mornings with ian

“Good Morning!“ said Bilbo, and he meant it. The sun was shining, and the grass was very green. But Gandalf looked at him from under long bushy eyebrows that stuck out further than the brim of his shady hat.

"What do you mean?” he said. “Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?”

“All of them at once,” said Bilbo. “And a very fine morning for a pipe of tobacco out of doors, into the bargain.“

– from The Hobbit, by J. R. R. Tolkien


5x12 || 7x11

This is you breaking up with me. Yeah.

If Jamie and Claire (and Wee Ian) could text: Morning-after Edition (3x06)
  • Wee Ian: UNCLE!!!!!!
  • {5 mins pass}
  • Wee Ian: UNCLE JAMIE!!!!!!!!!
  • {5 mins pass}
  • {2 mins pass}
  • Jamie: oh for the love of christ
  • Jamie: first of all -- **absolutely not**
  • Jamie: second---Ye ken my policy on all-caps, Ian
  • Jamie: none before i've had coffee
  • Wee Ian: Well, forgive me
  • Wee Ian: Only I suspect you've been wide awake for some time *already* this morning, aye? ๐Ÿ˜
  • Jamie: ?
  • Wee Ian: thought ye maybe.... didna get much SLEEP, the night? ๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜
  • Wee Ian: mmm??? ๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜
  • Wee Ian: amirite, nunkie? ?๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜
  • Jamie: did ye come out of the womb this insufferable, wee shite, or have ye been working at it?
  • Wee Ian: idk but I JUST MET AUNTIE CLAIRE!!!!!!!!!
  • Wee Ian: AND I LOVE HER!!!!!!!!!!!! ๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜
  • Jamie: aye
  • Jamie: well
  • Jamie: ๐Ÿ˜Š me too
  • Wee Ian: uncle jamieeeeeeee, I'm tearing tf upppppp
  • Wee Ian: I've never seen ye use the gentle-smile emoji in my entire life!!!!!!
  • Jamie: well...aye, in fact, I
  • Wee Ian: BECAUSE **I*** AM!!!!!
  • Wee Ian: DAY MADE
  • Wee Ian: YEAR MADE
  • Jamie: ๐Ÿ˜€
  • Wee Ian: what a good day!!!
  • Jamie: christ, but ye are a good lad, Ian.
  • Jamie: Thank ye most kindly for the well-wishes. I'm verra happy indeed.
  • Wee Ian: ***NO*****
  • Jamie: no?
  • Jamie: do enlighten me
  • Wee Ian: SHE'S SOOOOOOO ๐Ÿ‘ NICE ๐Ÿ‘
  • Jamie: she is indeed
  • Wee Ian: ANDFDN:OWENF!!!!!๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜
  • Jamie: d'ye want to marry her yourself, then?
  • Wee Ian: CAN I?????????
  • Wee Ian: I mean....haha. jokes.
  • Jamie: wee gmrl
  • Wee Ian: gosh
  • Wee Ian: all atwitter over here
  • Wee Ian: SO can we keep her????
  • Jamie: That's most assuredly the plan
  • Wee Ian: ....
  • Wee Ian: ....can we....
  • Wee Ian: *unkeep* Auntie Leghair?
  • Jamie: ye just made me spit out ale all over th screen
  • Wee Ian: SHIT *L A O G H A I R E
  • Wee Ian: sorry about the autocorrect, force o' habit
  • Jamie: dinna fash, I do it all the time
mornings // cancer crew

hi i’m so sorry that this sucks it was rushed lol 

Max: Mornings with Max usually involved you waking up before him, and finding him still asleep. You’d assume he’d been up filming until three in morning, which wasn’t out of character for him. This caused him to sleep in late, usually until noon. By the time he would walk groggily into the living area to find you completely dressed and awake watching some movie, he would be ready for breakfast, or lunch, more appropriately. You’d already have it ready for him as you anticipated his awakening. He’d mumble something along the lines of “You’re too good to me,” or “Thanks, love,” and kiss you on the cheek before joining you on the sofa.

