we still lay

  • Yixing: Why are you always so suspicious of my actions?
  • Kyungsoo: Should i answer chronologically, alphabetically or in falsetto?

Welcome to @zyxnet: Call Me Baby era

I’ve seen that gif of Maka tripping Ox during the Hiro/Excalibur episode and I just keep laughing at Soul because Maka just straight wipes out Ox without hesitation and Soul’s expression is like


but then

I mean whatever it’s fine

if there is one thing i’ve really come to understand over the last day is that when it comes to harry’s image/solo career, it’s such a delicate balance. because on the one hand if he all of sudden comes back on the scene and starts being in our faces and super public and showy, then people will say he’s being an attention whore and trying to take the limelight away from the other 3/trying to overshadow dunkirk and turn that press into the harry styles show. then on the flipside if he doesn’t do anything at all and remains mute and just drops an album out of the blue with zero fan engagement, he runs the risk of looking like he’s super arrogant and just expects people to buy his stuff. so how does he find a balance there? and does he care about that? as a new solo artist who loves and respects his fanbase, one would think he and his team would.  i think that’s what we’ll hopefully see happen (and IF - again I stress the IF) his album is coming as soon as people are implying, then the transition into that balance is gonna have to happen soon. 

anonymous asked:

Can Claire and Jamie go camping? I think they need a getaway.... :)

Flood my Mornings: Vermont (i)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

Late June, 1951

James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser was an impressive sight at any time of the day or year. 

Naked, silhouetted against a bright summer moon; the curve of leg and hip and scar all gilded into sharp edges by the glow of the fire behind him… he was positively primordial, ancient man surveying the vast wilderness.

 “God, it’s just…..”

He didn’t finish the sentence, just stood there on the verge of our mountaintop, taking in the sight of the sleeping valley below.

I could have finished the sentence for him, though: …like home.

The Green Mountains of Vermont—or this section of them, anyway— were quite similarly beautiful to those of Scotland. The main difference was the trees, of course: in contrast to the sparse, heathered slopes of Jamie’s birthplace, every inch of these mountains was covered in lush forests that spiced the air with the tangs of evergreen and leaf mold. Still, looking out across the horizon, the ranges had that same rolling and dipping quality, that sense of movement about them that felt so much like the Highlands. One could almost imagine looking down into one of these valleys and seeing the roof of Lallybroch below, enticingly belching smoke from the fires of Mrs. Crook’s promised supper.

and I supposed that Jamie was doing just that. 

I left him to dwell in the serenity of the moment, there at the top of the horizon. My own peace was complete, astonishing in its sensory fullness: 

the beauty of the night, of the rolling valley far below, 

a warm breeze across my naked skin, the same that swelled the forest into a rustling, shushing chorus,

the afterglow of lovemaking pulsing gently through me, there in our nest of blankets by the fire on the mountaintop, 

and Jamie. Always, Jamie. 

Tom and Marian had many times this year offered us the use of their mountain cabin in Vermont. Between work schedules, my schooling, pregnancy, and the general hustle and bustle of normal life, we simply hadn’t made the time for such a lavish treat as a holiday away. At last, though, with the academic term over and with the baby due in just over a month, we’d decided that getting away, just the two of us, was just the thing. Lord knew, once a nursing infant was in the mix, it could be quite some time before we could do so again.

Jamie, true to form, had fretted over me for weeks leading up to our departure, trying to call the whole thing off. ‘Sassenach, what if the bairn comes early?’….”There willna be a hospital for miles and miles. What if something happens?’….‘If ye think I can deliver a child, woman, you’re WRONG.’ 

But at last, he’d had no choice (short of chaining me to the house, that is) but to relent, and the further we drove westward, the higher the elevation rose, the quieter he became. His eyes got wider and wider, the glory of being among mountains soaking into him like sunshine.

After settling our things in the cabin earlier that afternoon (’Rustic,’ the Harpers had warned us)(’Better equipped than any Highland castle,’ Jamie had snorted as we walked in and saw the full kitchen), we’d made a few hasty sandwiches and ventured out for a walk before the light went. The vistas were absolutely spectacular, even more so when the skies were painted with the pinks and scarlets of sunset. 

Jamie had built us a fire a few hundred yards from the house, when we got back, just near the overlook, and we’d spent hours snuggled together before it, toasting marshmallows, sipping hot chocolate heated over the coals, laughing and talking and telling stories as the stars brightened overhead. 

