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scotsmanandsassenach · 4 years

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11 Fics Under 100 Kudos

A huge thank you to @holdhertightandsayhername who submitted this prompt to @thelallybrochlibrary’s Holiday Prompt Exchange:

‘Reader prompt: write a short article about a great fic UNDER 100 kudos!’

In the spirit of 12 Days of Outlander, here are not one but eleven fics under 100 kudos that, we think, are totally worth reading these holidays. Enjoy!

Wee Shadow. by @redstarfiction

A wee one shot of Jamie and Claire fluff with Jem and Mandy set around ‘Tell The Bees'

Note: A short but lovely in-canon moment between Outlander’s leading couple. If you have only a moment these holidays to read something ‘new’ - click on the link above. You won’t regret it.

Before Light by @westerhos

Murtagh comforts Jamie after Faith’s death.

Note: This one-shot is a perfect accompaniment to Season 2 in helping fill the lengthy gap between the end of ‘Faith’ and the beginning of ‘The Fox’s Lair’. It simultaneously pulls at heartstrings while helping both Jamie and readers find a little [much needed] closure. Highly recommended to anyone in the mood for some short-lived emotional turmoil.

Of Kith and Kin by @ianmuyrray for @otheroutlandertales

Jenny returns to Lallybroch from delivering a grandchild and Ian tells her about Brianna. A missing moment from 4x07.

Note: A short one-shot that - not only those who love Jenny and Ian, but - all fans of Outlander will enjoy. This conversation between husband and wife is likely to bring a smile to your face and perhaps even prompt a happy tear or two. If, after reading this, you find yourself in need of even more Jenny/Ian, we recommend checking out Muy’s A Deal for some fake/pretend relationship goodness.

The Midnight Kitchen by @thescarlettpeacock

A short fic featuring Fergus, Claire and the midnight munchies…

Note: A very sweet moment between mother and son in a modern-day alternate universe that is bound to leave you wondering ‘what if’ in the best way possible. Warning: late-night reading may induce cravings for jam sandwiches.

The Knife by @whiskynottea for @otheroutlandertales

Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser is asked to craft a knife and finds love in the new world.

Note: Life for Murtagh post-Culloden is a storyline not often explored and this tv!canon divergent one-shot can only be described as a blessing - for both Murtagh and all his fans. Nothing more needs to be said - just go ahead and click on that link above!

Without Us by @bonnie-wee-swordsman

A follow up to Season 2 Episode 13 (Dragonfly in Amber), showing Fergus’ journey back to Lallybroch

Note: As the comments will attest, this story is as likely to provoke a display of emotion as watching the episode itself. Please make sure to browse the tags before reading as there are vague references to events in Season 2 Episode 7 (Faith) that some may wish to avoid. Those willing to proceed, however, will not be disappointed.

Which Door? by thatsoccercoach

Claire intends to go to Frank’s Super Bowl party.

Note: Don’t be fooled by first impressions. These initial 256 words lead to an astounding 78 one-shots (totalling 80,829 words!) that all fit within the parameters of this post including Powerful | Wonderful | Ridiculous and The Anniversary Present. Perfect for those who, after a hearty meal, find themselves surrounded by napping family members and are in need of something both fluffy and lengthy to keep them company.

Lucky Lad by @abbydebeaupreposts

From a Tumblr prompt: Can we get a story about Jamie and Roger and Jemmy bonding?

Note: A perfect example of how even the vaguest prompt can result in the most glorious of fics. Best of all, you don’t need to be a fan of Roger in order to enjoy this domestic moment on Fraser’s Ridge from Brianna’s point of view.

The Fire in my Soul by @queen-in-the-northx

Set sometimes after the end of MOBY, Claire reflects on falling in love with Jamie.

Note: Anyone who is in love with Jamie and Claire’s love story will fall in love with this fic, too. For that extra touch, imagine Claire reading it aloud in a voiceover similar to those we have been blessed with on occasion throughtout the television series.

Cross That Line by MooseDeEvita

While traveling from town to town to lure Jamie back to them, Murtagh and Claire turn to each other for physical comfort. After all, confessions of lost love go so well with an ocean view and a sky full of stars. A bit of a deleted scene in episode 14 “The Search” after they hug in the cave by the sea.

Note: Murtagh x Claire: it’s the rarepair you never knew you needed. And trust us, you do. Recommended to absolutely everyone who is, like Murtagh and Claire, open to new [and undeniably erotic] experiences.

Clair(e)voyance 1.0 by @notevenjokingfic

Detective Sergeant James Fraser and Chief Medical Examiner Claire Randall. Both are perhaps a little jaded, and shut off from the world, until the other steps into theirs. It’s supernatural. Intrigue. Romance. Murders. Mystery. All of that and so, so much heart. It’s the telling of several different cases that span over their partnership – which is a word that comes to take on several different meanings as the story goes on. And each case is more interesting than the next.

Note: If you have ever needed an excuse to reread this well-known fan favorite, this is it! Almost every single instalment in this popular series has less than 100 kudos, so, after you have browsed the list above, head on over to AO3 to start at very the beginning - and make sure to leave kudos each step of the way!

Bonus Challenge!

There are hundreds of wonderful, amazing, incredible fics under 100 kudos on AO3. As such, we challenge you to add to this very short list by sharing one of your own favorite fics under 100 kudos, leaving a more personal message in the author’s ask box, or perhaps finding that unfinished multi-chapter fic under 100 kudos and leaving a comment to tell the author how much you would love an update one day in the near future. Whatever you choose, we are sure all authors will appreciate your love and support this holiday season!

#outlander #llholidayexchange #12 days of outlander #day 11 #fics updating #11 fics under 100 kudos #olffrec

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mo-nighean-rouge · 5 years

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You Can Call Me- IV

About a million years ago, @ianmuyrray asked for “FAKE MARRIED AND PREGNANT DO IT” based on the trope prompt below. This is what you get, friend. Some characters show up that you might like, idk.

I didn’t really know when I would have this ready, but then I caved to some writing peer pressure from @lady-o-ren recently, and asked @whiskynottea and @isitgintimeyet for some beta TLC and here we are.

Modern AU: Inspired by a Fanfiction Trope Mash-up prompt - Bodyguard and secret relationship. A look at the life of Prime Minister Claire Beauchamp behind closed doors.

