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August 08 2017

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Elemental Correspondences

July 16 2017


“Winter is Coming”... tonight!

HBO is airing an encore presentation of Season 6 on HBO2 East HD right now.  Can’t wait to see the Starks S7 Game of Thrones!  9 pm EST!

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Daenerys Targaryen + diamond cut out dress

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“And Arya… he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he had… yet she could always make Jon smile. He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up her hair once more and watch her make a face, to hear her finish a sentence with him.”

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My favorite art from Buddha Doodles @buddhadoodles


July 15 2017

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Sam Heughan from the book ‘The Making of Outlander’ | Outlander Season 2

July 14 2017





Another way to think about today’s promo pictures: Claire and her three husbands…



She’s not wrong. 😜

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Those boots are make for walking..😍😍😍😍 #loveforsam #kingofman #sassenachwarriors #samheughan #jamiefraser #outlander

July 13 2017







July 11 2017

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“I—spoke to you of my wife,” he said, forcing the words out as though they hurt him.

“Yes, you said that she was dead.”

“I said that she was gone, Major,” Fraser corrected softly. His eyes were fixed on the pawn. “It is likely she is dead, but—” He stopped and swallowed, then went on more firmly.

“My wife was a healer. What they call in the Highlands a charmer, but more than that. She was a white lady—a wisewoman.” He glanced up briefly. “The word in Gaelic is ban-druidh; it also means witch.”

“The white witch.” Grey also spoke softly, but excitement was thrumming through his blood. “So the man’s words referred to your wife?”

“I thought they might. And if so—” The wide shoulders stirred in a slight shrug. “I had to go,” he said simply. “To see.”

“How did you know where to go? Was that also something you gleaned from the vagrant’s words?” Grey leaned forward slightly, curious. Fraser nodded, eyes still fixed on the ivory chess piece.

“There is a spot I knew of, not too far distant from this place, where there is a shrine to St. Bride. St. Bride was also called ‘the white lady,’” he explained, looking up. “Though the shrine has been there a verra long time—since long before St. Bride came to Scotland.”

“I see. And so you assumed that the man’s words referred to this spot, as well as to your wife?”

Again the shrug.

“I did not know,” Fraser repeated. “I couldna say whether he meant anything to do with my wife, or whether ‘the white witch’ only meant St. Bride—was only meant to direct me to the place—or perhaps neither. But I felt I must go.”

He described the place in question, and at Grey’s prodding, gave directions for reaching it.

“The shrine itself is a small stone in the shape of an ancient cross, so weathered that the markings scarce show on it. It stands above a small pool, half-buried in the heather. Ye can find small white stones in the pool, tangled among the roots of the heather that grows on the bank. The stones are thought to have great powers, Major,” he explained, seeing the other’s blank look. “But only when used by a white lady.”

“I see. And your wife…?” Grey paused delicately.
Fraser shook his head briefly.
“There was nothing there to do with her,” he said softly. “She is truly gone.” His voice was low and controlled, but Grey could hear the undertone of desolation.

Fraser’s face was normally calm and unreadable; he did not change expression now, but the marks of grief were clear, etched in the lines beside mouth and eyes, thrown into darkness by the flickering fire. It seemed an intrusion to break in upon such a depth of feeling, unstated though it was,

July 05 2017

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It’s a brand new day in New Smyrna Beach, Florida.

July 04 2017


"Sleep well?" I asked idiotically.


A grin broadened across his face. “No,” he said. “Did you?”

“No.” I could feel the heat of him, even at this distance, in spite of the chilly room.

“Aren’t you cold?”


We fell quiet again, but could not take our eyes away from each other. I looked him over carefully in the strengthening light, comparing memory to reality. A narrow blade of early sun knifed through the shutters’ crack, lighting a lock of hair like polished bronze, gilding the curve of his shoulder, the smooth flat slope of his belly. He seemed slightly larger than I had remembered, and one hell of a lot more immediate.


“You’re bigger than I remembered,” I ventured. He tilted his head, looking down at me in amusement.

“You’re a wee bit smaller, I think.”

His hand engulfed mine, fingers delicately circling the bones of my wrist. My mouth was dry; I swallowed and licked my lips.

“A long time ago, you asked me if I knew what it was between us,” I said.

His eyes rested on mine, so dark a blue as to be nearly black in a light like this.

“I remember,” he said softly. His fingers tightened briefly on mine. “What it is – when I touch you; when ye lie with me.”


“I said I didn’t know.”

“I didna ken neither.” The smile had faded a bit, but was still there, lurking in the corners of his mouth.

“I still don’t,” I said. “But –” and stopped to clear my throat.

“But it’s still there,” he finished for me, and the smile moved from his lips, lighting his eyes. “Aye?”

It was. I was still as aware of him as I might have been of a lighted stick of dynamite in my immediate vicinity, but the feeling between us had changed. We had fallen asleep as one flesh, linked by the love of child we had made, and had waked as two people – bound by something different.

“Yes. Is it – I mean, it’s not just because of Brianna, do you think?”

The pressure on my fingers increased.

“Do I want ye because you’re the mother of my child?” He raised one ruddy eyebrow in incredulity. “Well, no. Not that I’m no grateful,” he added hastily. “But – no.” He bent his head to look down at me intently, and the sun lit the narrow bridge of his nose and sparked in his lashes.


“No,” he said. “I think I could watch ye for hours, Sassenach, to see how you have changed, or how ye’re the same. Just to see a wee thing, like the curve of your chin” – he touched my jaw gently, letting his hand slide up to cup my head, thumb stroking my earlobe – “or your ears, and the bittie holes for your ear-bobs. Those are all the same, just as they were. Your hair – I called ye mo nighean donn, d'ye recall? My brown one.” His voice was little more than a whisper, his fingers threading my curls between them.

“I expect that’s changed a bit,” I said. I hadn’t gone gray, but there were paler streaks where my normal light brown had faded to a softer gold, and here and there, the glint of a single silver strand.

“Like beechwood in the rain,” he said, smiling and smoothing a lock with one forefinger, “and the drops coming down from the leaves across the bark.”


–Chapter 26, Voyager

*Love the callback to their wedding night in this passage.

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We wish you a safe and happy July 4th!  Happy birthday, America!

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The Missing Man Table.

As we celebrate our nation’s freedom - may we never forget those we lost along the way. Those who never came home - and those whose fates remain unknown.

Please stop today, just for a moment, and remember those who can’t celebrate the holiday with us.

July 03 2017

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Maisie Williams Photographed for Red Nose Day (2017)

July 02 2017

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