When Fraser Met Beauchamp

OUTLANDER: Diana Gabaldon’s big story told on the small screen

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

Jamie bent and pulled a torch from the fire, stood with it in his hand, lighting the broad planes and sharp angles of his face.

“Let God witness here our willingness, and may God strengthen our arms—” He paused, to let the Germans catch up. “But let this fiery cross stand as testament to our honor, to invoke God’s protection for our families—until we come safe home again.”

He turned and touched the torch to the upright of the cross, holding it until the dry bark caught and a small flame grew and glimmered from the dark wood.

Everyone stood silent, watching. There was no sound but the shift and sigh of the crowd, echoing the sough of the wind in the wilderness around them. It was no more than a tiny tongue of fire, flickering in the breeze, on the verge of going out altogether. No petrol-soaked roar, no devouring conflagration. Roger felt Brianna sigh beside him, some of the tension leaving her.

The flame steadied and caught. The edges of the jigsaw-pieces of pine bark glowed crimson, then white, and vanished into ash as the flame began to spread upward. It was big and solid, and would burn slowly, this cross, halfway through the night, lighting the dooryard as the men gathered beneath it, talking, eating, drinking, beginning the process of becoming what Jamie Fraser meant them to be: friends, neighbors, companions in arms. Under his command. — The Fiery Cross

Season 5 Promotion • Stand For • Key art

Photos: Starz

The Fiery Cross, Diana Gabaldon, 2001

#Outlander #Season 5 promo #Stand For #Key Art #The Fiery Cross #Book quote #Chapter 24 #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Brianna MacKenzie #Roger MacKenzie #240 #021520

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

We came to a level spot, and walked side by side for a moment, not speaking. Then he said, in a quite different tone, “That was . . . something quite special, wasn’t it?”

I didn’t know whether he meant historically special, or special in personal terms. In either case, he was right, and I nodded.

“I didn’t catch all of the last bit, though,” I said. “And I don’t know what earbsachd means—do you?”

“Oh . . . aye. I know.” It was quite dark here between the fires; I could see no more of him than a darker smudge against the black of shrub and tree. There was an odd note in his voice, though. He cleared his throat.

“It’s an oath—of a sort. He—Jamie—he swore an oath to us, to his family and tenants. Support, protection, that kind of thing.”

“Oh, yes?” I said, mildly puzzled. “What do you mean, ‘of a sort’?”

“Ah, well.” He was silent for a moment, evidently marshaling his words. “It means a word of honor, rather than just an oath,” he said carefully. “Earbsachd”—he pronounced it YARB-sochk—“was once said to be the distinguishing characteristic of the MacCrimmons of Skye, and meant basically that their word once given must unfailingly be acted upon at no matter what cost. If a MacCrimmon said he would do something”—he paused and drew breath—“he would do it, though he should burn to death in the doing.” — The Fiery Cross (Claire Fraser in conversation with Roger MacKenzie)

Season 5 Promotion • Make An Oath • Key Art

Photos: Starz 

The Fiery Cross, Diana Gabaldon, 2001

#Outlander #Season 5 promo #Make An Oath #Key Art #The Fiery Cross #Book quote #Chapter 15 #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #239 #021520

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

Outlander • Opening Credits • Skye Boat Song • Season 5 • The Fiery Cross

The Fiery Cross, Diana Gabaldon, 2001

#Outlander #Season 5 #Opening Credits #Skye Boat Song #Video #The Fiery Cross #241 #021520

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

November 4, 2018

November 11, 2018

November 18, 2018

November 25, 2018

December 2, 2018

December 9, 2018

December 16, 2018

December 23, 2018

December 30, 2018

January 6, 2019

January 13, 2019

January 20, 2019

January 27, 2019

Outlander • Season 4 • Title Cards

Photos: outlander-online.com

Drums Of Autumn, Diana Gabaldon, 1996

#Outlander #Season 4 #Episode Title Cards #Drums Of Autumn #238 #021420

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

Why are we here

Where do we go

Just when we've learn the little we know

Life, love and dreams

End with the sigh

We're always saying goodbye

Rivers go on and on

The sun always shines

The people just run out of time

🎶 https://youtu.be/nGIJCAebai4

We’re Always Saying Goodbye from To Love Again, Diana Ross, 1981 (2003 edition)

Man Of Worth

—————

Gifs: @avasetocallmyown Screenshot: @themusicsweetly S4E13 Man Of Worth, January 27, 2019

Photo edit: @whenfrasermetbeauchamp from Starz key art

#Outlander #S4E13 Man Of Worth #We’re Always Saying Goodbye #Diana Ross #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Roger MacKenzie #Kaherton Countdown To Season 5 #237 #021320

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

As I wandered toward the herb shed to see if I had any maypop fruits for flavoring, my eye caught a movement at the far edge of the clearing. Thinking it was Jamie, I turned to go and inform him of his new duty, only to be stopped dead in my tracks when I saw who it was.

