I was fearful of losing you. It is why I could not visit you after your accident. BRIDGERTON | 2.08 “The Viscount Who Loved Me”

here is the feysand bonus chapter from the barnes and noble version of a court of silver flames!

A little Outlander fanart while waiting for season 3 :D 

🥺🥺🥺🥺

“Am I not Lady Broch Tuarach? Are these men not my responsibility too?” - Claire

2x11 |  Vengeance is Mine  | Countdown to Season 4 

Loss Ficlet: The First Noël

Loss Jamie and Claire’s first Christmas together –– this is only very shortly after they moved in together. Pre-engagement.  Pre-home ownership. Pre-wedding.  Pre-Buffalo Bill.  Inspired by a series of texts that I woke to from @sassenachwaffles about how she needed a Loss ficlet where Claire strips to Eartha Kitt’s version of Santa Baby. If you are not into NSFW, I think it’ll be pretty obvious to you where to stop reading. 🎄I hope this gives you a little holiday season glow.  ❤️

The First Noël

December 2016

We spent an entire weekend decking the halls of our new flat.  

Still slick from a Saturday morning of lazy, prolonged, and teasing sex, Jamie announced that he had agreed to meet the Murray clan at a tree farm near Lallybroch.  The annual Fraser selection and chopping of a tree for Christmas.  In response, I confessed something that I held incredibly close to the vest.

I had not had a Christmas tree since the year that my parents had died.

He maneuvered me away so he could look at me from arms length.

I was sure that my explanation sounded defensive, but at its core, it was defensive.

Lamb and I were nomads.

Bachelor pads are not conducive to Christmas decorating.

It was just not that important.

Rarely home, and then only a handful of nights every few months.

“I canna believe ye’ve no’ had a Christmas tree since ye were… what?”

“Huh?” My mind, still faltering a few steps was replaying the accident that took my parents.  (Metal and fire, blood and loss.  Imagery I gleaned from a microfiche at a university library when I was thirteen.)  I was not keeping up with him.

“When yer parents died.  How old were ye?” Jamie’s brow was furrowed and I returned to his chest, nestling my face against his throat.  His skin was tacky –– sweat, musk, scented with the last moments of our joining.  Even beneath me, he was armor –– a sturdy presence to draw me back to the present.   “Five, right?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled faintly, pressing my lips to the button rise of his left clavicle.  I could envision, behind closed eyes, a slim book of fragmented, greyed memories. My first four Christmases were gone. Only the scarred edges of missing pages remained.  No memories, save one (a Christmas bow, my hair in a braid, my mother’s violet perfume, sucking candy canes down to sharpened points with bits of plastic wrapping flaking off onto my tongue, and midnight mass candle smoke).  “Five.  Don’t get me wrong… Lamb was great, Jamie.  Better than great, actually. He was just not much of a traditionalist when it came to holidays.”

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HELLO MY LOSS LOVES 😍

Droughtlander Art Challenge Week 7 - “Do not stand by my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die.”

Well you probably thought I only posted happy things… and I am so sorry about this, but that poem works way too well. I promise my next post will be a happy one!

Have a great start to your week - we’re another week closer to September!

This is beautiful and I’m heartbroken 😭😭

Jamie is a talented but low key pianist who gets in some kind of accident that causes him to nearly lose his hand. He’s devastated that he’ll never be able to play again.

Or so he thinks.

In comes Claire Beauchamp, Jamies new physical therapist. Obviously they fall in love. But not until after loads of sexual tension and maybe even a little drama!

- @iamnottrisha​ would like to be credited if you use her prompt or moodboard. Thanks!

My heart 🥺♥️

Pas De Deux - A  Moodboard (Three Part) One-Shot (Part Three)

@iamnottrisha​ - thanks for organizing!

@taamagams - thanks for creating this beautiful moodboard!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

They split the bill for dinner, and then Claire let Jamie take her hand and lead her across the street. Lights in the fountain sparked reflections across all three buildings at Lincoln Center.

“I’ve never been here before,” she breathed.

Jamie pulled her tightly against his side, watching people bustle about the complex. “I’m glad to give this to you,” he whispered, kissing her temple.

Something surged within her – but Jamie was already tugging at her hand, striding toward the building at the back of the square.

“Sometimes I’m sorry that I didn’t see the original Metropolitan Opera House, before this complex was built by Robert Moses in the 60s.” Jamie’s voice was strong, quiet, as they approached the theater. “But I do have to say – there’s something very special about this place.”

Once inside, he went directly to the Will Call.

“Two for tonight’s performance, please. Last name is Fraser.”

And then she stared down at her ticket.

“Swan Lake,” she whispered.

“Of course. I told you it’s one of my favorites. But I didn’t tell you that my sister Jenny is dancing in it tonight.”

Stunned, Claire met his smiling eyes.

“How else do you think I could have afforded these tickets?”

–

Walking up the curving, red carpeted staircase to their seats was like something out of a dream.

“Some people say that orchestra seating is the best,” Jamie explained as they carefully walked down the sloping aisle to their seats at the front of the balcony. “But I like sitting up here – you can see the entire stage, plus the musicians.”