At last, the quiet and beauty of the night had settled around us, and we’d made love there in the clearing, slowly and sweetly. For a very long time after, we’d lain panting and trembling, cocooned together in perfect calm, no demands on our time save enjoyment of one another. 

….and, eventually, pragmatically, those of Jamie’s bladder.

From somewhere in the woods, there came the sound of something large moving about; a deer, I thought, since Jamie was not reaching for an absent knife. He did start, though, the lively night pulling him out of his trance. Assured there was no danger, he turned to me with a slightly-sheepish grin. “Forgive me, mo chridhe, I was lost in fancy.” He began picking his way across the grass back toward the fire. “Feeling alright, Sassenach? All well?”

Very well,” I promised, “as long as you don’t make me move from this spot.” I burrowed further into the blankets in illustration. “Couldn’t budge for all the tea in China.” 

“Dinna fash, lass.” He crouched beside me and provided a very entertaining view as he slid his hands under me, “I’ll carry ye up to bed.”

“No, you won’t,” I said, neatly rolling away. “We’re sleeping out here.”

Certainly we are,” he laughed, rolling me back, “are not.” 

“Why ever not?” 

He gave me a look. “Ye think I’m going to let my eight-months-gone wife sleep like an animal on the cold ground?” 

“It isn’t cold.” I raised an eyebrow. “And you’d not have given it a second thought, back in Scotland, would you?”

He blinked, then laughed. “Christ, you’re right,” he groaned, putting a knee down and scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve become quite the pampered popinjay in only a year, aye?”

“Well, you can earn your tough-as-saddle-leather badge back tonight. Come here,” I wheedled, patting the blankets. “Come keep your lady warm for the night.”

He obliged, coming in to settle spoon-fashion behind me. “My lady,” he murmured, precisely as I breathed, “God, a year…

We both laughed and exhaled together.

He kissed my neck. “It’s been a wonderful year, mo ghraidh.”

“To think that this time last year…” I shuddered and kissed his hand. “No, it doesn’t do to think of what life was, last June.”

“No,” he agreed, “it doesna.” 

He’d been close to starvation on the streets of Boston, scouring the streets and hospitals for any news of me, my whereabouts. I’d been—I’d just been. I’d loved my work, adored Bree; but apart from the promise of seeing her grow up happy and loved….I hadn’t much hopeNow…

“I guess that means this could almost be a wedding anniversary trip, couldn’t it?”

“Which one?”


“Which wedding?”

I laughed, surprised. “Well, I did mean the one last year, but I guess we’re pretty close to our first as well. When would it have been? June? Late June?” 

“I canna recall the precise date,” he admitted, running his hands up my thigh and onto the huge curve of my belly, “but that seems correct.” 

“And our twentieth-century anniversary is the 8th of July…meaning you found me in July….and little wiggleworm, here, should be born in either July or August…” I snuggled back against him and pulled his arm tighter around me, sighing happily.  “Good things tend to happen to us in the summertime, don’t they?” 

He kissed his way down the curve of my shoulder. “Aye, they certainly do.” 

“I’d like the bairns to know a place like this,” he murmured a while later into my neck. 

“The cabin?” I had very nearly nodded off in the cozy silence that had intervened. My voice was scratchy and sleepy. “Why is that, love?”

Jamie didn’t immediately answer; and when he did, I was surprised to hear a slight hesitation in his voice, a carefulness in his words that bespoke unease. “Ye ken I love our life, Claire, aye?” 

I nodded and squeezed his hand. 

“It’s more than I could ever have dreamed of, let alone have hoped to have for myself, for you, and for them.” He pulled me closer with one hand and spread the other absently over my belly. “I’m so grateful,” he whispered with deep feeling, “for the safety; the plenty; our home; having the income to take care of our family in comfort; that you’re able to pursue your profession; that the bairns will be able to pursue theirs, one day, wi’ nothing like birthplace or station to hold them back…. I wouldna trade our life for anything.”

I reached behind to stroke his hip, waiting. 

“…But I also canna shake some sense in my heart that—that this is how things are meant to be.”

“Naked in the woods?” I teased gently.

“Aye,” he laughed, just what I’d wanted, his unease evaporating in a moment, “exactly so.” He ran his hand across my legs, coming up to cup my breast. “Nothing but my brown-haired lass, naked in my arms…” An intake of breath hissed gently from us in unison as we felt the sudden shifting within me. “And new life, promised to us….”