Previously: Part I | Part II | Part III | AO3 | Masterlist

Claire reached for him, hands trembling as she swept her thumb across the cut under his eye.

He hissed at the contact against the open wound, but couldn’t find the energy to truly mind. He basked in her touch, preserved for him after all.

“Oh, Baby,” her voice wavered.

Before Jamie could answer, Claire went limp in his arms, dead weight held up only by her oxters draped over his elbows.

Part IV

Jamie felt like he was swimming through the thick and sterile air as he strode purposefully down the endless hallway. It wasn’t Claire’s weight in his arms that slowed him, but the hollow agony in his chest each time he glanced down at her still form sprawled in his arms. Her limbs swung uselessly with his hurried gait. He couldn’t even protect her head properly as it thumped against his shoulder.

Murtagh had guided the yacht to shore in only minutes, but time had stretched mercilessly ahead as Jamie waited, exhausting the possibilities to coax a response from Claire.

The back-up officers they had radioed had been waiting on the dock in full force, more than equipped to drag the barely stirring forms of Randall, Wolverton, and their bloody goons into police cars.

“Let’s go,” Jamie had commanded the first unoccupied officer he passed.

“But Agent…” the man had squabbled, eyes darting around for someone of higher authority to disagree.

“Drive, damn ye,” Jamie had insisted. He wouldn’t wait for an ambulance to push through the growing crowd when they had been only streets away from the hospital.

Jamie had ducked into the back of a patrol car with Claire stretched over him, Murtagh having promised to report back once he resolved matters at the scene.

He had patted the perspiration from her face and felt for her weakened pulse as the car’s sirens drowned out the mad thoughts rushing through his head. As his fingers had run through her gnarled curls, they had come into contact with a harsh knot on her head, the swelling worsening as time passed.

Jamie’s rapid thoughts matched the pace of his steps as he finally burst through the last set of doors.

Several faces looked up as they entered the confined space. “Please,” Jamie rasped without taking a new breath.

Registering the pallor of Claire’s countenance, an orderly turned to pull a hospital trolley forward.

Much as he didn’t want to let go of her, Jamie laid Claire delicately on the trolley as the staff around him rolled off questions and phrases he couldn’t process.

“By Christ!” The young man’s eyes widened as he examined Claire’s face while fastening a blood pressure cuff around her bicep.

The nurse taking her vitals followed his gaze, her own face going a shade paler. She stepped to face Jamie as the rest of the party rolled the bed down the hall. She stepped in front of him, her badge reading “Phaedre Cameron, Staff Nurse” prominent.

Jamie allowed an infinitesimal nod as his feet set into motion underneath him. “Alexander Malcolm,” he responded over his shoulder as he made his way past her.

The nurse held him back before his steps could quicken to the pace of the trolley as it carried Claire beyond double doors. “Are you family?” she asked briskly.

“Please,” Jamie said again, barely sparing a glance at her as the attendants pushed his heart away from him. “She carries my child,” he said softly, rising to his toes to keep track of her curls through the miniscule windows as they disappeared further down the hall.

“So you’re her husband?” Her voice returned, warily following his gaze through the glass. She surely had recognized the leader of her country by now, but would know of no such relationship.

Jamie grunted, but did not argue. She wasn’t altogether wrong.

The nurse hesitated, nodding before finally leading him beyond the doors. They caught up with Claire and the other nurses just as they rounded the corner into a secluded area.

She left his side to confer with the doctor leading operations, each stealing glances at Jamie as their conversation grew more serious.

Chaos. Monitors flashing, machines beeping, more wires attached to Claire than he could count. He wished he could touch her, hold her. Was she in pain? Or worse, beyond registering the sensations tethering her to life? He folded sloppily into a nearby chair as his legs gave way.

He yearned for her eyes to fly open and for her to give them all a tongue lashing for focusing on her and not checking on her child.

Christ. The bairn. Jamie pitched forward and put his head between his knees, balancing precariously on the edge of the chair. That she be safe, she and the child.

He fell to his knees and raised his chin to the heavens, the motion around him falling away.

The room held its breath in anticipation, creating a silence broken only by the steady pulsing of the heart monitor.

The beat sounded steady, for all Jamie knew. But after a few minutes it was rivaled by the echo of a faster, fluttering rhythm, nearly stopping Jamie’s own heart.

It was the first time their child had made its presence known. There’d scarcely been time to schedule a scan as of yet, though they had estimated how far along Claire might be.

Taing dhia.

The roomful of people trickled out of the door, leaving only three occupants. Four, Jamie scolded himself absently.

The lead doctor snapped his gloves off and turned to face Jamie as he waited in the corner in agony.

A sheen of perspiration glowed over the man’s dark skin as he drew closer. An easy smile rested on his face. “Alex, is it?”

Jamie’s hand rose instinctively to grasp the other man’s. He nodded, focus not trailing away from the chest rising and falling across the room.

“Joe Abernathy.” The doctor stepped into Jamie’s line of sight to hold his attention.

He tried to take in the news the kind American doctor relayed to him, making sure to nod when appropriate. Everything sounded fine, but he couldn’t allow himself reprieve until she set her eyes upon him once more.

Severe dehydration, he said.

“I can guess how troublesome her morning sickness has been. We’ll get her caught up on fluids and monitor things from there.”

Minor concussion, he said.

“I’m sure you know she’s been knocked around pretty thoroughly, Mr. Malcolm.”

It’s up to her now, he said.

“We’ll have to wait for her to wake up. Their heartbeats are both strong, which is our main concern for now.”

Jamie had done his best to follow along and swallow his emotions, but couldn’t control the sob that escaped him at that simple statement.

Abernathy gripped his shoulder. “You did well, man. We might be telling a different story if not for you.”

As Jamie stood and pulled his chair behind him, the doctor clapped him on the back, then pulled the sleeve of his white coat up to glance at his smartwatch.

“I’m told the Doctors Beauchamp are stuck in parade traffic.” Dr. Abernathy’s finger swiped smoothly across the small screen. “There’s also a small crowd in the waiting room that’s anxious to see the two of you.”

Goistidh. Jamie unlocked his mobile. Eight missed calls from Murtagh. Five from Claire’s assistant, Mary McNab.

“I’ll tell you now, but will also be sure to let the persistent young lady in the waiting room know, that no one on our staff will speak a word.”

