an epilogue tomorrow and a couple of one-offs set in this same ‘universe.’ Thank you to everyone who read and shared and commented. You made my first journey into Outlander fic an incredible one! My ask box is open for prompts or anything else if you ever feel so inclined!

[blessed-but-distressed]

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU

also on ff.net and ao3

Tagging: @katie-dub , @wholockgal , @kat2609 , @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @emmaswanchoosesyou, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @biancaros3, @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky, @ms-babs-gordon  @ab-normality, @andiirivera, @fangirl-till-it-hurts, @onceuponaprincessworld , @natascha-remi-ronin and whoever else asks me.

A/N: Yep. It’s been forever. And to add insult to injury, this is only Part 1 of 2. But umm... yay content?

***

SOS. My boss is wearing a powdered wig, and a guy in US flag speedos and nothing else just spilled punch down my dress. ES

What's this? A damsel in distress? Sounds like a perfect opportunity for a certain bearded gentleman to swoop in. One with cocktail knowledge and combat experience. Where is dear Rambo tonight? KJ

Don't call him that. And he's in Belfast, doing research. You know, like academics are supposed to do? ES

Ah, yes. Research. I've heard of it. KJ

That's it? No daring rescue plan? We have a code T here. ES

Code T? KJ

T for Transparent. As in, my dress. From being soaked through with punch by that asshole. Am I painting a clear enough picture? ES

I assure you, the image is extremely vivid. You might've led with that. Where is this damnable affair taking place, again? KJ

***

Emma

It wasn't that Emma was ashamed of where she came from. Not exactly. Recent election results aside, she had to acknowledge she hadn't ended up teaching American History by accident. Even when her country frustrated her, you had to admit, it was never boring. It was just...

She'd never been a foreigner before. Not really. A week in Cabo. That time Mary Margaret had forced her to third-wheel on a couple's ski trip to the Laurentians. Because that wasn't awkward at all.

But if she'd thought her American-ness would be a novelty in Scotland, she'd been seriously deluding herself.

Between the onset of summer vacation, the Instagram-worthy architecture and the enduring appeal of Jamie Fraser, there had never been more Americans in Edinburgh than there were at that moment. The Outlander Effect, they were calling it.

And Emma couldn't exactly miss them. They were everywhere, and not just herding en masse down the Royal Mile. On the bus. Crowding into the Jinglin' Geordie on Open Mic Night. Talking group assignments in the Starbucks line. Hell, a lot of her own students came equipped with homegrown accents, her class allowing their studies to mesh seamlessly with the syllabus back home.

Most encounters were pretty jarring. Like listening to your own voice played back on a recording.

Do I really sound like that?

She hoped not.

Did it really take me that long to figure out it isn't pronounced Edin-burg?

No comment.

Do I really have trouble translating common anglicisms?

Only sometimes.

Usually when they came out of the mouth of someone like Will Scarlet, and she couldn't tell if he was using some highly localized Derbyshire dialect, or if he was just fucking with her.

Sure, Killian tried a little too hard to sound like some kind of dashing 17th-century buccaneer most of the time, but at least it was still recognizable as a form of English. With Will though, she could never really be sure.

Still, after nearly a year, she liked to think she had a handle on things. She could order a 'Laphroaig' without completely mangling it, and knew enough to keep an umbrella on her person at all times. And if and when her cravings for American snack foods struck, they were being plenty satisfied by her local Sainsbury's, who kept one shelf fully stocked with all of the Twinkies, Peanut Butter Cups, and Lucky Charms a girl could ever wish for.

So when her Head of Department was looking for volunteers for their annual Fourth of July barbecue, Emma had to admit she did try to get out of it.

It was her own fault, really. It was summer. She should've been sunning it up in the Algarve with the rest of her colleagues, day drinking, and returning her skin tone to a less deathly pallor. Instead, she was the sucker who'd been roped into teaching Summer School classes to a revolving door of international students, who were keen to let some of the school's reputation rub off on them, without the three or four year commitment. Every three weeks a new lot arrived, and Emma's life descended into Groundhog Day as she repeated her lectures anew, reliving the same debates and excuses on a constant loop.