We lay still, his hand over mine as we gloried in feeling little Ian moving about. I wondered if he was dreaming. 

That they may be sweet, little love. 

“But I suppose I meant, this out-of-door life,” Jamie said at last. “Wild, living things. Animals. Forests and burns. Hunting. Sleeping under the stars, among the hea—among the trees and the grasses. Tracking and tending the land. Mountains,” he said, with quiet intensity. “I want them to know mountains.” 

I pulled him as close as I could. “We will make this part of our life, Jamie, if you wish it.”

“We will?”

“We’ll come on holiday with them as often as we can, just like this. And, eventually—Well, it can’t be all the time, particularly not once I’ve started medical training; but as soon as we can afford it, maybe we’ll have a second home somewhere wild, somewhere like this.”

“A second home?” he asked, dubious. “Folk keep two houses, then?”

“Not all, not even most; but Tom and Marian manage it, don’t they?” 

“Aye,” he said slowly as he glanced up at the house, considering, “Aye, just so….But Tom owns the whole of Fernacre. Will we truly ever have the means to afford such extravagance?” 

“MDs make some of the best money available,” I said, as simply as I could, “and other than being charitable and giving as much away as we can manage, I can’t think of a more worthwhile way to use that financial freedom, than to give you this.”

“….Thank you, Sassenach.” He sounded absolutely gutted with earnest gratitude, like someone that had just been handed an infinite fortune with no caveat. “Truly.” 

“Well, thank me when and if I actually get admitted to medical school.” I groaned with that sudden, familiar wash of visceral anxiety. “If, if, if.”  

When,” he insisted, as he always did. “WHEN.” 

We settled in, held tight together in a warm heap of love, letting sleep wash over us. 

“Somewhere wi’ a mountain?” Jamie murmured just before I slipped completely under. 

“I promise.”

Seventeen when you’re only walking around in a oversized shirt.

When you enter the room, he just silently stares at you and watches you walk past him, your butt exposing to the members underneath his thin shirt. He turns to the boys to see them looking at you with big eyes and shakes his head, laughing sarcastically at your behavior.

He is absolutely speechless when you enter the room and doesn’t know how to react. When he turns to the members, he sees Vernon looking at you and licking his lips at the sight in front of him, causing Jeonghan to smack him, hard before grabbing your arm and pulling you out of the room.

“Put on some clothes. They all look like lions circling their prey.”

The moment you leave his room with nothing but his shirt on and sit down on his lap, too tired to notice the other boys being there, their eyes were on your body immediately.

Woozi pulls down your shirt slightly so it is covering more than just your butt and shakes his head at the boys, wrapping his arms around your body. 
“I seriously hate you guys.” He whispers, giving them a death glare.

He’s so focused on watching Seungcheol play video games that it isn’t until you come closer, that he notices you only wearing his oversized shirt and black panties. 

He quickly looks over at Seungcheol to see him still looking at the screen and takes the blanket off the back of the couch, wrapping it around both your bodies. He tilts his head to the sight and smiles at you. “Should we go sleep in my room instead of in front of the other boys?”

The performance unit is working on a new dance choreography till’ late into the night and you wake up to their laughter. All their eyes shoot up when the door to Jun’s bedroom opens and you step out into the living room, rubbing your eye and yawning. His shirt riding up your stomach.

Jun turns to see the members all smiling at each other before turning to him and nodding approvingly. He punches Hoshis’ arm slightly before rushing over to you and shielding your body with his, smiling at your adorable face. “Go and rest in my room. I’ll come join you in a second.”

When your eyes lock, he gives you a dissaproving look, his insides burning by the other members loud gasps and stares at your body.

“YA!” He yells at them, their eyes quickly turning away from you. “Don’t you guys have any manners? Do you always go around staring at other boys’s girlfriends?” He asks, his voice raised at their behavior and takes off his jacket, holding it around your bottom and walking you into his bedroom.

He was meant to come back to you after getting something to eat but got distracted by the other members and the show they were watching. You walk out into the living room, still groggy from your nap and sit down on his lap, placing your face in the crock of his neck, too tired to realize the other members.

Mingyu doesn’t know how to react and just stares at you in silence, feeling his cheeks blush with embarassment. He giggles slightly and picks you up, carrying you back into his room.