Heavy gold curtains draped across the stage. Claire watched individual musicians warm up in the pit, practicing their scales, laughing with each other.

“How long has your sister been with the ballet company?”

“About ten years now – she’s worked her way up to be what they call a principal dancer. And one of only a handful of dancers in the New York City ballet who are actually from New York City. The company truly seeks the best talent from all around the world.”

Claire thumbed through her Playbill – Jamie was right. Dancers hailed from Kiev, and Buenos Aires, and Paris, and Moscow, and Los Angeles.

“I don’t see a Fraser,” she frowned.

Jamie’s finger pointed out a smiling, dark-haired woman. “Janet Murray. She’s married to my best friend Ian – we all went to school together. She’s one of the only married dancers.”

“Is Ian a dancer as well?”

“God, no!” Jamie laughed. “He’s a police officer. Passed the sergeant’s exam earlier this year.”

Claire shook her head, then squinted at Jenny’s photograph. “I’d expected she’d be red-haired, like you.”

“She takes after Dad’s side of the family – they were all much darker in complexion. I take after Mom’s side.”

She turned the page. “Jenny is dancing Odette. Is that the main character?”

“Yes. She’s danced in this ballet many times, but only this season she’s started dancing Odette.”

Claire set down her Playbill, and took both of Jamie’s hands. “Thank you for taking me here. It’s – it’s all so much more than I ever could have expected.”

He raised one of her hands to his lips, and kissed it ever so gently. “Thank you for allowing me to take you here. It’s…I’ve never had anyone to share this with. Who would appreciate it.”

He flushed.

“Did you ever dance ballet, Jamie?”

“I tried – but I don’t have the coordination for it. I’d rather be drawing.”

“So – what do you draw?”

“Whatever I see around me. I like charcoal – it’s so simple, so freeing. Just a few strokes and life begins to take shape.”

She crossed one leg, rubbing her boot against his. “Anything in particular that you like to draw?”

“People. Faces. I drew a lot of dancers when Jenny and I were growing up – I had my Degas phase. It’s very hard to capture movement accurately.”

“Would you like to draw me?”

Quickly Jamie glanced at his watch, then fished around in his jacket pocket, producing a small rectangular metal case.

“That looks like what my uncle would put his cigarettes in.”

He lay the case on the armrest between them, and carefully flicked it open. “It used to be something like that.” He turned it around so that Claire could see inside – six neat rectangles of chalk, black and white and four shades of gray. “Now I never leave home without it.”

He flipped through his Playbill, removed the paper insert announcing the casting change for the night, and placed it, blank side up, on his knees. He turned in his seat, balancing carefully, facing her. Began to draw.

Suddenly self-conscious, Claire swallowed, feeling her cheeks flush.

“Hold still,” he whispered, eyes flicking between her face and the paper.

She did, mind racing, watching as he rotated the paper, smudged it a bit with the pads of his fingers, then smiled once it was all done.

“Here.” He held it out between them.

It was her, all right – rendered in the most delicate of lines. With just three sweeps of chalk he had captured her brow, cheeks, nose, chin – and smile.

Simple. Stunning.

She swallowed, fishing in her purse for a tissue. “Here – I didn’t see anything in that case to clean your hands with.”

Tentatively she took the drawing, studying it as he wiped his hands.

“It’s amazing how quickly you can do that.”

“It’s easy when I have a beautiful subject.”

She closed her eyes. Knowing he could see her hands shake.

“What are we doing, Jamie?”

“We’re going to watch the ballet. I’ll hold you close to me, and tell you the story, and hope against hope that you’ll continue to open your heart to me. And then when it’s done, I’ll introduce you to my sister. Maybe we’ll go for a drink. And I’ll see you back home to Adso.”

His warm, warm hand carefully rested on her knee. “I hope that one day, you’ll see this drawing and remember every moment – every second – of this night.”

She swallowed. “I can’t believe I found you.”

Her hand found his. Carefully he slipped the drawing into his Playbill, set it on the floor, and enveloped her hand in between both of his. “We found each other, Claire.”

Then a chime sounded, and the light fixtures began ascending up to the ceiling, and they settled into their seats – Jamie’s strong arm around her back, his hand safe between both of Claire’s.

He kept his promises that night.

Whispering the story unfolding on the stage:

That’s Prince Siegfried, and his overbearing mother who tells him he must choose a bride at the royal ball. He’s upset that he can’t marry for love. His buddies try to cheer him up, but it’s no use. As evening falls, Siegfried sees a flock of swans flying overhead, and suggests they go on a hunt to clear his mind.

  Now here we pick up the story a bit later – and we see Siegfried lost at the lakeside. A flock of swans lands – and just as he aims his bow, one of them transforms into Odette. I can say Odette, and not Jenny, because to be honest I can’t recognize her with her hair and makeup and costume. You can see how terrified she is – but Siegfried explains that he won’t harm her. She tells him that she and the other swans are the victims of a curse from an evil sorcerer. By day they are swans, and by night, beside this enchanted lake, they regain their human form.

