#and hardest would be Murtagh and Pitch

[not-poignant]

Haihai little ask, which character did you enjoy most writing, who do you relate to most, and who did you find hardest to write? It could include current wips as welll (mallory and mount cos im rlyy curious abt these boys)

Ps Underline is awesome!

I'm so glad you're enjoying Underline the Black!

Tbh I don't have one fixed answer to your question because it changes all the time! The character I enjoy writing the most is usually the one I'm writing right now, so it's definitely Efnisien. (Because like, if I stopped enjoying them the most I'd just write another character! So it used to be Gwyn, but it isn't anymore).

In terms of the hardest character, it's usually the characters I'm not writing the perspectives of, like Ash for example. I haven't written much from Mallory's perspective yet so I don't know much about him! And nothing from Lewis Mount's so I don't know much about him either.

The character's of mine that are hardest that I've written probably include Eran Iliakambar, and early on, Augus until I got the hang of him. I don't generally like writing characters that are very 'hard' to write though? So I don't often write them! I want the process of writing to feel like...fairly enjoyable, so I'm not looking for things to feel really difficult or impossible.

As for the characters I relate the most to over time, that changes a lot too! I relate to Gwyn a lot in The Nascent Diplomat, but less in other stories. And I relate to Efnisien more in Falling Falling Stars, but less in Underline the Black. So I think it's less about the character and more about what they're specifically dealing with!

It's so weird to think that Efnisien won't be my favourite character to write anymore one day, but I used to feel that way about Gwyn too! It's strange the way things can change.

#asks and answers #pia on writing #fae tales #fae tales verse #fae tales au #in fanfiction #the character i've probably most related to #hmmm #maybe *thinks* Felix Harrowgate probably or Elliott from Wind that Cuts the Night #and hardest would be Murtagh and Pitch #oh and Cullen #and my favourite would be probably Felix and Cullen and Connor and Alex #ALL MY BOYS

[imagineclaireandjamie]

mod bonnie you're a monster with that cllif hanger. please oh please can we get the escape and the sex SOON!!

Hail Mary : Part IX

Premise: What if Jamie and Claire had 1) been more openly affectionate in those early days, and 2) not *had* to get married?

Part I  Part II  Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII

Jamie’s arm around my middle held me securely against his chest as he reigned up. His grip on me was strong, considerately preventing my lurching forward from inertia, but the added contact with his heaving chest showed he was just as exhausted as me. 

“So, wh—” Lord, this might be Scotland, and the night air cool and moist, but my mouth was dry as the Sahara. I laughed a little and leaned my head back against Jamie’s shoulder as I tried to get enough moisture to rasp out,  “Where are we, exactly?” 

“‘Exactly’ where, I dinna ken, but w—” He was a bit short of breath himself, apparently. He gave me a squeeze and a sweaty kiss on the cheek before relinquishing me to Murtagh, who was reaching to help me down from the horse. “—We crossed out of MacKenzie lands as of the last glen, so for the moment, we’re—Whoa, lass—!”

My knees locked as I slipped off the horse, my feet juddering so hard onto the packed earth that I nearly toppled before Murtagh’s strong grip saved me. “Are ye alright, a nighean?”

I just stared at him. 

Jamie shifted sharply in the saddle to check that I was alright. “Mo chridhe?” 

“Fine,” I panted. I was fine; but the shock of hearing an endearment coming from the ever-dour Murtagh’s lips, his eyes warm with concern, even, had taken me considerably aback. A softy, underneath it all, eh? “Perfectly fine,” I said again, waving my hand in reassurance, “just tired.”

Jamie jumped down beside me and took the satchel from my hands. “Go have a bit of a rest, Sassenach, while we tend to the horses.” 

I didn’t need telling twice. I found a grassy spot and stretched full length on my back, groaning in relief and draping my arm over my face against harsh moonlight. 

We’d ridden for nearly twenty-four hours since our escape from Leoch, which had been no small feat in and of itself. 

A guard had begun stalking Jamie scarce twenty minutes after the confrontation with Colum. The brute—hulking, even compared to Jamie, if it could be believed—had been a faithful, menacing shadow for the entire afternoon and evening, escorting Jamie firmly to his chamber when night fell, and neatly preventing any contact between Jamie and me. 