He watches you walk over to him in silence, your eyes still shut. You take a seat on his lap and groan into his neck, the other boys staring at you in disbelief. He tugs on your shirt to keep it low, holding your body close to his.

He taps your back gently and whispers into your ear “Jagiya…don’t you think you forgot anything…important?”

His eyes would immediately shoot up when he realizes that you’re still wearing only his oversized shirt and his eyes would wander over to the members, who are all either staring at you or awkwardly trying to avoid it.

When you sit down in his lap, he laughs gently, embarassed by you forgetting about your pyjama choices. “Y/N…let’s go back to my room and put on something better at first.” He says, patting your bottom.
He’s to embarrased to look at the boys before bringing you back into his room.

He gets annoyed by the members staring at your body, knowing how adorable they all think you are and starts hitting the members next to him before clicking his tongue and throwing a blanket over to you.

The hit wakes you up completely, making you aware of your surroundings and immediately feel the blood rushing into your cheeks. Seungkwan can’t help but laugh at your cute reaction. “Go back into the room. I’ll come back to you in a minute.” 

“Dokyeom…” Seungcheol hitting his side and mumbling his name, is enough to get Dokyeom to look at whatever they’re all staring at so concentrated and looks up to see you standing in the doorway, his oversized shirt covering your black panties.

He starts giggling at the sight in front of him and just stare at you, letting the members enjoy it for a little while before telling you to come over and wrapping a blanket around both your bodies, letting you sleep there next to him. He looks at the members with a death glare. “If one of you says something…you’re going.” He says, threatening.

He’s too perplex at first to even realize the other members staring at you as well and enjoys your body in his oversized shirt. Suddenly he snaps and realizes the boys around him and the pleasure it is probably giving them.

He runs over to you and tackles you to the ground, laying flat on top of you and looking down at you, smirking teasingly. “If we lay perfectly still, maybe they’ll declare us dead.”

He’s playing video games against Seungkwan and doesn’t notice you entering the room, too tired to care about anyone in the room. “Y/N…” Seungcheol whispers under his breath, making Dino turn to him and noticing you walking over to the kitchen, seeing your bottom exposed under his shirt.

He quickly jumps up from his spot on the ground and follows you into the kitchen, feeling embarrased by you. He stops behind you and turns you around to see your eyes still half way shut and his heart would drop immediately. “This is…everyone can see, babe.” He explains, chuckling slightly.

Love, Youngmi~

velazquez92  asked:

So in season 2 i believe that deep down jamie and claire knew claire was going back to her time soon but they both didnt wanna face it till they had no choice. Is there times in the books after voyager were they talk about her possibly returning again for any reason? And if so, how were they both dealing with that realization?

The only time when one of them seriously discusses Claire going back is toward the end of A Breath of Snow and Ashes, when Brianna and her family are preparing to return to the 20th century so that infant Mandy can get the medical care she needs.

Jamie and Claire don’t discuss it outright - but he silently offers her a way to return when their daughter does. For he loves her, and always wants to see her safe. But Claire will have none of it - her place is with Jamie, no matter the circumstances. As she makes abundantly clear in this absolutely gorgeous passage:

“What is it?” I said.

He drew breath, but didn’t answer at once. I felt him draw back a little, and fumble under the pillow. Then his hand came round me again, but this time seeking the hand that lay on his leg. His fingers curled into mine, and I felt a small, hard, roundish object thrust into my hand. I heard him swallow.

The stone, whatever it was, seemed slightly warm to the touch. I ran a thumb slowly over it; a raw stone of some kind, but big, the size of one of my finger-joints.

“Jamie …” I said, feeling my throat close.

“I love you,” he said, so softly that I barely heard him, close as we were.

I lay still for a moment, feeling the stone grow warmer in the palm of my hand. Surely it was imagination that made it seem to throb in time with my heart. Where on earth had he gotten it?

Then I moved—not suddenly, but with deliberation, my body sliding slowly free of his. I rose, feeling light-headed, and crossed the room. Pushed open the window to feel the sharp touch of the autumn wind on my naked bed-warm skin, and drawing back my arm, hurled the tiny object into the night.

Then I came back to bed, saw his hair a dark mass on the pillow, and the shine of his eyes in the moonlight.

“I love you,” I whispered, and slid under the sheet beside him, putting my arms around him, hugging him close, warmer than the stone—so much warmer—and his heart beat with mine.