Abernathy looked up to meet Jamie’s eye once more, seeming to finally take a closer look at him. “That’s a nasty cut you’ve got there, man.” The doctor gestured toward Jamie’s eye. “I’ll send someone up to see that it gets taken care of.”

Jamie shrugged the doctor off. “‘Tis nothing to fash over.”

“The stitches might help take your mind off things,” Abernathy suggested.

“Dinna want to ‘take my mind off things,’” Jamie mimicked. Another bout of guilt flooded him. “I’m sorry, Doc.” He swallowed deeply. “This is almost more than I can bear, myself.”

Abernathy fixed him with a look. “She was in good hands, Mr. Malcolm. She still is.”

The doctor exited the room and closed the door quietly behind him, leaving only Jamie’s thoughts to fill the silence.

Jamie didn’t spare space between his chair and Claire’s bed. He reached for one of her cold hands and rubbed it between his own.

“Wake up, lass,” he whispered. A surge of feeling rose in his chest. “If ye’ll ever obey anyone in your life, let it be me, now, Claire.” He scrubbed his dirty, scuffed palms across his eyes. “Please, mo chridhe.”

Motion at the door stirred him from his greeting. A blonde blur sped in and hit him squarely in the chest. “Nunkie!”

“Germain Henry!” drilled a stern feminine voice. “Give yer uncle some space.”

Jamie squeezed the toddler against him and ghosted his own lips over his forehead before Marsali swung him up and settled him against the swell of her belly, patting Jamie’s hand soothingly. Her expression became disapproving as she took in the damage to his face.

He looked up as his future brother-in-law squeezed his shoulder as he circled the bed, pulling forward the chair on the other side.

Fergus leaned forward to brush his lips over Claire’s clammy forehead. “Milady,” he whispered, the light French lilt from his university and medical school days in Paris echoing in the sentiment. He gripped her hand with both of his, eyes not leaving her still form.

Jamie’s heart twisted. The moniker had been bestowed on a prim and proper young Claire by Uncle Lamb when she struggled with culture shock during her first trip to the edge of the earth. Soon after she’d gained her bearings, her passion for the world she lived in had established itself, along with her heart for helping its people.

Marsali allowed Germain to roam once more with a warning to ‘nae get underfoot.’ She washed her hands at the corner basin and slipped on a pair of rubber gloves, helping herself to the cotton swabs and peroxide stored in a high cabinet.

Jamie winced at the sting as she swabbed the wound under his eye.

Satisfied, she ruffled his hair and helped herself to the medical chart fastened near the bed. She surveyed the information with her experienced obstetrician’s eye, her observations undetectable until a gasp emitted from her and her gaze landed on Jamie.

He immediately knew what the file had revealed to her, and nodded his permission for her to speak it aloud.

“Did ye know, a bràthair?” Marsali whispered.

Fergus snapped to attention, both his hands still grasping Claire’s.

“Aye.” Jamie breathed, the barest of grins tickling his lips. “She was – is – sae excited to tell ye both at Thursday night supper.” He clapped his hand over his mouth, unable to stifle the sharp intake of air that followed. He met Fergus’s eye. “Ye should know, man, it’s driven her mad to keep it from ye…”

Fergus nodded slowly, stroking Claire’s wrists. Jamie suspected he was seeking her pulse points himself. “She will,” he said firmly. “She’ll tell me.”

Jamie sniffled hard in an attempt to regain his composure. “I’m sorry I didna protect her,” he whispered.

“You have, ye dolt,” Marsali cut in. Her steady hand smoothed the wrinkled bed covering over Claire’s belly where Germain had tugged it, attempting to check on his aunt for himself.

“I met Claire when she was but 15, a gangly wee thing gettin’ in her uncle’s way. She’s always been headstrong and determined. But I’ve never seen her so passionate, so content. Not until ye came along.”

“You couldn’t have expected this,” Fergus added, boosting Germain to his lap.

Marsali’s mobile vibrated.

Jamie could hazard a guess at how many times it had sounded that day based on the weary expression that crossed her face as she answered it.

She began speaking in rapid Gaelic, making it clear who was on the other end of the line. She could give Jenny a clear update without worrying Fergus unnecessarily.

Jamie flinched as he overheard rough translations for ‘still out’ and ‘hard knock to the head.’ She kept their big news to herself for now, and Jamie couldn’t help but imagine the sheer joy that would cross his sister’s face when she heard. Not to mention the bizarre hints he’d heard about their father today. How could he drop something like that on her, especially if it wasn’t true…

But he could puzzle all of that out later. As long as his stubborn lass woke up, all would be well.

The moment Marsali switched back to English, stepping toward the door and whispering into the receiver, Jamie knew she was talking about him and his own haggard appearance. There was no language the women shared that could conceal their worries from him.

As Germain’s impatient questions and complaints of an empty belly increased, Fergus and Marsali finally escorted him out of the room and to the cafeteria, promising to bring something back for Jamie. He doubted he’d have the will to eat it.

And so he was alone with his desperate thoughts once again.

________________________________________

Claire struggled against her heavy eyelids as awareness came back to her. Her immediate line of sight was blurred, and she ached all over. Gone was her torn pantsuit, a starchy white gown in its place. Her sorry state was apparent, almost as if she were taking account of her injuries from outside her own body.

She tried to recount what had happened in the last few hours… days? She had a vague recollection of a gun being drawn and shots firing, and someone going down painfully. Jamie?

Claire jolted at this thought, her vision adjusting to recognize the profile standing at the window across the room from her, with dazzling afternoon light refracting off his cinnamon waves as his head hung low and shoulders drooped. Though she could barely make him out in the shadows, she knew she loved him. He appeared healthy and strong, uninhibited by ballistic injury. So how much of what she remembered was actually real?

Could she trust her own tender feelings, anything besides the pull she felt toward him in spite of the weight of her limbs gluing her to the bed?

Had they truly shared all the things she thought she remembered, or was it all just lovely images her mind her created to comfort her as her body healed?

________________________________________

Jamie lifted the corner of the curtain with just the tips of his fingers. The car park was littered with news vans, camera bulbs flashing as hospital officials created a barrier between the crowd and their front doors. In the hours that had passed since he carried Claire in, it was clearly no longer a secret where the prime minister was recovering, nor how she had fallen victim to betrayal and neglect. He dropped the flimsy material in disgust. Just once, if they would leave her alone…

He barely registered the rustling on the other side of the room, but spun to attention. Claire was moving.

