#outlander drabble

[adsosfraser]

Promise

an outlander drabble set during dragonfly in amber/season 2

wc: 602

The words echoed in my mind, from a life so long separated from the present, as though I were wading through a thick fog of memory, like the smog that had choked the streets of London as leather Victorian shoes slapped up and down the cobblestones. Or would choke the streets that was. The last words from Jamie rang clear and true in my mind as I navigated the glimpses of a time gone by. To care for you both. 

But it clashed with the words I struggled to bring forth again. 

“Couldn’t feel properly…toward a child not of my blood.” 

I looked back to Jamie as the words bubbled to the surface, missing most details but still delivering the destructive truth behind them.

“-an intruder…I’d resent it.” 

The butterflies returned in my stomach and I clutched at them, reassuring myself they were still there. Still safely tucked away up inside me. 

“Jamie…”

His eyes stayed firm on me, expectant. 

“I can promise you I’ll go through the stones should it come to it. But it won’t.” My hand reached out to hold his large and calloused one. Maybe if I squeezed hard enough, our touch would run off all visions of death and destruction on that perilous moor. 

“But you can’t make me promise to return to-” My throat bobbed as I swallowed the thickness that had built up. “To, well, him. Nor leave our child behind.” I thought of Fergus, the surprisingly delicate and endearing soul Jamie plucked from the brothel. My heart swelled thinking of him, and the child nestled under my heart. No, I didn’t want to make them suffer through feelings of inadequacy and to wonder why Frank would be so indifferent to them, based solely on their parentage. “They deserve a father who loves them. Wholly. A child shouldn't have to grow around resentment.” 

“Claire, surely Frank,” Jamie nearly spat out the word. “Wouldn’t turn either of you away. No man that loves you as you say he does would.” He reached for my face, stroking the skin of my cheek as I leaned into him, fluttering my eyes closed. “I certainly couldnae leave, save you begging me to leave ye be.” 

I finally said what had been plaguing my mind since the pure desperation of our agony clashed the other day, where he forced my hand to a blade, a blade intended to stab right through his flesh. 

“Now that we both have clearer heads that have prevailed, as it were. I’ve been thinking.” I paused. “I don’t want to cause you such torment. It’s as though a dagger has pierced my own heart as well. But, had you killed Black Jack Randall in a fit of rage, it’s likely our baby would not be alive either.” I rubbed lazy circles over my womb, comforting its inhabitant. “I wouldn’t have come to Inverness and thought the stones at the right time had Frank not brought me.  Or I might not have come to Scotland altogether.” 

Grabbing a glass from the nearby table made of a dark cherry oak , I swallowed, oblivious to its contents before the sweet and acidic wine hit my lips. I just needed some conduit to imbue the clarity and resolve I needed for my next words. Jamie waited patiently, rubbing the flesh of my knee through my thin shift. 

“I promise to do what’s best for our children. And I trust to follow your lead in that.” 

I made a promise to myself then too. That my children would only know love. Even if I had to be the sole provider of it.

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

Wednesday 100: FaceTime to Remember

The conference was filled with research presentations and networking with fellow surgeons, and three days in, Claire was homesick. She ducked into a quiet hallway and called Jamie on FaceTime, blocking the camera with an obnoxiously large ribbon.

“What is that?” Jamie laughed.

She pulled it away, smiling. “Our poster won People’s Choice. Joe’s over the moon.”

“Never doubted ye two would win over the people.”

She laughed. “Could you put our son on?”

“Again? He cannae talk—”

“What if he forgets me?”

“He won’t.”

She pouted. Jamie sighed and soon Adso’s face filled her screen. “Hi baby, it’s mama!”

[saltybenchday]

In Time

“You can’t look at William, can you, without seeing him.”

John’s words were an echo of a conversation long ago. Another husband, another life.

“I only mean,” he continued softly, “It’s a constant reminder, of Jamie, of what was lost.”

I nodded, holding back tears that were never far from the surface.

“And don’t bother asking if I might forget him in time because…”

I choked on the words, unable to speak, tears falling freely now. I needn’t have worried. John wrapped me in his arms, murmuring gently against my hair.

“Oh my dear, that amount of time doesn’t exist.”

[let-the-dream-begin]

Wednesday 100: Pandora’s Box

“Ye ken she has it still?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Your ring.”