So she only had herself to blame when the department head went looking for warm bodies, that hers was the only one still lingering in the corridors.

"Great!" her boss said, clapping her hands together. "Don't forget to wear something festive!"

Festive.

There was no way this wasn't going to be a disaster.

***

The damsel in distress line might've rankled her, but she had to hand it to the guy, he came through.

Fifteen minutes after she'd barricaded herself in the bathroom after The Fruit Punch Incident she was summoned curbside, arms still determinedly crossed over her chest, to where a black cab sat idling, an incorrigible Englishman leaning against it holding up a leather holdall.

"Does Elsa know you went through her closet?" she asked, eyeing the bag.

"Who do you think paid for the cab?" he grinned.

Emma really needed to send that woman a fruit basket or something. Did people still do that? Send fruit baskets? Elsa would know. She probably went to one of those fancy Swiss finishing schools, where you learned shit like that.

The bag even smelled expensive as Killian handed it over, his eyes dropping for the first time to properly take in her ruined outfit, and lingering.

"Don't even say it," she warned, as he fought to suppress a grin.

She was never wearing a white sundress again. Ever.

"If anyone could pull it off..." he began, but a warning finger cut him off.

The picture of innocence, he raised his hands and stepped away. Which was precisely the moment Emma realized they were not, in fact, alone.

"In a spot of bother, milady?" came the cheerful greeting from the figure still wedged into the backseat of the cab, waving at her.

Robin. Attractive single Dad Robin, with the Oxbridge accent, criminal mastermind father, and good sense to keep his eyes averted.

"What the hell?" Emma hissed under her breath, whacking Killian in the shoulder. "Are we charging admission for my humiliations now?"

"Easy, lass," he said, rubbing the spot where she'd hit him. "I was out with Robin when you texted. I was hardly going to leave him on his own, now was I? Not very good form."

She glanced back to where Robin sat, whistling to himself, then back to Killian. "Oh, so now you're the honorable one?"

"What's this?" he scoffed. "An attack on my character? And after I've orchestrated such a dashing rescue? A fair maiden in distress and I'm on the spot."

The indignation would've been a little easier to swallow if his grin hadn't been quite so… wolfish.

"Yeah, right," Emma said with a roll of her eyes. "Like this isn't making it into your column."

He didn't deny it. He didn't need to. Just offered her a clumsy wink, and motioned to the building before them.

"One good turn deserves another, don't you think?" he suggested, and Emma's stomach dropped. "How does one merit an invitation to an exclusive gathering of expatriates, exactly? Do they check passports at the door? Make you recite the Pledge of Allegiance?"

He held his prosthetic over his heart, and affixed a solemn expression.

"Wrong hand, asshole," she said, grabbing his wrist and tugging his hand back down by his side.

"Probably for the best," Killian shrugged. "I confess I don't actually know the words. Does the School of Rock version count?"

"You seriously want to go up there? You know they're celebrating their independence from the English, right?"

"I'm a journalist, Swan. An arbiter of truth. Would you really deny me the materials I need to make an honest living?"

"You're a hack," Emma grumbled, clutching the bag of clothes to her chest.

"Aye, that I am," Killian agreed, dropping his voice at least an octave. "But a rather dashing one, don't you think?"

So this is how Killian Jones got what he wanted. The ol' razzle dazzle.

It wasn't entirely ineffective. With a huff of annoyance, Emma walked over to lean by the window of the cab. "What do you say, Robin? Want to see my countrymen cut loose and fight about politics?"

He tilted his head, considering her offer. "Do you really put marshmallows in your sweet potatoes?"

"Different holiday. But yeah, we do."

"Alright then," he said, gathering up his belongings where they were strewn across the back seat. "I'll be there presently."

Rapping her knuckles against the side of the cab, she turned back to Killian, who was looking unbearably pleased with himself. Even more than usual.

"Lead the way, lass" he declared, with an exaggerated bow.

"It's a little too late to play at being the gentleman, don't you think?" Emma pointed out.