“I’m none so brave as I was before, ken?” he said very softly. “Not brave enough to live without ye anymore.”

But brave enough to try.

daily reminder that phil actually invited dan to come up on stage with him to accept an award like that actually happened


fact: when working on a film or a drama, the person hired does not work under the group’s name but as an actor, as an individual person. this is not only the case with yixing, but also with chanyeol and kyungsoo. where was the outrage then? or is it only bad when it’s a Chinese member?

anonymous asked:

Voyager is by far my favorite book so I give no fucks for what comes next. For me they can end the serie after it and would be a bless this fu**** fandom coming to an end! The friendships I made because of it don't depend of this mess. We are far beyond people that are only linked by liking these books, the show and these actors which the only interest in us, it's clear now, is to get fame, new jobs and our money to their charities.

I give way to many fucks about what comes next because A BREATH OF SNOW AND ASHES! How can you say some shit like that?! Gah! You are going to jinx it…. Take it back 🔪

If I have to go on virtual dress up picnics with no food with the trash bag for the next few years, so be it. Worth it!

I must see:

“Kill them all,” he said to Fergus, his voice still calm.


She took one huge breath and her body relaxed all at once, going limp and heavy like a dying hare.
He held her, both arms wrapped around her as though to save her from drowning, but felt her sink away all the same. He wished to call out to her not to go, not to leave him alone. She vanished into the depths of sleep, and he yearned after her, wishing her healed, fearing her flight, and bent his head, burying his face in her hair and her scent.
The wind banged the open shutters as it passed, and in the dark outside, one owl hooted and another answered, hiding from the rain.
Then he cried, soundless, muscles strained to aching that he might not shake with it, that she might not wake to know it. He wept to emptiness and ragged breath, the pillow wet beneath his face. Then lay exhausted beyond the thought of tiredness, too far from sleep even to recall what it was like. His only comfort was the small, so fragile weight that lay warm upon his heart, breathing.


“You must continue, for their sakes—though you would not for your own,” he had whispered, Fergus’s face pressed into his shoulder, the black hair wet with sweat and water, cold against his cheek. “Tu comprends, mon enfant, mon fils? Comprends-tu?”
I felt his throat move as he swallowed.
“See, I kent ye were dying,” he said very softly. “I was sure ye’d be gone when I came back to the house, and I should be alone. I wasna speaking to Fergus then, I think, so much as to myself.”
He raised his head then, and looked at me through a blur of tears and laughter.
“Oh, God, Claire,” he said, “I would have been so angry, if ye’d died and left me!”


“You gave her … tenderness. I know you did.”
He turned to me, suddenly, and my face was pressed into his coat, the cloth of it damp and rough on my skin, my tears blooming in tiny warm patches that vanished at once into the chill of the fabric.
“Oh, Claire,” he whispered into my hair. I reached up, and could feel wetness on his cheeks. “She said—she wished to keep ye alive for me. And she meant it; she didna mean to take anything for herself.”
I cried then, holding nothing back. For empty years, yearning for the touch of a hand. Hollow years, lying beside a man I had betrayed, for whom I had no tenderness. For the terrors and doubts and griefs of the day. Cried for him and me and for Mary MacNab, who knew what loneliness was—and what love was, as well.


“Knew you’d come,” I whispered into the linen of his shirt. He reeked of fire: smoke and pinesap and scorched cloth, and the bitter tang of turpentine. Reeked of stale sweat and horses, the weariness of a man who has not slept, who has labored all night, the faint yeasty smell of long hunger.
He held me close, ribs and breath and warmth and muscle, then put me away from him a little and looked down into my face. He had been smiling since I saw him. It lit his eyes, and without a word, he pulled the cap off my head and threw it over the rail. He ran his hands through my hair, fluffing it out into abandon, then cupped my head in his hands and kissed me, fingers digging into my scalp. He had a three-day beard, which rasped my skin like sandpaper, and his mouth was home and safety.


