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I love your edits Are you reinspired for season 5?

Thank you so much! Yeeeeaaaaah really feeling season 5. I loved the show last year, too, but was just way too busy with life stuff to make things. Decided this year that it is important to make the time for creative chill time with photoshop. Also I just miss contributing to a fandom. :)

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The Frasers of the ridge are here

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It’s time.

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I’m afraid I have some shocking news...

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A candlelight witch, you are.

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OUTLANDER 3.01 - The Battle Joined

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You're safe now. I'm going to help you, I swear.

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I treated Claire badly—or well, depending how one looks at it. I won’t go into the sordid details; leave it that I’m sorry.

Circle’s Close, Chapter 71, Drums Of Autumn

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From this odd plateau of remoteness, she could see how much her parents—so wildly different in temperament and manner—were alike in this one respect; that odd ability to mingle compassion with sheer ruthlessness. But they were different even in that, she thought; Claire could hold life and death together in her hands, and yet preserve herself, hold aloof; a doctor must go on living, for the sake of her patients, if not for her own sake. Jamie would be ruthless toward himself, as much as—or more than—he would be to anyone else.

Away In A Manger, Chapter 48, Drums Of Autumn

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You heard your sister. Haste ye back or else.

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Not everyone who goes through the stones comes out again.” His look sharpened. “How d’ye ken that, Sassenach?” “I can—I could—hear them. Screaming

A Father’s Song, Chapter 47, Drums Of Autumn

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You would be mine, even if the child was not. And if you—yes. I would,” he repeated firmly. “I should take you, and the child with ye, and damn the whole world!” “And never think about it afterward?” I asked. “Never let it come into your mind when you came to my bed? Never see the father when you looked at the child? Never throw it back at me or let it make a difference between us?” He opened his mouth to reply, but closed it without speaking. Then I saw a change come over his features, a sudden shock of sick realization. “Oh, Christ,” he said. “Frank.

A Father’s Song, Chapter 47, Drums Of Autumn

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Dragonflies hung in the patches of sunshine on the shallows, and minnows darted past, snatching gnats too small for me to see. A kingfisher called in a loud, dry rattle from somewhere upstream, but he was after larger prey. The minnows scattered at my intrusion but then swarmed back, gray and silver, green and gold, black marked with white, all insubstantial as the shadows from last year’s leaves, floating on the water. Brownian motion, I thought, seeing puffs of silt float up and swirl around my ankles, obscuring the fish. Everything moving, all of the time, down to the smallest molecule—but in its movement, giving the paradoxical impression of stillness, small local chaos giving way to the illusion of a greater order overall. I moved, too, taking my part in the stream’s bright dance, feeling light and shadow change across my shoulders, toes searching for footholds among the slippery, half-seen rocks. My hands and feet were numb from the water; I felt as though I were half made of wood, yet intensely alive, like the silver birch that glowed above me, or the willows that trailed wet leaves in the pool below. Perhaps the legends of green men and the myths of transformed nymphs began this way, I thought: not with trees come alive and walking, nor yet with women turned to wood—but with submersion of warm human flesh into the colder sensations of the plants, chilled to slow awareness. I could feel my heart beat slowly, and the half-painful throb of blood in my fingers. Sap rising. I moved with the rhythms of water and of wind, without haste or conscious thought, part of the slow and perfect order of the universe.

Enter A Serpent, Chapter 25, Drums Of Autumn

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You are my courage, as I am your conscience,” he whispered. “You are my heart—and I your compassion. We are neither of us whole, alone. Do ye not know that, Sassenach?” “I do know that,” I said, and my voice shook. “That’s why I’m so afraid. I don’t want to be half a person again, I can’t bear it.

The First Law Of Thermodynamics, Chapter 16, Drums Of Autumn

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Small frogs sang all around me, and the stiff leaves of cattails rustled softly in the evening breeze. It was very, very peaceful, and all of a sudden I found myself shaking so hard that I had to sit down on the stream bank. Anytime. It could happen anytime, and just this fast. I wasn’t sure which seemed most unreal; the bear’s attack, or this, the soft summer night, alive with promise. I rested my head on my knees, letting the sickness, the residue of shock, drain away. It didn’t matter, I told myself. Not only anytime, but anywhere. Disease, car wreck, random bullet. There was no true refuge for anyone, but like most people, I managed not to think of that most of the time.

Noble Savages, Chapter 15, Drums Of Autumn