This was a very interesting challenge! I thought I knew where I would probably go, what inspiration I would use, before I got my quote but once I got it everything changed. I never write in first person, I find it very difficult so my quote being in first person really forced me to think outside the box. It was fun to explore my ability to switch my mind from thinking in third person and I won’t deny I had to go back and change ‘her’ to ‘my’ a few times lol
This One Quote, One Shot takes place in my Storyteller universe. If you’ve never read it that’s okay, it’s a collection of short stories so you don’t need to. If you want, you can read them after on Ao3.
You’ll see my assigned quote in bold italics in the story below. Props to @notevenjokingfic and @balfeheughlywed for organizing! Enjoy!
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The first time I saw his face was in a dream. He was standing in a wood, tall and lean. Though surrounded by a sea of faces, he was staring up at the sky as though having a quiet conversation with the old Gods. I’d never seen him before that moment but he was familiar to me. After all, he had my husband’s eyes and though it was dark and hazy in the dream world, I was sure his hair was red.
I knew we’d already met that dark night in the wood when he finally came into the world after a long, difficult labour. I was certain I was not going to make it through the pain; but finally, after 32 hours of labour and 45 minutes of pushing, he appeared just after the sun broke free of the horizon on a warm spring morning and was everything I had hoped for. Soft, red fuzz on his head and the same slanted blue eyes I’d seen gazing at the stars.
He was a quiet baby for the most part, but his appetite was voracious. He suckled at my breast so hungrily that I first suspected he wasn’t getting enough but it soon became clear to me, from the firmness of his full belly and the milk smeared cheeks as he drifted off into a milk-drunk sleep that he was simply as anxious to grow as I was to keep him this small forever.
I always knew he was special and I did everything I could to hold him close to me and protect him from the world. Others told me I needed to let him go, to not tie a boy so close to his mother as he aged lest he not be desirable to a wife someday. I knew what was out there though, what awaited him, so I told all the naysayers that until the day he told me himself that he didn’t need me, I would be there.
Mothers and fathers aren’t meant to have favourite children but I don’t believe there’s a mother who doesn’t secretly have one deep down. It was assumed that as a mother to a daughter, I would have connected best with her but he was my favourite. On nights that I struggled to find sleep, I found solace in simply watching him. I would brush back the soft red curls that fell across his forehead and revel in the way the corner of his mouth lifted into the most lovely smile.
As he grew older, he did begin to pull away from me, to start forging his own path through life, but he always returned. We would lay in the tall grass together on warm summer nights, looking at the stars I’d seen him appreciating in my dream all those years ago. While his father would teach him how to find his way in the dark using the night sky as a guide, I’d tell him the stories of the great philosophers and astronomers and about the atlas of the constellations.
In the days before his 10th birthday, my husband reminded me that our sweet son needed to put away his childish notions of life. He needed to solve his own problems and not turn to me each time the world did him wrong. I wish I’d known then that I’d never have the opportunity to watch him grow into a man. That I would be gone from his life long before he first felt a tug on his heartstrings for a woman and even longer before he would hold his own children and grandchildren in his arms the same way I had held him. Had I known, I would have let him go sooner, in case it could in any way have softened the pain of my death.
In the last moments of my life, I found myself back in the dream, staring at the red-haired man with my husband’s eyes, lit by the stars and the shine of the moon. The same people shuffled to and fro around him, smiling and laughing though I couldn’t hear their words. They stopped to give him their regards and he returned them with a nod but always found his way back to the constellations.
As I moved toward him I realized he was speaking to a babe lying quietly in his arms. I had to strain to make out his voice, but beneath the fog of my dream I could hear him telling a tale of Orion the hunter, son of Poseidon. He shifted to rest, taking a seat upon a fallen log next to the fire and I followed, sitting down nearby and turned my gaze to the sky above.
“These are the stories my Mam told me when I was but a wee lad,” he said softly to the baby in his arms. “Your great-grannie as it were. She would have loved you, Jeremiah. As I do.”