John felt the color drain from his face. She kept it? After his having to implore her to even wear it in the first place? He’d assumed she’d tossed it down a well.

Jamie stared at him, possessive, of course, but also…searching. For understanding, John realized.

Well, he wouldn’t find any here. John didn’t understand it any more than he understood what his heart was doing at the thought of his ring tucked safely away in the medicine box he’d gifted her.

So, all he said, rather stupidly, was: “Oh.”

[forgetmenotsassenach17]

Drabble Drabble

Forever not good at posting my recent drabbles here, so today here is around up of my last four Fergus POV drabbles that I have shared on Twitter over the last few weeks.

2x04 Experience Milady was running late, and Fergus was getting anxious. He and Murtagh waited outside of L'Hôpital for hours, the bright afternoon sun having long given way to a moonless night. Milord had given him the tremendous responsibility of ensuring Milady made it home safely, in time for the party, and Fergus desperately wanted to prove himself worthy of the task. His time with them feels tenuous, like at any moment, he will be sent back to the too small closet at Maison Elise. But he cannot return there, having now experienced the thing for which he longs for the most. 

2x05 Comfort After the chaos of the night and Milord being arrested, an eerie calm had fallen over the house. Milady paced the room, stress and anger lining her face, neither of which were safe the bébé, according to Milord. Knowing it was now his responsibility to protect her, Fergus gently took her hand and guided her to the sofa.  “Sit, Milady. Think of the bébé,” he said. She gave him a small, tired smile as she sat down.  Fergus sat besides her, and placed his hand on top of hers, hoping it provided her as much comfort as it provided him.

Hope 2x06 They arrived home in the early hours of the morning, tired but excited that they successfully spiked the Comte’s wine. Fergus followed Milord upstairs, both of them quiet so as not to disturb Milady. It was still strange to call this place home. To have a bed of his own. To have people that depended on him and found joy in his presence. Milord bade him goodnight, leaving Fergus alone and suddenly overwhelmed by the life he never expected but could now never give up. He was meant to be theirs, and he could only hope they believed that too.

Broken  2x07 It is his fault. He let himself get wrapped up in the possibility of being a family. Milord, Milady, the bébé…and him. For a moment, it seemed as though his dream, once foolishly outlandish, was on the cusp of becoming real. He let himself believe and now, incomprehensible devastation has left him unable to dream of anything but the agony he rendered upon them. As the carriage arrives at L'Hôpital, he clutches the flowers tighter in his hands, unsure if Milady will want to see him. But maybe just a glimpse of her will remind him not all is lost.  Maybe they can be broken together. Without hope but with each other.

And a reminder you can find the first chapter of my new fic, Time Comes in Roses on AO3! (https://archiveofourown.org/works/56191129/chapters/142745668)

Happy reading!

[devilsrecreation]

1, 2, 7, and 23 for kion (sorry, couldn't remember the other questions)

Main character time!

Why do I like this character:

His character development is pretty great! He started off as an immature cub who no one really believed in to a strong leader whom almost everyone respects. Plus his arc in Season 3 is cool, gives him some more depth

Fav canon thing about him:

I love he learns from his mistakes and forgives his enemies, as Simba once said. He realized not to be so quick to assume and was willing to give animals second chances

What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you like?:

I LOVE his aged up designs in the fanart! Seeing him with a full mane and everyone’s headcanons on how he’s doing as King of the Tree of Life is really neat!

Fav pic

One of my fav moments in the show is him singing “Hakuna Matata” that was LIT

[frasers-of-my-heart]

Wednesday 100: Images of you

Once they set up the camper, Bree went about making it a home. She set up the framed pictures from her childhood wherever there was a flat surface they could spare. It was comforting to see Mama’s smile. She could feel Da in the stone of the house, but longed to see him; so, she started to draw— his strong cheekbones, coy smile, brow that always seemed slightly furrowed, and chin much like her own. While her pictures were black and white, she could paint Da’s fading ginger locks and kind blue eyes that Mama described slightly differently each time.

[arrthurpendragon]

I added the 6 a.m. Entreat Me Not to Leave drabble to Wattpad!

[doyelikehaggis]

My head is jumping from fandom to fandom at the moment and I have no idea how to choose one to write for.

