Jamie x Claire x ✨this move✨

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

Ye dinna see any marked changes, do ye, Sassenach?    

Man may have discovered fire, but women discovered how to play with it.

Candace Bushnell. Sex and the City

Jamie & Claire in Outlander s5

"Will ye kiss me, Claire?" "Always." OUTLANDER 2x11 | 5x07 | 7x07

Can you recommend foody scenes and fics where the whumpee gets poisoned or drugged? (No no-con please)

Thanks

Sure thing! Here's some great drugged/poisoned scenes:

Burn Notice 7x11

MacGyver (1980s) 1x11

Hawaii Five-0 and 1x23 5x07

The Alienist 1x07

Timeless 1x06

Merlin 1x04 and 5x08

White Collar 1x10

The Mentalist 5x02

Sherlock 3x01

Murdoch Mysteries 9x18

Harrow 2x10

Leverage 4x10

Leverage Redemption 1x09

Legends of Tomorrow 3x05

Teen Wolf 3x01

Hudson & Rex 2x16

Once Upon a Time 3x03 3x04 and 3x05 for Charming poisoned and the whole of season 7 (Hook's poisoned heart)

Dark Angel season 2 (Logan Cale is infected with a genetically targeted retrovirus that is activated when Max touches him.)

General Hospital April 2021 multiple episodes

Free Rein episodes 3x01, 3x05-3x10

Legend of the Seeker 1x01

Fate the Winx Saga 1x03

Supergirl 2x22

Outlander 5x09

NCIS 1x20 and 2x22

Buffy the Vampire Slayer 3x21 and 3x22

Emerald City 1x02

Hallmark movie Hailey Dean Mystere: Deady Estate.

Off hand I can't think of any fanfics but you can always look through my masterlist and see what you find: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1jfJ8rHwvGCzmCfwJolr925mSCjcR5TS0TDPlCnzCOEY/edit?usp=sharing

My Favorite Jamie and Claire Love Scenes, in Order

For ✨ science ✨

1. The Reckoning

2. The Wedding

3. Full English Breakfast

4. Eye of the Storm

5. Turtle Soup

6. Would an Angel do This?

7. Warm Bath by the Fire

8. Happy Birthday, Jamie

9. A. Malcolm

10. Law of Thermodynamics

506 ↣ 507

He lifted his hand and let my hair fall slowly from his fingers, brushing my face, skimming my lips, floating soft and heavy on my neck and shoulders, lying like feathers at the tops of my breasts.

“Mo nighean donn,” he whispered, “mo chridhe. My brown lass, my heart.”

“Come to me. Cover me. Shelter me, a bhean, heal me. Burn with me, as I burn for you.”

    ~ The Fiery Cross

t a k e  m y  w h o l e  l i f e ,  t o o

He took his dirk from its discarded sheath, and with no hesitation, drew the edge across the fingers of his right hand. I could see the thin dark line across his fingertips, and bit my lips. He waited a moment for the blood to well up, then shook his hand with a sudden hard flick of the wrist, so that droplets of blood flew from his fingers and struck the standing stone at the head of the pool.

He laid the dirk beneath the stone, and crossed himself with the blood-streaked fingers of his right hand. He knelt then, very slowly, and bowed his head over folded hands.

I’d seen him pray now and then, of course, but always in public, or at least with the knowledge that I was there. Now he plainly thought himself alone, and to watch him kneeling so, stained with blood and his soul given over, made me feel that I spied on an act more private than any intimacy of the body. I would have moved or spoken, and yet to interrupt seemed a sort of desecration.

(From THE FIERY CROSS by Diana Gabaldon, chapter 22, "The Fiery Cross." )

𝗷𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗲 𝘅 𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗲 • every moment, every second • 𝟱𝟬/∞

@AngusAngels