I turned to face him, then, and smiled at him, across the body of the child. The night was dark and cold, alive with people all around but there was nothing where we sat but light and warmth - and each other.
Hi there! @notevenjokingfic and I are excited to get started on the next round of One Quote One Shot, featuring quotes from Dragonfly in Amber.
If you would like to participate in this fic challenge, please reblog or reply to this post, or shoot one of us a DM. You have until this Friday, August 23rd to let us know you want to participate!
Once we know who wants to write, we will assign everyone a quote like last time and give you a designated posting date.
Hope to hear from a lot of you guys again soon! Let us know if you have any questions. 💗
And a huge THANK YOU again to all the writers who participated last time and most especially, to all the readers who commented and reblogged and showed us their love. XOXO.
A: How did you come up with the title to [insert fic]?
B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?
C: What member do you identify with most?
D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]?
E: If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it be about?
F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.
G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?
H: How would you describe your style?
I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?
J: Write or describe an alternative ending to [insert fic].
K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?
L: How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?
M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?
N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?
O: How do you begin a story–with the plot, or the characters?
P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?)
Q: How do you feel about collaborations?
R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence?
S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?
T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?
U: Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.
V: If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?
W: Do you like more general prompts, or more specific ones?
X: A character you enjoy making suffer.
Y: A character you want to protect.
Z: Major character death–do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can’t tolerate?
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14 | Previous
The forward operating base was staged in the remains of a once beautiful, vibrant Belgian farming town. Now, the people were gone, long since evacuated from the rubble that was their homes, and the military had moved in. The few buildings that were still fully standing, lucky enough to have somehow missed the constant barrage of shelling, had become the hospital and administrative buildings, all surrounded by dilapidated stone frameworks. It was in one of the ruins that Jamie eventually found Claire, preparing for Rabbie’s great escape.
There was no roof or windows and two of the walls had fallen but the former home was well sheltered from view, looking simply like rubble from the road. Claire had turned what was left of the chimney into a makeshift table where she would grind her herbs, away from the prying eyes of the hospital staff.
With time ticking down on Jamie’s 36-hour leave pass and Claire about to be preoccupied with helping them save their brother’s life, there was a few things he needed to speak with her about before it was too late.
“There ye are, lass,” he greeted as he walked over a pile of bricks where the front door once stood.
“I’m just deciding on the easiest way to administer an antidote,” Claire explained. “There are a few different herbs that can counteract a dose of alkaloids of this size. The simplest way would be to use activated carbon but I don’t know where I would find that around here.”
“How is it better?” Jamie asked. The passion Claire showed in her letters for healing and botany seemed subdued in comparison to hearing her speak of it and he wished he had forever to listen to her explain the how’s and why’s.
“It’s extremely absorbent,” Claire said. “It’s able to bind to molecules and remove substances that have already dissolved. A dose of activated carbon would have the belladonna out of your brother’s system almost immediately.”
“Speaking of my brother…”
He paused long enough to move around the table so they were mere inches away. So close Jamie could feel the heat radiating off her skin, the soft hairs of her arms standing on end to meet his. He lowered his head to look into her whisky-coloured eyes, hoping she wouldn’t think him daft for what he was about to suggest.
“I want ye to go wi’ him.”
“With your brother? To help him out of Belgium?”
“No,” he said, taking a light grip of Claire’s biceps. She felt so delicate, his hands easily wrapping full around to meet in the middle. “I want ye to go to Scotland, Claire. Get awa’ from this bloody place.”
“I can’t go to Scotland!” she scoffed, trying to move away though his hold on her prevented it. “I’m needed here.”
“Claire,” Jamie said with eyes pleading. “I need ye. I canna focus on keeping myself alive if I dinnae ken yer safe and if I die, I need to ken you’ll be taken care of.”
