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The Gloaming - Chapter 12 preview 🏰
Ch 12: All or nothing
Too scared to breathe, Jamie awaited Claire’s verdict.  As she observed him on bended knee, her head titled slightly to the side, brow furrowing and then releasing. 
“Marriage? Do you really mean it?”
“I know I’ve nothing to offer, but if you’d let me I’d care for you and Fergus, and treat him as my own. I’d support you to be the person you were always meant to be and make sure you knew every day how cherished you were. I love you in so many ways Claire. Will you be my wife?”
Heart beats passed like hours as his words hung in the air. Unexpected — even to him — as the proposal had been, he’d meant every word. His love for Claire was all consuming and he knew down to his bones that she was the one for him. Perhaps it was just a kiss to her, but for Jamie anything less than marriage was never going to be enough. It was all or nothing from here and whatever her response, it would change his life forever. 
Full chapter coming soon! (short preview this week to avoid spoilers!)
Catch up on chapters 1-11 here
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boleynecklace · 1 month
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SAM HEUGHAN and CAITRIONA BALFE as JAMIE FRASER and CLAIRE FRASER in OUTLANDER S2E013 DRAGONFLY IN AMBER
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sharpesjoy · 11 months
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The kind of love that you only find once in a lifetime.
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outlandernetwork · 5 days
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would you not sacrifice everything for love?
JAMIE and CLAIRE FRASER in OUTLANDER SEASON 7B
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fandomcentral101 · 3 months
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Claire Beauchamp Fraser and Jamie Fraser
Outlander 1x07
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sassenach77yle · 2 months
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“You won’t leave me?” I asked at last. “You won’t die?” He shook his head, and squeezed my hand tight.
“You are my courage, as I am your conscience,” he whispered. “You are my heart—and I your compassion. We are neither of us whole, alone. Do ye not know that, Sassenach?”
“I do know that,” I said, and my voice shook. “That’s why I’m so afraid. I don’t want to be half a person again, I can’t bear it.” He thumbed a lock of hair off my wet cheek, and pulled me into his arms, so close that I could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He was so solid, so alive, ruddy hair curling gold against bare skin. And yet I had held him so before—and lost him.His hand touched my cheek, warm despite the dampness of my skin. “But do ye not see how verra small a thing is the notion of death, between us two, Claire?” he whispered. My hands curled into fists against his chest. No, I didn’t think it a small thing at all. “All the time after ye left me, after Culloden—I was dead then, was I not?” “I thought you were. That’s why I—oh.” I took a deep, tremulous breath, and he nodded. “Two hundred years from now, I shall most certainly be dead, Sassenach,” he said. He smiled crookedly. “Be it Indians, wild beasts, a plague, the hangman’s rope, or only the blessing of auld age—I will be dead.” “Yes.” “And while ye were there—in your own time—I was dead, no?” I nodded, wordless. Even now, I could look back and see the abyss of despair into which that parting had dropped me, and from which I had climbed, one painful inch at a time.Now I stood with him again upon the summit of life, and could not contemplate descent. He reached down and plucked a stalk of grass, spreading the soft green beards between his fingers. “ ‘Man is like the grass of the field,’ ” he quoted softly, brushing the slender stem over my knuckles, where they rested against his chest. “ ‘Today it blooms; tomorrow it withers and is cast into the oven.’ ” He lifted the silky green tuft to his lips and kissed it, then touched it gently to my mouth.
“I was dead, my Sassenach—and yet all that time, I loved you.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the tickle of the grass on my lips, light as the touch of sun and air. “I loved you, too,” I whispered. “I always will.” The grass fell away. Eyes still closed, I felt him lean toward me, and his mouth on mine, warm as sun, light as air.
“So long as my body lives, and yours—we are one flesh,” he whispered. His fingers touched me, hair and chin and neck and breast, and I breathed his breath and felt him solid under my hand. Then I lay with my head on his shoulder, the strength of him supporting me, the words deep and soft in his chest. “And when my body shall cease, my soul will still be yours. Claire—I swear by my hope of heaven, I will not be parted from you.”
The wind stirred the leaves of the chestnut trees nearby, and the scents of late summer rose up rich around us; pine and grass and strawberries, sun-warmed stone and cool water, and the sharp, musky smell of his body next to mine.