Joji: Joji would usually wake up before you and already have breakfast cooking. On the rare occasion that he was sleeping when you woke up, you’d link your arm around his torso and just lay with him for longer, merely enjoying his presence. When you had to get up early for work, you hoped your alarm or the rustling of the sheets didn’t wake him up. If it did, he would groan and catch your wrist in his hand, trying to pull you back into bed. It would take everything in you not to lay back down with your suddenly cuddly boyfriend. Other than the times when you were forcibly waken, mornings with Joji were calm, peaceful, and something to look forward to. 

Ian: Strangely, Ian was quite productive in the morning. Most days you woke up to him editing, filming, or returning from the post office with boxes loaded with fan mail for his next Bad Unboxing™ video. You didn’t particularly enjoy this, not being a morning person yourself. All you ever wanted to do upon waking up is go back to sleep with Ian by your side. If Ian caught your eye and he saw you were awake, he’d grin and tell you good morning, and sorry if he woke you but he bought some breakfast and you might have to microwave it because it might be cold but he didn’t want to wake you up because you looked so warm and beautiful and sorry if he sounds creepy. Needless to say, mornings to Ian were a time to get things done, and admire your sleeping state in the process.


“Ian is such a nice man. He always said very nice things about me and I’m happy to return the compliment. Not only is he a very distinguished and eminent actor, with a wonderful record—mainly in the theater—but also to a certain extent in film. He is a major actor and if you find yourself, as I did, playing scenes with him and he’s already had some weeks to get into his part while I’m doing my first day, it can be difficult, to put it mildly. My introduction to the picture was the scene in the garden at Isengard, where I come down the stairs and meet Gandalf. I was up until three in the morning that day, working with Ian McKellen. But Ian was immensely supportive and very encouraging. That doesn’t happen very often these days, where you’re working with a major actor, and they help you and guide you along. But that’s exactly what Ian did with me at the beginning of the film.  I was so glad that most of my scenes were with Ian, especially after I got quite badly injured, when a door slammed on two of my fingers.  My hand was all bandaged and bloody, so I had to hide it and if you look very carefully, you can see that in the film. It was really very difficult, because I was in extreme pain, but Ian was enormously helpful, very encouraging. He’s a tremendous person to work with and you don’t find that very often these days. People are so concerned about what they consider to be rivalry, or confrontation.  They only think about themselves, and they don’t give a damn about the other people who they are working with. But the word is collaboration, not confrontation, and Ian McKellen is a shining example of that.”

Christopher Lee on working w/ Ian McKellen

Flood my Mornings: Ian (V)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.
  • Previous installment: Ian (IV): Bree arrives at the hospital

July 22, 1951


Even in the still-foggy and damned painful state of new deliverance, there was the purest and clearest joy in my heart as I reached up to intercept my daughter from Jamie’s arms. “Oh, lovey—” I crushed her tight to my chest and burrowed my face into her hair. “I’m so glad you’re here—I’ve missed you so much.”

“Miss’t you more,” came the muffled reply. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that, little smudge,” I murmured, smoothing back her hair and exhaling deeply with the sheer relief and joy of having her near, of knowing she was safe and mine.  I found myself noticing the differences of her scent from Ian’s, the knowledge soothing and somehow vital as it settled in my senses. My son. My daughter. 

She pushed back against my shoulders, far enough to bestow a sloppy kiss. “Feelin’ all better?”

I grinned, touched. “MUCH bett—”

“Where is-he?”

“What, seeing your Mummy isn’t the whole reason you drove all this way??” 

Wherrrre?” she insisted, beaming with excitement. 

“Here, a leannan.” Jamie, three steps ahead as always, had retrieved the baby from Penelope’s loving embrace and was already at my elbow. 

Unswaddled against the heat of the day, Ian seemed even more tiny and fragile. My heart stabbed with a wild, heartbreaking anxiety to see his limbs, so incredibly thin and vulnerable in their cotton suit. 

Still, I eased as I felt the warm weight of his head settling securely into the crook of my arm, as I felt the reassuring pressure of Jamie’s hand over mine. “Bree?….This is your little brother.”