"Oh?" he asked, his gaze unnervingly direct. "And why is that, Swan?"

If he was trying for intimidation, then he really didn't know Emma well enough. Instead, she simply turned to lead the way back up the stairs to the front stoop, bag swinging by her side. "I'm just saying…" she replied in a sing-song voice. "A gentleman wouldn't have looked."

***

When Emma pictured a Fourth of July barbecue, she pictured hot dogs, hyperactive neighborhood kids with water pistols, and sunshine. The Edinburgh version was something very different.

For one thing, it was not a family affair. For another, she doubted you could even really call it a barbecue, when there was no grill in sight. And unfortunately, for Emma, the party was still in full swing when she returned after her costume change, all of her dreams for a quick getaway evaporating along with the last of the punch.

If anything, the numbers had swelled with a sea of Uncle Sams and Lady Liberties spilling out into the garden, wine glasses in hand. If Emma hadn't already realized the gross pay disparity between educators and administrators, the garden would've really sealed it.

You couldn't swing a Heriot Row townhouse on Emma's salary. Hell, you couldn't even swing a Heriot Row parking space on Emma's salary. Yet somehow, the university muckety-muck who'd been bullied into hosting this little soiree didn't seem to have that problem.

At least the booze was free.

Emma looked longingly over at the refreshments table, but gave it a wide berth. The last thing she needed to do was ruin her borrowed sweater. It was a little on the tight side, but she did appreciate its fuzzy warmth. Even as she wondered if Killian had purposefully picked out the preppiest sweater he could find, or if she was just cursed.

"Hey," came a call from her left. It was a guy in a Captain America outfit, with none of Chris Evan's dimensions. "Ivanka, right?"

Emma looked down at herself, wondering if that was the name of the designer. "I'm sorry?"

"You're dressed as Ivanka Trump, right? Nice."

He was gone before she could deny it, and she glanced back to the gilded mirror in the hallway in alarm. With her hair recently straightened, she had to admit to a passing resemblance. If you squinted.

Oh god.

She had to find the boys and get them out of here, before she was pilloried as a Republican infiltrator.

She scanned the crowd, but the only person in a leather jacket she saw was channeling Maverick from Top Gun. Frustrated, she headed out into the garden, where she spotted Robin, cornered amongst the shrubberies by a very determined looking woman in a Wonder Woman costume.

Was Wonder Woman even American, technically?

Whatever the debates on her true origin, Emma had to admit the woman pulled off the look, even if the cleavage spilling out from the neckline of the outfit was a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen. She was fully fixated on Robin, her fingers trailing up and down his arm, laughing at one of his anecdotes.

As she walked by she shot him a questioning look, in case he needed an assist, but he just gave a wink, and started in on a new story.

Hot Single Dad Robin still had it. And something told her he wouldn't be up for any plan that involved cutting out with her early.

Heaving a sigh, she liberated a Coors Light from an icebox and took another turn around the garden.

"Ivanka?" Another woman asked, her look practically accusatory.

"Elle Woods," Emma blurted out. The sweater was baby blue, not pink, but it was the best she could come up with on the fly.

Hurrying away from that interaction, she rounded a pillar and finally came upon her quarry, sitting alone on a bench beside a gurgling water feature.

"And here I thought you'd be the life of the party," Emma said, snagging the space beside him. She gestured towards where Robin was getting half his face mauled off by Wonder Woman. "Was every other member of the Justice League taken?"

She was rewarded with the ghost of a smile, but his gaze was still fixed ahead, not really seeing, as he rolled an unopened bottle of Budweiser between his fingers.

"You okay?" Emma asked, taking the bottle from his hand and removing the cap with a well-placed tap against the side of the bench.

"Where'd you learn that little trick?" he asked, ignoring her question as he accepted the open bottle.

"A bus shelter in Framingham, Massachusetts." It was more detail than he was expecting, and she nearly laughed at the sudden brightness in his eyes. "It was my first beer. You kind of remember stuff like that."

"You has your first beer in a bus shelter in Framingham Massachusetts?" He repeated it back, like there was something especially weird about that.