Her head flopped across the pillow as she sniffled, then moaned.

Jamie released a startled cry, just watching in relief as she flexed unused muscles.

Claire stilled, eyes focused on him. She looked awkward and unsure.

He cursed himself for putting distance between them. She should have woken with her hand in his as he watched her closely for any simple comfort he could provide.

Jamie raced back to her side. “Thank Christ,” he whispered, kneeling to adjust the pillow under her as she sat up.

Claire tensed and leaned back into the pillow as their eyes met. Jamie wished he didn’t see it, but there was fear in her expression.

“C—Claire…” he soothed. “It’s over. You’re whole.” His mouth curved into what might have been a smile, but it apparently had no calming effect.

She gulped and took shallow breaths, wild eyes looking anywhere but at him. A panic attack.

Understanding dawned on Jamie. She didn’t remember. Dr. Abernathy’s term returned to him: Concussion. He wondered briefly how bad it would be, whether she would remember him at all. He wouldn’t be able to bear hearing her call him “Alex” or “Agent Malcolm” without a hint of the flirtatious banter or sultry tone of jest that usually accompanied the nicknames.

He couldn’t bear not to know, either.

“Seas, a leannan,” he cooed. He curled his fingers under her jaw. “Breathe with me, mo ghraidh.”

Her eyes locked on his as he spoke the language of his heart. “… Jamie?” Her face lit with hope.

Jamie’s nerves unknotted themselves. “Just me.” His other hand smoothed her tangled curls from her glistening face.

Claire’s breathing slowed as she leaned her cheek into his palm, grimace giving way to peace.

He boosted himself into the bed beside her, relief flowing through him as she curled into him, careful of the IV running between them.

“I’ve been having terrible dreams, I think…” She shook her head. “I was worried I’d dreamt it all.”

“Nay, mo nighean donn.” He kissed the side of her head, her sweaty neck, anywhere he could reach as his palm stroked down her side.

Claire’s hand flew to her middle, features crinkling once more. “Our baby, is everything...?”

“A braw one like ye,” he managed to choke out. “Has a good wee heart, I’ve heard it myself.”

________________________________________

The door squealed open again just as Dr. Abernathy finished setting up the ultrasound machine.

Claire exhaled as her extended family piled through the door.

Amid the bustle of activity in the crowded room, she and Jamie had barely managed to speak discreetly about all that had occurred that day.

Claire had insisted on letting Jamie squeeze her hand as Nurse Cameron had placed five stitches under his right eye. His grip had been mild, but he had let her see him wince as the nurse had tied off the final suture. They had no secrets, and if she could bear a bit of his pain, she would.

She had stroked his curls as he recounted all the possibilities that had raced through his mind at the mere suggestion that Brian Fraser was alive. Much as he wanted to find out for himself, Jamie couldn’t risk investigating if it meant leaving Claire and the baby behind.

His tears had soaked into her gown as he apologized for not suspecting Frank sooner and taking care of the problem himself.

“Shh, shh,” she had whispered. “You had nothing to go on. I can just imagine it, ‘Metropolitan Police Protection Officer breaks into the House of Commons to tackle Home Secretary to the ground.’” She had scratched his stubbled chin. “You’d still be in gaol now.”

Jamie had snorted against her shoulder, shaking with the force of her own laughter. “It’s no’ funny, Claire.”

“Are you quite sure?” she had asked, lips curled. “I’m looking forward to the joy of seeing both those characters put away for awhile.”

“Aye,” he had rasped. “I’ll see to it, a nighean.”

Claire had tilted his chin to lock eyes with him. “We will.”

Jamie had sniffled and nodded firmly, grasping her palm to place a kiss there.

Fergus set Germain at the foot of her hospital bed, but her nephew jumped onto her sore legs instead. “Auntie Bear!” he cried.

She tried to withhold her groan as she gathered him to her. “Gracious, but you’re getting big, my lad.”

Claire got a lovely whiff of his lingering baby scent as her sister-in-law stooped beside her bed and took her face in both hands. “How are ye, a chridhe?”

Claire grasped her hands over Marsali’s. She had never been able to hide anything from the other woman’s intuitive gaze, so she shouldn’t have been surprised when Marsali glanced down then met her eye knowingly. She darted a glance to Jamie, who shrugged helplessly in the midst of feasting on his newly delivered hamburger and chips.

“My wife read your chart,” Fergus’s voice sounded as he closed in on their huddle to ruffle her curls. “Congratulations, ma cherie.”

Claire laughed and took a wonderfully full breath. “I don’t suppose I could have kept it from you for long. You might have been suspicious otherwise when I booked an appointment with you.” She squeezed Marsali’s hand before leaning into Fergus’s arm around her shoulders.

“Alright, Ms. Beauchamp,” Joe interrupted the lovingly chaotic scene.

Claire smiled up at him. In the half hour since he’d walked in to find her conscious, she had already grown to like the young doctor for his wit and gentle manner.

Nurse Cameron gestured that she was ready with the cool gel.

Fergus swept Germain out of her lap as Jamie nestled closer on the edge of her bed, shielding her as she wrestled the thin hospital gown up over her hips.

A few minor adjustments later and Claire’s eyes filled with tears as she watched a tiny form swim on the screen in front of her. She held onto Jamie – perhaps not as tightly as he clutched her – to make sure it still wasn’t a dream.

She had no idea how she’d do it all, but knew she could with the support of those around her.

#You Can Call Me #Claire Beauchamp #Jamie Fraser #Joe Abernathy #Marsali Fraser #Fergus Fraser #Germain Fraser #alternate universe #outlander fanfic #My fic

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theministerskat · 4 years

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@ianmuyrray asked: Headcanon ask for you! How did Brianna and Roger come up with the name Amanda? Hope is one of her middle names— how about that one? And how did the nickname Mandy come about?

Author’s Note: @ianmuyrray sent me this ask a long, long time ago, and I started it right away, but life got busy and it fell to the wayside. Here it is though! A small, quiet moment between Roger and Bree. Thank you to @abbydebeaupreposts, @faeriesfanficblog, and @ianmuyrray herself for their beta work.

Her Name’s Amanda

The fire had been smoored for the night, the embers casting a warm, soothing glow about the cabin. Brianna could still make out the intricate features of Roger’s face from the light of the hearth. She had long since memorized every hard ridge and supple slope of him, but with time, she inevitably discovered a new line or curve to commit to memory. The changes were a comfort, each one a celebration of the time she had been given to watch him age and grow as a man, a minister, and a father.