  Odette tells him that the spell can only be broken if a man who has never loved before, swears to Odette that he will love her forever.

  Then the sorcerer appears, and Siegfried wants to kill him – but Odette persuades him not to, for she fears that if the sorcerer dies, she will be cursed to live under the terrible spell forever.

  Odette and Siegfried fall in love, that night by the lake – and as dawn breaks, she and her companions turn into swans again.

  Now here we are the following evening at the costume ball – where Siegfried has been ordered to find a wife. Here are the girls his mother wants him to marry. And look – here is the sorcerer, in disguise, with his daughter who is disguised to resemble Odette. Siegfried gives her attention, thinking she is Odette.

  And now we see Odette appear in her human form, trying desperately to warn Siegfried – but he doesn’t see her. And he proclaims to the court that he will marry the sorcerer’s daughter. But then the sorcerer shows Siegfried a magical vision of Odette – and he realizes she’s not there. He flees the castle, hurrying back to the lake to find her.

  Odette is distraught. Siegfried appears and apologizes. Odette realizes she can never have the life with him that she wants, so she chooses to die. Siegfried chooses to die with her, and they leap into the lake. This breaks the sorcerer’s spell over the other swans. He dies. And in the last scene of the ballet, the swan maidens watch Siegfried and Odette ascend to heaven together.

The orchestra rose to a crashing crescendo, followed by a sliver of silence. The crowd rose to its feet with thundering applause.

Claire turned to Jamie, tears streaking down her face. She caressed his cheek and pulled him close for a long, long, sweet kiss.

“I’ve never loved before, Claire,” he rasped against her lips. “But I hope – ”

“I only want to be under your spell, Jamie,” she whispered, pulling him back for more.

Gotham. This was so incredibly lovely. I love the artistic simplicity yet the complex characters. This is a story I could read 10 chapters of and not even hesitate to ask for more. Thank you for this charming story!

Thank you @taamagams for this beautiful moodboard.

Thank you @iamnottrisha and @outlanderlush for this challenge. 😍

Mood board One Shot!

Rating: General Audiences

Also Read On: AO3

Summary: Jamie and Claire have a conversation while in the thick of World War 1.

A/N: Thank you so much to @enormouseffort for the mood board and to @iamnottrisha & @outlanderlush for putting this together! And thank you to @filledwithlight​, @smashing-teacups​, @happytoobserve​ and @fierceweebadger​ for looking this over for me! Also, it’s midnight east coast time so surprise!!!

The Uncertainty of War

When she comes to him, it’s with a bloodied apron still tied around her neck and curls askew. Someone’s blood streaks her upper arm, smeared into a dried out whorl thanks to a hasty wipe. A glance at her and Jamie knows tension lies between her shoulder blades like a lead weight and that the balls of her feet are aching.

He’s no better off than she is, exhausted to the very marrow of his bones. He’d been ready to close his eyes and welcome sleep until she crept in, but now his only thought is of following through on the warm bath he’d conjured for her in his mind. It takes time to fill, but the moment he helps her into the tub and she sighs, he knows he would do it again, even so late at night. Reaching behind her head, his fingers find the material holding her curls at bay and lets it go, sending them chaotically floating free.

“Close yer eyes, a nighean.”

She does as she’s told and becomes malleable under his hands as they meticulously work to rub her feet under the hot water.

“I haven’t sat since five-thirty this morning.” Her words leave her on a weary sigh; the moon and stars have been out for hours now.

“Ye push yourself too hard, Sassenach. If ye dinna do more to take care of yourself, yer body will decide to slow down for ye,” Jamie chides gently, hands working a calf, delighting in her soft groan.

“Who’s the medical professional, here, Captain?” She cracks one eye open to look at him. “I know you only arrived here a few moments before me, and you were gone when I woke.”

He’s quiet as his hands move back to a foot, pressing his thumbs into the arch gently and rubbing outward. When he replies, his eyes flicker toward her face. “Cannae do reconnaissance in the bright, open daylight, Nurse Beauchamp,” he retorts with her own title. “And the day cannae be done only because I was workin’ early.”

“So, you’re saying that telling me how much sleep to get isn’t hypocritical?”

She’s won when he can’t think of a good retort, and she smiles smugly, proud of herself for outsmarting him there.

“It’s no’ a bad thing to take a break when ye can get it, was my point.” He switches feet, focused on his task.

“Hello, pot. I’m kettle,” she teases, though it’s really quite sweet, his worry for her. It endears him even more to her heart, though he’d done well enough the day they’d met two years ago, buying flowers from her at the park for his young niece.

“We both do too much and we ken it, but—”

“—but we have one another to lean on,” she finishes, smiling as he moves to the head of the tub in order to capture her lips in a kiss. One of his large hands cradles her face and she reciprocates, enjoying the feel of his stubble against her fingertips.

“I missed ye today, mo nighean donn,” he murmurs huskily, ducking his head a little further to press his lips to her neck.

“I thought about you earlier while I was debriding a wound,” Claire informs him, even as her head tilts this way and that to grant better access to skin begging to feel the imprint of his lips.

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CANT WAIT TO READ THIS 🎉