Brianna, on her knees, half-facing and half-leaning on me, peered down into Ian’s face….and issued a tiny, inarticulate squeak. 

“Can you say hello?” I nudged, watching her intently and grinning like an idiot. 

She beamed up at me, then Jamie, and then back down at Ian’s sleeping face, absolutely speechless. 

“We’ve two of them now, mo chridhe,” Jamie murmured against my temple, sounds from Penelope’s camera from the other side of the room promising that this moment would be captured forever.  

Two,” I whispered back, my heart unspeakably full, our children there in our arms. 

He reached out and softly touched Bree’s cheek. “What do ye think of baby Ian, cub?” 

“Beeyin?” Bree, coming out of her rapt reverie, looked at Ian, then gave me a look of half-horrified fascination as though things were suddenly dropping into place. “ACK-shlee he came out y’r tummy?”

I held back most of the laughter, though it was damned difficult, what with Jamie shaking beside me like my own personal earthquake. “He actually did.”

Wow…” she whispered, looking back to Ian. “Good job, Mummy!” Bree snuggled closer, all but lounging ON the baby in her need to see him up close. “He’s really….all—” A tiny, squealing sigh that might have been ‘cute’. 

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” I murmured, splitting my gaze between them. “And he’s all new. All ours.” 

“I can hold him?” 

After a bit of shifting about, we settled at last with Bree between us on the bed and a pillow laid crosswise on her outstretched legs. Carefully, I eased Ian down onto the cushion, his tiny stockinged-feet curled up against her belly. 

“Now, mind his head,” Jamie instructed Bree, a protective hand hovering by Ian’s ear just in case. “Ye must always be careful wi’ a wean’s head.”

Bree leveled her father with a look of haughty scorn that would have brought any professionally-trained actor to shame. ”I’ll be careful of all him, Daddy.” 

Completely oblivious to the laughter from the adults in the room, she returned her attention to her new charge, all serene smiles. “He’s all soft…” Bree ran a finger very gingerly across his cheek, across the full pink lips, pouted in sleep. “… like a blanket.”

“Verra soft indeed,” Jamie murmured, his hand, shifting up ever so slightly to stroke the shocks of downy hair. 

“Why’s he ‘sleep?”

I kissed the top of her head, remembering when it, too, could fit easily in my hand. “So he can grow up big and strong like you.”

“Oh…good.” She picked up one of his hands, grinning. “Hi, Beeyin,” she cooed. “….Glad you’re, um….glad you’re been born….“

Jamie’s eyes were the deepest blue I’d ever seen them, crinkled and warm in the midday light of the room as he watched the two of them…then smiled at me.  

“We’ll play a lot…..You can play wi’ George all you wanna, okay?” 

Ian responded to the gracious offer of Bree’s favorite toy rabbit by dreamily searching for milk with his tongue. 

“An’—” Bree went on, making her overtures with a distinctly Fraser-like solemnity, “—an’—won’t let any snakes bite you. Because love, okay?”

Snakes? I mouthed to Jamie over her head. 

Tell ye later, he mouthed back with a grin, and then both of us nearly jumped out of our skins when Bree GASPED.  



He’s ‘wake!!” she whisper-screamed. 

And sure enough, Ian Fraser was blinking up at his sister with an expression that could only be described as ‘perplexed’, brows furrowed and mouth in a perfect O of concentration,

All three of us stared down, entranced, as Ian slowly brought his hands up toward his face. The tiny fingers fanned out as he stretched in a great yawn, making us all gasp in unison from delight and love. 

“He’s—like a little person!” Bree declared, sounding unsure as to whether to cry or laugh at this revelation; though likely the former, from the happy quaver in her voice. A wonderful human being, this little lass was. My sweet, sweet love. 

“He’s watching you, Bree,” I whispered into her ear, a little choked. Ian was intent upon her, in fact, his watery eyes following the slightest of her movements. 

“I’m watchin’ him, too,” she said. A promise. 

Bree kissed her brother on the forehead. Jamie’s arm came around behind her to encircle my waist. I nuzzled my head against his as I stroked Ian’s hair.  We all, even Ian, exhaled as one. 