He looked worse than he had the last time I’d seen him, which was saying quite a bit. He was hatless, hair and beard a glossy black tangle, and his clothes hung on him in tatters. He was barefoot, one foot wrapped in a bundle of filthy rags, and he limped badly.

He saw me at once, and stopped while I came up to him.

“I’m glad it’s you,” he said. “I wondered who I’d meet first.” His voice sounded soft and rusty, and I wondered whether he had spoken to a living soul since we had left him in the mountains.

“Your foot, Roger—”

“It doesn’t matter.” He gripped my arm. “Are they all right? The baby? And Brianna?”

“They’re fine. Everybody’s in the house.” His head turned toward the cabin, and I added, “You have a son.”

He jerked sharply back toward me, green eyes wide with startlement.

“He’s mine? I have a son?”

“I suppose you do,” I said. “You’re here, aren’t you?” The look of startlement—and hope, I realized—faded slowly. He looked into my eyes and seemed to see how I felt, for he smiled—not easily, no more than a painful lifting of the corner of his mouth—but he smiled.

“I’m here,” he said, and turned toward the cabin and its open doorway. …

I should say something, do something, to break the awful stillness. But my mouth was dry, and there was nothing I could say in any case.

Roger’s reached his hand toward Jamie, palm up, and the gesture held no hint of supplication.

“I don’t imagine it pleases you any more than it does me,” he said, in his rusty voice, “but you are my nearest kinsman. Cut me. I’ve come to swear an oath in our shared blood.”

I couldn’t tell whether Jamie hesitated or not; time seemed to have stopped, the air in the room crystallized around us. Then I watched Jamie’s dirk cut the air, honed edge draw swift across the thin, tanned wrist, and blood well red and sudden in its path.

To my surprise, Roger didn’t look at Brianna, or reach for her hand. Instead, he swiped his thumb across his bleeding wrist, and stepped close to her, eyes on the baby. She pulled back instinctively, but Jamie’s hand came down on her shoulder.

She stilled at once under its weight, at once a promise of restraint and protection, but she held the child tight, cradled against her breast. Roger knelt in front of her, and reaching out, pushed the shawl aside and smeared a broad red cross upon the downy curve of the baby’s forehead.

“You are blood of my blood,” he said softly, “and bone of my bone. I claim thee as my son before all men, from this day forever.” He looked up at Jamie, challenging. After a long moment, Jamie gave the slightest nod of acknowledgment, and stepped back, letting his hand fall from Brianna’s shoulder.

Roger’s gaze shifted to Brianna.

“What do you call him?”

“Nothing—yet.” Her eyes rested on him, questioning. It was only too clear that the man who had come back was not the man who’d left her.

Roger’s eyes were fixed on hers as he stood. Blood was still dripping from his wrist. With a small shock, I realized that she was as changed to him as he to her.

“He’s my son,” Roger said quietly, nodding at the baby. “Are you my wife?”

Brianna had gone pale to the lips.

“I don’t know.”

“This man says that you are handfast.” Jamie took a step closer to her, watching Roger. “Is that true?”

“We—we were.”

“We still are.” ...

“Verra well, then,” he said, calling the meeting to order. “If you’re handfast, Brianna, then you’re married and this man is your husband.”

Brianna’s flush deepened, but she looked at Roger, not Jamie.

“You said handfasting was good for a year and a day.”

“And you said ye did not want anything temporary.”

She flinched at that, but then set her lips firmly.

“I didn’t. But I didn’t know what was going to happen.” She glanced at me and Jamie, then back at Roger. “They told you—that the baby isn’t yours?”