"Yeah. I was 14, and in between foster homes. Stole a six pack from the Stop and Shop after the clerk told me off for browsing the magazines. And then some old army vet at the bus shelter showed me how to take the cap off against the side of a trash can."

He furrowed his brows. "You're trying to get me to open up by revealing things about yourself. Which you never do."

"Maybe," Emma offered, taking a swig of her beer. "Is it working?"

He took a long sip on his own bottle, made a face, and then settled it back into his lap. "You mentioned a brush with the law, as a teenager. I'm assuming that wasn't for underage drinking at bus stops?"

Emma grimaced. "Not so much. Possession of stolen goods, with intent to sell. I got lucky. The watch I had on me was worth just shy of $500. They knocked it down to a misdemeanor and I got probation."

"You stole a watch?"

"No, my skeezy boyfriend stole a case of watches. I just happened to be wearing one when he called the cops to frame me while he took off to Canada with the rest."

"When he what?! Please tell me this wanker is dead in a ditch somewhere." Emma had to admit, she didn't mind his tone. Like he might go out and finish the job, if need be.

Emma shrugged, picking at the label on her bottle. "Probably. I never saw him again after that."

"So that explains it," Killian huffed.

"Explains what?" Emma asked, preparing to get defensive.

"Your Walsh fellow's appeal. I'm guessing he wasn't the larcenous type?"

Oh. Not even remotely.

"Yeah, he was the kind of guy who washed out his jars before he put them in the recycling. He was kind of the anti-Neal."

"That was his name? Neal?"

"Neal Cassidy," Emma sighed. "And yes, like the writer. He had it changed when he was 18 as a Fuck You to his Dad."

"Well, he sounds like a right tosser."

Emma snorted. "Yeah, pretty much."

"And not all that clever, if he thought losing you for a case of watches was an even trade."

That had Emma looking up, sarcastic retort on the tip of her tongue. But instead of making fun, Killian's expression was deadly serious, eyes meeting hers directly. Like he actually meant it. Emma's gaze flicked back to the label on her beer, nearly entirely peeled away by this stage, and fought to keep her face level.

"You think so?" she asked, her words coming out less jokingly than she intended.

"I do."

It was the answer that had her looking back up again, a frown forming. "Killian, I-"

"You're worth at least two cases," he added. "Maybe three. I mean, what are we talking here? Cartier? Rolex?" His eyebrow was raised again in that familiar roguish way.

Emma let out a breath, and extinguished the tiny flame that burned somewhere inside her stomach. Friends, she reminded herself. They were friends.

"You're hilarious," Emma replied deadpan. "And if we're going to continue sharing, I really need something stronger than this," she said, tipping back her head and draining the last of her bottle.

"When I was looking for extra chairs earlier, I think I saw a wet bar in the study. Fancy a dram?" Killian asked, rising to his feet.

"Oh, so you're journalistic snooping does come in handy sometimes?"

"More than sometimes," he said with a grin that would fell a lesser beast. And suddenly Emma wasn't so sure the flame was truly out.

Later, she still couldn't recall whether he'd held out a hand to take her empty bottle, or to help her up. All she knew, was as they moved from the garden back to the party proper, she had Killian's hand in hers.

***

Reasons Not To Push Killian Jones Up Against The Nearest Wall And Have Your Way With Him:

1. Hello, work event. Have some goddamn professionalism.

2. You're wearing Elsa's clothes. Don't make this weird.

3. You like him, and never talking to him again would suck.

4. He would definitely allude to it in his column, and you would have to emigrate. Again.

5. Graham. Oh, fuck. Graham.

***

The upstairs study was everything you'd expect from an overpaid university administrator. Soft red leather furnishings. Framed certificates covering an entire wall. A solid oak desk that could, hypothetically, bear the weight of two people at once.

And, oh yeah, the promised wet bar.

Emma was not, nor had she ever been, a cheater. And even if she and Graham were still only in the "getting to know you" phase of tentative texts and PG-13 cocktail hours, she knew betraying that would still be a shitty thing to do.