[zepskies]

Racial & Ethnic Representation in Fanfiction

[🎙️ Podcast Interview]

Hey, friends! Sandra and Kasey, the lovely hosts of @idlingintheimpalapodcast — the podcast for all things SPN and fanfiction — invited me back on the pod for an interview on a topic that's very close to my heart…

With @rubyvhs, we talked about the fun moments and challenges about reading and writing fanfiction that represents specific racial and ethnic cultures, being bicultural/multicultural, the immigrant experience, and much more.

I offered my own experience as a Latina POC writing in the fandom space, specifically Supernatural and The Boys (and adjacent Jackles fandoms).

Check it out here: ⤵️

Interview Timestamps –

(Plus fic recs, SPN writer/reader shoutouts, and more! Links to all the fics we mentioned are at each time stamp.)

2:54 – When did you start writing fanfiction, and when did you join SPN fandom?

⟡ You can check out my first author interview with Sandra and Kasey over here. We chatted about Dean Winchester and Jensen Ackles’ early roles, the best and worst seasons of SPN, the joys and pains of writing Soldier Boy, and much, much more. For all the timestamps of key moments, fic recs, and SPN writer shoutouts, see this post (you'll find the link to the video there too).

6:18 – What is your ethnic, racial, and cultural background? (And how me and Sandra bond over “food and family” ties between Hispanics/Latinos and Italians.)

13:05 – The immigrant experience in America, what you take with you from the “Motherland,” the struggles of bicultural identity, my personal experience being a second-generation child of an immigrant family, and Sandra’s experience as a first-generation child of Italian immigrants.

16:58 – What do you look for when you’re reading fanfiction? (Canon-compliant, AU, romance, etc.) Does the length of a story matter?

19:52 – Bonus: The merits of drabble writing vs. long-fic writing.

25:54 – Have you ever actively searched for fanfiction that represented your ethnicity? (Whenever I do, it’s like finding gold.) Plus, the challenge of writing reader characters, the “gray area” of writing reader characters like OCs.

32:38 – The inherent “bias” of reading and writing reader characters as White. The concept of diversity being “cool” in popular media, TV shows, and movies is still pretty new.

36:36 – Why I started writing reader characters that might have a specific body type, race, and/or ethnicity.

Examples:

⟡ Midnight Espresso – Dean Winchester x Plus-size Latina!Reader

⟡ If I Stay – Dean Winchester x Plus-size!Reader

⟡ 10 ‘Til Midnight – Professor!Dean Winchester x Plus-size Grad Student!Reader

⟡ Unravel Me – Soldier Boy x Afro-Latina!Reader

⟡ The Honorable Choice & Outlander – Cowboy!Dean Winchester x OFC

40:14 – The fun challenges: like giving Dean a partner who takes care of him as much as he takes care of others in Midnight Espresso.

45:28 – The BIG challenges: like writing Soldier Boy being himself with a “person of color” (POC) in this new series, Unravel Me. What even is a POC? Where do you start with Soldier Boy, the Sandra-proclaimed “bowl of fishhooks?"

51:38 – Is there ever an element of fear when you publicly post a story that represents your culture, which is something very personal to you? What happens when you get haters in the comments?

1:05:33 – When and how did you begin to break out of the “ingrained biases” in your writing? (AKA: Always assuming my own characters are White.)

1:08:04 – When did you decide to explore writing plus-size!readers?

1:13:20 – What has your experience been in writing a race/culture outside of your personal experience? The Honorable Choice and Outlander, a western AU where Dean Winchester falls in love with a Native American Lakota Indian. (Shoutout to @jacklesversebingo!)

Plus, the ethical responsibility to “do no harm” when you represent different cultures, and answering question of not only can I write this, but should I write this?

1:32:42 – What advice would you give a writer interested in writing about a culture outside of their own that they don’t have first-hand knowledge of? How can a writer avoid cultural appropriation if their goal is cultural appreciation? How important is a sensitivity reader/beta reader for this effort?

1:40:35 – Final thoughts on diversity and representation of culture in fanfiction, whether it’s your own or someone else’s:

“Write what you know. Write what you can research. Write what you’re interested in. Remember that words have power, so be careful how you use them.”

1:45:30 – Sandra and Kasey’s outro: The importance of representation and diversity in fandom.

