#WELCOME BACK ECAMPBELLSOUP

[themusicsweetly]

THE CUDDLES!!! 😍💜

love was made for me and you.

[kkruml]

STAY  CH 15

A/N: My word. I’ve written about a dozen iterations of this chapter and deleted them all. Nothing felt right, no next step seemed logical or natural in moving these characters to where I want them to be. With some serious hand holding, love, and, encouragement by @abreathofsnowandwaffles, @missclairebelle and @ecampbellsoup​ I hope I’ve managed to stay true to these characters and this story.

A sincere thank you to anyone out there still reading this story. 9 months is an insane amount of time to wait between chapters so I am really grateful for anyone who still finds this story worthy of their time.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

AO3

Mood Music

Previously

“Ye’ve spent sae many hours scouring my bookcases looking for Laird knows what- this is a better- and more entertaining- use of yer time.”

“More entertaining, you say? For whom, exactly?” Feeling the smile in her voice, he let out a heavy sigh and nuzzled his nose into the curls at the nape of her neck. Her voice was shy as she asked, “Would you show me a few more?”

This just might work.

Slowly, and carefully, he showed her cord after cord. Pausing occasionally as her crude British tongue broke his concentration, he watched her fingers move slowly from string to string. Kissing her shoulder, and feeling confident he had shown her enough cords to pique her interest, he reluctantly disentangled himself from her.

Slowly shuffling to the hall, he turned at the doorway for a final look. He stopped to take her in.

A look of determination set on her face. Her left hand was rotated and gripped the guitar’s neck with purpose. The loose white shirt, his shirt, hung off her shoulder- exposing the faintest of black ink on her shoulder.

Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he swiped the screen and held the phone up. He watched her form come into focus on his screen and hit the shutter button, watching a freeze frame of this moment flicker and disappear.

CLAIRE

Visualize the movement. Breath on the down-stroke. Focus.

You can do this Beauchamp.

Fingers trembled in place as they spread over the strings, stretched and suspended- waiting.

C. G. Am. 

Her fingers struggled to steady as she found the last chord. 

F.

“Ha!” she exclaimed triumphantly as the strings hummed pleasantly under her fingertips. 

“Ye’ll be chargin’ folks to hear ye play before ye know it, Sassenach.” Deep yet playful, she heard his cautiously optimistic tone seep through his breezy banter.

“Don’t distract me,” the words came out but there was no real weight behind them. Just beneath the surface, she could feel- almost touch his eagerness to be near her. He hadn’t broached the subject of sex or intimacy since the accident, save a few small reflexive nuzzles and small kisses into her hair. 

And of course- those three words. 

They hung suspended between them. An intimacy she never dreamed of and yet, there it was. Since that proclamation, she’d felt shy. Unsure of herself and whatever recollections she lost- and with them the moments between them she couldn’t get back.

She pried her eyes open long enough to see a tautness to his jaw, his stubble lining the curve of his cheek, the line beautiful and potent and all at once innocent. A foreign yet familiar sensation pulsed just below her navel. 

All at once, her mind drew vivid images of them tangled in a sea of white. Like the shutter of a camera, flashes of movement filled her vision- her hands locked in his above her head, the motion of his hips against hers, the line of his lip that curled with each pulsation. Feeling like a voyeur into the memories she already had and the dream for the moments she wished to be true, she blinked and looked away.

She’d noticed him observing her for a few days now.  At first, he was watching rugby but the volume was a low hum instead of a raucous roar from the living room. Then it was his finding every excuse to meander to and from the kitchen- offering to refill a barely touched water glass or to inquire about a dram of whisky. 

Finally he set about cleaning the bedroom or rather, shuffling piles of his laundry from the bed to the chair, studiously inspecting the contents of each garment with great effort.  

Her eyes would linger on the nape of his neck, auburn curls kissing the skin as the ripples of muscle flexed under the cotton of his shirt. Like the night they met. A flicker of a memory- or was it a memory? The thought lingered just long enough before fading into the deep like a wave receding from the shore.

Right on cue, Jamie sauntered into the room- whisky in hand. 

Eyeing her glass, he paused before uncorking the bottle and splashing a few drops into the tumbler. Setting the whisky down onto the nightstand, he waited. His hand dropped to his side, index finger drumming against his thigh. Every line in his body was tense and unsure, searching for something. His voice was hoarse but warm, “Did ye… need anything?”

