douchebags!“ he said, gesturing to Brad. "And to girls that break
your heart,” he bowed his head to me. His eyes lost focus. “And to
the absolute fucking horror of losing your best friend because you were stupid
enough to fall in love with her.” ― Jamie
If you could only pick one…Who would it be? 1. Isak and Even (Skam) 2. Clarke and Lexa (The 100) 3. Betty and Jughead (Riverdale) 4. Claire and Jamie (Outlander) 5. Damon and Bonnie (The Vampire Diaries) 6. Alec and Magnus (Shadowhunters) 7. Clarke and Bellamy (The 100) 8. Archie and Jughead (Riverdale) 9. Maddie and Rhydian (Wolfblood) 10. Veronica and Betty (Riverdale) 11. Connor and Oliver (How To Get Away With Murder) 12. Violet and Tate (American Horror Story) 13. Caroline and Klaus (The Vampire Diaries) 14. Elijah and Hayley (The Originals) 15. Steve and Bucky (Captain America) 16. Sheldon and Amy (The Big Bang Theory) 17. Stiles and Lydia (Teen Wolf) 18. Abby and Kane (The 100) 19. Jeremy and Bonnie (The Vampire Diaries) 20. Philip and Lukas (Eyewitness)
One older image (originally posted on AO3) I’m trying different painting techniques on the same people.:)) I love the personality of Claire and Jamie, how you created them. Very lively persons, great authentic conversations …
13 DAYS OF OUTLANDER ~ 2x02 Not in Scotland Anymore | Favorite Moments
“Scotland is a beautiful country. It’s glens. It’s lochs. It’s mountains. We’re a people of the land. A simple people with no great love for outsiders. We will fight - have fought - each other more than not. But you ask us to shed our blood for what? To put a more sympathetic arse on the English throne? Is that cause enough for a cotter to exchange his scythe for a sword? To leave his home, his crops, and charge into a cannon’s blast?“
Previous installment:Stones (Jamie struggles with what separation from Jenny and his loved ones really entails.)
Anon requested: Claire takes Jamie to the North End in Boston for Italian food.
October 20, 1950
It was not the first time I had noticed that Jamie’s raised eyebrow was quite dashing, no matter how scornfully-raised. “And you’re certain this is what ye want for your birthday, lass?”
“Positive! Dig in, darling!”
The restaurant was dimly lit, but even in the candlelight, I could see that he was staring at the plate of spaghetti bolognese as though it were a sleeping wolverine.
He poked the fragrant mass with his fork. “It just looks so—unwieldy.”
“I have full faith in your ability to wield your dinner,” I laughed, sipping my wine before picking up my fork again.
Jamie watched me carefully, studying, then slowly imitated my motions of twirling the pasta around the fork using the bowl of the spoon as an anchor. I tried my best to stifle giggles into my wine glass as the load slipped off his tines halfway to his mouth not once, but twice. He fixed me with a gimlet eye. “If ye wished your present to be me making a fool of myself, I could think of half a dozen other more enjoyable—”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I snickered, “I’m not laughing, I promise.” I tightened my lips and looked angelically over at him. “Come on, once more?”
He sighed, twirled once more, and managed to get the bite into his mouth.
“So…? What do you think?” I asked eagerly.
“But it’s good!” he said through his mouthful, sounding highly surprised. “A bit slippery, but the sauce is quite nice.” He took a swallow of wine and sat, considering. “Aye, that’s lovely. How d’ye say it? Spag—?”
“Spagh-EH-tti,” I said, in my best exaggerated Italian accent, digging in to my own plate. “I’m so glad you like it! I haven’t had much Italian food before, either, but this is one of Tom and Marian’s favorite joints. You’ll have to have lasagne next time! Definitely less effort required!”
He managed another bite, losing only one noodle on the journey. “Do they have any wee bibs like the ones we have for Brianna? Tasty as it is, I dinna ken how I should be able to finish the serving wi’out splattering myself filthy.”
In the end, he settled for a napkin tucked into his collar, and good thing, too, for otherwise his white shirt would have taken two direct hits before the meal was out.
It was a lovely evening, with good food, good wine, and a gorgeous trio of singers serenading the diners from the far corner.
As the raucous Funiculì Funiculà was replaced by the sweet, sad strains of Musetta’s Waltz over our coffee and tiramisu (which Jamie did not enjoy— “It’s just wet cake!”), Jamie took my hand and squeezed it, his eyes crinkling with happiness. “Happy Birthday, Sassenach.”
“Thirty-two,” I said, a bit ruefully. “I think that means I’m firmly out of the spring chicken years, don’t you?”
“Hey, now, I’ll have no such talk,” he chided gently. “Every year we have together will be the best year—no matter how old we grow.”
I felt my face grow flush with feeling and in seeing the fervor in his expression. “That’s a good way to think of it. Think we’ll still be this happy when I’m seventy-two?”
“Oh, aye, I’ll stake my life on it. I canna wait to see ye wi’ grey hairs. You’ll be the Sexiest grannie ever seen.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I laughed. “But thank you.”
He stood halfway to lean across the table and kiss my hand. “I’m verra, verra glad ye were born, mo chridhe,” he murmured.
