Archives for the Date January 26th, 2019

Are we going to get more flood my mornings?

FMM: Of Small Kangaroos

image

  • This story takes place in an AU where Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.
  • FMM Master List
  • Previously: Found

**Backtracking timewise just a bit on this one! The woes of getting acclimated to your own AU timeline again ;)** 


—-

November, 1952

“Can’t you stay home this morning?” she wheedled, wiping maple syrup from Ian’s chin. Christ, how sweet she looked in her Turtle’s-Neck sweater, the cabled one the same color as her skin. Not even six o’clock

bairns make early risers of all, aye?

—and still her eyes were bright and sharp. “It’s Sunday and cold as b…all-get-out.”

“I wish I could.” He’d like nothing better than to spend a few stolen hours abed with her while the children napped away the afternoon. “But I canna,” he said,  the last piece of toast in his mouth as he began clearing up the dishes. “Promised Hank I would go in and cover for h—”

“DA, Mummy SAID, it’s—”

Don’t *interrupt*, Bree,” they chanted with one well-worn voice. 

Brianna sighed with even greater exasperation and piled every remaining piece of bacon onto her plate with a grumble that sounded a great deal like.  “…interruptin’ me….” 

Brianna Ellen.” Claire’s head tilted, hawk’s eye fixed with deadly precision. “Attitude.” 

“S’too cold out there, Daddy,” the lass piped at once with saccharine primness that dared anyone to question its sincerity.  

“Aye, ‘tis cold,” he agreed, sharing a secret, rueful glance with Claire, “and that means the horses will be, too.” He laid a freshly-scrubbed plate onto the rack and took up the next. “Shall ye come along wi’ me to the barn, then, cub?”  

“Me?” 

ME!” Ian parroted, slithering down from his seat. 

“Aye, you, and yer Mam, and Ian? Make a wee outing of it?”

“No-thanks,” came the verdict of the bacon-cruncher. “Dinna wanna put my coat on.”

“Ye lazy wee baggage!” He cast over his shoulder for her and spied Claire first, hiding behind her mug. “No!…Et tu, mo nighean donn?” 

Keep reading

Are we going to get more flood my mornings?

FMM: Of Small Kangaroos

image

  • This story takes place in an AU where Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.
  • FMM Master List
  • Previously: Found

**Backtracking timewise just a bit on this one! The woes of getting acclimated to your own AU timeline again ;)** 


—-

November, 1952

“Can’t you stay home this morning?” she wheedled, wiping maple syrup from Ian’s chin. Christ, how sweet she looked in her Turtle’s-Neck sweater, the cabled one the same color as her skin. Not even six o’clock

bairns make early risers of all, aye?

—and still her eyes were bright and sharp. “It’s Sunday and cold as b…all-get-out.”

“I wish I could.” He’d like nothing better than to spend a few stolen hours abed with her while the children napped away the afternoon. “But I canna,” he said,  the last piece of toast in his mouth as he began clearing up the dishes. “Promised Hank I would go in and cover for h—”

“DA, Mummy SAID, it’s—”

Don’t *interrupt*, Bree,” they chanted with one well-worn voice. 

Brianna sighed with even greater exasperation and piled every remaining piece of bacon onto her plate with a grumble that sounded a great deal like.  “…interruptin’ me….” 

Brianna Ellen.” Claire’s head tilted, hawk’s eye fixed with deadly precision. “Attitude.” 

“S’too cold out there, Daddy,” the lass piped at once with saccharine primness that dared anyone to question its sincerity.  

“Aye, ‘tis cold,” he agreed, sharing a secret, rueful glance with Claire, “and that means the horses will be, too.” He laid a freshly-scrubbed plate onto the rack and took up the next. “Shall ye come along wi’ me to the barn, then, cub?”  

“Me?” 

ME!” Ian parroted, slithering down from his seat. 

“Aye, you, and yer Mam, and Ian? Make a wee outing of it?”

“No-thanks,” came the verdict of the bacon-cruncher. “Dinna wanna put my coat on.”

“Ye lazy wee baggage!” He cast over his shoulder for her and spied Claire first, hiding behind her mug. “No!…Et tu, mo nighean donn?” 

Keep reading

AWSOM Powered