Nestling closer into the crook of his arm, she traced a slim finger down the line of his jaw. A day’s worth of beard growth had hit that sweet spot where it prickled just a bit when he kissed her, yet was soft when she brushed her fingertips down along his skin.

Roger responded to the intimacy of her touch with a contented sigh as he nuzzled his face into her loose hair. The hand resting lightly on her hip tightened. She smiled to herself as he slowly caressed the smooth skin of her back in small circles, humming a blissful tune only the two of them would recognize.

Brianna’s own hand continued its downward path, drifting over the faded, jagged scar across his throat. Her touches never lingered on his scar, not wanting to give it conscious thought, instead she rested her palm over his heart. The dark hair of his chest contrasted with his olive skin that had been burnished by long, sunlit, spring days working in the fields around the Ridge.

The inventory of his body stopped there, and she rested her head on Roger’s chest. Brianna caught a glimpse of the two little forms across the room. For what felt like the first time in a long time, both of their children were sound asleep.

Jem lay in his trundle bed, sprawled out across every inch of it. He had insisted on helping his father and grandfather with their chores and the late spring plantings the last few days, and it tuckered him out. And Mandy, her sweet little Amanda, was wrapped tightly in a thin muslin blanket in her crib, her chest rising and falling with each small breath she took.

A feeling Brianna couldn’t describe had permeated her soul since Amanda’s birth five days before, making her thankful to have their family close and more stable than they had been in a very long time.

After several moments, Brianna spoke, her voice a quiet murmur in Roger’s ear.

“Why Amanda?” she asked, still staring at the crib.

Roger continued to draw lazy circles on her back, somewhat reluctant to stop humming. “Hmm?”

“Amanda. Why that name out of all the others?” She turned her face towards his, hoping to speak more clearly. “You were so certain of it that I didn’t think to ask.”

His fingers stopped their movement, his hand coming to rest on the low dip of her back.

“Oh,” he said, clearing his throat. His voice still wavered at times after periods of rest. Finally, he continued, “Well, it was my grandmother’s name.”

Brianna was silent, trying to recall if she had known Roger’s grandmother’s name before that moment. She realized she hadn’t; when he spoke of her, he would simply refer to her as “Gran.” They once planned on using his mother’s name, Marjorie, if the baby was a girl. But never once had he mentioned his grandmother’s name as a possibility.

“She took us in after my father was declared missing in action, ye know. And she died with my mother in The Blitz.” His voice was still heavy, but she knew it wasn’t due to the damage done to his vocal chords. “I don’t remember much of it, but at the funeral, Dad- the Reverend, he talked about how the name Amanda meant ‘loved by everyone’. I never forgot it.”

After a moment, Roger continued. “She held my hand as we sought shelter in the tube station, my mother on one side of me, her on the other. And in spite of everything we had been through and the danger I knew was still to come, I felt safe. She always brought us both, my mother and I, a sense of peace, and I think Mandy did the same for you, when I couldn’t be there.”

Brianna felt the prickle of tears. Roger had known great loss, but he still saw the love to be had in this world, and recognized those who were worthy of it.

“I hope ye don’t mind.” She heard the hesitancy in her husband’s voice, and it made her heart ache.

“No. Roger, I love it.” Her statement was sincere. He kissed the top of her head and she lifted her face so he could place another on her lips.

“She did do the same, you know. From the moment I realized that she existed, I knew we’d find a way back to you, and she brought me peace.”

“And I hope she continues to bring that to us. That, and so much more, Bree. Because I think peace and love will soon be in short supply and we will need to hold fast to what we have of it and not let go.”

“What do you mean?”

“With the war. With all the uncertainty coming. And I can’t help but feel there’s something else. Something that makes me so grateful that we are all together right now.” Brianna pressed closer to him, and he drew her tightly against himself.

“Don’t worry yerself about it now though, hen. Sleep, before she wakes and needs you again.”

She let out a contented sigh, allowing the warmth of the cabin and her own tiredness overtake her. But on the edge of consciousness she heard Roger’s voice one last time.

“Amanda Claire MacKenzie. That’ll be her name.” The pride was evident in his voice, even in her sleepy state. “Our Mandy.”

“No,” she said on a yawn. “Amanda Claire Hope MacKenzie.” And with that, sleep overtook her.

#outlander #outlander fanfiction #outlander fan fiction #ol fanfic #roger mackenzie #brianna mackenzie #roger x brianna #amanda mackenzie #fluff #missing moment #a breath of snow and ashes #kat writes

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otheroutlandertales · 5 years

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Anonymous said: Someone write a quick little drabble of Oggy out laughing and playing in the rain by himself but when asked he’s playing with his imaginary dog friend named Rollo.

Author’s note: This is a canon compliant one-shot set a few years after Written In My Own Heart’s Blood. Mild spoiler warning for those who haven’t read books 7 and 8, and some book 9 daily lines, too. Rollo and Young Ian feels, ahoy!

Oggy and Rollo

by @ianmuyrray

It had been raining for days, only now had it slowed to a mist. Moisture thickened the air, punctuated by steady sprinkling. It was humid and foggy, causing the residents of the Ridge to peel and pluck their clothing away from their sticky bodies.

Puddles collected on the uneven ground around the small cabin. Excess water made small horse troughs of wagon tracks, and rain puttered against the puddles, making the surfaces ripple and vibrate with each droplet. In the tall grass beneath the window sat a little boy, his breeches damp and muddy. He was four years old -- just old enough to go outside on his own and be trusted not to wander off. Unbeknownst to the boy, however, his mother watched him through the window while she kneaded bread, her hands covered with flour, and his granny was seated with a quilt by the fire, looking out for him from the corner of her eye through the cabin’s open door. The women smiled and sighed together, thankful for a break from a little boy who had been cooped up out of the rain for too long.

He had a proper name, but not very many people used it. On the Ridge, he was simply Oggy. At his hip, a pocket of his breeches bulged into the shape of a vroom, made special for him by Nunkie Roger after Jemmy refused to share his childhood toys. The wheels of Oggy’s vroom were so caked in mud they no longer turned on their axles, and the wood was dark and soggy-feeling, soaking up muddy water and raindrops and fog like a sponge.