I hope you enjoy the ride!~ 💜

💗💗💗 Shoutouts to some of my beautiful friends and lovely readers who've supported my attempts to explore ethnic and cultural diversity in my writing:

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @waynes-multiverse @rizlowwritessortof @roseblue373

@tofics @deanwinchesterswitch @deanbrainrotwritings @deansbbyx @waywardlatina

@supernotnatural2005 @wayward-dreamer @spnwoman @waywardxwords @mostlymarvelgirl

@chevroletdean (shoutout to your 500 follower fic challenge at around 19:52 😘) @siampie @bettystonewell @wvffles

@iprobablyshipit91 @my-stories-vault @littlesoulshine @thatonewriter15 @jessjad

@deans-spinster-witch @winchestergirl2 @kazsrm67 @chernayawidow @jackles010378

@jollyhunter @leigh70 @foxyjwls007 @beakaleak32 @alwaystiredandconfused

[theslumberinggod]

The Wanderer's Tagalong Part 1: Couldn't

A series of connected drabbles revolving around The Wanderer grappling with his feelings for an unexpected companion who can't even speak the same language as him.

Pairing: The Wanderer (Scaramouche) X Reader

•~°~•

Rain crashed down on the roof of the abandoned barn. It slipped through the cracks and rotting gaps, down onto old floors, seeling through stones and deteriorating wood into the earth. 

A cold chill crept in with the icy rain, a long with the occasional gusts of wind slipping through the thin walls of the measly shelter barely keeping The Wanderer and his companion dry. 

He tilted his hat, cracking a violet eye open to glance at you. You had pulled your cloak around you, bringing up your knees. Your brows were furrowed, an intense gaze in your eye as you used your body to shield the paper you so intently scribbling on. 

You liked to draw. A lot. It was the one thing The Wanderer knew for sure about you other than your name. You did not speak the common tongue, nor did you seem particularly familiar with anything or anyone here. He could only guess where you came from---a Descender or Outlander. 

You didn't seem to possess any unique or special talents of any arcane kind, unlike Lumine. You were as far as the Wanderer could tell, a squishy human with enormous amounts of audacity, stupidity, grit, and smiled way too much. 

“Wanderer,” Your voice broke the loud yet quiet atmosphere. It had a soft, thickly accented quality to it. The word---name, Wanderer rolled awkwardly yet fondly off your tongue. With a light huff, he snapped his gaze towards you. 

“What?” He asked. 

You smiled, scooting closer much to Wanderer’s chagrin. His body stiffened, tapping his fingers along his arms. You lifted the sketchbook you had been so vigilantly protecting from the rain. Smudged charcoal and thick lines had been expertly dragged across the paper. 

The art was unusual, formed in a way Wanderer had never seen before. It was both incredibly life like yet unrealistic, charming in a way. 

He then narrowed his eyes, “Did you draw me?”

“Wanderer!” You happily repeated, proudly. You had drawn him, leaning against the wall, arms folded with his hat pulled down over his eyes. It both looked like him and not like him at all. What made him really pause was the small, barely noticeable smile you had so painstakingly etched into his features. 

Wanderer huffed out, unsure whether to be flattered or disturbed, either way the attention triggered that deep rooted crack in his soul. He turned his eyes away and shut them, leaning his hat down in dismissal. You didn't seem particularly satisfied with his grumpy, smile falling from your face. 

He watched from the corner of your eye as you twisted your lips, trying to hide a frown behind a think face as you clutched your charcoal stick and stared down at the paper. 

A feeling he wasn't entirely accustomed with---the ugly, twisting feeling of compunction wriggled round in his chest. It was sharp, fleeting, but potent enough to make Wanderer regret dismissing you. 

He wrestled with himself silently, still. He did not know you, therefore he should not care. There was no room in him to care, it was too dangerous. 

Why should he care for a stranger he found lost, bewildered, terrified, hurt and alone on the road?

That was how he found you. Deep into the night on his long travel back to Sumeru. It was unusually warm that night. The stars were out and glinting, false and beautiful all the same. 

You came crashing down a hill to his left, stumbling and tripping over your own bare feet. Your face was smeared in blood, oddly simple clothing ripped at the hems, covered in scratches with a long gash in your arm. You held a rusted knife too big for your fragile hands, eyes wide in utter horror, terror.

Why did you rush to him, when abyssal monsters pour over the hill? Maybe it was just because Wanderer looked human. He could never, ever forget the look on your face when he used his Anemo on the monsters, flicking the parasites away like the dust they were. It wasn't fear, it was awe. 

