Gothie:

While Jamie and Claire are separated, it is clear that Jamie ( strongly) experiences Claire visually (" you would come to me"), in his dreams vividly in which he could feel, taste and smell her. I know Claire experiences Jamie through hearing his voice, in her imagination, and perhaps through Perpetual Adoration ( spiritually) but are there other ways they connect?

Thank you.

This is a really good question - and what astute observations, anon!

Other than the examples you've laid out, I honestly can't think of anything else.

Except, of course, the love and longing and sorrow that I'm sure never went away - and that they endured separately, yet at the same time.

Nothing "psychic", for sure - certainly nothing like what Jamie later has with Mandy and Jem, where he can "see" them in the future.

Amamos nuestra canción, así que le hicimos un video y no paramos de cantarla!!

Sassenach, lalalalala...

I always finish the art I start. I have only a few unfinished sketches I remember about. That is why I was very surprised when I was cleaning my files and found this collage partly done. I completely forgot about this work, as if it wasn't me who painted it. 😅 The art was laying in the folder since last June. So, now I finished it at last. Although this is a sad episode in the lives of the characters, it is still part of their story. So, it is "Faith".

To my bewilderment and alarm, the woman placed the infant in a hollow portion of the tree that offered minimal shelter from the chilly night air, and although I couldn’t see her expression, the strangled sob that escaped her made my heart clench. I was even more astonished when she retreated quickly, leaving her child alone.

I opened my mouth to object, but Jamie pressed a finger to my lips and shook his head, gesturing toward the woman as though imploring me to wait until she was well out of earshot. Agitated, I pushed his hand away and rose to my feet, intent on retrieving the child, but he shadowed the movement and held me in place.

“Nay, Sassenach,” he whispered urgently. “She’ll not ha’ gone far, and ye dinna want to be seen interfering in such a thing.”

“Interfering in what?” I hissed. “Child abandonment?”

“Nay. ‘Tis a changeling. She only wants her bairn back.”

I stopped trying to wriggle out of his hold and frowned up at him, a chill trickling down my spine.

“Changeling…”

“Aye. Folk say when the faeries steal a human child away, they leave one of their own in its place. It doesna thrive and grow as it should, so they leave the changeling in a place like this in hopes their stolen child will be returned.”

I sighed and looked back at the tree, casting a silent spell to detect human presence. The charm didn’t reach far enough to register the young woman, but it should have given some indication of life near the large tree. But it didn’t. I sank slowly back to the ground, my eyes still fixed on the hollow of the tree and the bundle of blankets I now knew did not conceal a child at all.

“That’s not… what this is. Not really.”

Jamie + Claire + Castle Leoch + Fall Vibes

"Your face is my heart, Sassenach, and the love of you is my soul." Dragonfly in Amber

the happiness in the eyes when you do what you love. with the one you love. the look. the smile. the arms. that's what matters to me. that's why i'm here. there are things that cannot be pretended, manipulated or hidden. this is love.

“You’re still you.”

May 1, 1771 May Union Camp

I glanced sideways, careful not to move in case he was still asleep. He wasn’t. He was lying quite still, though, utterly relaxed, save for his right hand. He had this raised, and appeared to be examining it closely, turning it to and fro and slowly curling and uncurling his fingers—as well as he could. The fourth finger had a fused joint, and was permanently stiff; the middle finger was slightly twisted, a deep white scar spiraling round the middle joint. His hand was callused and battered by work, and the tiny stigma of a nail-wound still showed, pale-pink, in the middle of his palm. The skin of his hand was deeply bronzed and weathered, freckled with sun-blots and scattered with bleached gold hairs. I thought it remarkably beautiful.

“Happy Birthday,” I said, softly. “Taking stock?”

