I don’t know what it’s like to be famous. I never will. I’m just a young woman who went to school and got good grades and became a school counselor. I got married and had a baby and decided to leave my career behind to stay home with him. I question a lot whether that was the right choice, because I worry about teaching him that women can do anything they want to do, just like him, and that they don’t “belong” at home raising children.

I don’t know what it’s like to be Sam or Caitriona. I don’t know how Sam feels when he goes through his social media mentions and sees so many women who desperately need attention from him. I don’t know if he feels amused or flattered or overwhelmed. I don’t know what it’s like to have women who range from young 20s to probably late 60s/70s wanting a piece of me, any piece, but probably a physical one, all the time. I never will.

What I do know is that we have real issues in this world that I didn’t realize affected me so much until I joined this fandom. The way women treat other women saddens me. The desire to get a wink and nod from a celebrity, no matter his behavior towards other women, seems to be more important than women being treated with dignity and respect online. All women should feel safe to express respectful opinions online without being called horrifying or bitchy or bullies or whatever hot ticket word of the moment comes up.

I really hope the next time someone decides to target and bully a shipper, or ANY woman in this fandom, they stop and think about what they are really doing. You are setting an example. You are setting a precedent. You may be raising children or grandchildren and by going along with these nasty, sick games, you are promoting and growing a societal system where our value as women is cheapened and reduced and we are made to feel like we are less when we have a voice and an opinion.

Like I said, I’m a nobody. I don’t have a huge audience to speak to. I’m one person - but I hope I am one person who has had a positive effect on other women in this fandom. Even if I’ve made 2 people feel better or more empowered, that is a win. THAT is more important than a like or tweet from a celebrity.


You know I’ve wanted to leave here for weeks. And I know exactly how many sentry posts surround the castle. And I know how to make my way through the forest and find the road back to Inverness. Well, that’s a very sound plan, Sassenach. Or would be, did Colum not post extra guards through the woods tonight. He’d hardly leave the castle undefended, and the fighting men of the clan inside it. I’m going anyway. -[requested by anonymous]

Sam Heughan’s Treasures

Sam heughan’s (Jamie Fraser’s) chest, shoulders, COLLARBONES, stomach, arms… ❤️

Originally posted by apfelstrudy

Originally posted by deesdiaries

Originally posted by outlander-starz

Originally posted by equion

Originally posted by moan-s

Originally posted by hurricanecaitriona

Originally posted by annestheoneuniverse

Originally posted by marvelandwhimsy

Originally posted by marvelandwhimsy

Originally posted by nero-in-a-petticoat

If Jamie and Claire could text (2x03/DIA edition)
  • Claire:I know its been a hard couple of months...will you be ok while I'm at work?
  • Jamie:👁
  • Claire:?
  • Jamie:AYE, ken?
  • Jamie:found the wee pictures
  • Jamie:🐴
  • Claire:?
  • Jamie:s'a wee horse
  • Claire:bully for you.
  • Claire:see you later, sweetheart.
  • Jamie:tilthen, MND
  • Jamie:...
  • Jamie:...
  • Jamie:👁 ❤️ 🐑
  • Claire:leaning in heavily to those Scottish stereotypes, eh? Not even a female sheep?
  • Jamie:😑
  • Claire:I you too, darling.
  • Claire:Off the grid for a bit, though, abscessed tooth to deal with
  • Jamie:😮
  • Jamie:...
  • Jamie:...
  • Jamie:bored
  • Jamie:...
  • Jamie:...
  • Jamie:👩🏻➡️⛰➡️👱🗡➡️⚔💉
  • Jamie:➡️🏰➡️😢😍
  • Jamie:➡️🏕🏞➡️👰🏻❤️👱
  • Claire:Having fun?
  • Claire:you're looking a little jaundiced there
  • Jamie:no redheided picturefolk
  • Jamie:...
  • Jamie:...
  • Jamie:...
  • Jamie:mo ❤️?
  • Claire:mm?
  • Jamie:willye be home soon?
  • Claire:could be, but have some things to sort first, why?
  • Jamie:...
  • Jamie:...
  • Jamie:...
  • Jamie:🍯
  • Jamie:...
  • Jamie:🍆
  • Jamie:...
  • Jamie:...😏
  • Claire:Don't you dare lose that thought
  • Jamie:👅🍯
  • Claire:JHRC you'd better not be joking
  • Jamie:😏😏😏
The third season will pick up right after Claire travels through the stones to return to her life in 1948. Now pregnant, she struggles with the fallout of her sudden reappearance and its effect on her marriage to her first husband, Frank. Back in the 18th century, Jamie suffers from the aftermath of his doomed last stand at the battle of Culloden, as well as the loss of Claire. Separated by continents and centuries, Claire and Jamie must find their way back to each other.