“Nothing is lost, Sassenach; only changed.”
“That’s the first law of thermodynamics,” I said, wiping my nose.
“No,” he said. “That’s faith.”
Cap 16 THE FIRST LAW OF THERMODYNAMICS~ DRUMS OF AUTUMN
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henricavyll · 1 year
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We've lost our family.
OUTLANDER | 7.02
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lilmomentgifs · 7 months
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"When you kissed me like that, well, maybe you weren't so sorry to be marrying me after all."
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clairefrser · 8 months
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random OUTLANDER moments 1/♾️
1x05: Rent
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olenvasynyt · 3 months
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SJM being obsessed with Outlander and using Jamie as her inspiration for Lucien gives me hope for Elucien.
Watching Outlander for the first time and oh my god. Yes, Jamie was SJMs inspiration for Lucien but not only are their similarities between those two characters, Claire and Elain have similarities. I can see so much of future Elucien in Claire and Jamie's relationship.
Vague spoilers for Outlander btw:
Lucien having Jamie's snarky, coy humor. Being a rake and also a gentleman. I don't need to mention the red hair because that similarity os obvious but I'll mention it anyways because we love gingers in this house.
Jamie S1 and Lucien both being unable to go back to their homes.
Jamie and Lucien being good and gentle people despite the trauma they've experienced.
Jamie being courteous and asking Claire permission to touch her, kiss her, etc. Him holding back and restraining himself during sex.
Jamie challenging Claire, being amused by Claire, etc
Jamie makes mistakes but realizes he was in the wrong and apologizes
Both Jamie and Lucien were SAed
Jamie stood up for a female he didn't have any romantic interest in. He stood up for Loghaire and took her punishment and Lucien did the same / something similar UTM for Feyre.
Jamie and Lucien are well educated warriors. Jamie can fight but he also loves chess, Lucien can fight but also loves reading.
Jamie S2 has to kill someone close to him (his uncle) and Lucien had to kill his brother when running to Spring.
Jamie and Claire S1 having a marriage with convienence and being reluctant at first but then falling in love with each other.
Claire S1 stumbling into a new time and being fixated on going back to the 1940s to her husband, even after her and Jamie have their arranged marriage. Which is so much like Elain being Made and having Lucien as a mate but still wanting to be human and be with Grayson.
Jamie being so fucking good at sex.
JAMIE GIVING CLAIRE PEARLS AND LUCIEN GIVING ELAIN PEARLS
Claire being knowledgeable of plants and their healing properties as well as their poisonous capabilities.
Claire killing a person and being traumatized by that violence. And Jamie realizing her truama and comforting her.
Claire making references to her time and Jamie doesn't understand but is amused anyways could be like Elain talking about human culture and Lucien not fully understanding.
Jamie S2 willing to let Claire go despite his love for her.
I can probably add more but this is my first watch and I'm only on season 3 lmao. But when we get Elucien's book I will be ripping it apart to find any references or nods to Outlander because I just know there are going to be so many!
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bryonyashley · 8 months
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Caitriona Balfe and Sam Heughan, 09 June 2023. Photo by Stephen Lovekin.
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boleynecklace · 7 months
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Sam Heughan and Caitriona Balfe as Jamie Fraser and Claire Beauchamp in Outlander (S1 E12 LALLYBROCH)
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sharpesjoy · 5 days
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OUTLANDER | Season 7 Trailer
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We will remember this moment for the rest of our lives.
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alicent-targaryen · 8 months
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CLAIRE & JAMIE ▸ Outlander, 2.6
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sassenach77yle · 2 months
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May 1, 1771 May Union Camp
I glanced sideways, careful not to move in case he was still asleep. He wasn’t. He was lying quite still, though, utterly relaxed, save for his right hand. He had this raised, and appeared to be examining it closely, turning it to and fro and slowly curling and uncurling his fingers—as well as he could. The fourth finger had a fused joint, and was permanently stiff; the middle finger was slightly twisted, a deep white scar spiraling round the middle joint. His hand was callused and battered by work, and the tiny stigma of a nail-wound still showed, pale-pink, in the middle of his palm. The skin of his hand was deeply bronzed and weathered, freckled with sun-blots and scattered with bleached gold hairs. I thought it remarkably beautiful.