He let the hand fall on his chest, and turned his head to look at me, smiling.Aye, something of the sort. Though I suppose I’ve a few hours left. I was born at half-six; I willna have lived a full half-century until suppertime.” I laughed and rolled onto my side, kicking the blanket off. The air was still delightfully cool, but it wouldn’t last long. “Do you expect to disintegrate much further before supper?” I asked, teasing. “Oh, I dinna suppose anything is likely to fall off by then,” he said, consideringly. “As to the workings . . . aye, well . . .” He arched his back, stretching, and sank back with a gratified groan as my hand settled on him. “It all seems to be in perfect working order,” I assured him. I gave a brief, experimental tug, making him yelp slightly. “Not loose at all.” “Good,” he said, folding his hand firmly over mine to prevent further unauthorized experiments. “How did ye ken what I was doing? Taking stock, as ye say?” I let him keep hold of the hand, but shifted to set my chin in the center of his chest, where a small depression seemed made for the purpose. “I always do that, when I have a birthday—though I generally do it the night before. More looking back, I think, reflecting a bit on the year that’s just gone. But I do check things over; I think perhaps everyone does. Just to see if you’re the same person as the day before.” “I’m reasonably certain that I am,” he assured me. “Ye dinna see any marked changes, do ye?” I lifted my chin from its resting place and looked him over carefully. It was in fact rather hard to look at him objectively; I was both so used to his features and so fond of them that I tended to notice tiny, dear things about him—the freckle on his earlobe, the lower incisor pushing eagerly forward, just slightly out of line with its fellows—and to respond to the slightest change of his expression—but not really to look at him as an integrated whole. He bore my examination tranquilly, eyelids half-lowered against the growing light. His hair had come loose while he slept and feathered over his shoulders, its ruddy waves framing a face strongly marked by both humor and passion—but which possessed a paradoxical and most remarkable capacity for stillness.

“No,” I said at last, and set my chin down again with a contented sigh. “It’s still you.”

[...]

Jamie’s free hand rested on my back, his thumb idly stroking the edge of my shoulder blade. With his usual capacity for mental discipline, he appeared to have dismissed the uncertainty of the military prospects completely from his mind, and was thinking of something else entirely. “Do ye ever think—” he began, and then broke off. “Think what?” I bent and kissed his chest, arching my back to encourage him to rub it, which he did. “Well . . . I’m no so sure I can explain, but it’s struck me that now I have lived longer than my father did—which is not something I expected to happen,” he added, with faint wryness. “It’s only . . . well, it seems odd, is all. I only wondered, did ye ever think of that, yourself—having lost your mother young, I mean?” “Yes.” My face was buried in his chest, my voice muffled in the folds of his shirt. “I used to—when I was younger. Like going on a journey without a map.” His hand on my back paused for a moment. “Aye, that’s it.” He sounded a little surprised. “I kent more or less what it would be like to be a man of thirty, or of forty—but now what?” His chest moved briefly, with a small noise that might have been a mixture of amusement and puzzlement.

“You invent yourself,” I said softly, to the shadows inside the hair that had fallen over my face. “You look at other women—or men; you try on their lives for size. You take what you can use, and you look inside yourself for what you can’t find elsewhere. And always . . . always . . . you wonder if you’re doing it right.”

His hand was warm and heavy on my back. He felt the tears that ran unexpectedly from the corners of my eyes to dampen his shirt, and his other hand came up to touch my head and smooth my hair. “Aye, that’s it,” he said again, very softly. The camp was beginning to stir outside, with clangings and thumps, and the hoarse sound of sleep-rough voices. Overhead, the grasshopper began to chirp, the sound like someone scratching a nail on a copper pot.

“This is a morning my father never saw,” Jamie said, still so softly that I heard it as much through the walls of his chest, as with my ears.

“The world and each day in it is a gift, mo chridhe—no matter what tomorrow may be.”

I sighed deeply and turned my head, to rest my cheek against his chest. He reached over gently and wiped my nose with a fold of his shirt. “And as for taking stock,” he added practically, “I’ve all my teeth, none of my parts are missing, and my cock still stands up by itself in the morning. It could be worse.”

Cap 58 HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU ~the fiery cross

Serious question: are you more likely to ship a couple if the actors are also good friends offscreen?

This is my new tribute to the best couple ever created. Enjoy!

🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

What if...?

Y que hubiese pasado si las cosas se daban de otra manera...

La pequeña Faith nace en Francia...

Jamie puede cruzar las piedras, no se queda a luchar en Culloden y se va con Claire embarazada y la pequeña Faith al futuro, Inverness finales de los años 40

Entonces Jamie es el feliz y orgulloso padre de Faith y Brianna Fraser y las cría en un futuro que nunca creyó posible.

"Give me a thousand kisses and i'll give you a thousand more"

About St. Kitts and Nevis...

Maybe, in addition to this ad thing, they're experimenting for Jamie and Claire... It was Cait's idea... 😜🤣

random OUTLANDER moments 8/♾️, 3x09