Roger raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, but he is mine. Mm?” He lifted his bandaged wrist in illustration. — Drums Of Autumn

__________

Still: Starz, Gifs: @thegirlwiththecoffintattoo​ (1 &2 ), @weeintrovertedfangirl​ (3), @thewanderingace​ (4 & 5), Art @veraadxer​

Drums Of Autumn, Chapter 66, Diana Gabaldon, 1996

#Outlander #S4E13 Man Of Worth #Drums Of Autumn #Chapter 66 #You have a son #I’ve come to swear an oath in our shared blood. #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Brianna MacKenzie #Roger MacKenzie #Jemmy MacKenzie #236 #021320

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

“A man was killed in the fighting.” I glanced at Roger. “They think you killed him; did you?”

He shook his head, shoulders slumping with tiredness.

“I don’t know. I—probably. What will they do about it?”

“Well, it took them a long time to decide, and it isn’t settled yet; they’ve sent word to the main Council, but the sachem hasn’t made a decision yet.” I took a deep breath.

“They won’t kill you, because the whisky was taken, and that was offered as the price of your life. But since they’ve decided not to kill us in revenge for their dead, what they usually do instead is to adopt an enemy into the tribe, in replacement of the dead man.”

That shook Roger out of his numbness.

“Adopt me? They want to keep me?”

“One of us. One of you. I don’t suppose I’d be a suitable replacement, since I’m not a man.” I tried to smile, but failed completely. All the muscles of my face had gone numb.

“Then it must be me,” Jamie said quietly.

Roger’s head jerked up, startled.

“You’ve said yourself; if the past canna be changed, then nothing will happen to me. Leave me, and as soon as it can be managed, I will escape and come home.”

He laid a hand on my arm before I could protest.

“You and Ian will take MacKenzie back to Brianna.” He looked at Roger, his face inscrutable. “After all,” he said quietly, “it’s the two of you she needs.”

Roger started in at once to argue, but I butted in.

“May the Lord deliver me from stubborn Scotsmen!” I said. … 

It was midday before we heard the sound of voices approaching. My heart leapt as I recognized one of them, and Jamie was on his feet before the door flap lifted.

“Ian? Is that you?”

“Aye, Uncle. It’s me.”

His voice sounded odd; breathless and uncertain. He stepped into the light from the smokehole and I gasped, feeling as though I had been punched in the stomach.

The hair had been plucked from the sides of his skull; what was left stood up in a thick crest from his scalp, a long tail hanging down his back. One ear had been freshly pierced and sported a silver earring.

His face had been tattooed. Double crescent lines of small dark spots, most still scabbed with dried blood, ran across each cheekbone, to meet at the bridge of his nose.

“I—canna stay long, Uncle,” Ian said. He looked pale, under the lines of tattooing, but stood erect. “I said they must let me come to say goodbye.”

Jamie had gone white to the lips.

“Jesus, Ian,” he whispered.

“The naming ceremony is tonight,” Ian said, trying not to look at us. “They say that after that I will be Indian, and I must not speak any tongue but the Kahnyen’kehaka; I canna speak again in English, or the Gaelic.” He smiled painfully. “And I ken ye didna have much Mohawk.”

“Ian, ye canna be doing this!”

“I’ve done it, Uncle Jamie,” Ian said softly. He looked at me then.

“Auntie. Will ye say to my mother that I willna forget her? My Da will know, I think.”

“Oh, Ian!” I hugged him hard, and his arms went gently around me.

“Ye can leave in the morning,” he said to Jamie. “They willna prevent ye.” …

“No, Ian,” he said. “God, no, lad. Let it be me!”

Ian smiled, though his eyes were full of tears. “Ye said to me once, that my life wasna meant to be wasted,” he said. “It won’t be.” He held out his arms. “I willna forget you, either, Uncle Jamie.”

They took Ian to the bank of the river, just before sunset. …

They called him Wolf’s Brother. His brother wolf sat panting at Jamie’s feet, viewing the proceedings with interest.

At the end of the ceremony a small hush fell on the crowd, and at that moment Jamie stepped out of the corner. All heads turned as he crossed to Ian, and I saw more than one warrior tense in disapproval.

He unpinned the brooch from his plaid, unbelted it, and laid the length of bloodstained crimson tartan across his nephew’s shoulder.

“Cuimhnich,” he said softly, and stepped back. Remember. — Drums Of Autumn

__________

Gifs: @thewanderingace​ (1 & 2), @themusicsweetly​(3), @sassenach4life​ (4, 5, 7, 8), @laird-brochtuarach​ (6) Stills: @fuckyeahfrasersridge​ (1), @laird-brochtuarach​ (2), Fan art: @veraadxer​

Drums Of Autumn, Chapters 61, Diana Gabaldon, 1996

#Outlander #S4E13 Man Of Worth #Drums Of Autumn #Chapter 61 #May the Lord deliver me from stubborn Scotsmen! #I willna forget you, either, Uncle Jamie #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Roger MacKenzie #Young #Ian #Ian Òg #Ian Fraser Murray #Rollo #235 #021220

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

Nothin' can keep me from keepin' my word.