Thankfully for all of us, Colum had not deemed it necessary to post a guard at MY door.  All Jamie had had to do was wait for the dark of midnight, clamber out his fourth-floor window, and climb CAREFULLY up the stone wall of the keep. He’d had one near-fall, sending a shower of stone dust and mortar chips downward; but thankfully, attracted no attention as he clambered up to the roof, and entered the castle again through a garret window to make his way to my chamber. 

Murtagh—with whom Jamie had had several vital minutes as he was leaving Colum’s tower—had not been assigned an obvious tail, and thus had been able to gather food and weapons for our flight. Jamie hadn’t dared risk having Murtagh speak to or otherwise get word to me, in case Colum had hidden eyes watching after all. They had, however, arranged for the torches between my chamber and the window to the east-wing roof to be prematurely extinguished, giving Jamie and me the cover of near-pitch-blackness in which to make our way to the roof. We’d had to dart hastily into an alcove as a pair of Grant retainers came down the hall, speaking of the next day’s ceremony and making bets on whether or not Edina Grant would faint (as, we were given to understand, she had a rather sickly constitution). But finally we made it to our escape hatch. Out the window we went, down a ten-foot drop to the roof of the wing below, a painstaking walk across the shadowed gable, and another drop to the yard below. 

It all would have gone off without a hitch, if the ostensibly-convenient stack of crates we were climbing down hadn’t toppled, causing a ruckus that attracted first the guard dogs and then the guards themselves. Jamie had managed to knock the three men out, but we could hear the alarm being raised and the thundering of many booted feet as we sprinted for the outer door, where Murtagh was waiting just outside. He’d managed only two horses, but beggars and choosers, and all that; and we were galloping south with all due haste, leaving the walls of Leoch behind, and praying we could stay ahead of any of Colum’s men that would be dispatched to follow us….which, thank heaven, we had.  

Jamie thudded onto the ground next to me and groaned as he stretched out onto his back, his boots a few inches from my elbow. 

I rolled onto my stomach to give my aching rear end a break, laying my cheek on my crossed arms and feeling the night breeze ruffling through my hair. My head was spinning with the delirium of exhaustion, and I prayed this would be a LONG rest. The three or four respites we’d taken so far had been agonizingly short, time enough only to spare the horses keeling over. And if I was weary and aching, Jamie must be near to keeling over himself, having had the task of controlling the horse one-handed AND keeping a hold on me to keep me falling when I inevitably dozed off against his shoulder.

Sure enough, he groaned again, with an urgency and a Gaelic curse that spoke to a great deal of discomfort.

“Love?” I reached out a leaden hand to touch his foot, cursing that my medicine box had been (wisely) deemed too heavy to bring along, “Have you pulled something?”

“D’ye have any notion,” he said between gritted teeth, “of how your arse looks in those breeks?”

Fatigue be damned, this was WORTH IT. I came up on my arms and craned my neck around to grin at him. He was propped up on one arm, staring in definite distress at the item in question.

Jamie being Jamie, I had been rather startled that he had suggested trousers in the first place; but practicality, it seemed, had won out over propriety. It would have been a liability to all of us, to have me slowed by heavy skirts on our escape. 

Apparently, the breeks were their own sort of liability, though.  I spy, with my little eye, a not-so-little kilt tent. 

“Good, is it?” I asked, trying my very hardest not to laugh….or ogle…and failing at both. Definitely not little.

“Jesus,” he said again, in what might have been considered a whimper.

You know, you *have* undressed me completely, before, lad,I thought about saying; but I couldn’t help feeling gratified at his apparent awe. It was a father fine arse, by all accounts. And,might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. I gave my rear end a rather lewd undulation and he swore so violently it scared the horses.

“Cuir stad, lad, you’ll wake the dead!” Murtagh scolded, emerging from the underbrush with our refilled canteens and turning his gimlet eye on me. “What in God’s name did ye DO to him?”

Jamie laughed and sat up. “All the right things, a charaid.”

I sat up too, gratefully accepting my replenished canteen, changing the subject as well as my posture to spare Jamie from squirming himself into an early grave. “So, we’re safe, now? The MacKenzies can’t pursue us outside their own lands?”

“Not wi’out exposing themselves to a great deal of risk,” Murtagh said, plunking down next to us. “Colum’s enraged, to be sure, but he’ll have enough on his hands wi’ the Grants to consider doing anythin’ to vex another clan in the process.”  