Neach-gleidhidh. 

Guardian.

Cocking her head to the side, her eyes shifted to his face. Smiling, she said, “You call that a proper pour?” 

                                          _________

JAMIE

They were awoken by the melodic whistle of a small Stonechat just outside their window, and the soft sigh next to him that accompanied it filled the room. 

Instinctively, he stretched his limbs to the corners of the bed. Feeling her form next to him, he paused. Still hesitant and unsure, he resisted reaching out to her. He felt her warmth, thrumming and inviting. He thought he felt her sharp intake of breath.

“Oh-Jamie!” Soft, delicate fingers reached for him and settled on his forearm with a gentle ease. Her voice, clear and awake despite the early hour, hummed with a verve that pulsed between them. “I saw there was a pick your own strawberry patch just a few towns away. What do you say to a bit of fresh air?”

Her fingertips burned into his skin. 

Sorcha. 

The sensation was intoxicating. His flesh buzzed with an almost dizzying energy.

She’d resisted leaving the flat for more than her medical follow ups since the accident. A cloud had hung over their flat, a quiet melancholy that melded with moments of comfort. Long stretches of rain cast a shade over the apartment, but this morning was a most welcome hint of spring breaking through. 

“Oh,” he started, trying to wrestle with the excitement in his voice. “I suppose I could.”

“I would kill for some caffeine,” her voice was suddenly small, quiet. “Could we stop for a cuppa on the way?”

Small steps forward, lad.

“Aye Sassenach.”

                                         _________

CLAIRE

Where the bloody hell are his keys?

Fingers impatiently swept across folds of material as they searched through his satchel. A solid metallic rectangle shuffled loose and made a thud against the worn wood floor. The screen lit up and her eyes caught the distinctive pattern of a brick wall, a swirl of curls, and white chucks. 

The night they met. 

The image, his view of her, was staring back at her. Seemingly meaningless but yet, he wanted to take it. To keep it. To keep that snapshot in time, forever. 

Her fingers twitched as she carefully picked up the device, trembling slightly as she swiped the screen as a new image came into view. A profile of her shoulder, a mess of curls interrupting the white ivory skin. Peeking through a tangle of brown, stark lines of black wings seemed to dance across the screen. 

The heron. 

A whisper echoed in the room, a faint but distinctly familiar voice, her father. When in doubt, love, remember the heron. 

Carefully, she set the phone back on the table, face up. Watching the screen dim and fade to black, she let out the breath she had been holding. 

“Are ye ready, Sassenach?” His voice echoed from the hallway and snapped her from her thoughts.

Ready. Was she ready? 

She wasn’t sure. But she needed to get out of their flat. 

Their flat. 

The thought made her smile, and slowly she felt the tension between her shoulders recede. Shoving his phone and keys back into his bag, she grabbed the leather straps and clutched it close to her chest. With a new resolve, she strode towards the door and into the sunshine.

                                          _________

JAMIE

With a new cup of Oolong in one hand and black coffee in the other he hurriedly made his way back to the car, muttering a few course words for the barista- and the fresh and still steaming stain on his pullover. 

This is no’ the time to be mussed up or late… again.

“Thank you,” she said softly, reaching for her tea. Her fingers grazed his and she paused. Like a bolt of lightning coursing through his veins, he flinched but did not draw his hand away. “Though… you were gone so long I feared you had stood me up… again.”

“Och ye see…” he started before he caught the bite of her lip as she smiled. Their second date. “A witch are ye then- able to read my thoughts?”

“A witch- as in green with ruby slippers?” she said with a smirk and fake indignation. Her eyes gazed down at her hand- smooth ivory skin taught the lines on her palm. Her voice softened, “Well no but… perhaps a white one.”

A white witch.

Ban-druidh.

                                         _________

CLAIRE

“Did ye ken the surname ‘Fraser’ isna Scottish?” His voice was wistful, thick with centuries of history behind it.

She paused, watching the sun light his hair in a soft afternoon glow. Meandering through another row of bushes, each step was more tranquil than the last. “Oh wot- no ‘History of Scotland’ lesson today then?”

Letting a most decidedly Scottish grunt speak for him, he crouched down to a nearby plant. Inspecting each strawberry with a nimble index finger and thumb, he turned back to look at her. “There’s nothing more Scottish than yer clan’s history, ye ken.”

