There was a scene when Claire was eating a sandwich and she threw away what appeared to be a plastic wrapper. Was this a mistake? No plastic back then.
Yes - it's a delightful scene in Voyager. Claire made herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in her kitchen in Boston. She flew across the Atlantic with it in her luggage, and then travelled through time with it in her pocket. On her way to find Jamie, she finally eats the sandwich - and quite deliberately, with delight, lets the plastic float away on the breeze. Thrilling in her ability to muddle with time, even in this small amount.
So it's very much not a mistake. It's deliberate, it's fun, and even she thinks that she'll end up confusing somebody.
I so loved how 05x11 "Journeycake" not only showed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich being made in the 20th century in the title card...it showed the Fraser/MacKenzie clan eating them. Bonus points for Jamie eating it with a fork. Love love LOVE.
Let's celebrate how open Jamie Fraser is to his wife's sexuality that when she brings out her special oil to make herself smell nice for him, he doesn't even question it - it's truly his pleasure to give her pleasure.
Let's celebrate how Claire knows she can be this open with Jamie, and how she knows he will understand her needs even when she doesn't vocalize them.
Let's celebrate how they love and respect each other, and each other's desires, even after so many years together. Because they both spent time in marriages to spouses who didn't provide that same level of openness and understanding. Who didn't recognize it for the selfless gift that it is.
Things I never expected to ever see - let alone in 05x11 “Journeycake” - but that I’m so, so glad I did!
This episode elevated the source material - nicely condensing storylines and bringing in some elements that were familiar, and some that were so fresh and new yet fit in perfectly with the story! Kudos to DG...
- Claire (in her Batman suit) eating the peanut butter and jelly sandwich somewhere in Edinburgh - and the cellophane flying away. We didn’t need this, but I’m so glad we got it
- Jamie eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich
- Jamie eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich BY CUTTING IT UP
- Jamie and Claire telling Ian about Claire (going further than The Fiery Cross, which leaves it with Ian saying he knew Claire was a fairy)
- IAN ASKING IMMEDIATELY WHETHER MURTAGH KNEW
- Ulysses finding sanctuary at the Ridge
- Ulysses being a free man!! WHO CHOSE JOCASTA OVER HIS FREEDOM!!
- LORD JOHN HELPING ULYSSES ESCAPE!!!!!
- Lord John bringing a new portrait of Willie to Jamie
- Jamie telling Brianna about her brother!!
- Ian taking Roger, Brianna, and Jem to the stone circle (rather than Jamie and Claire, as in A Breath of Snow and Ashes)
- THE DUTCH FAMILY
- Marsali being upset that Bree is leaving BECAUSE SHE’S LIKE HER SISTER. I’M NOT OK
- Fergus making Voltaire jokes. J’adore
- Claire looking at Bree’s drawings but Jamie’s there to make her feel better
- Jamie all adorably proud that (1) his house has a second floor (2) John is visiting (3) John gets to stay in the new guest room!!
Weren’t bree and roger still in 1700’s during Claire’s attack? I don’t get sending them back early, unless it was a fake out and they landed right back in the same time?
anonymous asked: What do you think Roger sees at the stones. I have a feeling it is Buck.???????
anonymous asked: Hiiiii I just finished watching the last episode and I need to VENT. I'm so fine with them condensing the storyline, I'm all here for it! BUT what are they doiiiiiiing making Bree and Roger go so early?? I need them to be there for Claire's kidnapping and it makes me so sad that they CHOSE to leave. I always loved it in the books that they didn't leave until they absolutely had to because of Mandy. Why do you think they changed it this way?
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Call me crazy, but I see 3 scenarios:
1. The stones didn’t work (and the shot we saw of Young Ian touching the stones, seemingly alone, takes place after we find out in the next episode that the stones didn’t work). Meaning, Roger and Bree and Jem will be back at the Ridge to save Claire (why do I say this? The preview for the next episode clearly shows Ian putting on war paint to go save Claire...and he’s clearly not back at the Ridge at the end of 05x11)
2. The stones did work, and the camera will pan to show some kind of huge modern building or city right beyond the stones - which would be surprising for anyone to suddenly see!
3. The stones did work, but the MacKenzies now start bouncing around different times (a la what happens in MOBY)
He took my hand and lifted it to his nose, sniffing delicately. “Onions,” he said, “and garlic. Something hot . . . peppercorns. Aye, and clove. Squirrel-blood and meat-juice.” His tongue flicked out like a snake’s, touching my knuckles. “Starch—potatoes—and something woody. Toadstools.”