“How would I be taken care of?” Claire questioned. “It could be months before we ever made it to Scotland - ports are closed, I have no money. Do you expect me to wander the European countryside with a man I’ve never met then show up on your family’s doorstep looking for them to take care of me if you don’t come home? I can take care of myself.”
Tears were welling in her eyes at speaking the words of Jamie’s possible future aloud and he brushed them away softly as they tumbled over the edge and onto her cheeks.
“I ken ye can. It’s one of the many things I love about ye. But...they’ll be your folk, too,” he assured her. “As my wife.”
“Your wife?” she repeated quietly. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my entire life, mo nighean donn.”
“But how?”
Jamie smiled knowingly, “Lass, if there’s anything this army has plenty of it’s priests. Say the word and we could be wed afore supper.”
Claire’s heart rate increase as a thrill of excitement shot through her, leaving a trail of goose pimples in its wake. With every letter she got from Jamie over the months, deep down she had secretly hoped one of them would include an offer of marriage. This wasn’t exactly how she had ultimately envisioned their union taking place but if this was what being with him would mean, then she would take it.
“Won’t we rouse suspicion, when I’m the one who treats your brother?”
“They willna ken,” he assured her. “By the time anyone could even notice anything amiss, ye’ll both be gone. Ye must promise me that ye’ll go. So much of yer life has been spent taking care of somebody else, Claire. Let me take care of you now.”
“Yes.”
***
“Jamie, where are ye goin’?” Willie called out as Jamie made his way quick march across the camp.
“To find a priest!”
“Not to confession, I hope!”
Jamie rolled his eyes, it was just like his brother to assume he wouldn’t make it a full hour before he needed to confess his sins to the Almighty.
“Dinna fash, a bhalaich. I need to see the man about a wedding!”
Willie was stunned into silence as they continued to walk along the uneven road, dodging stretcher bearers and men on horseback.
“Jamie, ye’ve never even mentioned this lass before and now ye want to marry her?”
“Willie,” Jamie stopped and turned to his brother, holding him by both shoulders as he looked into the face that was so much like his own in spite of their many differences. “I’ve loved Claire since the very moment I laid eyes on her, months ago. She’s the only lass I want tae be wi’. If I die, I want to ken my pension goes to her. Trust me when I say she’s the only lass for me.”
Though his brother was ranting something about his lunacy, Jamie didn’t quite hear the words, distracted by a supply wagon just behind where they stood. Two men were unloading the wagon with crates destined for the front full of rations, trench timbers, ammunition and other necessities.
“Go find a priest, I have tae do something,” he muttered, pushing Willie toward the administration buildings, ignoring his brother’s weak protests as the elder walked off in a huff to complete the task.
Jamie took a quick inventory of the contents of the wagon as he approached the two men unloading and cataloging everything.
“Excuse me!” he announced his presence, catching the attention of the supply crew. They both hopped to attention, saluting him in recognition for his rank. “Were you not instructed to bring this crate to the hospital, Private?”
The men looked both curious and confused by the small crate Jamie had pointed out, just one of a set of ten that was on the back of the wagon.
“That one, Sir?”
“Yes,” Jamie acknowledged. “Clearly the message wasn’t delivered in a timely fashion. I’ll take it myself!”
“Sir, I think perhaps we should wait until the message…”
“Private!” Jamie interrupted, standing at full height, back ramrod straight to make the two feel more inferior than they already did. “I said I’ll take it myself. They need this over at the hospital straight away.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Jamie picked up the small crate from the back of the wagon, walking casually away from the supply station until he was out of sight and able to break into a full sprint back to where he’d left Claire. He burst over the rubble holding the small crate victoriously in front of himself.
“That’s not a priest,” she said rhetorically.
“No, it’s not,” Jamie chuckled. She looked on in curiosity as he pulled a knife from his belt and pried open the wooden crate. “Ye said ye needed activated carbon, yes?”
“Yes, why…” Claire began to ask when Jamie triumphantly pulled out a small box respirator. A face mask was connected to a corrugated tube with a filter on the end for soldiers to use during chlorine gas attacks in the trenches. Jamie pulled the filter free from the tube and using the knife, separated the top from the base so she could see the black powder inside.