“Lord, the poor Grants,” I laughed, groaning a bit. “They’ve gotten the short end of the stick, haven’t they?” 

Jamie’s mouth tightened, an expression I’d come to know meant he was supremely uncomfortable. “I did leave a letter in my chamber, ken?”

“A letter?” Murtagh and I both said together. 

“To Miss Grant,” he said, with a tight shrug. “Explaining that my flight had naught to do wi’ her, but only that my heart belonged to another.” 

I smiled. “That was very considerate of you, darling.”

“Aye, and also hopefully t’will appease Malcolm Grant that Colum didna willfully seek to ensnare him and shame his daughter.”

“Do you think your uncles will ever let you come back to Leoch?”

“No.” It was Murtagh that answered, his voice grim. “Not if his mother’s case is to be our guide.”

Jamie nodded in agreement and dropped his eyes.

Ellen MacKenzie had never once received even a word from her enraged brothers after her scandalous elopement with Black Brian Fraser. Dougal had apparently visited Lallybroch a time or two after her death, and had eventually taken Jamie for his foster, but from the moment she left that castle, Ellen’s fate had been sealed: exiled and infamous. 

It had been love for Ellen and Brian, Jamie said, real and deep and strong, and so she never had cause to regret her decision; and yet…

I scooted closer to her son and leaned in to kiss his shoulder. “I am sorry, you know—to be the cause of your entire life upending.”

Jamie raised his eyebrows, dubious.

“Well, it’s not as if I want you to cast me to the roadside, do I? But they are your family. I know they don’t mean nothing to you.”

“True…and thank you, Sassenach. But to the MacKenzies, family is obligation as much as affection. Heart, but with claws.” He pulled me close and kissed the top of my head. “Dinna fash: I dinna regret a thing.” 

“Well, I know you don’t now, but—” 

“They’re my blood, but my true family is Jenny. Murtagh.” He squeezed my hand hard. “You.”

The lump formed so suddenly in my throat, I could only whisper it back to him. “You.”  

My only family. 

He gently cupped my chin and kissed me, then drew back with purpose, catching his godfather’s eye. “I ken you’re as tired as we, a gostadh, but surely ye must be getting on your way if you’re to catch the post rider?”

The dour clansman nodded and got to his feet. “I’ll be off in ten minutes, as soon as the handfasting is done.”

Jamie was like a loosed arrow as he leapt to his feet, barking something at Murtagh in rapid Gaelic.  Murtagh threw up his face and said something scornful back in the same language, and even my brief time amongst eighteenth-century highlanders had taught me the early warning signs of an all-out brawl. 

“Jesus H. Christ, honestly!” I stepped neatly between them—getting a prodigious spray of spittle from both sides for my efforts—and held up my hands. “Will you both calm down and PLEASE explain to me what handfasting is?”

“Handfasting is—” Murtagh began.

“—nothing you need trouble yourself over, because it’s NOT HAPPENING,” Jamie finished, eyes flashing at Murtagh across my shoulder.

“—A CEREMONY OF MARRIAGE,” Murtagh persisted, “for when there’s no priest handy. Ye join hands, say the words, and you’re man and wife for a year and a day, until the union can be formally blessed.”

“And it’s real? A legitimate union, I mean, according to the church?” 

“Aye,” he said, seeming surprised by my doubt. “Valid only for the year, but valid nonetheless. Common enough in the Highlands so as no’ to looked down upon.” 

“We are not going to be handfasted,” Jamie growled, “and that’s all there—”

“But of course we should!” I said. “Jamie, you said it yourself at Leoch: being married as soon as possible is the next most important thing for our safety, yes?”

“Aye, but—” He shuffled uncomfortably. “It’s so—crude! Ye deserve a ring—a proper dress for—”

“I don’t bloody need all that!“ I said with such laughing scorn that he looked startled. “Jamie… I’ve been married before,” I said, far more gently. “The ring, the clothes—? Those things can be lovely, but they aren’t important to me. But if…” I searched his face, not wanting to be flippant. “Are they important to you?”

“Well, aye, in a way but—They’re only important insomuch as—” He was flustered, almost sheepish in his unease as he ran a hand backward through his hair.  “I should never wish to give ye anything less than is due to ye. I want to honor ye, Sassenach.”