The camera clicked, and it was set in stone. The four of us. Forever. 

anonymous asked:

it makes me so happy that you already know what Ian in flood my mornings looks like when he grows up. You do you, Bonnie wee. i'll just be here enjoying every minute

dawww, thank you, nonnie :) :) :) 

honestly I can’t NOT have a mental picture in mind for an original character. It would drive me crazy!!

do me? I shall. here is what happens when I do me: 

Flood My Mornings



Originally posted by lochiels

Originally posted by ariannemartcll-blog

Originally posted by smallscreengifs


Originally posted by sam-heughan-daily



Flood my Mornings: Ian (IV)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.
  • Previous installment:  Ian (III): [Newborn fluff]

July 22, 1951

Come now, man: you were the Laird of Broch bloody Tuarach. It wasn’t long ago when you were capable of everything from bringing down foes on the battlefield barehanded to manipulating the workings of Europe’s royal courts. Even in more recent years, you managed to master an Automobile, did you not? For the love of Bride, you can certainly bring yourself to WALK to the Elevators.

Jamie did force himself to walk at a more-or-less dignified pace, but he let the foolish grin fly forth unchecked: Bree was here.

It had been only a day since he’d last seen her, but Lord, it seemed an eternity. More than once in that space of time, he’d found himself worrying for her sake. It had been so rushed, those minutes between their talking-to beneath the oak tree and when he’d entrusted her to the Harpers before fairly leaping into the Car to get to Claire’s side. He could scarcely remember how he had left things between him and his daughter. Had she spent the time apart fretting that he was still angry with her over the business with the climbing? 

He walked faster. She had been fine, Marian (and later Penelope) had assured him in the times when he’d phoned, no tantrums or tears; but he still could scarcely wait another moment to have his little girl back in his arms again. For, full and complete as the experience of Ian’s birth had been, holding the wean made Jamie feel Bree’s absence all the more; a deep, growing ache in his wame, more noticeable with every passing minute. He needed to have both of his children there together, to kiss and hold them, to see both at once. A Dhia, came the stunned, joyful thought as he accelerated around the final corner: a father of two, Fraser… 

Mrs. Byrd was just stepping out of the Elevator, Bree’s hand in hers, and Jamie could have burst with sheer joy at the sight, except that the minute his daughter laid eyes on him, she burst first: into tears.

He closed the distance between them in a matter of moments and caught her up into his arms, clutching her tight against his chest in a terrible panic of love and worry. “Bree, lass?” 

She had thrown her arms around his neck at once, and he could feel the whole of her little body shaking as she sobbed out something that sounded like ‘Da.’ 

“I’m here.” He cupped her head. “Shhhh, dinna fash, lass, it’s alright….What’s the matter, a leannan?”

Penelope was apparently as bewildered as he. “Goodness! Where did that—She was quiet all morning, but I didn’t know something was—Oh, there, there, honey,” she crooned, coming close to stroke Bree’s back. “Tell us what’s the matter, sweet pea.

Even with an inconsolable toddler on his shoulder, Jamie was filled with such tenderness and gratitude toward this dear woman. He and Claire truly couldn’t work at their hours and pace of life without Penelope’s endless dedication, a fact that would be all the more true in future, with two wee ones in her charge. To her credit, she was no cold, cruel governess like those in the stories: ‘Grannie Byrd’ was truly a member of the family.  Jamie managed to bend down and kiss her on the cheek and express some of the depth of his gratitude with words, even over Bree’s tears. He truly hoped they never had occasion to learn what they would do without Penelope Byrd. 

“Oh, you won’t have to, if I have anything to say about it,” she promised, patting Bree’s shaking back, then casting about a bit sheepishly. “I hate to run off and leave you without knowing what’s troubling her, but…” 

“…But you’ve a wee grandson to meet,” he said with a smile, and for a moment, the look on her dear, weathered face made him wonder if he would have to manage two distraught ladies crying on his shoulder in a moment. 

Still, as Penelope—glowing—made her way down the hall to find Claire and Ian, there was only Bree; only his daughter, sobbing her entire heart out.

