Archives for the Date December 17th, 2019

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Sam IG, Dec. 17th 2019.

Fanfiction – Something Beautiful II


This is the first part of the last
of Something Beautiful – it would be a beast for my standards, if I
posted it as one piece. I highly recommend listening to She” by Elvis
on repeat through this, because it’s quite perfect. I’ll save last
words for the final bit – but Jen, this one is for you.


Something Beautiful Arc I, Ficlet I, Ficlet II, Ficlet III, Ficlet IV

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

Something Beautiful II

Part IX – Husband (I)

On the eve of our wedding, I cut Jamie’s hair.

We were alone at our house, finally finding a moment of precious
peace, since both our mothers had been appeased by all the completed
preparations, and retired for some much-needed rest before the big day  (“Must
look good for all the Insta stories I’ll be posting tomorrow
”, my mum told
me before she happily sauntered towards my previous address – her current
kingdom -, her arm linked with Ellen’s).

This time, I not only traced the small mole behind his ear with my
fingertips, but kissed it wholeheartedly, making him gasp (a shudder, the unspoken invitation of the tilt of his head).

When I deemed myself content with my ministrations, he turned
quickly on the leather couch, pulling me from my advantageous position and
trapping my legs with his body with remarkable efficiency and finesse.
Wordlessly, he undid the belt of my robe and opened it languidly, as he gazed
into my eyes (a promise of dark desire,
of light through it)
. I wondered how many times he had stopped himself from
doing exactly that – ravishing me after I teased him mercilessly – over the
years of our friendship, which to him had been the longest courtship.

His mouth was hot on my belly, and even hotter further down; I half-heartedly
protested that we should be keeping some form of celibacy as nuptial traditions
demanded, but his answer was to redouble his efforts and I said no more.

We showered together, happiness coating our nakedness along with the
scent of soap (not citrus, nor floral,
but undoubtedly sweet
), and afterwards we curled by the fire reading Sharp Objects together. When my phone rang, I jumped to get it
– I had been awaiting a call from my hairdresser to sort some last-minute details.

“Hello?” I smiled and nudged Jamie with my foot, as he
mockingly tried to bite my big toe over the edge of the book’s cover. “Ah,
Mister Jenkins, how are you? I wasn’t expecting a call from you today.”

Mister Jenkins was the manager of our wedding venue, a
scrawny-looking Welshman that talked a storm.
Usually his energy and optimism seemed endless, so as I heard the tone
of profound preoccupation and regret in his voice, my concern was immediate.

An unexpected flood due to
last night’s storm,
he informed, as my lips became
completely numb. The damage to the main
hall and equipment, as well as all the decorations, is too great,
I heard
somewhere in the distance, the wedding
cannot take place tomorrow
. My hand was shaking intensely as he said, I can rearrange things and should have
another opening for you in six months or so

Six months or so.

Keep reading






Dear WrittenThroughTime….you give so much to this fandom.  I hope in some small way my story makes you smile, laugh and fall in love with Jamie and Claire all over again in a Modern World.


“Dammit!  Oh GOD.  Oh.  Oh

She heard the crash from her perch on the fire escape.  And then the swearing. And underlying it all was
the pain.  Claire had been sitting out on
her fire escape, watching the sun go down in an orange blaze.  Setting aside her steaming hot tea, she crept
down the iron stairs slowly, her big woolen blanket still wrapped around
her.  It was a deep autumn night in
Edinburgh, and the chill in the air was sharp.
She didn’t want to appear like a weirdo, but the pain in his voice was
too much to ignore.  

And when she saw him, she reacted without thinking. Dropping
the blanket, she crawled through his open window, hand outstretched and voice
soothing.  “Hi there.  I’m Claire.
I live upstairs.  I heard the
crash. Are you okay?”  He looked at her,
eyes wild, short of breath and clutching his right arm.  A clearly dislocated shoulder.  “I’m a nurse.
Let me help you.”  

He never said a word, just nodded at her and allowed her to
lead him over to the coffee table.  She
sat him down gently and looked him in the eye.
“Brace yourself.  It will
hurt.  Just…just don’t fight me, okay?  I need to get the arm in the correct
position, and then I’m going to put your shoulder joint back in place.”  He nodded again, and took a deep breath.  She could see in his eyes when he was ready
for her. She nodded back at him, their silent communication forged.  Slipping her hand into his, she concentrated
on what she was doing until she felt the joint slide home.

“A Dhia.” he breathed.
He looked at her with surprise, relief, and nothing short of
admiration.  She smiled.  


“Aye. Thank ye!”

She looked around.  “I
need to make you a sling.  Do you have a
scarf, maybe?”  

“Maybe in the hall closet,” he said, but when he stood up,
he swayed.

“Woah!”  Claire placed
her hands on his waist to steady him.  “It’s
the pain.  You should sit.”  He turned slightly and that’s when Claire
noticed his belt. “Wait!”  He cocked an
eyebrow.  “Your belt.  It will do nicely.” And before she realized
what she was doing, she undid his belt buckle, slid it free of his jeans and
used it to immobilize his arm.  “It’s
just for tonight.  Sleep carefully,
perhaps with a pillow under your shoulder. Tomorrow I’ll bring you a proper
sling from the hospital.”  She finished
her ministrations, marched to the bathroom hoping to find some type of pain
medicine or anti-inflammatory in the sink cabinet and then strode through to
the kitchen to get him a glass of water.
She righted the bar stool he obviously tripped over, wrote her mobile
number on a piece of paper and told him to call her if the pain became too

And crawling through the window again she gave him one last
wave, picked up her blanket and mounted the rusty stairs.  It was only after she was back in her flat
coming down after her healing adrenaline rush that it hit her.  How very firm his waist was.  How tall, and big. With a myriad of red in
his longish hair.  Hair that curled just
at the nape.  And it registered that when
she finally looked him in the eye, he’d had a small smirk pulling at his lips.
Because she was unbuckling his belt….and she felt the heat of embarrassment
flood her face.  Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Claire! You need to not be so bold!

Downstairs, rubbing the torn bit of paper between his fingers
like a rosary bead, Jamie felt as if he’d been hit by a lorry.  Oh, his shoulder felt okay.  It hurt, but it was manageable.  No, the lorry that hit him had curly black
hair, a no-nonsense manner and a good touch. Not to mention the last image he had
of her leaving his flat.  That sweet,
round arse disappearing up the fire escape.

Next Chapter

I’ve had more than a few people ask me to link them to Escape for a “Christmas re-read” so here you go!! 

All chapters linked, one right after the other.

Happy Christmas!!!

Read this. Know it. Re-read it. Fall in love with an entire universe of Jamie and Claire.

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