So when Killian offered her the glass of whisky, she didn't do what she wanted to do, which was down the lot and drag him towards her by the collar. Instead, she sat on the red leather couch as far from him as possible, and held the glass in front of her like a shield.

"Reminds me of your jacket," he said with a smile, letting his hand glide against the upholstery. Emma's skin still tingled from where his hand had gripped hers, so unused to foreign contact.

She took a gulp of her drink, and let it burn down her esophagus in penance for her crimes. Only once she'd regained sufficient control of her hormones did she speak.

"So, are you going to tell me what's been up with you?

"Up with me?" Killian replied, his oh-so-innocent look oh-so-unconvincing. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Oh, I don't know," Emma said, rolling her eyes heavenward. "The sudden phone emergencies. The brooding. The black eye. You've been different lately. Kind of… subdued, for you."

In answer, Killian drained what was left of his glass, and turned to face her. "Perceptive, aren't you, Swan?" He didn't sound happy about the fact.

Emma shrugged, taking another sip. "You can't kid a kidder."

He considered that, finger tapping absently against the side of his glass. "Perhaps not. Very well then. The truth: The magazine is broke."

It wasn't what Emma had been expecting. What had she been expecting? A secret drug habit? Abusive new girlfriend? Fight Club?

"Broke?" she repeated.

"Utterly. But instead of accepting the inevitable, and bowing out gracefully, my brother, well-intentioned idiot that he is, decided to take what was left in the coffers and make a few wagers."

Emma's heart sank into her stomach. "He didn't."

"Oh, he did. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, apparently. Lost the lot. Bloody prat. Thought he'd come back a conquering hero. Instead he's having to dip into his own savings to keep the whole operation afloat until he can find a way to pay back his bookie."

That explained the black eye.

"And no one knows about this? Don't you have accountants or something?"

"There is a fellow, Tim, who's been covering for him. Let him take out the entire balance in the first place, didn't he? So now he feels equally culpable. So there's Liam. Tim. Me. And now you."

"Elsa doesn't know?"

"Not in so many words. She isn't bloody stupid though. He's been decidedly distracted on the homefront. Probably thinks he's having a mid-life crisis or an affair or something stupid. Would be easier to just tell her, but the problem is, he knows if she finds out about it she'll feel obligated to help."

"Well, that would be a good thing, right? No more, uhhh…" Emma waved a hand over her eye.

"Well, when Elsa's parents died, they left her a good deal of money. Most of it went towards the house, and setting up her sister in New York, but there's enough left to get Weaver off his back. Problem is, my brother's pride would never let him accept it. And then there's the matter of Elsa's aunt."

"Elsa's aunt?"

"She owns the magazine. And let's just say, she's not quite as err… understanding as Elsa can be. If she gets word of it, there'll be criminal charges."

"Fuck."

"Fuck,' he agreed, leaning forward in his chair to pour himself another whisky.

"And you've just been carrying this all around on your shoulders for what? Months?"

"But what magnificent shoulders, wouldn't you say, Swan?" The grin was almost leering, but not in a good way. More in a defense mechanism kind of way.

"Don't do that," Emma chided, leaning over to smooth the wrinkle above his brows with her fingers. "Just be you."

"And how is that?" He asked, with a look of such genuine curiosity that her hand paused somewhere in the region of his jaw.

"Same as me," Emma shrugged. "A little fucked up. A little scared."

She leaned forward then, and placed a kiss on that same spot above his brow.

Maybe it wasn't where she'd wanted to kiss him five minutes ago, but it felt right. She heard him inhale sharply underneath her, but she didn't immediately break contact. Not until his face relaxed, and his arms came up to wrap around her waist.

She let her head fall onto his shoulder, and his on hers, breathing each other in. Comfortable fucking silence.

Only when her phone started chirping in her pocket did she pull away at last, steadying herself on his shoulders. "You're going to be okay, Killian Jones. You and your fucked up family."

The grin was wry, but it was real.

"You going to get that?" he asked, ducking his chin down to where they were practically intertwined. Probably best not to add vibration to the mix.