She could see the story bubbling from within him. She longed for the lilt of his voice as he expounded centuries of Scottish history. Yearning to hear more yet reticent to seem too eager, she exhaled and gave an exaggerated eye roll for good measure. “Oh aye… And?”

A deep hum rolled in his chest and his lip pulled at the corner, giving way to a heart stopping smile. It took her breath away. 

This man. 

The cock of his head, the set of his shoulders. The look in his eye. She’d seen that look before. A heady stare, behind it held whispers in the dark and promises made between them in early hours of the morning. A truth between them. A promise. 

This man loves me.

He settled back onto his heels, his knees pressed into the soil and his hands resting on his thighs. She recognized the posture- it was the same he adopted when regaling her of tales of his time in France with his brother-in-law Ian, and when settling in with a dram of whisky while telling stories of his time at Uni.

Pulled to him like a magnet, she knelt down beside him. Leaning forward with anticipation, an honest smile spread across her lips.

“Ye see, Sassenach… I am a Highlander- born and bred. But our name ‘Fraser’ is French. A Monsieur Fresiliere came across from France wi’ King WIlliam. ‘Tis a long story, but he took a piece of the Scottish mountains. Part of that land included what became Lallybroch.” His shoulders straightened with pride, his voice dripping with humor. “Even if our tower doesna have a face.”

North-facing tower. 

She had studied that one. Had repeated it over and over to herself since he took her to his childhood home. 

“Turarach.” She said softly to herself. 

                                       _________

JAMIE

Had he not etched that word into his heart as a wee lad, he might have missed it. But there it was- clear as day.

He taught her that word. 

He took her home when Jenny had her bairn. They had spent the day exploring Lallybroch, and he had taken her to the broch- or what remained of it. He had painstakingly repeated the word to her, syllable by syllable. And he watched her English tongue stumble over the vowels in a most endearing way. 

Clearing his throat, he attempted to collect himself. “Och, aye lass. I see ye’ve kept up yer studies.”

Her eyes widened and a soft shade of blush spread across her cheeks. “Well…there’s only so much Rugby I can watch without taking to your bookshelf for solace.” 

Or my guitar.

His heart constricted as he watched her face struggle to maintain composure. “Are ye makin’ fun of me?”

Fighting a smile, she replied, “Oh I would never, Monsieur Fréselière.”

He shifted towards her. “Monsieur is it? I seem to remember ye called me Laird.”

                                      _________

CLAIRE

A memory. 

Safely tucked under dark linens and surrounded by the stone walls of his childhood room, she’d had a glimpse into the past. Splashes of tartan mixed with the heat of campfire and starlight filled her vision. In that moment she’d called him ‘Laird,’ and felt the prophecy behind it. 

The weight of his gaze burned her skin.The safe haven of that room, the intimacy of that moment filled the space between them. Blinking her way into the present and determined to meet his stare, she countered, “Did I?”

“Oh aye.” The mood shifted as he breathed out the words, an almost palpable energy pulsated between them. A deep purr erupted from his chest, his accent thick. “I felt more whole in that moment than I had in a long time.” 

Whole.

The word danced around the corners of her mind. Her eyes shifted from him to the golden hues splashed across the sky. Was she whole? Twisting her wrist for inspection, she felt no sharp pain, just a dull ache from use. 

No longer broken. 

Now came the recovery. As a doctor she had seen the scans, she knew the rehabilitation trajectory. Yet here, with him, the statistics and analytical journal findings faded from mental view. Here, in this moment, she was simply Claire. With Jamie. Her Jamie. An overwhelming sense of calm washed over her.

“I think I know exactly what you mean,” drawing her gaze back to him, she exhaled contentedly. Instinctively, her hand reached out for his, taking it gently. “Thank you, Jamie.”

“Och, ‘tis nothing lass.” Dirt-stained fingertips pressed into her skin. His warmth encompassed her.

“Jamie…” she started, her eyes lowering to see their fingers intertwined. Blinking hard and tilting her face to meet his, she finished, “I don’t just mean for today.”

An echo of a smile tugged at his lips and he exhaled.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach,” His voice hummed, soft and tender. “There’s the two of us now.”

His words were so simple. But there was something in the blue of his eyes that spoke to the depth of his meaning. Her breath caught as she felt the same weight of prophecy to his words.