“I love you,” he said, so softly that I barely heard him, close as we were.
I lay still for a moment, feeling the stone grow warmer in the palm of my hand. Surely it was imagination that made it seem to throb in time with my heart. Where on earth had he gotten it?
Then I moved—not suddenly, but with deliberation, my body sliding slowly free of his. I rose, feeling light-headed, and crossed the room. Pushed open the window to feel the sharp touch of the autumn wind on my naked bed-warm skin, and drawing back my arm, hurled the tiny object into the night.
Then I came back to bed, saw his hair a dark mass on the pillow, and the shine of his eyes in the moonlight.
“I love you,” I whispered, and slid under the sheet beside him, putting my arms around him, hugging him close, warmer than the stone—so much warmer—and his heart beat with mine.
“I’m none so brave as I was before, ken?” he said very softly. “Not brave enough to live without ye anymore.”
But brave enough to try.
I drew his head down to me, stroking the tumble of his hair, coarse and smooth at once, live beneath my fingers.
“Lay your head, man,” I said softly. “It’s a long time ’til dawn.”

anonymous asked:

Could you post all the times Jamie and Claire say 'I love you' please? I love your blog!

With pleasure, anon!


He cast a glance at the horizon, where the sickle moon hung low and rising. “It’s nearly winter, and the nights are long, mo duinne.” He leaned across the fence, reaching and I stepped into his arms, feeling the heat of his body and the beat of his heart.
“I love you.”

He drew me close again, kissed me gently and whispered in Gaelic, “He
will let you go because he thinks you are helpless. I know you are not.” Releasing me, he said in English, “I love you. Go now.”

“I love you.”
“Oh.” I was mildly surprised, but undeniably pleased. “I love you too.”

Dragonfly in Amber

“Oh, Claire, ye do break my heart wi’ loving you.”

“Mm. You’d forgotten how to say anything’ except ‘I love you,’ but you said that a lot.”
The chuckle came back, louder this time. “Oh, aye? Well, could have been worse, I suppose.”

The slight breeze was welcome, for the early autumn sun was still hot on my shoulders and calves.
“I love you,” I said softly, not meaning him to hear me, but only for the pleasure of saying it.
He did hear, though, for the hint of a smile curved the wide mouth. After a moment, he rolled over onto his belly on the plaid beside me. A few blades of grass clung to his back and buttocks. I brushed one lightly away, and his skin shivered briefly at my touch.

“I love you,” he muttered, half-awake.
“I know,” I said, and fell asleep at once, holding him.

“I know it,” he said quietly. “I do know it, my own. Let me tell ye in your sleep how much I love you. For there’s no so much I can be saying to ye while ye wake, but the same poor words, again and again. While ye sleep in my arms, I can say things to ye that would be daft and silly waking, and your dreams will know the truth of them. Go back to sleep, mo duinne.”


“But here,” he said, so softly I could barely hear him, “here in the dark, with you… I have no name.”
I lifted my face toward his, and took the warm breath of him between my own lips.
“I love you,” I said, and did not need to tell him how I meant it.

“No.” He swallowed; I could hear the sound of it clearly, and feel the pulse beat in his neck where I held him. “But now I have taken ye back from her, as well. I love you — and I love Ian, like he was my own. And I am thinking maybe I cannot have ye both.”

“I forgot. I love you,” he said, giving me another shake for emphasis. “And I’m glad you’re no dead. Dinna do that again!”

Drums of Autumn

“No,” he said softly, still looking out at the night. “Not then. There are things worth dying or starving for—but not words.”
“Maybe not those words.”
He turned to look at me, features dim in starlight, but the hint of a smile visible on his mouth.
“Ye know of words that are?”
….“What about—'I love you’?”
He reached out a hand and touched my face. A breath of air stirred past us, and I saw the small hairs rise along his arm.
“Aye,” he whispered. “That’ll do.”

“Jamie,” I said hesitantly. “Do you believe I love you?”
He turned his head and looked down at me for a long moment before replying. The moon shone on his face, picking out his features as though they had been chiseled in marble.
“Well, if ye don’t, Sassenach,” he said at last, “ye’ve picked a verra poor time to tell me so.”
I let out my breath in the ghost of a laugh.
“No, it’s not that,” I assured him. “But—” My throat tightened, and I swallowed hastily, needing to get the words out. “I—I don’t say it often. Perhaps it’s only that I wasn’t raised to say such things; I lived with my uncle, and he was affectionate, but not—well, I didn’t know how married people—”
He put his hand lightly over my mouth, a faint smile touching his lips. After a moment, he took it away.
I took a deep breath, steadying my voice.
“Look, what I mean to say is—if I don’t say it, how do you know I love you?”
He stood still, looking at me, then nodded in acknowledgment.
“I know because ye’re here, Sassenach,” he said quietly.