She fished the phone out of her pocket, and checked the caller ID.

August.

He never called. He sent ten page letters typed up on his pretentious vintage typewriter, but he never called.

With a look of apology, she peeled herself off of Killian's lap, and hit accept.

"August? Is someone dead?"

"Em! Where are you?" Wherever he was, he sounded cheerful. And just a little bit drunk. Well, it was the Fourth of July.

"Where am I? I'm in Scotland, where I'm supposed to be. How much have you had to drink?"

"Nooo," he corrected, words slurring a little. "I mean, where right now? Someone in your department told me you were at this party. But no one remembers seeing you. Are you here?"

Emma's stomach lurched. "Party? You mean, in Edinburgh?"

"Of course, in Edinburgh! The party I'm at, it's at… hang on," his words muffled as he conferred with nearby partygoers, "17 Heriot Row?"

Oh. Fucking. Fuck. Fucking August and his fucking surprises.

"I'll be five minutes. Stay right where you are."

Feeling the color drain from her face, she ended the call, and tucked her phone back into the pocket of her borrowed jeans. "We need to get downstairs. I need to-" She looked around for a mirror, but there were none in the vicinity. Of course.

"Lass?" He had her by the elbow, holding her still. "What has you all a-flutter?"

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. "You remember I mentioned my friend August?"

"Knee still creaks when it rains, August?" The boy did have superior recall. "Novelist August?"

"Yeah. Anyway, he's downstairs."

[badsithnocookie]

i guess i’ve come to terms with the defection au being basically canon for eirn (or at least, in the outlander!eirn fork of the appoverse), but i’m going to leave its tag as defection au/general reference name for continuity’s/ease of reference’s sake

but anyway prompted i guess by dani’s musings on ana maite, this is a post about where eirn is, relationship wise (on several levels)

quinn leaving for the empire was what prompted eirn to go to the republic, rather than the other way around. up until that point, she knew that leaving the empire would mean having to find allies who could protect her, but had ruled the republic out because she knew quinn would never, ever be fine with that. his leaving, though, meant it was back on the table as an option (and the one most able to protect her, at that)

obviously losing the relationship with him (losing him) hurt, a lot - not just because he’d left her, but because in doing so, he’d rejected the healing and peace she’d found for herself on odessen and gone straight back to the place that had wounded her so badly to begin with (to say nothing of the way the empire had treated him). it dragged all of her old doubts and insecurities back up to the surface - that she was just weak if she couldn’t stomach life in the empire, that she was barely sith at all, and hardly worthy of being tsis, that if she’d embraced the sith lifestyle properly maybe she wouldn’t have suffered the way she did.

but in leaving the empire she has also lost her relationship with it,and that hurts on some level, too. because she is tsis - she is sith, truly sith. she has sith skin and sith hair and sith blood, she speaks and thinks in the sith language, she has a sith name and a sith lightsaber. and the empire, for a long time, was her home. it was where she grew up, where she has her happy childhood memories, where she fell in love, the place she always fought to protect, even once she knew she could never bring herself to go back. her relationship with the empire was always complicated, but now it’s over, and that's painful on a very intimate, personal level.

so, right now, at the minute, whether we’re talking in the stalled timeline of defection or the vague unwritten one of wherever swtor’s content drops are up to, eirn is... grieving (her relationship with quinn, her relationship with the empire), and lonely, and trying her best to heal and to find herself for, really, the first time in her life. she doesn’t have the inquisition breathing down her neck, doesn’t have to worry about the judgement of other sith (even if she does have to worry about the judgement of republic immigration). sis custody is decidedly less free than odessen was, but that was one reason she agreed to go to ossus; fresh air and open skies and the possibility she might be able to breathe on her own terms.

massive republic and or plot fuckups notwithstanding, she will probably stay in the republic and do her best to slink out of the war and public eye, both. she’ll never have a ‘normal’ life, but she can at the very least have one that’s hers. chances are high she will get dragged into Some level of plot (i’d been musing on her settling on corellia for a while, if only because it’s where her parents went in the factionswap au and i like the symmetry of it, and the final chunk of onslaught story is there so she’d probably end up caught up in that somehow)