The grass was tall here, and thick-- Granny hadn’t let her goats out of their paddock in a while. He liked that, preferring when the leaves of grass grew to his knees, broad at the base. He picked at a shorter one now, held it between his thumbs at his lips and blew, trying to whistle. He wasn’t very good at it, but Nunkie Fergus told him he’d get better if he practiced. Maybe Da could show him, but then again, Da could do that thing where he sticks two fingers in his mouth and whistles so loudly it spooks birds and summons horses.

A black flutter of bird wings caught Oggy’s eye, and he spotted it stopping to peck at a worm washed free in the dirt path. Oggy squatted in the grass, camouflaging himself and turning his body slowly towards it. The vroom in his pocket bit at his hip, but he didn’t care. How did Da say to stand on your feet, so the animal doesn’t hear you? He didn’t think he accomplished it, because the bird lifted his beak and blinked at him, turning its head this way and that, black eyes suspicious.

Drawing a deep intake of breath, Oggy stuck two fingers in his mouth and blew, just as he’d seen his father do it. To his shock and complete joy, a loud, clear whistle rang out, just like Da’s. He heard a bang from inside as if someone had dropped something heavy onto a table, and the bird squawked and flew off. Laughing, and utterly pleased with himself, Oggy landed on his back in the soft, wet grass, not caring how much wetter it might make him. Mam always had dry clothes ready for him after it rained, and he quite looked forward to sitting by the fire with a biscuit. But not yet.

He lay looking at the sky for a minute, relishing the few droplets that fell onto his face. The sky oscillated between grey and white, as if it could not make up its mind, and Oggy’s hazel eyes tracked the movement.

But at that moment, he heard something four-legged bounding towards him, and he sat up just in time to be tackled by a giant dog. Or he would have been, if the dog didn’t pass through his body, causing a delicious chill to shoot through him, sparking laughter. The dog circled him, a big grin on its face, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. His tail and ears were held high.

“Dog?” Oggy asked, rising to his feet immediately. He held out his hand for the animal to sniff. Da and Nunkie Jamie had shown him how to properly introduce himself to animals. To go slow, to not move too quickly.

No sooner had the wet nose touched Oggy’s fingertips than the dog leaned into him, as if asking to be pet. Oggy obliged, scratching his ears, chin, chest, and spine. He felt like a dog, the damp fur clinging to Oggy’s fingertips. At the right angles, he looked solid as a dog. But was he? A bit of the dog’s form trailed behind in his movement, wisping and curling in the humid air, and he glittered in the sunlight like snowflakes he’d once caught in his mittens with Auntie Claire. And still, Oggy’s skin hadn’t quite shed the chill he felt from the dog, and his fingertips tickled from giving pets, as if there was a veil that had been passed through between the living and the dead.

The dog flopped over onto its back to show Oggy his belly. He yipped once, clearly asking for belly rubs, wriggling its back into the mud. Oggy laughed delightedly at this show of affection and trust, kneeling to give the dog a hug around the ribs and pressing his ear to the dog’s sternum.

It was an odd feeling, to hug a ghost. But the dog was warm and loving, too, and Oggy was warmed to his toes.

He might have been afraid of the dog, given that he looked like a wolf-- grey and scruffy, tall with a broad head, daring yellow eyes. But this dog was a friend. This, Oggy sensed instinctually, this dog felt like family.

The wolf-dog leaped to his feet and gave a soft, playful growl, bowing in an invitation to play. Oggy squealed and made to tackle him, only for the dog to leap away once more and nip at Oggy’s tunic, begging him to follow as he ran. Oggy took off after him, his boots sinking softly into the muddy ground.

“A bhalaich,” came a voice, calling after Oggy, stopping him in his tracks. He turned to see his father emerging from the trees, a large, dead deer over his shoulders.

Ian stooped to drop the deer on a nearby bench, where many animals had been skinned and butchered for meat. It landed with a soft thud as Oggy approached, feeling a tug behind his navel in the direction of the dog. But the dog was gone.

“Was that you I heard whistle, jus’ now?”

“Aye,” replied Oggy, putting on his best adult-sounding voice.

“Yer gettin’ better at it,” Ian replied, removing a knife from his belt and applying it to the deer. Oggy watched in fascination as his father’s big hands began the work of skinning the animal, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother come to stand in the doorway.

Ian smiled up at Rachel in greeting. “Brought dinner,” he remarked with a grunt, working the belly of the deer open.

“Da,” Oggy interrupted, needing to ask before his parents moved on to other tasks. “Did you see that dog?”

“What dog?” Ian asked, not looking up. He was kneeling in front of the deer now, studying it.

“Just now, he came running from where you were.”

“He did?” Ian asked, not without interest. He glanced in the direction Oggy pointed, then gave his son a quizzical glance. His hands, however, paused over his kill, running lightly along the deer’s hair. “What kind of dog?”

Oggy’s answer was immediate. “Like a wolf, but he was friendly. Are there ghosts here, Da? I don’ think he was real.”

Ian’s eyes blazed as he looked at his son. For what, Oggy didn’t know, but he was pleased to have his father’s rapt attention.

“What did he do, when he was here? The dog?”

“Tackled me. We played a bit. Ye might ha’ scared him off when ye came, just now.” Oggy lifted his hand, still damp and a bit ticklish from the veil he’d felt, as if his father could see the shed dog hairs trapped there with moisture.

Ian studied Oggy’s small hands before his face broke into bright satisfaction, causing Oggy to grin back. “Aye, Oggy, there was a dog. He was helpin’ me hunt. He visited you too, then? I wondered where he’d gotten off to.” He reached and ruffled his son’s hair.

“What is thee talking about?” Rachel asked, and as Oggy turned to look at her, he saw her skirts flutter in the breeze, her apron dappled with puffs of flour.

“Rollo,” Ian responded immediately, and Rachel’s dark eyebrows flicked upwards. This obviously meant something to his parents, and though Oggy had heard the name ‘Rollo’ before, he hadn’t known what it meant.

“Rollo is a dog?” Oggy inquired.

His father nodded, his expression impenetrable. “Rollo, the dog. He died before ye were born. Go on inside, wee lamb, and help yer mam and Granny with whatever they need.”

Oggy would usually protest -- he was a boy, he shouldn’t have to help the women so much anymore, he wanted to help with the meat -- but he could sense his father wanted a moment alone, hands trembling over the deer. The young boy dashed inside, brushing past his mother, who lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching Ian work.