I stepped close to him and put my hands on his shoulders.
“I love you.”
He looked down at me for a long moment.
“I’m glad of it, Claire,” he said quietly, and touched my face. “Verra glad. Come to bed now; I’ll warm ye.”

The Fiery Cross

I unscrewed the stopper and inhaled. Whisky, and very good whisky, too.
“I love you,” I said sincerely, and he laughed.
“I love ye too, Sassenach,” he said, and gently touched my foot.

“Jamie—I love you. Be careful!”
He didn’t remember Culloden, he said. I wondered suddenly whether that loss of memory extended to the hours just before the battle, when he and I had said farewell. Then I looked into his eyes and knew it did not.
“‘Good luck’ will do,” he said, and his hand tightened on mine, likewise frozen to the current that surged between us. “‘I love ye’ does much better.”

“Sassenach … I love ye now, and I will love ye always. Whether I am dead—or
you—whether we are together or apart. You know it is true,” he said quietly, and touched my face. “I know it of you, and ye know it of me as well.”

“I love you, a nighean donn. I have loved ye from the moment I saw ye, I will love ye ’til time itself is done, and so long as you are by my side, I am well pleased wi’ the world.”

“When the day shall come, that we do part,” he said softly, and turned to look at me, “if my last words are not ‘I love you’—ye’ll ken it was because I didna have time.”

A Breath of Snow and Ashes

“Yes. Just now, I was actually trying to rank ‘I love you, I like you, I worship you, I have to have my cock inside you,’ in terms of their relative sincerity.”

I leaned back against the pillows, feeling a bit better. The fever had quite gone, but I still felt wraithlike and weak, barely able to sit up unassisted, and I fell asleep almost without warning, after the least exertion.
Jamie, still snorting, took my hand, raised it to his mouth, and kissed it. The sudden warm immediacy of the touch rippled the fair hairs of my forearm, and my fingers closed involuntarily on his.
“I love you,” he said very softly, his shoulders still trembling with laughter.
“Oh,” I said, suddenly feeling quite a lot better. “Well, then. I love you, too. And it will grow, after all.”

“Jamie …” I said, feeling my throat close.
“I love you,” he said, so softly that I barely heard him, close as we were.
I lay still for a moment, feeling the stone grow warmer in the palm of my hand.

…Then I came back to bed, saw his hair a dark mass on the pillow, and the shine of his eyes in the moonlight.
“I love you,” I whispered, and slid under the sheet beside him, putting my arms around him, hugging him close, warmer than the stone—so much warmer—and his heart beat with mine.

An Echo In The Bone

“Tell Jamie,” I kept saying to a misty Ian. “Tell Jamie that I love him.”
“Open your eyes and tell me yourself, Sassenach,” said a deep, urgent voice somewhere close.
I tried opening my eyes and found that I could. Apparently I had not died after all. I essayed a cautious breath and found that my chest moved easily. My hair was damp, and I was lying on something hard, covered by a blanket. Jamie‘s face swam above me, then steadied as I blinked.
“Tell me,” he repeated, smiling a little, though anxiety creased the skin beside his eyes.
“Tell you… oh! I love you. Where… ?” Memory of recent events flooded in upon me, and I sat up abruptly. “The Teal? What—”

What would he say to Claire in such circumstances? he wondered suddenly. Probably what he had said to her, in parting. “I love you. I’ll see you again.” He didn‘t see any way of improving on the sentiment, after all.

Written in My Own Heart’s Blood

“I love you, a nighean,” he said, very softly, his breath warm on my skin.
“I love you,” I answered just as softly, taking the ribbon from his hair and loosening his plait between my fingers. I pressed his head closer to me, not in invitation, but out of the sudden urgent need to keep him close to me, to protect him.
He kissed my breast and turned his head, laying it in the hollow of my shoulder. He
took one deep breath, one more, and then was asleep, the relaxing weight of his body against me both protection and trust.
“I love you,” I said, almost soundless, my arms wrapped tight about him. “Oh, dear God, I love you.”

“Are ye all right, Sassenach? Is it bad, then?”
“No,” I said, and wiped my eyes hastily on a corner of the sheet. “No—it—it’s fine. I just —oh, Jamie, I love you!” I did give way to tears, then, snuffling and blubbering like an idiot. “I’m sorry,” I said, trying to get hold of myself. “I’m all right, there’s nothing wrong, it’s just—”