You repeated some phrase over and over, maybe a thanks he was guessing. He really did assume you'd go back from whatever camp or town you were from, but you followed him wearily, cautiously. 

The Wanderer couldn't help it. You were so clearly lost, tossed aside by fate or abandoned. You were far too clingy to just be lost. 

He could not care. Yet he didnt just leave you there. He could not care, but it seemed trying to scrub some of the dirt off his hands meant to act like he did. 

He opened his eyes again, glancing at you. You were hunched over your book again, scrawling something. Less intensity, and enthusiasm. Dammit. 

With annoyance he reached out, sharply poking you in the shoulder. You jumped, jerking your head up, asking something in your foreign tongue. 

“I want to see it again,” The Wanderer pointed at your book. Brief confusion flashed over your face and you held it up, showing the half-finished sketch on the page. He could make out a start of a person. You didn't hand him the book, looking at him with curiosity. 

Wanderer huffed. The language barrier did get annoying, and really troublesome at times. Sometimes it was a blessing, he could avoid small talk---but trying to communicate with you, especially in complicated situations was a nightmare.

He made a grabbing motion, feeling childish doing so. Realization dawned on your features and you handed him the book and pencil. He didn't correct you in assuming he wanted the pencil and just carefully thumbed the sides of the pages to the one you drew of him. 

“This is so stupid,” He huffed out, “But it's good. I don't smile though.”

You didn't understand him. Both good and bad, he was spared of trying to grapple with complimenting someone but unable to properly apologize for hurting your feelings. Yet, patiently, you waited and watched, bandaged hands folded in your lap. 

He spun his pencil. “So stupid.”

He quickly scrawled a heart at the corner of the page, making deliberate eye contact with you. He could not bring himself to smile nor did he want to, he only wanted to rid of the sour feeling you no doubt felt at his dismissal of something you put so much effort into. 

You were smiling again when you saw the heart. You said something, a phrase he heard a lot. Some version of ‘Thank You’ he thinks. 

The Wanderer graced your clingy self with all he expected or would give you, and folded his arms and looked away, closing his eyes shut to embrace the idle mediation while waiting for the storm to pass. 

You kept scrawling in your little book, happily. 

Soon enough it became too dark to see, and you with a frown tucked your pencil and book away in your little satchel, leaning back on the wall. Your breathing steadied as you fell asleep, curled up and wrapped tight in your cloak. 

The Wanderer did not sleep, he did not need to. At some point he opened his eyes again to see you fast asleep. 

He did not know why you continued to follow him around, and trust him so freely. He realized he gave you no reason to distrust him. 

The Wanderer could've left you behind some towns ago, but he didn't. He couldn't just leave you. 

You'd shown your thanks in the form of art, so tastefully and even lovingly drawn. Language barrier or not, so far you hadn't given him a reason to distrust you either. You didn't leave yet. 

The storm raged on, rain pouring down with the occasional stroke of lightning. He looked up, catching glimpses of the fractals of light in the black sky. 

No, no, he couldn't just leave you. 

You didn't deserve it, and what was the point of perpetuating such needless cruelty? 

Perhaps, he did care.

Just a little. 

[imaginesinthewind]

Blood of my blood

Pairing: Jon Snow x f!reader

Summary: The night before the Battle of Bastards, promises are exchanged between Jon and you. Inspired by an Outlander quote from Jamie Fraser. If you recognize it, you earn a cookie.

A/N: A small fluffy Jon Snow drabble, because I can't sleep. Very tooth-rotting romantic. You are warned.

"Where were you? I looked for you, over there."

You would have recognised that voice anywhere. Raspy, soft, deep. And low.

The cold was biting your cheeks, causing them to turn more pink than usual. As the last men were exiting Jon's tent, where the last war council was held, you realised that you had been standing there for way too long, staring into the nothingness, ghosts dancing across your eyes.

You slowly turned around to face Jon. His black curls were held backwards, making him look more and more like his father; not only in looks, but also in attitude. He looked tired, and worried. But a cold determination was glowing in his gaze.

His arms slowly came to surround you, pulling you towards him and his comforting figure. And suddenly, it seemed that the ghosts you were facing silently faded away.

"You're worried," Jon noticed.

A small sigh escaped your lips, and your hands came to rest on his shoulders, playing with edges of his armour.