“Activated carbon, lass. I found it.”
Claire let out a whoop of joy, jumping into Jamie’s arms so fast he nearly dropped the filter. He wrapped one arm tightly around her, unable to keep himself from pressing his lips firmly against hers. They tentatively explored, each taking a turn tugging the other’s bottom lip gently. Reluctantly, Jamie pulled away, dropping one final kiss to Claire’s nose.
“Ahem,” Willie cleared his throat to both announce his presence and dispel some of the sexual tension in the room, “Yer priest is here and he’s willing to wed ye.”
I promise I won’t keep drawing this rescue attempt out lol Things will move ahead after this!
13 | Previous
It didn’t take long for Claire to determine that Jamie and Willie’s plan was more of an act of heroism that one might see in a picture at the cinema and less of a plan that would ultimately result in their brother going free and neither of them being suspected of the deed. Going in guns blazing, creating a large distraction and hoping that the three of them would get away with it, was a recipe for disaster that she just couldn’t accept.
“How would putting your own lives at risk be of any help to your brother?”
Her arms crossed tightly across her chest as she looked between the two men, the pair clearly without an answer to her query.
“I dinnae see any another alternative,” Jamie admitted. They simply didn’t have the time or the resources to plan anything more robust and if he was being honest, heroic prison rescue missions were not his specialty.
“Jamie,” his brother whispered harshly. “How do ye ken this lass? Do ye trust her with Rabbie’s life?”
“Aye,” Jamie whispered, “I trust her wi’ my own. Claire is...very important to me, a bráthair.”
Claire lowered her head to hide the blush that spread across her cheeks at Jamie’s words. She wished they could have some time alone, to speak in person all the words that they had, or wanted to, put to paper over the long months but now was not the time. The Captain she’d seen them talking to would no doubt be back soon so they needed to act.
One of the advantages to Claire’s upbringing had been long periods of time alone with her books and her plants. They were where she immediately went when she needed guidance and this situation would be no different.
“I have an idea, but you’ll have to give your brother a message and he will have to do exactly what I say - no questions asked.”
“Care to enlighten us, lassie?” Willie asked, still not entirely sold on Jamie’s level of trust considering he’d never so much as heard this woman’s name before and his brother appeared to be quite smitten with her. He was unsure when Jamie had the time amidst this bloody war to chase a skirt, but it was a question for another time.
Though no one appeared to be paying them any attention, all focused on their tasks, Claire still made a cursory glance around to asses their privacy before pulling the two men closer to the stone wall of the hospital.
“You’ve read Romeo and Juliet, yes?”
“No,” Willie answered at the same time as Jamie muttered, “Of course.”
“Ye havena read Shakespeare?” Jamie asked in surprise.
“Not all of us have time for such frivolity.”
“Boys, focus,” Claire quieted them. She could see the Captain that brought them moving back toward the truck and new they had to act quickly. “Dramatics notwithstanding, Shakespeare had a fine knowledge of the botanical and used it as plot devices in a number of his plays. Juliet takes a sleeping potion that makes everyone believe she is dead. While it might seem like simply a trope, it’s quite possible if you know what you’re doing. Atropa belladonna - sleeping nightshade. Repeated small doses can cause madness, too much is certain death, but the correct dosage will cause a person to fall into a deep sleep, their heart rate will slow to the point of being almost undetectable. I think the best way to keep your brother alive may be to kill him before they do.”
“That cannae actually work! Tis ludacris,” Willie exclaimed in frustration.
“Jamie, he needs to trust me.”
Jamie reached out and held her hand tightly, letting her know without a doubt and so much as a word, that he had complete faith in her.
“She’s our only hope, William. If ye trust me, brother then ye’ll trust the lass aswell.”
“Fine,” Willie muttered.
“Good. I’ll tell you exactly what you need to do and you need to follow it to the letter. Now go, that Captain is nearly back and will be looking for you.”