The Wedding Parallels (Alternate+Aired).

How can one simple gesture kill me.

At first, she finds herself in a moment not of her own choosing. She’s shy and unsure and utterly vulnerable. Yet, the moment he gently tilts her head up and kisses her, she melts into him.

Then later, as he opens himself up to her, she now sees him being shy and unsure and utterly vulnerable. And she chooses him. She gently tilts his head up and kisses him, as they melt into each other.

Both each other’s strength in moments of uncertainty.

“I did not come with the intention of seducing your husband, I assure you,”

I fixed John Grey with a narrow eye.
“What are you doing here?” I said, without preamble.
He opened his light blue eyes very wide, then lowered his very long lashes and batted them deliberately at me.
“I did not come with the intention of seducing your husband, I assure you,” he said.
“John!” Jamie’s fist struck the table with a force that rattled the teacups. His cheekbones were flushed dark red, and he was scowling with embarrassed fury.
“Sorry.” Grey, by contrast, had gone white, though he remained otherwise visibly unruffled. It occurred to me for the first time that he might possibly be as unnerved as Jamie by this meeting.
“My apologies, ma’am,” he said, with a curt nod in my direction. “That was unforgivable. I would point out, however, that you have been looking at me since we met as though you had encountered me lying in the gutter outside some notorious mollyhouse.” A light flush burned over his face now, too.
“Sorry,” I breathed. “Give me a bit more notice next time, and I’ll take care to adjust my features.”

-Drums of Autumn

He stretched himself, powerful shoulders rising dark against the shimmer of the water behind him.

Then he suddenly took hold of the oars across his knees and flung them into the bottom of the boat, with a crash that made me jump. 

“I am more than five-and-forty!” he said. “A man should be settled at that age, no? He should have a house, and some land to grow his food, and a bit of money put away to see him through his auld age, at the least.” 

He took a deep breath; I could see the white bosom of his shirt rise with his swelling chest. 

“Well, I dinna have a house. Or land. Or money. Not a croft, not a tattie-plot, not a cow or a sheep or a pig or a goat! I havena got a rooftree or a bedstead, or a pot to piss in!” 

He slammed his fist down on the thwart, making the wooden seat vibrate under me. “I dinna own the clothes I stand up in!” 

There was a long silence, broken only by the thin song of crickets. 

“You have me,” I said, in a small voice. It didn’t seem a lot. 

He made a small sound in his throat that might have been either a laugh or a sob. 

“Aye, I have,” he said. His voice was quivering a bit, though whether with passion or amusement, I couldn’t tell. “That’s the hell of it, aye?” 

“It is?” 

He threw up his hand in a gesture of profound impatience. 

“If it was only me, what would it matter? I could live like Myers; go to the woods, hunt and fish for my living, and when I was too old, lie down under a peaceful tree and die, and let the foxes gnaw my bones. Who would care?” 

He shrugged his shoulders with irritable violence, as though his shirt was too tight. 