“Happy Birthday,” I said, softly. “Taking stock?”
He let the hand fall on his chest, and turned his head to look at me, smiling.Aye, something of the sort. Though I suppose I’ve a few hours left. I was born at half-six; I willna have lived a full half-century until suppertime.” I laughed and rolled onto my side, kicking the blanket off. The air was still delightfully cool, but it wouldn’t last long. “Do you expect to disintegrate much further before supper?” I asked, teasing. “Oh, I dinna suppose anything is likely to fall off by then,” he said, consideringly. “As to the workings . . . aye, well . . .” He arched his back, stretching, and sank back with a gratified groan as my hand settled on him. “It all seems to be in perfect working order,” I assured him. I gave a brief, experimental tug, making him yelp slightly. “Not loose at all.” “Good,” he said, folding his hand firmly over mine to prevent further unauthorized experiments. “How did ye ken what I was doing? Taking stock, as ye say?” I let him keep hold of the hand, but shifted to set my chin in the center of his chest, where a small depression seemed made for the purpose. “I always do that, when I have a birthday—though I generally do it the night before. More looking back, I think, reflecting a bit on the year that’s just gone. But I do check things over; I think perhaps everyone does. Just to see if you’re the same person as the day before.” “I’m reasonably certain that I am,” he assured me. “Ye dinna see any marked changes, do ye?” I lifted my chin from its resting place and looked him over carefully. It was in fact rather hard to look at him objectively; I was both so used to his features and so fond of them that I tended to notice tiny, dear things about him—the freckle on his earlobe, the lower incisor pushing eagerly forward, just slightly out of line with its fellows—and to respond to the slightest change of his expression—but not really to look at him as an integrated whole. He bore my examination tranquilly, eyelids half-lowered against the growing light. His hair had come loose while he slept and feathered over his shoulders, its ruddy waves framing a face strongly marked by both humor and passion—but which possessed a paradoxical and most remarkable capacity for stillness.
“No,” I said at last, and set my chin down again with a contented sigh. “It’s still you.”
[...]
Jamie’s free hand rested on my back, his thumb idly stroking the edge of my shoulder blade. With his usual capacity for mental discipline, he appeared to have dismissed the uncertainty of the military prospects completely from his mind, and was thinking of something else entirely. “Do ye ever think—” he began, and then broke off. “Think what?” I bent and kissed his chest, arching my back to encourage him to rub it, which he did. “Well . . . I’m no so sure I can explain, but it’s struck me that now I have lived longer than my father did—which is not something I expected to happen,” he added, with faint wryness. “It’s only . . . well, it seems odd, is all. I only wondered, did ye ever think of that, yourself—having lost your mother young, I mean?” “Yes.” My face was buried in his chest, my voice muffled in the folds of his shirt. “I used to—when I was younger. Like going on a journey without a map.” His hand on my back paused for a moment. “Aye, that’s it.” He sounded a little surprised. “I kent more or less what it would be like to be a man of thirty, or of forty—but now what?” His chest moved briefly, with a small noise that might have been a mixture of amusement and puzzlement.
“You invent yourself,” I said softly, to the shadows inside the hair that had fallen over my face. “You look at other women—or men; you try on their lives for size. You take what you can use, and you look inside yourself for what you can’t find elsewhere. And always . . . always . . . you wonder if you’re doing it right.”
His hand was warm and heavy on my back. He felt the tears that ran unexpectedly from the corners of my eyes to dampen his shirt, and his other hand came up to touch my head and smooth my hair. “Aye, that’s it,” he said again, very softly. The camp was beginning to stir outside, with clangings and thumps, and the hoarse sound of sleep-rough voices. Overhead, the grasshopper began to chirp, the sound like someone scratching a nail on a copper pot.
“This is a morning my father never saw,” Jamie said, still so softly that I heard it as much through the walls of his chest, as with my ears.
“The world and each day in it is a gift, mo chridhe—no matter what tomorrow may be.”
I sighed deeply and turned my head, to rest my cheek against his chest. He reached over gently and wiped my nose with a fold of his shirt. “And as for taking stock,” he added practically, “I’ve all my teeth, none of my parts are missing, and my cock still stands up by itself in the morning. It could be worse.”
Cap 58 HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU ~the fiery cross
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