[wafflesetc]

This is her welcome back to tumblr post. @ecampbellsoup- you don’t know how lucky I am to have a friend like YOU! 💜

[rochibolettieri]

Thoughts on 4x09 “The birds and the bees”

I’m beaming with joy, still not calm, I need to keep screaming at the screen (if you want to scream with me my DM/inbox is open hahaha) because THIS WAS PURE GOLD. The Outlander we all love and deserve is finally here. You can see that, when the writing gets close to the books, everything is perfect, and this episode is a great example so let’s hope it´ll keep that way.

Spoilers below the cut

The beginning made me want to hug Bree so hard until her ghosts fade away. She was so torn after the r*pe that I couldn’t even watch it without crying, she deserved better. And thank god Lizzie heard about the Frasers being at Wilmington at the same time and warned Brianna.

Reunions:

OMG Bree found Jamie!!!! I have to write an entire paragraph about HOW AMAZING SAM HEUGHAN IS. Still can’t believe how he didn’t get any nomination/award. He always steals the show with those small touches, gestures, unscripted moments, AND HE NEVER RECIEVES ANY RECOGNITION. Is unfair, truly. His performance not only enriches the scene, the episode, but also the person with whom he works. Even if he's alone, he always excels.

Anyway, in the reunion scene both Sam and Sophie did an outstanding work, the sensation of confusion/relief/happiness in Jamie’s face is so pure, he finally gets to meet his beautiful darling daughter, the one he had to resign at Culloden, the one he couldn’t raise and had to give to another man. But having her there, in flesh and bone, for him is a blessing and I can’t stop thinking about it. This scene was one of my favorites of the whole show, I dare to say it even surpasses the reunion ep between Jamie/Claire (maybe), but I can assure you, this one has a special place in my heart.

The same emotions happens with Claire/Bree, only that their bond is already strong, obviously because she raised her since the pregnancy. After seeing her, Claire experiments the same emotions (confusion/fear/relief/happiness), and I think for Bree is the same. She needed to find her, and after what happened, she’s not only happy to see her, but happy because she can find comfort in her mamma.

Young Ian:

YOUNG IAN IS BACK! God I missed this one, I really needed the joy he brings to the story. Anyway, I don’t remember if he was aware of Bree’s existence but he definitely wasn’t surprised, and as always, he was very welcoming (I love him so much, another pure soul).

I cracked when Lizzie said “so so beautiful” to him and he thought she was talking to Rollo. He doesn’t even figured out, hahah (Rollo is beautiful tho, but we aren’t talking about him rn).

Murtagh:

Another reunion I wanted to watch. Do you remember how he talked about that hypothetical child in 3x03? How bad he wanted to see if she was safe, with her mother by her side, protecting her? Well, now he has the possibility to see it, and he’s so surprised but filled with joy (thank you writers for doing this). I really love the happiness in his face, to see the whole family finally complete.

Jamie/Brianna:

I feel the whole chapter focused on creating a bond between father and daughter, in the same way it was done in 4x06 with Jamie and Willie, and I love it that way. You see, Jamie had to let go of his family and the possibility of raising his children some time ago, and it's beautiful to see how that relationship is forged now. Even if it’s about shooting, hunting, or just watching his children sleep, he feels a happiness and a pride that (I think) only a father has.

Those little moments he manages to have with Brianna, are prized by him (speaking to her in Gaelic, hunting bees, listening to her calling him Da, etc). It’s something that every father will appreciate forever. Also, CAN WE SPEAK OF YOUR FACE WHEN YOU SAW BREE TO SMILE WHILE SLEEPING? OMG I´m still not over it.

Claire/Bree:

As I said before, the reunion between mother and daughter is stronger because obviously their bond is. For Bree, she is her mamma, the only person she can trust (we are all daughters/sons, and I suppose most of us have that link with our mothers, so I suppose is understandable what I intend to say). That's why it's not uncommon for Claire to know what's wrong with her daughter, like Brianna feels safe to tell her her secrets. Besides, Claire's face when she found out about her daughter's rape broke my heart. Last night I saw a post from @ecampbellsoup that related the pain of Claire losing Faith with the pain of seeing her second daughter hurt. Cait has that ability to break into twenty thousand pieces with just one look, and in this case she did it and very well (i was crying the whole scene).