“But it’s not only me,” he said. “It’s you, and it’s Ian and it’s Duncan and it’s Fergus and it’s Marsali—God help me, there’s even Laoghaire to think of!” 

“Oh, let’s don’t,” I said. 

“Do ye not understand?” he said, in near desperation. “I would lay the world at your feet, Claire—and I have nothing to give ye!” 

He honestly thought it mattered. 

I sat looking at him, searching for words. He was half turned away, shoulders slumped in despair. 

Within an hour, I had gone from anguish at the thought of losing him in Scotland, to a strong desire to bed him in the herbaceous borders, and from that to a pronounced urge to hit him on the head with an oar. Now I was back to tenderness. 

At last I took one big, callused hand and slid forward so I knelt on the boards between his knees. I laid my head against his chest, and felt his breath stir my hair. I had no words, but I had made my choice. 

“ ‘Whither thou goest,’ ” I said, “ ‘I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried.’ ” Be it Scottish hill or southern forest. “You do what you have to; I’ll be there.”

-Drums of Autumn
'Outlander' Finds Its Lord John Grey — Exclusive

This casting news should help take away the pain of the ongoing Droughtlander.

EW has learned exclusively that Starz has found the actor who will play the pivotal role of Lord John Grey in the third season of Outlander, premiering in 2017.

Australian actor David Berry will take over as Grey, the former British soldier-turned-Ardsmuir Prison governor who strikes up a dubious friendship with the incarcerated Jamie Fraser (Sam Heughan). The third season of Outlander will be based on Voyager, the third novel in Diana Gabaldon’s best-selling series that was published in 1993.

Here’s the official description of Lord Grey by Starz: “He’s a steadfast and honorable British subject, torn between a finely-honed sense of familial duty and a strong moral compass of right and wrong. He is boyishly handsome with an upper class rearing — the consummate gentleman. However, a scandal from his past has relegated Lord John to an undesirable position as governor of a desolate prison in Northern Scotland.”

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Infatuation (2/2)

This is a direct continuation of Part 1, a story in my Pre Wedding series which can be read as stand-alone stories. It’s a bit naughtier than part 1. As always, all my fics can be found on the Master List.

The next day, he avoided Mistress Beauchamp completely. He said not a word, nor did he even make eye contact with her. He was unable to keep his gaze from her entirely, but he always waited until he was certain she wouldn’t notice before he risked a glance. This meant he had to keep his peripheral vision on her at all times, which left him so preoccupied that he nearly brained himself on a low-lying branch when his horse strayed from the path to graze.

Murtagh pulled up beside him as he urged his horse back to the road. “What’s wrong wi’ ye, lad? Where’s yer heid?”

“Up his own arse, I expect,” Rupert called out as his horse plodded by.

Angus helpfully added, “Or up Mistress Beauchamp’s–ow!” Jamie cut him off by flinging a walnut that bounced off Angus’s skull. “That hurt!”

Murtagh nodded approvingly.  “Weel, nothing wrong with your aim, I see.”

Jamie peered ahead to see if Claire had noticed the disturbance, but she was deep in conversation with Ned. That was good. She and the lawyer had taken quite the liking to one another, and they occupied each other on the road. A few days ago, he actually found himself jealous of the old man’s familiarity with her, but now he was grateful that her attention was occupied.

He managed not to speak with her for the rest of the day and into the night, though there was no way to avoid all the men. His infatuation with her had become common knowledge to all but her, it seemed, and they teased him mercilessly, though thankfully out of her earshot. It made him irritable and unpleasant. When they stopped at a tavern that evening for food and for Dougal to hold court, he took care to sit on the opposite side of the room, away from her. He glowered into his stew and worked himself into a visible mood, which inadvertently served his uncle’s purpose when Dougal ripped off his shirt to display his scars to the assembled villagers. He looked bitter and angry, and he stormed upstairs with the remnants of his shirt in his hand to repair it.

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