When Jamie and Willie finally had the chance to see their brother, under the pretense of saying their final goodbyes, they hugged him close and whispered Claire’s plans translated into Gaelic so that Captain Randall wouldn’t overhear.
While on the surface it seemed as though her plan was the less overtly risky of the two, there was still an underlying sense of danger. There were many variables that could still result in them being found out, in Rabbie being killed, in Claire being arrested, in Jamie and Willie being discovered as the masterminds of the escape attempt.
The message they had conveyed to Robert seemed simple. After they were given their evening meal, he was to complain of severe griping in the guts. Claire had assured them that even as a prisoner, he would be entitled to medical care and that, by law, they could not execute a prisoner that was under a doctor’s care until he was discharged from treatment. She would position herself to conveniently be nearby to assist the on-duty MPs and during his examination, would slip Robert a decoction of sleeping nightshade from her personal collection of herbal medicines.
Claire was often looked down upon by the college-trained doctors and nurses for her use of herbal remedies but thankfully had been successful in the past using the seeds from nightshade berries for treatment for motion sickness and as a cold and hay fever remedy, so there would be no cause for alarm if another nurse witnessed her ministrations. It wouldn’t take long before Robert would slip into a coma induced by the herbs and if everything went to plan, his heart rate would slow enough that even the doctor that would come to declare him dead would not be able to find a pulse.
While a large number of men would never be recovered from the trenches and battlefields where they would forever lie, a steady flow of dead returned from the front lines in addition to those dying in the hospitals. A burial party had been mustered to search each body, retrieve identification tags and any usable equipment the soldier may have left, record names for letters to be sent home, then place the body in a common area for burial in a nearby cemetery. The backlog of bodies for burial was seemingly never ending and while it brought Claire great sadness, it also meant that when Robert’s body was delivered, covered with a sheet, to await a coward’s burial, it would give her time to wake him up and help him get away. They would never notice a single body missing in a sea of young men.
Though all this effort meant that Robert would live and be able to make his way home to Scotland, Jamie still bit his tongue to try and hold back tears as he embraced his younger brother. It could very well be the last time they ever saw each other, regardless of whether the plan was a success. Deep down Jamie knew there was a good chance it would be him buried in a simple grave in the middle of a Belgian field instead. His chances of ever getting home to be with his parents again, to roughhouse his brothers again, to work on their farm again, to be young and carefree again, were slim. As he held Robert close, felt the rough wool of the lad’s tunic against his fingers, he finally let himself be free of the tears that were not only for Robert’s youth but for his own, then set out to find Claire and put their plan into motion.
They were shoulder to shoulder in the back of a truck, rumbling down the road along with a group of wounded being transferred from the front to the closest camp - a Belgian forward operating post where the hospital, senior administration and the disciplinary barracks were located.
“What’s the plan?” Willie asked, watching his brother deep in thought. His fingers were tapping a march against the outside of his thigh. There was no response, just a far off daze.
“Jamie. James! Sheumais!”
“Aye, I hear ye,” Jamie replied testily. The truth was, he didn’t have the slightest idea what their next move should be. He knew before he asked if they could see Robert that they would not be leaving him to die. They would setting their brother to his freedom, and only had a few hours to figure out how.
“Why is it no’ you making this plan? Yer the elder, yer meant to be taking care of me and Rabbie.”
Willie nodded solemnly, his eyes cast downward toward his hands. “I have to face reality, brother. We only have one chance and we canna muck it up. Yer the smart one, I ken ye are. I trust yer mind.”
Jamie was suddenly aware that they weren’t alone in the back of the truck. Although all of the other men were injured, it didn’t mean they were deaf and even keeping their voices low there would be potential to be overheard. It would only take one person to alert Captain Randall to their discussion and they would quickly find themselves side by side, three across, when the firing squad was called together.