My throat felt thick. “I’m glad you were born, too.”
“Aye, but it’s no’ yet my day for it,” he grinned. As he sat back in his seat, he suddenly looked sharply up at me. “I didna think on it before, but this day is significant for another reason, forbye.”
“Oh? What reason is that?”
“'Tis five years to the day since ye first told me the truth….” he said, eyes wide and wondering. “….about where ye truly came from, aye?”
I gasped, remembering.
“Do you know when I was born?” I had hissed, voice tremulous, my hair wild and my eyes staring. “On the twentieth of October, in the Year of Our Lord nineteen hundred and eighteen.”
“Do you hear me?” I demanded, for he was blinking at me unmoving, as though paying no attention to a word I said. “I said nineteen eighteen! Nearly two hundred years from now! Do you hear?”
I had been shouting, but he’d nodded slowly.
And then a long time later, many frantic words and tears later, he’d looked down at me and smiled faintly.
“Happy Birthday, Sassenach.”
It took me completely by surprise and I’d just stared stupidly at him for a moment. “What?” I’d managed at last.
“I said, ‘Happy Birthday.’ It’s the twentieth of October today.”
“That was quite a day, no?” the present-day Jamie said, refilling my coffee cup and scooting the rest of the tiramisu toward me.
“I was… so scared,” I said, feeling suddenly breathless from the remembered terror.
“Christ, me too,” he agreed with a shudder. “When I saw ye there on the platform in Cranesmuir—To think they might have burned ye, if I hadna arrived in ti—”
“No, no,” I cut in, “not then. I mean, I was terrified during the trial, of course…but it was there in the woods, that I meant. With you.”
That startled him, and I went on. “I was so frightened to tell you about my past. I was convinced you would think me mad—or even the witch you’d just vowed publicly that I wasn’t.”
That same faint smile crossed his lips but he said nothing.
“Tell me truly, Jamie…” I started, my stomach suddenly in knots, dreading the answer. “Did you really believe me… or did you just care for me enough that it was easier for us both that you should pretend to?”
He spoke without hesitation. “No, I believed ye, Sassenach.”
My exhale of relief and my, “But how? Why?” seemed to escape me simultaneously.
“Because your face betrays ye, mo sorcha—it always has. It’s why Colum and Dougal didna trust ye for a moment. They didna ken what it was ye were hiding, only that something was there ye wouldna tell. And in the time after we were made man and wife,” he reached across the tiny table and laid a warm hand on my cheek, “just as I kent your feelings for me were growing wi’ every passing day, I could see that there was something ye were holding back, still, even from me. It’s why I said ‘secrets, but no’ lies,’ aye?” He lowered his hand to gently hold my chin. “But this day, five years ago, was the first time I saw ye look back into my eyes wi’ nothing held back: no lies AND no secrets…. Your eyes told me that ye spoke true, no matter how unbelievable the truth was. And it slew me, Claire, then slew me again…because I knew I had to let ye go; go back to him.”
I couldn’t speak, just then, and he sat back in his seat, shaking his head, dazed. “I still canna believe ye chose me; still canna fathom what I felt when I awoke to find ye there in my arms…thought I surely was dreaming.”
I reached for his hand. “I just…couldn’t give you up.”
“And I thank God for it every day.”
We sat for a time in silence, touching each others’ rings and feeling the warmth of our hands together.
Jamie was the one that broke the stillness, pulling away with purpose. “Now, as glad as I am that you’re a woman for whom watching a numpty suffer through a plate of Spaghetti is a sufficient birthday present—” he reached down to his feet and withdrew a parcel wrapped in brown paper, “—I did get ye a proper gift as well.”
I grinned and reached for it; a book, surely, from the size and weight. Sure enough, as the paper fell away, I could immediately see the crisp page-edges and the shiny binding that read: Medical Education in the United States: rankings and reviews (1950 ed.)
“Oh, Jamie…” I breathed, opening the cover and flipping through the pages. Harvard. Princeton. Stanford. Osteopathic and Medicine programs of California. Texas. Pennsylvania. MCAT procedures. Top residencies by specialty. And on and on it went.
“I ken we’ve been talking a great deal about the new bairn and the hope that we’ll conceive soon; but I didna wish ye to think I’d forgotten your other wish. I’ve been reading up on what it’s like—the requirements and the different options you’ll have. I didna ken there were half so many programs in Massachusetts, let alone the whole country!“ He gave a small shrug. "Perhaps it all goes wi'out saying, but I wanted ye to hear from my lips that I want ye to go to the best medical school ye can, if that’s your wish—even if it’s in—” He hesitated, speaking tentatively. “Hah-wheyyy?”
“Hawai’i,” I corrected, laughing with happy tears in my eyes.
“Aye, there,” he grinned, “or wherever the best spot for ye may be. Whither thou goest, I will go.”
“Thank you, darling,” I whispered.
“My only requirement,” he said, suddenly stern, “is that you make it so they have to republish this wee book soon, for there isna a single mention of the possibility of a woman attending. Tis all ‘his’ and ‘him’ and ‘gentlemen in the class of such and such.’ You’ll need to change that, aye?”
I grinned at him and shook his hand playfully. “It’s a bargain.”