No swarm of bees or unicorn herd!

Not gettin' lost and forgettin' the map.

And not the urge to takin' a nap!

Not even the chance to see my favorite magician...

Not even a stop beside a well perfect for wishing!

Oh, if I make a promise to a friend as grand as you,

To that special promise, you can bet that I'll be true!

🎶 https://youtu.be/BwX92kKIpRY

Keeping Promises No Matter What from Sofia the First soundtrack (Disney), Glass Slippers, 2013

Providence

—————

Gifs: @laird-brochtuarach Screenshot: @anoutlandishidea S4E12 Providence, January 20, 2019

Photo edit: @whenfrasermetbeauchamp from Starz key art

#Outlander #S4E12 Providence #Keeping Promises No Matter What #Glass Slippers #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Young Ian #Ian Òg #Ian Fraser Murray #Countdown To Season 5 #234 #021120

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

“They have captured Stephen Bonnet.” …

“He was taken here, in Cross Creek,” he said without preamble, sitting down beside her. “As to how, I could not say. The charge brought was smuggling. Once they discovered his identity, of course, there were others added.”

“Smuggling what?”

“Tea and brandy. At least this time.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to relieve the stiffness caused by hours in the saddle. “I heard of it in Edenton; evidently the man is notorious. His reputation extends from Charleston to Jamestown.”

He looked closely at her; she was pale, but not ghastly.

“He is condemned,” he said quietly. “He will hang next week, in Wilmington. I thought you would wish to know.” …

“When will they hang him?” She leaned forward a little, hand pressed against her side. Another swell rippled across her belly in apparent response to the pressure.

He sat back, eyeing her stomach uneasily.

“Friday week.”

“Is he in Wilmington now?”

Slightly reassured by her calm demeanor, he reached for his abandoned glass. He took a sip and shook his head, feeling the comfort of the warm liquor spread through his chest.

“No. He is still here; there was no need for trial, as he had been previously convicted.”

“So they’ll move him to Wilmington for the execution? When?”

“I have no idea.” The distant look was back; with deep misgiving, he recognized it this time—not motherly abstraction; calculation.

“I want to see him.”

Very deliberately, he swallowed the rest of the brandy.

“No,” he said definitely, setting down the glass. “Even if your state allowed of travel to Wilmington—which it assuredly does not,” he added, glancing sidelong at her dangerous-looking abdomen—“attendance at an execution could not but have the worst effects upon your child. Now, I am in complete sympathy with your feelings, my dear, but—”

“No you aren’t. You don’t know what my feelings are.” She spoke without heat, but with complete conviction. He stared at her for a moment, then got up and went to fetch the decanter.

She watched the amber liquid purl up in the glass and waited for him to pick it up before she went on.

“I don’t want to watch him die,” she said.

“Thank God for that,” he muttered, and took a mouthful of brandy.

“I want to talk to him.”

The mouthful went down the wrong way and he choked, spluttering brandy over the frills of his shirt.

“Maybe you should sit down,” she said, squinting at him. “You don’t look so good.”

“I can’t think why.” Nonetheless, he sat down, and groped for a kerchief to wipe his face.

“Now, I know what you’re going to say,” she said firmly, “so don’t bother. Can you arrange for me to see him, before they take him to Wilmington? — Drums Of Autumn

__________

Gifs: @teatimeatwinterpalace​ (1 & 2), @calumhwod​ (3 - 5)

Drums Of Autumn, Chapter 62, Diana Gabaldon, 1996

#Outlander #S4E12 Providence #Drums Of Autumn #Chapter 62 #His reputation extends from Charleston to Jamestown #You don’t know what my feelings are #Brianna MacKenzie #Lord John Grey #233 #021020

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

She heard a step on the brick path above her and stiffened, though she didn’t turn around. Perhaps it was a servant, or Jocasta come to persuade her inside.

But it was a stride too long and a footfall too strong for any but one man. She blinked hard, and gritted her teeth. She wouldn’t turn around, she wouldn’t.