“Uilleam,” he spoke his brother’s name in a hushed tone. Understanding the silent suggestion, they both switched to the Gàidhlig, using their native language as a way to hide their discussion from the other occupants of the truck.
As the wheels squealed to a stop, they had come up with the best plan they could given the time allowed. It had to go exactly as planned in order for all of them to make it out alive. They needed to create enough of a distraction to get the Military Police away from where they were keeping Robert and free him. At least if he could make a run for it then there was a chance he might live. There was still the risk of being found by the Germans while on the run, or being picked up by any group of Allied soldiers that would ultimately return him to the British and put him right back where he started, but they had to try.
Teams of doctors and nurses began unloading the wounded from the back of the truck, calling out orders and directions to the people around them. Jamie and Willie filed off behind them and tried to make their way through the throngs of people toward the front where Captain Randall would be waiting.
Randall stepped out of the truck, giving the two of them a disgusted once over. “Wait here,” he instructed and marched off with another MP at his side.
Jamie resisted the urge to pace, instead he closed his eyes and turned his face to the sky. It was overcast, but he could still feel the sun’s warmth doing its best to radiate through the clouds.
“Jamie,” Willie nudged his shoulder. “A lass is eyeing ye up.”
“The kilt tends to draw attention from the locals, I wouldna pay any mind to it.”
“She’s coming this way.”
He heard her before he saw her, calling his name from the other side of the crowd.
Claire.
As though draw together by magnets, he found himself moving in her direction without even putting thought into the action. He shuffled around stretcher bearers, men on crutches and other soldiers carrying about their business to reach her. He almost didn’t recognize her in the same pale lilac dress, white apron adorned with a large red cross and white cap as all the Belgian Red Cross volunteer nurses bustling around the area, but her whisky-coloured eyes and soft brown curls were unmistakable. He had dreamt of her every night, for so many nights, that even in the same clothes as everyone else, he would know those eyes anywhere.
They both stopped short once they were within arm’s reach, neither knowing what to do. Jamie wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and kiss her like he’d never kissed anyone before, but it was not the appropriate time. Not only were they standing in a crowd of strangers that would surely look down upon Claire for such behaviour, but his reason for being there was still front and centre. He couldn’t lose focus, they had to save Robert.
“Are you hurt? What are you doing here?!” Claire gave him a quick once over, looking for any sign of injury through his mud-stained uniform.
“Claire. I’m so verra glad to see ye, lass. I’ve thought of you, so often. Ye came to me so many nights when I was cold and fevered, sleeping in the trenches with nothing but the memory of your touch on my hand to get me through to another dawn. I hoped to never see ye in a place like this, though. ”
She thought was raving, that his neurasthenia had weakened his nerves again and was how he found himself at a field hospital. She touched the back of her hand to his forehead, not detecting an elevated temperature. She continued poking and prodding at glands, taking a pulse, all while he simply watched her hands move over him with medical precision.
“James?” his brother’s voice broke him from his reverie and he shook his head free of the cloud that was Claire’s presence.
Jamie took Claire’s hands, putting an end to her ministrations. “I’m no ill, I promise ye,” he assured her with a brief glance to Willie. “We’re here on another matter. It’s my younger brother. He’s here, somewhere, set to face a firing squad in the morning and we’re going to stop it.”
Claire looked between Jamie and the man next to him, slightly shorter and wider, but unmistakably Jamie’s brother. They shared the same shock of red hair and slanted blue eyes, but also the same intensity of expression that left no doubt that they were serious in their plans.
From the bottom of our hearts, the Librarians want to send a small note of appreciation to all the Outlander fanfiction writers in the fandom. Thank you for your stories, your time, your words, your creativity, and a willingness to share. It’s because of you the Library is around and thriving, and for that we cheers to you.
According to the charge sheet, which Captain Randall handed over with much reluctance, Lance Corporal Robert Fraser was guarding a position along the Western Front with another lower ranking soldier before his arrest. A more senior infantryman, while fleeing a German ambush from the flank side, ran past their position yelling at all to run as the Hun were upon them. The lads, having no more sense than just to follow the lead of the older men around them, did as they were told and fled. Robert, in his haste, left his weapon behind while they retreated a mere 20 metres away.