Alright, now,” he murmured in Gaelic, finding an empty chair on a quiet side-corridor and settling down into it. Surely, this was only the relief of an unaccustomed separation ended at last, he reasoned, and that would be soothed easily enough. “It’s alright, wee love….Cry all ye must…It’s alright, mo chridhe….

He closed his eyes and held her tightly, a lump in his throat making him feel as though he would join her in crying at any moment. She just felt so big in his arms, so solid and full of lively energy, and all at once. he wanted to hold her there forever and keep her from growing up—that she might stay his wee one, always. “I love you, Brianna Ellen,” he murmured, finding it was the only thing that could hold the weight of all he felt. 

What Brianna said in response had Jamie’s eyes flying open wide, and he bolted up so straight and so suddenly that Bree detached from his neck and would have toppled backward. “What was it ye said?” 

Her face was red and wet and swollen, her expression the exact twin to her voice: wretched and genuinely crushed as she repeated: “…Love Beeyin more—th’n—me?” 

NO,” he swore violently. He saw her jump and forced himself to lower his voice. “That is absolutely not so, Brianna.” 

“But—” She rubbed her eyes with both fists, hiccuping and still sobbing.  “But them—they—” 

Bree.” He managed to get her to meet his eye again, torn between simple astonishment and anxiety for the state of her heart. “What on earth would make ye think such a thing?”

“Didna’nt MEAN to think one,” she wailed. “People were say—sayin’—”

“Which people? Who, lass?” he pushed. 

“Meerin an’— Mister Tom an’ the people.” 

“Oh, aye?…. And what did they say to ye?”

“That—” Tears welled up again in force and her words were choked and gasping. “You’re so much happy—‘cause of havin’ a—a baby thatsa baby-boy for FINALLY, and—and—” She collapsed once more in a heap around his neck. “An’—I—was—sad.

“Oh, my sweet, wee cub…” 

Jamie pulled her as close as he could, and kissed her again and again, her warm head pressed against his cheek.  If Marian or Tom had truly made such a comment, he knew it would have been a completely lighthearted jest that had gotten unfortunately misconstrued. Still, by whatever means, that sense of ‘finally’ had obviously taken root in Bree’s heart, for the feeling behind that word had been deep and true. 

“The people didna mean anything by it at all, Bree,” he promised. “It’s just how folk talk sometimes, aye? Some nonsense about how daddies are supposed to like their boys best, and mummies, the girls.”

“Thit’s—It’s…” He felt her sniff, heard the tentative hope. “….it’s a nonsense?”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “‘Aye, of course it is. Lass, I love your baby brother wi’ all my heart, but there’s no’ a single thing in the world that could make me love YOU less.” She coughed and gulped for air, and Jamie decided that perhaps humor would be of some use. “In fact, your Mum and me quarrel ALL the time about which of us loves ye most.”

She stirred and glowered dubiously up at him from under wet lashes, lips still quivering. “…Who’s….the most one?”

“Both of us.” 

“But who?”

“Mum AND Da.” 

Bree had trouble not grinning, though she made a valiant effort to stay stoic. 

Jamie pressed his good fortune. “And, let’s face it, wee Ian shall—WELL….Can ye keep a secret?”

“Yeah!” she whispered, streaming eyes suddenly wide. “I’m keep it!”

Only between us, ken….?”  Jamie whispered confidentially. “Your wee brother is going to have to work verra, VERRA hard to impress, because his sister is already the best there is.”

Me’s, the siss-ter?” 

“Aye, that’s you.”

She giggled even as a latent tear slid the rest of the way down her cheek. Jamie thumbed it away and kissed the track, serious again. “Truly, Bree: no matter how much we love Ian, your Mum and I canna love you any less, not ever. It isna even possible, do ye hear me?” 

She got a deep breath at last and exhaled it, the life coming back to her eyes. “Aye-okay.” 

Aye-okay, indeed.” He kissed her, his heart full. “Shall we go meet your wee brother, then, cub? He’s been asking after ye…”

And her smile—captivating him entirely with the earnest joy and excitement in it—was all the reassurance he needed.