“Brianna,” he said quietly behind her. She didn’t answer, didn’t move.

He made a small snorting noise—anger, impatience?

“I have a thing to say to ye.”

“Say it,” she said, and the words hurt her throat, as though she’d swallowed some jagged object.

It was beginning to rain again; fresh spatters slicked the marble in front of her, and she could feel the icy pat! of drops that struck through her hair.

“I will bring him home to you,” Jamie Fraser said, still quiet, “or I will not come back myself.”

She couldn’t bring herself to turn around. There was a small sound, a click on the pavement behind her, and then the sound of his footsteps, going away. Before her tear-blurred eyes, the drops on the marble roses gathered weight and began to fall.

When at last she turned around, the brick-lined walk was empty. At her feet was a folded paper, damp with rain, weighted with a stone. She picked it up, and held it crumpled in her hand, afraid to open it. …

She sighed, deeply enough to make the flame of the candle flicker. She stood up, moving ponderously, and groped in the seam of her gown. She had evidently had a pocket sewn into it, for she extracted a small piece of paper, folded and worn with much handling.

“Read that,” she said, handing it to him. She turned away, and went to the far end of the room, where her paints and easel stood in a corner by the hearth.

The black letters struck him with a small jolt of familiarity. He had seen Jamie Fraser’s hand only once before, but once was enough; it was a distinctive scrawl.

Daughter—

I cannot say if I shall see you again. My fervent hope is that it shall be so, and that all may be mended between us, but that event must rest in the Hand of God. I write now in the event that He may will otherwise. 

You asked me once whether it was right to kill in revenge of the great Wrong done you. I tell you that you must not. For the sake of your Soul, for the sake of your own Life, you must find the grace of forgiveness. Freedom is hard-won, but it is not the fruit of Murder.

Do not Fear that he will escape Vengeance. Such a man carries with him the seeds of his own Destruction. If he does not Die at my Hand, it will be by another. But it must not be your Hand that strikes him down.

Hear me, for the sake of the Love I bear you.

Below the text of the letter, he had written Your most affectionate and loving Father, James Fraser. This was scratched out, and below it was written simply, Da.

“I never said goodbye to him.” — Drums Of Autumn

__________

Gifs: from S4E10 The Deep Heart’s Core @outlander-online​ (1), @laird-brochtuarach​ (2) ), from S4E12 Providence @avasetocallmyown​ (3 - 5,) from S2E13 Dragonfly In Amber @nordic-sassenach​ (6)

Drums Of Autumn, Chapters 52 & 62, Diana Gabaldon, 1996

#Outlander #S4E12 Providence #Drums Of Autumn #Chapter 52 #Chapter 62 #I will bring him home to you, or I will not come back myself #Hear me, for the sake of the Love I bear you #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Brianna MacKenzie #232 #020920

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

With a little luck we can help it out

We can make this whole damn thing work out

With a little love we can lay it down

Can't you feel the town exploding?

There is no end to what we can do together

There is no end

The willow turns his back on inclement weather

And if he can do it, we can do it just me and you

🎶 https://youtu.be/KzH-2NgtaZk

With A Little Luck from London Town, Paul McCartney & Wings, 1978

If Not For Hope

—————

Gifs: @jamiedornaniseverything S4E11 If Not For Hope, January 13, 2019

Photo edit: @whenfrasermetbeauchamp from Starz key art

#Outlander #S4E11 If Not For Hope #With A Little Luck #Paul McCartney & Wings #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Countdown To Season 5 #231 #020820

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

With a fresh blue camlet gown that matched her eyes, and a heart beating in her chest like a trip-hammer, she set out to stalk her victim. She found him in the library, reading the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius by the French windows, the morning sun streaming over his shoulder making his smooth fair hair gleam like buttered toffee.

He looked up from his book when she came in—a hippopotamus could have made a more graceful entrance, she thought crossly, catching her skirt on the corner of a bric-a-brac table in her nervousness—then graciously laid it aside, springing to his feet to bow over her hand.

“No, I don’t want to sit down, thank you.” She shook her head at the seat he was offering her. “I wondered—that is, I thought I’d go for a walk. Would you like to come with me?”

There was frost on the lower panes of the French door, a stiff breeze whining past the house, and soft chairs, brandy, and blazing fire within. But Lord John was a gentleman.

“There is nothing I should like better,” he gallantly assured her, and abandoned Marcus Aurelius without a backward glance.