(if nothing else, i can give her the closure of actually killing malgus this time)

eventually she would seek out a relationship again, though. eirn has a goopy romantic side, and wants a family and a picket fence and a dog and all the rest of that shite. i don’t have any firm plans or ships for her, though.

canon love interests-wise,

quinn is going to be okay with leaving the empire for the republic approximately never. also he like. recused himself from meeting her because he assumed that she’d go leaping back into the arms of the sith/empire, after she failed to do that then went over a year continuing to let her exist in closure-less misery, when he finally showed up he didn’t make any effort to contact her until after the dust was starting to settle (and he’d been taken prisoner by her faction), ummed and ahhed over whether he was going to join her, and then having done that, immediately leapt back in with the empire leaving her in the process as soon as he got the promise they might not execute him for treason because they’re so desperate to fight a war they’re probably going to lose anyway because the empire has the collective tactical knowhow of the kind of person who fights a land war in russia during the winter. so, like. no. he’s very much never ever going to be an option again.

like. if canon provides a convincing ic reason that he might defect to the republic i might indulge in an au where a chunk of the above does not come to pass but honestly? i don’t see it being the case.

lana is off the table for obvious reasons (lana’s a ds sith, manipulative, etc. eirn does not trust lana further than she could spit a rat). plus in the appoverse, lana is still on odessen running her alliance (or what’s left of it, now that most of the major players have gone)

theron is a big no, both because of his jedi ties but also that whole zildrog mess. (i haven’t decided exactly how that goes down in the appoverse but i do want to keep the speech where he tells the outlander they’re a tyrant because that would crit eirn right in the insecurities and delicious angst).

koth would definitely be a possibility if i didn’t have him with anya (though i guess i could change that? it’s not like i’ve written a ton with them). they both want to do right by their people, by all people, and have been treated badly for it. plus common ground on getting fucked over by valkoriate. and he’s a good bean all round.

tau would be a definite possibility if not for both the monologue she gives about corellia on ossus, and her general attitude towards imperial troops as monsters (granted, she’s not wrong, but if she displayed that attitude around eirn, eirn would absolutely take it personally and both be offended and internally go ‘yup, i’m a monster’ and file it away for things to berate herself with later). that and the whole ‘jedi’ thing put her in the ‘no’ column.

oc wise,

the best any eirn-awenyth relationship will ever be in ‘canon’ and its derivative aus is a mutual ‘okay-i-guess-i-no-longer-hate-you-but-please-stay-the-fuck-away-from-me’.

my hellbrain has also suggested croslan, who only has one post in his tag but was the jk in jk hell volume 1. he’s a miraluka goofball with an incredibly corny sense of humour who basically existed for kiramancing and getting legendary on progenitor (can i get an f for the old servers). i think if i was going to do that though i’d rework him to not be a jedi. the luka sene would remind eirn too much of the inquisition for her to ever be comfortable around one, but he could just be... a miraluka who is not a member of any particular religious order. existing outside of rigid religious structures is a thing that would be super common in the gffa, outside of societies like the sith empire.

aemilia is Just Good Friends. i love them both as friends, their weird jedi+sith friendship is built on years of slowly building trust and understanding (even though i. know i’ve barely posted any of it. but they met during sor; aemilia was on manaan following up a lead on the thefts from tython during an imperial incursion at the same time that eirn was there following a tip about the truth regarding the sacking of the academy on korriban. aemilia taught eirn how to use various Force techniques during late sleepless nights on rishi, and eirn would teach amy about the sith structures and statuary on yavin iv, and there were reasons eirn selected aemilia to be her ambassador to the iokath intelligence). amy has never had the end goal of getting eirn to do any particular thing - in sharp contrast to almost every other jedi, sith, and miscellaneous Force user eirn has encountered.

i don’t really have any other ocs that i have strong onions on? most of them are either in relationships/unsuitable or super minor.

that was uh. longer than i expected it would be. oops