Both men were arrested on the spot by Captain Randall for deserting their post, an additional charge against Robert for casting away his rifle while escaping for his life. According to the report, the court martial had lasted all of 30 minutes. It didn’t even take senior officers a full hour to decide to send all three to their deaths.
Jamie found himself grinding his teeth as he read through the document that outlined the lack of evidence presented against his brother, but Captain Randall’s insistence to the company General that they be shot as an example to the other men in the battalion.
They were going to execute his baby brother as nothing more than a show of their authority and expected him to stand by and do nothing to stop it.
“Sir,” Jamie addressed the Captain. “These scurrilous accusations are untrue and unfair. What lad of 19 would not run if they thought their life was at risk?”
“Are you not trained to defend yourself against the enemy?” Randall asked rhetorically. “Are you not trained to shoot to kill? Letting the enemy live and what’s worse, leaving your weapon at their disposal is nothing more than cowardice and Lance Corporal Fraser will have to be accountable for his actions.”
“He’s just a boy!”
“He’s not a boy, he is a soldier!” Randall barked. “He stopped being a boy as soon as he joined the British Army. The decision has been made Lieutenant, I’m afraid no amount of debate is going to alter the outcome.”
Willie had barely been able to wait to be dismissed by the Sergeant Major before bursting out the door in a fit of bottled rage. The RSM and Captain Randall had left shortly after, leaving Jamie to follow.
“Lieutenant,” Jamie’s Battalion Commanding Officer, who had been mostly silent until now, called him back to attention in front of his desk. “There is another matter I require you for.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I realize this isn’t the most opportune time and for that I do apologize. I received word from headquarters this morning that your company’s Captain has been reassigned to another unit.”
“Fine,” Jamie answered shortly, his fists closing tighter at his sides as he fought the urge to simply leave the room without another word. “I’ll await the new Captain’s arrival. Sir.”
“Afraid we find ourselves in a bit of a pickle, Fraser.”
The CO’s posh English accent was grating on Jamie’s nerves. He struggled enough justifying the use of a fake accent to appease these people’s expectations of his social standing, but listening to them drone on left him yearning for Scotland.
“It would seem there are no more Captains left unassigned. It’s up to you now, chap.”
The CO was now standing in front of him, a set of brass Bath star pins in hand to adjust the rank on the cuff of his sleeve. Field promotions were not uncommon in the likely event of all other options being dead. Jamie wondered if perhaps all the Captains had simply run for cover from enemy fire and ended up dead for it, but opted not to voice his concerns allowed.
Being responsible for the lives of other men was no small feat and he would now have nearly 200 underneath him to keep out of harm’s way. He knew deep down that a sudden decision to promote him probably had more to do with inflating the value of a good soldier during a time when his loyalty might come into question. He had proven to be a good junior officer, followed orders and kept his platoon in line. He was a medal winning fighter, highly respected among his peers and those he was leading. It would be foolish of his superiors to let something like his brother’s death interfere with the prospects of a good warrior.
“Thank you, Sir.” Jamie said over the sound of the Gaelic curses shouting through his mind. He was waiting for the opportunity to salute and get the hell out of there but decided to use what little clout he had to make a final request on behalf of his brother.
“Sir, might I be so bold as to request your leave - my brother and I - to see Robert one last time? For our mother. To say goodbye.”
The CO stroked one finger along his jaw in thought. The older man moved to sit behind his desk, taking a lingering glance at Robert Fraser’s court martial report. They were days away from the next push and there was a very good possibility that Ellen Fraser would be receiving more than one letter regretfully announcing a lost son.
“I’ll have Captain Randall take you, but I want you back here with your men in 36 hours. I hope you understand Fraser, that like Captain Randall said - your brother will serve as an example to motivate all the young men of your division to follow orders for the sake of their lives. He will not die in vain.”