It was a bright day, but very cold. Muffled in thick cloaks, they turned into the kitchen garden, where the high walls gave them some shelter from the wind. They exchanged small, breathless comments on the brightness of the day, assured each other that they were not cold at all, and came through a small archway into the brick-walled herbary. Brianna glanced around them; they were quite alone, and she would be able to see anyone coming along the walk. Best not waste time, then.

“I have a proposal to make to you,” she said.

“I am sure any notion of yours must necessarily be delightful, my dear,” he said, smiling slightly.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” she said, and took a deep breath. “But here goes. I want you to marry me.”

He kept smiling, evidently waiting for the punch line.

“I mean it,” she said.

The smile didn’t altogether go away, but it altered. She wasn’t sure whether he was dismayed at her gaucherie or just trying not to laugh, but she suspected the latter.

“I don’t want any of your money,” she assured him. “I’ll sign a paper saying so. And you don’t need to live with me, either, though it’s probably a good idea for me to go to Virginia with you, at least for a little while. As for what I could do for you …” She hesitated, knowing that hers was the weaker side of the bargain. “I’m strong, but that doesn’t mean much to you, since you have servants. I’m a good manager, though—I can keep accounts, and I think I know how to run a farm. I do know how to build things. I could manage your property in Virginia while you were in England. And … you have a young son, don’t you? I’ll look after him; I’d be a good mother to him.”

Lord John had stopped dead in the path during this speech. Now he leaned slowly back against the brick wall, casting his eyes up in a silent prayer for understanding.

“Dear God in heaven,” he said. “That I should live to hear an offer like that!” Then he lowered his head and gave her a direct and piercing look.

“Are you out of your mind?” — Drums Of Autumn

__________

Screenshot: @rochibolettieri​ Photo: Starz Gifs: @spellman​

Drums Of Autumn, Chapter 59, Diana Gabaldon, 1996

#Outlander #S4E11 If Not For Hope #Drums Of Autumn #Chapter 59 #I want you to marry me #That I should live to hear an offer like that! #Brianna MacKenzie #Lord John Grey #230 #020720

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

I scrambled to my feet, meaning to follow him, but Ian stopped me with a hand on my arm.

“Auntie,” he said hesitantly. “Will ye not forgive him?”

“Forgive him?” I stared at him. “For what? For Roger?”

He grimaced.

“No. It was a grievous mistake, but we would do the same again, thinking matters as we did. No—for Bonnet.”

“For Stephen Bonnet? How can he possibly think I blame him for that? I’ve never said such a thing to him!” And I had been too busy thinking that he blamed me, to even consider it.

Ian scratched a hand through his hair.

“Well … do ye not see, Auntie? He blames himself for it. He has, ever since the man robbed us on the river; and now wi’ what he’s done to my cousin …” He shrugged, looking mildly embarrassed. “He’s fair eaten up with it, and knowing that you’re angry wi’ him—”

“But I’m not angry with him! I thought he was angry with me, because I didn’t tell him Bonnet’s name right away.”

“Och.” Ian looked as though he didn’t know whether to laugh or look distressed. “Well, I daresay it would ha’ saved us a bit of trouble if ye had, but no, I’m sure it’s not that, Auntie. After all, by the time Cousin Brianna told ye, we’d already met yon MacKenzie on the mountainside and done him a bit of no good.”

I took in a deep breath and blew it out again.

“But you think he thinks I’m angry at him?”

“Oh, anyone could see ye are, Auntie,” he assured me earnestly. “Ye dinna look at him or speak to him save for what ye must—and,” he said, clearing his throat delicately, “I havena seen ye go to his bed, anytime this month past.”

“Well, he hasn’t come to mine, either!” I said hotly, before reflecting that this was scarcely a suitable conversation to be having with a seventeen-year-old boy.

Ian hunched his shoulders and gave me an owlish look.

“Well, he’s his pride, hasn’t he?”

“God knows he has,” I said, rubbing a hand over my face. “I—look, Ian, thank you for saying something to me.”

He gave me one of the rare sweet smiles that transformed his long, homely face.

“Well, I do hate to see him suffer. I’m fond of Uncle Jamie, aye?”