"I only just got you back," you whispered, avoiding his eyes. "And... I mean, if anything were to happen--"

"(Y/N)", Jon cut you off.

A callous hand lifted your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"You don't need to worry yourself sick about me. I've been through way, way worse."

The hint of a smile danced across his features.

"I will always come back. You should know that by now. Plus, there is only one thing you need to worry about."

One of his hands softly caressed your baby bump, almost invisible to the naked eye. You had told Jon a few days ago; and now, more than ever, it was like his actions to take back Winterfell from Ramsay had some kind of undergoing urgency.

He held you closer to him, and your head came to rest on his chest. You remained there for a few seconds, content in his embrace, breathing slowly.

"Promise me," you finally whispered. "Promise me that you will come back to me."

There was a moment of silence. But then, Jon pulled you away from him. His face looked serious and soft at the same time as he looked at you; like you were the moon of his life. The one and only thing that made sense.

"I can do better than that, love."

His harsh northern accent contrasted with the softness of his voice.

You frowned, and watched in disbelief as Jon suddenly got on one knee.

"Jon," you began, but he cut you off again.

"No, (Y/N). Let me do this, once and for all."

He grabbed your hand and squeezed it. Suddenly, Jon, your childhood love, the one you had lost and found again, looked desperate.

"I don't have anything to offer you, (Y/N). I have no lands, no titles. But I know this. When I'm with you, I am no longer this commander everyone expects me to be. I am just a boy in love, all over again."

Jon stood up again, and grabbed both of your hands.

"You are the blood of my blood, bone of my bone. I gave you my body and you gave me yours, so that we could become one. So, please. If I win this, be mine. Marry me."

Your heart grew bigger in your chest, as if it was about to burst. Burst for this sweet and devoted man in front of you.

Your vision blurried, and you nearly threw yourself in his arms.

"Oh, Jon..."

You closed your eyes and held him tight.

"You are worth all of these things, and more even. I love you. Yes, I will marry you."

Ramsay Bolton would not live to see another night on this earth.

Somewhere in the dead of night, Jon made an oath to himself.

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

Wednesday 100: Heart Bleeds Out

I.

He’s hurting her. His hands press on the wound, staunching blood, and she makes a pitiful sound that cuts straight to his heart — he’s hurting her, even as he tries to save her. He can’t let up on the wound — he won’t.

When the other physician abandons her, Jamie knows something is cosmically wrong — Claire gives so much of herself, time and again, war after war, saving countless lives, and now… no one will help her?

Her life is worth more than any man’s, he wants to scream, to rage. If the world had any sense, they’d see it too.

II.

He thinks of the Ridge as he sits in the church, holding her wound, as his wife passes out again from pain. For all its turmoil and strife, the Ridge was still a place that sheltered them, where they built their home together. He should’ve taken her home long before today, when missing the first ship back to her inadvertently gave them a second chance. He knows that’s what she wants, only she won’t go without him.

Dinnae go from me now…

“I’ll bring ye home, Claire, I promise,” he whispers, voice breaking. “We’ll go together. Just… stay with me?”

III.

He cups her face, so pale from blood loss that his blood-dyed hand is shocking in contrast — it sends fresh panic clawing up his throat — and he thinks, we haven’t had enough time. Was it only this morning that he’d curled her silver hairs around his finger and delighted in the years touching her?

It’s not enough. They’ve had fifteen years together but were apart for twenty, and Providence owes them those years.

She’s not dying — she cannot; there’s time they’re still owed. This time, he’ll stand between her and the angel of death and seize those years for them.

[abyssruler]

to you, who loved me most

scaramouche x gn!reader

four snippets, four drabbles, four realistic takes on popular tropes with the person scaramouche was before he became the wanderer. or — soulmate au, time travel, reincarnation, and isekai with the sixth harbinger.

character death (reader), scaramouche being a horrible person, implied dark themes

SOULMATE AU - soulmates share each others’ pain

For as long as you could remember, your heart has always felt hollow. Empty. Your mother once told you that your soulmate must have a heart disease of some kind—but no, this isn’t pain. You know what pain is.

Pain is the electricity crackling through your veins, sharp pinpricks like a thousand needles trying to protrude from your skin. It is staying up in the middle of the night, unable to sleep because of the ache in your joints as if someone is pulling you apart only to glue you back together, like one of those porcelain dolls you always see being sold at the market.