“I also killed a lad once,” Jamie said, knowing it was out of turn to speak this way to a superior but unable to stop himself. “I’ve killed a lot of men, but I killed this one lad. He had these blue eyes. Like water. I didna have to kill him. I wasna scared or...I just killed him. I will to have to answer to the Almighty for that. One way or another. As will we all.”
Okey this outlander fandom is really full of amazing, creative writers and i can proudly say that I almost read everything on AO3. But since I’m kind of new to tumblr there are so much more I yet haven’t discovered so I’m still searching. If you happens to know the tumblr name on the ones missing just comment and I’ll update. But here is a list of fics y’all neeed to read Enjoy.
Is there a group of people somewhere that have collectively decided to make their way around Tumblr trolling fanfic writers?
All the hateful anons seem to come in distinct waves, have similar messaging and are blanketed across Tumblr. It’s clearly just trolling, but I’m very curious to know where this group people (let’s call them #TeamDG) have organized themselves.
You're going to lose readers if you keep posting so slowly
Hey, thanks for the helpful tip!
I’m incredibly grateful that anyone reads what I create (including you, since you obviously care about the story), but it’s not my job to write fanfiction. I have two actual jobs, I make commissioned artwork, and I dog sit. That means I write when I can, and when I find it enjoyable. If that’s not good enough for you, please feel free to move along.
No one writes slower than me and I am always delightfully surprised when the same fantastic people are there with their kind, supportive words. If there happened to be a person who moved on in that time because my posting schedule (if you can even call it that) and my real life obligations didn’t work for them...oh well, it won’t keep me up at night.
Sending love and support to all the artists and creators of this fandom.
I think today is very weird and a bit sad. The wonderful @kalendraashtar received a nasty anon in her inbox and she was very gracious in her answer (I wasn’t because I can’t stand cowardice and meanness.) Then she mentioned that she’s been receiving messages like this for weeks and for what? Because she’s gracious and talented and kind enough to share her talent with us? Now I’m reading that the great @missclairebelle also received nasty anons?!!! What the hell is wrong with you people, you don’t like something, scroll by and do something else like eat grass and go fart in the wind.
I’m so sorry that the people who are incredibly creative, talented and giving are receiving what I can only call venom by miserable and pathetic human beings. So let me thank again all the people who make this fandom a fantastic experience with their stories, their arts, their gifs etc…and screw the losers!!!
@notevenjokingfic @gotham-ruaidh @westerhos @bonnie-wee-swordsman @whiskynottea @thebrochtuarachs @jules-fraser @smoakingwaffles @kkruml @ecampbellsoup @missclairebelle @outlanderedandoverhere @brandeewine @kalendraashtar @abbydebeaupreposts @annalisedemoodboards @themusicsweetly @thescarlettpeacock @yellowfeather84 @jamesandclairefraser @lenny9987 @thatsoccercoach etc… (and special mention to @jemscorner, @denise-alwaysuselove and @themusicsweetly - again ;) - who are not writers but have been inspired by @gotham-ruaidh “A story with only one syllable words in 10 min” and created their own story today.)
I’m very sorry that I’m missing so many people I’m sure; so please tag yourself and share the love because you are all fantastic, inspired, inspiring and you make us dream. That is a gift that you’re willingly giving us and I’m beyond grateful for all of you!!
I am not ok with notes and posts that are disrespectful and downright nasty of other writers and artists– whether in anon mode or not it’s just not cool.
Fanfic is like any form of creativity, some of it you will like and some of it you will not. You can choose to not follow someone, not read their work and not be a fan, without telling that person they should be held personally responsible for other people liking it. Telling someone it’s “not fair” that they get more internet points than you think they are worthy of is so incredibly childish.
I’m sure there’s lots of people who don’t like me because of how infrequently I post but it certainly wouldn’t be some hateful anonymous note on the internet that would make me realize the error of my ways 🙄