“So am I,” I said, and swallowed the small lump in my throat. “Good night, Ian.” — Drums Of Autumn

__________

Screenshots: @anoutlandishidea​ Gifs: @laird-brochtuarach​ (1 & 5) @whiteraven-s​ (2 - 4)

Drums Of Autumn, Chapter 53, Diana Gabaldon, 1996

#Outlander #S4E11 If Not For Hope #Drums Of Autumn #Chapter 53 #Auntie, will ye not forgive him? #Well, he’s his pride, hasn’t he? #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Young Ian #Ian Òg #Ian Fraser Murray #229 #020620

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

And suddenly I feel this destructive anger

Deep inside

And suddenly I feel this destructive anger

Is about to rise

Please come and calm this anger

You're the one to calm this anger

And if you can't calm this anger

It'll surely devour me this anger

🎶 https://youtu.be/8sLCW7LMOVQ

Anger from Dark Clouds in a Perfect Sky, Elis, 2004

The Heart’s Deep Core

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Gifs: @avasetocallmyown S4E10 The Deep Heart’s Core, January 6, 2019

Photo edit: @whenfrasermetbeauchamp from Starz key art

#Outlander #S4E10 The Deep Heart’s Core #Anger #Elis #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Countdown To Season 5 #228 #020520

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

Emerging from the pantry with a wedge of cheese in one hand and a bowl of dry beans in the other, I heard a tap on the door. Before I could call out, it opened and Ian’s head poked in, cautiously surveying the room.

“Brianna’s no here?” he asked. As she clearly wasn’t, he didn’t wait for an answer but stepped in, trying to smooth back his hair.

“Have ye a bit o’ looking glass, Auntie?” he asked. “And maybe a comb?”

“Yes, of course,” I said. I set down the food, got my small mirror and the tortoiseshell comb from the drawer of the sideboy and handed them to him, peering upward at his gangling form.

His face seemed abnormally shiny, his lean cheeks blotched with red, as though he had not only shaved but had scrubbed the skin to the point of rawness. His hair, normally a thick, stubborn sheaf of soft brown, was now slicked straight back on the sides of his head with some kind of grease. Liberally pomaded with the same substance, it erupted in an untidy quiff over his forehead, making him look like a deranged porcupine.

“What have you got on your hair, Ian?” I asked. I sniffed at him and recoiled slightly at the result.

“Bear fat,” he said. “But it stank a bit, so I mixed in a wee scoop of incense soap to make it smell better.” He peered critically at himself in the mirror and made small jabs at his coiffure with the comb, which seemed pitifully inadequate to the task.

He was wearing his good coat, with a clean shirt and—unheard of touch for a workday—a clean, starched stock wrapped about his throat, looking tight enough to strangle him.

“You look very nice, Ian,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek. “Um … are you going somewhere special?”

“Aye, well,” he said awkwardly. “It’s just if I’m meant to be courting, like, I thought I must try to look decent.”

Courting? I wondered at his haste. While he was certainly interested in girls—and there were a few girls in the district who made no secret of returning his interest—he was barely seventeen. Men did marry that young, of course, and Ian had both his own land and a share in the whisky making, but I hadn’t thought his affections so strongly engaged yet.

“I see,” I said. “Ah … is the young lady anyone I know?” He rubbed at his jaw, raising a red flush along the bone.

“Aye, well. It’s—it’s Brianna.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes, but the flush rose slowly over his face.

“What?” I said incredulously. I set down the slice of bread I was holding and stared at him. “Did you say Brianna?”

His eyes were fixed on the floor, but his jaw was set stubbornly.

“Brianna,” he repeated. “I’ve come to make her a proposal of marriage.”

“Ian, you can’t possibly mean that.”

“I do,” he said, sticking out his long, square chin in a determined manner. He glanced toward the window, and shuffled his feet. “Will she—is she comin’ in soon, d’ye think?”

The sharp scent of nervous perspiration reached me, mingled with soap and bear fat, and I saw that his hands were clenched in fists, tight enough to make the knobby knuckles stand out white against his tanned skin.

“Ian,” I said, torn between exasperation and tenderness, “are you doing this because of Brianna’s baby?”

The whites of his eyes flashed as he glanced at me, startled. He nodded, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably inside the stiff coat.

“Aye, of course,” he said, as though surprised that I should ask.

“Then you’re not in love with her?” I knew the answer quite well, but thought we had better have it all out.

“Well … no,” he said, the painful blush renewing itself. “But I’m no promised to anyone else,” he hastened to add. “So that’s all right.”