“You do honor me, Jamie, just by wanting to marry me. That’s all I need.” 

He looked torn.  “I ken you’re a practical woman, Claire, and ye wish to put a good face on things, but—”

“But I do mean it, my love. No, listen,” I pushed, as he began to interrupt. “If I had been Edina Grant, say, a stranger you were OBLIGED to marry…just think of how different the wedding would need to be. The ring, our clothing, the place—that all would be significant, because–”

“Because we wouldna be knowing each other?” Jamie said, his features relaxing.

I exhaled in relief at the understanding in his voice. “Exactly.”

“I’d be a stranger you were meeting at the altar,” he continued, nodding slowly. 

“And so the protocol, the finery and beauty of it all,” I took up, “That would be what we’d remember about our wedding. We’d need that to hold on to, to make it a pleasant memory.” 

“....Until we might come to love or respect one another, one day,” he finished.

“But you do know me, Jamie: you know me. And you know I want to marry you.” I touched his face, sweeping down the stubble of his jaw. “And so the love we share is what we’ll remember about tonight. Nothing else matters.”

“Nothing else,” he repeated, his eyes twinkling and his mouth turned up in a tender smile, “mo nighean donn.”

And so it truly didn’t matter that we were both sweaty and reeking of horse as I came into his arms; didn’t matter that I was dressed like a little boy, or that my hair had reached the size and texture of the average haystack. All that mattered was that he meant it when he whispered, hoarse with feeling, “I do love you, Claire.” 

And that there was no reservation in my heart when I looked up into his eyes and said back to him, “And I love you.” 

“And if ye’re both quite finished breathing into each other’s faces,” Murtagh said, belching, “we’ll get on wi’ it?”

It was fast; it was simple—with not a scrap of either pomp or circumstance. We simply knelt, clasped hands, and said the words with Murtagh as witness. 

And yet, even so, a deep, silent peace descended around us, wrapping each syllable in a sweet solemnity that would mark this place, this night in our memories, always: 

“I, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp do take thee, James Alexander M—” He grinned, but I managed it, and the spell fell around us again. “—Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, to be my lawful wedded husband. With my goods I thee endow, with my body I thee worship, in sickness and in health, in richness and in poverty, so long as we both shall live.”

His eyes blazed as he swore his life to me in return. “I, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, do take thee, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, to be my lawful wedded wife. With my goods I thee endow, with my body I thee worship, in sickness and in health, in richness and in poverty, so long as we both shall live.”

And I kissed him, kissed him, kissed him, and felt the world slide, then click into place. 

A pair.

A home. 

Jamie didn’t let go of my hand for a moment during our toast (for not even a fugitive Scotsman travels without whisky), nor did either of us stop grinning like fools in love. Husband. Wife. 

Not even Murtagh was unaffected. For all he tried to hide behind his gruff and scruff, I’d seen his eyes sparkling as he looked down at Jamie and me saying our vows; I’d felt the feeling behind the rough hug he’d given me; and I’d been floored by the hoarseness of his voice as he’d said in my ear, “You’re right for him, a nighean.” And that made me feel an absolute empress over my happiness. Right for him; right for me; right. 

“We’ll stay the night here,” Jamie said with decision, reaching up for his saddlebag. 

But Murtagh said something in rapid Gaelic as he swung up into his saddle, gesturing to the east. Jamie grinned, asked something back, and got an answer that seemed to both surprise and please him greatly before Murtagh was galloping off into the distance.

“What was that about?”

“Murtagh knows of a better place for us to spend the night.” He held out his hand. “Can ye bear to ride a bit longer, my wife?”

I accepted the boost up into the saddle. “If it’s worth it, darling husband.” 

“Sounds as if it will be,” he said as he clambered up behind us and turned us east. “And it’s good it isna far.“

“Tired?”

“Aye. And…” He ran his fingers down my rib cage and my blood went hot as he breathed into my shoulder, “…I’d like to get started wi’ worshiping your body.”

[more to come]

#Anonymous #;mod bonnie #Hail Mary AU #next week i promise #the do gets done #had to get them hitched first #and give them a bit of a chance to rest up #I kind of liked doing a Fraser wedding without blood of my blood #just to change things up a bit #these are the vows Roger and Bree used