You know what pain is, and it is not the apathy you feel when you discover who your soulmate is. It is not the stark-white heat that overcomes you as your soulmate’s hand pierces your empty, hollow chest.

Pain is the ache you finally feel in your nonexistent heart, a moment before you close your eyes.

And you’ve never known comfort—you’ve never known a lot of things—but you think comfort is the arms that hold you as you choke on your own blood. Comfort is the cold chest against your cheek as you breathe your last, dying breath.

Comfort the voice in your ear, a whispered plea, an apology, one last wish for you to stay.

TIME TRAVEL/TIME LOOP

It’s pointless and foolish and he’s a monster, and you know you should stop coming back, stop greeting him with that same smile you always give whenever you first stumble upon him, dazed and confused and so, so kind and innocent after awakening from his slumber.

You should run from those deceptively angelic looking eyes, but you can’t. No matter how many times you’ve died and come back—the amount of times you’ve died by his hands—you can’t stop coming back and hoping that this time, maybe it’ll all turn out different. That this time, he’ll turn out different.

And perhaps this time, he’ll finally love you back the way he did during your first loop.

REINCARNATION

It was your fault. You shouldn’t have been so kind to him. So warm and bright and innocent, giving him all you have without expecting anything in return. All he knows is to take and take and take until not even you had anything left to give. And still, he continues to take what he perceives to be rightfully his until you’re carved hollow from the inside out.

But you shouldn’t blame him, it was your fault in the first place. You should have known better than to treat strangers like him so kindly.

He has bound your soul to his. Til death do us part, but Scaramouche will not let even death take you away from him. So even if you decide to take your own life, you can never truly escape his grasp.

In your next life and the ones after that, he will always find you, and you will always love him back until you see the monster hidden beneath the veneer of a pleasant smile.

ISEKAI

You’re here. You’re really, truly here in Teyvat.

The most logical thing to do would be to seek out the Traveler, a fellow outlander who would keep you safe until they reach the end of their journey, but you’ve always been reckless and stupid. So you seek out the most disliked Harbinger and join the Fatui under his ranks.

You thought it would be like the fanfictions you secretly read, where he’d notice you and fall in love with you and you’d live happily ever after. But reality is often different from what you expect.

He is harsh, but not the fun, amusing kind of harsh you once watched and read. He is living and breathing and right in front of you, spitting the most horrid words anyone has ever said to you. You once fantasized the scenario of him being mean to you, back when he was fictional and dreamy and not an inch away from taking your useless, pathetic life.

And as you stood in place, blinking back tears that would send him over the edge should he see it, you wonder why you ever thought you’d enjoy it.

[let-the-dream-begin]

Wednesday 100: The Third Ring

Jamie opened his fist wordlessly.

“Where did you find that?” Her hand twitched, as if to snatch it, but stopped herself. “I thought it lost, it was—”

“In yer wee box, aye. I found it when ye asked me to retrieve that powder today.”

He expected anger, shame, indignation. He hadn’t expected the rush of tears that came.

“Don’t…get rid of it. Please.”

He was shocked by an absence of rage in his own gut, feeling his heart clench instead at the sight of her tears. He set it carefully on the nightstand, then took her hand.

“I won’t, Claire.”

[pseudowho]

you mentioned re-reading one of your favorite books for watchmaker nanami (which was AMAZING by the way. you never disappoint haitch 🥰). do you mind dropping the book rec? or any book recs in general?

would love to know what auntie haitch is reading when she isn’t writing lovely fics and drabbles for us plebeians 🫶

Yes, absolutely! It's The Watchmaker of Filigree Street by Natasha Pulley. It also has a delicious sequel called The Lost Future of Pepperharrow, and I adore them both. They're exquisite.

Other book recs, The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, and any short story anthology by Ursula leGuin. I'm also quite fond of the Outlander book series by Diana Gabaldon.

I'm also a plebeian, a total gutter rat, don't worry. Join me in the dirt. It's great down here.

I'm so pleased you enjoyed The Watchmaker. I had an amazing time writing it.

Your lovely Inbox has also made me smile. So, thank you very much for taking the time to send it. It's greatly appreciated.

A big, perhaps red wine 🍷 kiss for you 💋

Love,

-- Haitch xxx