#outlander fanfiction #otheroutlandertales #mod muy #ch: oggy #ch: young ian #ch: rachel #canon compliant #book: bees #category: general #oot #*

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whiskynottea · 5 years

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What’s your favourite...

I was tagged by the sweet @phoenixflames12 ! Thank you dear, and thank you for the Wine and Whisky mention! ❤️

Outlander book: Written in My Own Heart’s Blood (aka MOBY) (ABOSAA is a close second)

Outlander character: Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Fraser

Jamie and Claire moment: “Then they’ll shoot me where I stand, sir, for I will not leave her side!” (MOBY)

Secondary character moment: Ugh they are so many. Ian killing the wolves in the woods, Rachel saying to him “Thee is my wolf.” and Bree playing “warmer, colder” with Mandy to find Jem.

Plot twist: Everything apart from “And then he/she woke up. It was all a dream.”

For Fanfic readers/writers

Canon compliant fic: Out of Time by @futurelounging

Canon divergent: The Last all Clear by @bonnie-wee-swordsman

Modern AU: This is Us by @abbydebeaupreposts , Stealing Tomorrow by @kalendraashtar, Our Story by @westerhos , Clair(e)voyance by @notevenjokingfic

Rare Pair Fic: True North by @ianmuyrray, Death of the Author by @futurelounging , Popcorn And Haydust by @wunderlichkind

Missing Moments: Everything @theministerskat writes and Other Ocean by @ianmuyrray.

Series/Multi-chapter fic: Scalamandre by @futurelounging, Flood my mornings by @bonnie-wee-swordsman, Vergangenheit by @phoenixflames12 and Where You Lead by @mo-nighean-rouge

Trope: Not a fan of tropes here.

OC: Hannah from The Gardener by @futurelounging

Quote: “When she reads what she has written, just as the train is pulling in to the station, she finds the meandering hopes and dreams and worries all converge on one truth. That love is not soaring or proud, but an invisible current carrying two souls downstream. She lifts her feet from the stream bed and lets it carry her away.”

and “This man who has fought and lost and died, rises in the moonlight to soothe his child, to sing with a broken voice and embrace with a battered body and finds he is whole.”

Both from Death of the Author.

And I’m inviting everyone who feels like it to play!

#so many fanfic so little time #tag game #outlander books #outlander fanfiction

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tinyfrenchowl · 5 years

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What’s your favourite...

I was tagged by the lovely @phoenixflames12, thank you friend!

Outlander book: The Fiery Cross has a special place in my heart because of ALL THE FLUFF!!! but I think so far Written in My Own Blood holds the place... I just love to have William and John be so much part of the main storyline.

Outlander character: Jooooooohn!! And Rachel

Jamie and Claire moment: Sperm under the microscope. It’s everything from cute domestic stuff to Doctor!Claire and curious Jamie and just hilarious.

Secondary character moment: Jem, Germain and (crap I’ve forgot the name of the third kid... starts with an A?) hiding because Fergus and Marsali are leaving the Ridge and Germain doesn’t want to leave his friends.

Plot twist: From a reader’s standpoint I don’t think Outlander has much of them... but my favourite will always be John turning up at unexpected moments, like on that ship with Claire before we know it’s him. And how Claire is William’s step-mom twice over :)

For Fanfic readers/writers

Canon compliant fic: I... don’t actually read many of those... sorry. OH WAIT. SECOND WIFE!! someone please tell me who the author is so I can @ them!! Also that Christmas fic at the Ridge that I always forget isn’t canon, where Jamie and John are looking at Claire and Bree decorating the house and remeniscing about a conversation they had on the subject at Ardsmuir??

Canon divergent: Flood my Mornings and The Last All Clear, by @bonnie-wee-swordsman

Modern AU: Vergangenheit by @phoenixflames12, Scalpel and Needle by @kalendraashtar, Just Dessert (please tell me who the author is so I can @ them!!), Triquetra by @faeriesfanficblog

Rare Pair Fic: @ianmuyrray‘s Hummingbird and @futurelounging‘s In Orbit <33333

Missing Moments: probably a couple of @lenny9987 and @gotham-ruaidh’s

Series/Multi-chapter fic: All those mentionned above. and HOW COULD I FORGET SCALAMANDER by @futurelounging ?!!!!

Trope: Technical inability to communicate (due to broken tech, lack of signal...) which leads to worry and them reaaaally tight hugs.

OC: Tom from FFM (@bonnie-wee-swordsman)

Quote: ‘Minnafash, sapnack’ in FMM by @bonnie-wee-swordsman

I’m not sure who’s already done this or been tagged in this... @brandeewine @art-by-khuggs @ianmuyrray and anyone else who wants to!

#personal #tagged in #thanks!!#this just goes to show i'm not up to date on OL fanfic...#idon't have enough time TT_TT #not sure why the @ isn't always working but anyway #here you go #thank you for the tag!!

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thelallybrochlibrary · 5 years

Note

Hi librarians I just finished the first book and am looking for fics about Ian and Jenny. What should I read first?

Hi Anon!

If you are looking for fics that feature Ian and Jenny, may we suggest:

1) True North by @ianmuyrray

2) Philomene I: homo homini lupus est also by @ianmuyrray for @otheroutlandertales

3) A Very Murray Christmas by @thatsoccercoach

4) Or you can use the Jenny Fraser/Ian Murray tag on AO3 for even more great stories.

Thank you for your question!

#the lallybroch library #ask the librarians #fic: True North #author: IanMuyrray #fic: Philomene I: homo homini lupus est #for: otheroutlandertales #otheroutlandertales #fic: a very murray Christmas #author: thatsoccercoach #ao3 #jenny x ian #ask: answered #outlander fan fiction #anonymous #librarian: happy kt

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otheroutlandertales · 5 years

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Anonymous said: Can you write some Claire x Jenny?

Author’s note: 2019 Queerlander is upon us! This is an FF au lightly sprinkled with fantasy. Enjoy!

In the Cabin

by @ianmuyrray

Jenny was a princess. Not an ordinary princess, she was aware of that, even though she might appear as one to others. She wore the dresses and the tiara; she threw dinner parties and knew how to waltz. She could hold court, school her features into an immobile mask, even insult someone while making it sound like a compliment.