Jamie/Claire:

Finally we returned to see the intimacy between them (YAY!). The sweet exchanges of shared glances, caresses, and moments talking in bed are my favorites. Jamie telling Claire that her daughter called him Da for the first time, how he cannot stop seeing her while she sleeps, his need to protect her at all costs, and above all, the pain of seeing her leave again. I don’t know about you but I noticed that sensation of familiarity and simplicity between them (and Bree of course), how easy it is for them to interact, and I can’t wait for more.

On the other hand, and to conclude, Jamie hitting Roger almost to death was satisfying (kind of), but at the same time it was too much. You’ll see, it wasn’t my favorite part of the book when I read it, and in this ep, even if I think he deserves a thrashing for the way he behaved with Bree, I don’t agree with start beating the man without even let him introduce.

ANYWAY, I’m in love with the chapter, with the actings, I’m so so happy for the Fraser’s because they are finally the family they always wanted. I need the scene when Jamie sings to Bree for the next chapter or I will die, and I really need the reunion between brother and sister (aka Fergus/Bree). 

Happy New Year for the ones who get to read this and wish you all the best for 2019. See you next week, muuuack.

[scotsmanandsassenach]

Hi! After a long break, I´m back to tumblr and now I´m looking for some blogs, which are dedicated to outlander - mostly SC/JC. Do you, or even your followers, have some blogs they could recommend? I would appreciate any blog that encourages positivity ❤️

Welcome back to tumblr, Anon! Here at SANDS we actually focus more on tags than individual blogs. That being said, here are some of our favs:

@manders1984 @phoenixflames12 @nighean–donn @jemscorner @sassenach4life @caitbalfes @jewelsbrooke @ecampbellsoup @lulu-tan79… there are so many more! 

If you’re interested in fan fiction it is worth your while following @imagineclaireandjamie @otheroutlandertales @thelallybrochlibrary

HELP AN ANON OUT AND COMMENT/REBLOG IF YOUR BLOG IS MOSTLY SC/JC!! 

x SANDS x

[audramh]

WELCOME BACK, @ecampbellsoup !!! 😂

“Tryon wants his Scot; I’ll give him a Scot.”

How long has it been since Jamie has worn his kilt? Since he has donned his Fraser colors proudly for all to see? Since he has been fully himself?

It has been over two decades.

Twenty years of slowly, but surely, resigning himself to hide away the most singular part of his identity. He is James Fraser. A Scotsman. A laird. A warrior.

A rebel.

It was not merely his life with Claire that seemingly died brutally that day on Culloden Moor. No. It was also his heritage, his family, his brethren, his clan, his culture, his identity. 

It all wasted away, rotting with the blood and mud.

For years out of necessity, Jamie played the game. Through gritted teeth albeit, but if not for his own neck, for the life of his men and Murtagh. He curtsied to the redcoats, but he never bowed. 

And now Jamie has reached a crossroads where he can no longer plaster the smile. It is time for real James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser to rise up.

Donning his armour, he welcomes it as an old friend. Kilt. Dirk. Sword. Crest. 

Je suis prest, indeed. 

Claire hears him coming. As she lifts her gaze, she is stunned into silence. Unmoving. She cannot even drawn breath. She simply stares at him. She is enraptured by this man. 

This is the man who tenderly carried her heart all those years ago and holds it to this day. 

And there they are: a scot and a sassenach. 

She rises to approach him. With this depth of love, no words are needed. Merely nodding, she blesses his conquest and charges herself right beside him where she belongs. 

And now here he stands; those wild Fraser eyes blazing. Jamie has returned. 

[kkruml]

I am late to the party! Whoop Welcome back @ecampbellsoup it's beautiful seeing you back on here 💕💕💕

I AM WRITING AGAIN.

While being gone I admit that I have struggled to find the time and space to write about precious Jamie and Claire as often as I have in the past. Likewise, I realized I needed to allow myself to be inspired again—to experience this story as if I was encountering it for the first time.

It has been a long time since I have posted or proper blog or even an ‘Outlander Moment of Impact’. I must confess that I have needed the reprieve.

However, today, an old favorite scene came to my mind and I felt rejuvenated and compelled to write about a husband assuring his beloved of her capabilities as both woman and mother.

Coming soon to a blog near you 👀👀👀👀

(Ps: does anyone else find this scene to be unjustly underrated—because I certainly do!!!)