“Not fair at all,” I said, trying to get my hand back. “You know perfectly well what we had for dinner. And they weren’t toadstools, they were woodears.”
“Mm?” He turned my hand over and sniffed at my palm, then my wrist and up my forearm. “Vinegar and dill; ye’ve been making cucumber pickles, aye? Good, I like those. Mm, oh, and soured milk here in the fine hairs on your arm—were ye splashed churning butter, or skimming cream?”
“You guess, since you’re so good at it.”
“Butter.”
“Damn.” I was still trying to pull away, but only because the stubble on his face tickled the sensitive skin of my upper arm. He smelled his way up my arm into the hollow of my shoulder, making me squeak as the strands of his hair drifted across my skin.
He lifted my arm a bit, touched the damp silky hair there, and ran his fingers under his nose. “Eau de femme,” he murmured, and I heard the laughter in his voice. “Ma petite fleur.”
“And I bathed, too,” I said ruefully.
“Aye, with the sunflower soap,” he said, a slight tone of surprise in his voice as he sniffed at the hollow of my collarbone. I gave a small, high-pitched yelp, and he reached up to lay a large, warm hand across my mouth. He smelt of gunpowder, hay, and manure, but I couldn’t say so, what with him muffling me.
He straightened a little, and leaned close, so the roughness of his whiskers brushed my cheek. His hand fell away, and I felt the softness of his lips against my temple, the butterfly touch of his tongue on my skin.
“And salt,” he said, very softly, his breath warm on my face. “There is salt on your face, and your lashes are wet. D’ye weep, Sassenach?”
“No,” I said, though I had a sudden, irrational urge to do just that. “No, I sweat. I was . . . hot.”
I wasn’t any longer; my skin was cool; cold where the night-draft from the window chilled my backside.
“Ah, but here . . . mm.” He was on his knees now, one arm about my waist to hold me still, his nose buried in the hollow between my breasts. “Oh,” he said, and his voice had changed again.
I didn’t normally wear perfume, but I had a special oil, sent from the Indies, made with orange flowers, jasmine, vanilla beans, and cinnamon. I had only a tiny vial, and wore a small dab infrequently—for occasions that I thought might perhaps be special.
“Ye wanted me,” he said ruefully. “And I fell asleep without even touching you. I’m sorry, Sassenach. Ye should have said.”
“You were tired.” His hand had left my mouth; I stroked his hair, smoothing the long dark strands behind his ear. He laughed, and I felt the warmth of his breath on my bare stomach.
“Ye could raise me from the dead for that, Sassenach, and I wouldna mind it.”
He stood up then, facing me, and even in the dim light I could see that no such desperate measures on my part would be required.
“It’s hot,” I said. “I’m sweating.”
“Ye think I’m not?”
His hands closed on my waist and he lifted me suddenly, setting me down on the broad windowsill. I gasped at contact with the cool wood, reflexively grasping the window frame on either side.
“What on earth are you doing?”
He didn’t bother answering; it was an entirely rhetorical question, in any case.
“Eau de femme,” he murmured, his soft hair brushing across my thighs as he knelt. The floorboards creaked under his weight. “Parfum d’amor, mm?”
The cool breeze lifted my hair, drew it tickling across my back like the lightest of lover’s touches. Jamie’s hands were firm on the curve of my hips; I was in no danger of falling, and yet I felt the dizzy drop behind me, the clear and endless night, with its star-strewn empty sky into which I might fall and go on falling, a tiny speck, blazing hotter and hotter with the friction of my passage, bursting finally into the incandescence of a shooting . . . star.
“Ssh,” Jamie murmured, far off. He was standing now, his hands on my waist, and the moaning noise might have been the wind, or me. His fingers brushed my lips. They might have been matches, striking flames against my skin. Heat danced over me, belly and breast, neck and face, burning in front, cool behind, like St. Lawrence on his gridiron.
I wrapped my legs around him, one heel settled in the cleft of his buttocks, the solid strength of his hips between my legs my only anchor.
“Let go,” he said in my ear. “I’ll hold you.” I did let go, and leaned back on the air, safe in his hands.
Did anyone else observe this parallel in 05x11 “Journeycake” - when the Browns attack the Ridge and take Claire, she’s teaching Marsali how to put someone’s shoulder back into joint.
Just like she did with Jamie, the moment she met him.