But nothing was quite as important to Jenny as escape, pretending to be someone she was not. She was never as fulfilled as when she snuck away in a pair of her brother's breeches, tied tight about the waist to keep them from falling, the cuffs rolled to prevent tripping. She preferred to escape outside the confines of the castle, to run and pretend she wasn’t, in fact, royalty. That she didn’t have obligations or responsibilities outside of herself. She considered the headache earned from her hair twisted in a tight, hasty braid a badge of honor and her sunburned cheeks a trophy well earned.

Her most trusted companion on these excursions was her horse, Marble. Marble would know, before Jenny even twitched the reins, in what direction she wanted to ride, and what speed she’d want to travel at.

There was a cabin, not far from the lake, where the court healer lived. It was Jenny’s preferred place to be.

Jenny's mind drifted there now, even as she sat in her father's council room, her brother looking as bored as she felt while he sat sprawled on his large stone chair. Throne. Whatever they were calling it these days.

Spoiled brat, Jenny thought, running her hand down the wooden arms of her much smaller chair, sitting up straighter.

She frowned, trying to regain focus on the state affairs her father worked hard to keep the two of them apprised of. She tried hard to pretend to care. But her mind kept drifting, seeking that warm little cabin, with the scent of bergamot in the air, the soft prick of a wolf fur bed against her back, her knees, her palms, her cheek, the graceful lines of the feminine person inside it, the sound of her heavy breathing...

A throat cleared, and then she heard a voice, "Janet."

"Mm?"

Brian's black brows were raised. "I was saying, I have some news for ye."

She folded her hands in her lap, the cabin vanishing from her mind as her eyes caught on the new person in the room.

A man, of marriageable age. He merely stood there and gave her an expectant look. Oh no. No, no, no.

Shock flared in her eyes before it extinguished itself into courtly, passive femininity.

"This is Ian Murray," her father said, and Jenny forced herself to smile at the man as he was introduced. He was all hard lines and angles, nothing of the softness or grace she'd come to know and prefer. "Your betrothed."

Jenny inhaled deeply, crumpling her silk skirts in her fists. She let go, and then crumpled them again. Took a breath in, let the breath out.

Her eyes were hard as stone as she studied him, though she continued to give him the smile she knew she had to.

"It's a pleasure to meet ye, Ian," she whispered, and it was only the wine she'd had with dinner that had made it possible to speak.

“He is from a neighboring clan,” her father continued. “An alliance greatly desired.”

Ian bowed slightly, the sword at his hip sweeping back just a bit.

Jenny stood abruptly, her wooden chair scraping against the stone floor with an ungodly sound, ringing in the silence. "Excuse me," she said, as soft as she could, trying to cover for the way her slippered feet stomped out of the room.

And Ian looked like he was going to apologize for merely existing, damn him.

She flew into her room to pack her bags. Her belongings were flung across her room, the wardrobe emptied, the doors left open. Discarded clothes lay in piles on the floor, the four-poster bed. She tore herself out of her silken gown, unpinned her hair. She eventually settled for two dresses that might pass for a peasant’s and stepped into a set of Jamie's clothes, stolen from the laundry a long time ago. The breeches afforded her much-desired freedom of movement and the shirt hung loose on her, several sizes too big and built for a man's body, not the figure of a woman's. But it was freedom; it was hers. She needed to claim what moves she could on the game board she’d been placed.

She was lacing herself into her boots when she heard a knock at her door. Stomach turning leaden, she opened it slowly, then swept it wide upon seeing who it was.

"Jamie.”

He stepped into her room and she closed the door behind him, latching it locked.

"I know," he began. "And I'm sorry. But ye must've kent it would always be this way."

She did. She'd known. This was her fate -- to be shipped off and married to the most eligible bachelor, for the sake of alliances and politics. A pawn in a game she had no power to play; where perhaps, as a woman, she had the most to lose.

Because this was Jamie, she nodded.

He went on, "If it makes it any easier, I know Ian. From the war. He's an officer, a damn good one. Someone who will be an asset to the family as a man, not just for his connection to Clan Murray."

"And to me?" Jenny demanded.

"He'll be an asset to you, too, Janet. If ye give him a chance."

"But what if I can't?" she said, her voice barely audible, her mind once again imagining a flurry of skirts in the garden of that cabin by the lake, of the tinkle of laughter and the flutter of a shift as it dropped. Jenny wanted to weep, to scream.

"He'll understand."

"What if he doesn't?"

Jamie's shoulders dropped. "I might --" but then he sighed. "Go. Go to her. I won't tell anyone."

So Jenny ran. She ran to the stables, to her horse. Like always, Marble knew she would be coming. She saddled him, leapt onto him. The horse let off nothing more than a grunt of excitement as she flicked the reins.

Jenny was electric, needing to outrun her own power. But as she neared the cabin, the world seemed to still its spinning, and mist seemed to hover, shimmering in the air.

Marble trotted near the front door, stopping at the fence post where Jenny always tied him. She hopped off, catching a brief whiff of her own scent, sweet with the tang of musk.

The woman who lived in this cabin was alone in the world. She had no one but Jenny -- she had chosen Jenny.

Jenny strode up the cobbled path to the door, removing her feathered hat and riding gloves as she went. Sweat beaded and dripped between her breasts and down her stomach; she picked at her shirt, trying to air it out.

It was night and yet the air was sweltering.

The door flew open before she knocked, bathing the blue night in a swath of orange light.

A soft, feminine body tackled her and held her tight, curls swarming Jenny's face. "I heard the news. The servants told me."

Jenny breathed the woman in, buried her face in that hair, her nose brushing just so against the woman's cheek. She placed a kiss to the corner of her jaw, content to just hold her.

"Claire," she breathed. Her knees wanted to buckle at the touch of her.

Claire nearly withdrew. "But what about--"

"Don't." Jenny held her tight, refusing the request to pull away. A hot tear swept down her cheek.

Claire was taller than her by nearly a head, but that didn't stop Jenny from gripping her tightly about the waist and lifting her, if only briefly, to set her back inside the threshold. The cabin door swung shut behind them, bathing the field, and Marble, once again in a sea of blue.

#mod muy #pair: claire x jenny #ch: claire #ch: jenny #ch: jamie #ch: brian #ch: ian #au #fantasy au #category: ff #queerlander #otheroutlandertales #oot #outlander fanfiction

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