“It is not all right,” I said firmly. “Ian, that’s a very, very kind notion of yours, but—”

“Oh, it’s not mine,” he interrupted, looking surprised. “Uncle Jamie thought of it.” — Drums Of Autumn

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Gifs: @shialablunt​

Drums Of Autumn, Chapter 50, Diana Gabaldon, 1996

#Outlander #S4E10 The Deep Heart’s Core #Drums Of Autumn #Chapter 50 #I’ve come to make her a proposal of marriage #Uncle Jamie thought of it #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Brianna MacKenzie #Young Ian #Ian Òg #Ian Fraser Murray #227 #020420

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

Different book, different time time traveller, similar sentiments... it’s all good. 😉

“Pizza,” he said.

She blinked, then laughed. It was one of their games; taking turns to think of things they missed from the other time, the time before—or after, depending how you looked at it.

“Coke,” she said promptly. “I think I could maybe do pizza—but what good is pizza without Coca-Cola?”

“Pizza with beer is perfectly fine,” he assured her. “And we can have beer—not that Lizzie’s homemade hell-brew is quite on a par with MacEwan’s Lager, yet. But you really think you could make pizza?”

“Don’t see why not.” She nibbled at the cheese, frowning. “This wouldn’t do”—she brandished the yellowish remnant, then popped it in her mouth—“too strong-flavored. But I think . . .” She paused to chew and swallow, then washed it down with a long drink of rough cider.

“Come to think of it, this would go pretty well with pizza.” She lowered the leather bottle and licked the last sweet, semi-alcoholic drops from her lips. “But the cheese—I think maybe sheep’s cheese would do. Da brought some from Salem last time he went there. I’ll ask him to get some more and see how it melts.”

She squinted against the bright, pale sun, calculating.

“Mama’s got plenty of dried tomatoes, and tons of garlic. I know she has basil—don’t know about the oregano, but I could do without that. And crust—” She waved a dismissive hand. “Flour, water, and lard, nothing to it.”

He laughed, handing her a biscuit filled with ham and Mrs. Bug’s piccalilli.

“How Pizza Came to the Colonies,” he said, and lifted the cider bottle in brief salute. “Folk always wonder where humanity’s great inventions come from; now we know!”

He spoke lightly, but there was an odd tone in his voice, and his glance held hers.

“Maybe we do know,” she said softly, after a moment. “You ever think about it—why? Why we’re here?”

“Of course.” The green of his eyes was darker now, but still clear. “So do you, aye?”

She nodded, and took a bite of biscuit and ham, the piccalilli sweet with onion and pungent in her mouth. Of course they thought of it. She and Roger and her mother. For surely it had meaning, that passage through the stones. It must. And yet . . . her parents seldom spoke of war and battle, but from the little they said—and the much greater quantity she had read—she knew just how random and how pointless such things could sometimes be. Sometimes a shadow rises, and death lies nameless in the dark.

Roger crumbled the last of his bread between his fingers, and tossed the crumbs a few feet away. A chickadee flew down, pecked once, and was joined within seconds by a flock that swooped down out of the trees, vacuuming up the crumbs with chattering efficiency. He stretched, sighing, and lay back on the quilt.

“Well,” he said, “if you ever figure it out, ye’ll be sure to tell me, won’t you?”  — The Fiery Cross

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Gifs: @thegirlwiththecoffintattoo​

The Fiery Cross, Chapter 20, Diana Gabaldon, 2001

#Outlander #S4E10 The Deep Heart’s Core #The Fiery Cross #Chapter 20 #but what good is pizza without Coca-Cola? #You ever think about it—why? Why we’re here? #Claire Fraser #Brianna MacKenzie #Roger MacKenzie #226 #020320

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

“She’s a gift. From me to you. And you to me.”

She's got a smile that it seems to me

Reminds me of childhood memories

Where everything

Was as fresh as the bright blue sky

Now and then when I see her face

It takes me away to that special place

And if I stared too long

I'd probably break down and cry

Sweet child o' mine

Sweet love of mine

🎶 https://youtu.be/1w7OgIMMRc4

Sweet Child O’ Mine from Appetite For Destruction, Guns N’ Roses, 1987

The Birds And The Bees

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Gifs: @jamiedornaniseverything (1-4) @laird-brochtuarach (5) S4E9 The Birds And The Bees, December 30, 2018

Photo edit: @whenfrasermetbeauchamp from Starz key art

#Outlander #S4E9 The Birds And The Bees #Sweet Child O’ Mine #Guns N’ Roses #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Brianna MacKenzie #Countdown To Season 5 #225 #020220