Besties, my soulmark au is FINISHED, and what I thought would be a one-shot is clocking in at 14.8k words. 😅 So I decided to break it into 3 parts and also do something fun since the show ended. One of my favorite memories from my first droughtlander was staying up until midnight for a new chapter of IMDE. So I’ve decided to post a chapter a week on Thursday evenings (I will not make it to midnight, so likely 8pm lol) since we don’t have any more new episodes (😭). However, I will be traveling this Thursday, so I’m going to post starting on June 11 and that will go through the end of June. Moodboard and summary are below! I had a lot of fun with this one and I'm excited to share it! 💜
Summary:
Every person with a soulmate received a soulmark on their skin in adolescence — their soulmate’s birthdate inked on their wrist. The marks were never wrong. But for Jamie Fraser in 1732 and Claire Beauchamp in 1932, the appearance of their soulmarks create more questions than answers. In the 20th century, Claire’s uncle begins a quest to understand unusual soulmarks and what this means for his niece. Two hundred years prior, Brian Fraser instructs his son to hide his mark from those who would believe in more sinister origins for it. Claire and Jamie grow up accepting that they’ll never meet their soulmate, but a fated trip through the stones will have them questioning everything they thought they knew about their soulmarks… and who they were always meant for.
“When I heard my uncle’s voice from outside the stables, I thought I must be imaginin’ it — after all, Colum MacKenzie had far more important things to do than bring himself down from his tower to speak to his nephew, the injured stableboy. But then Auld Alec, who was Master of Horse at Leoch, came to fetch me. Yer uncle’s come, he said. And there’s a lady wi’ him.”
“And the lady was Mam,” Lock says, and Claire, nursing baby Bea in the chair as the other children pile around Jamie on the bed, can’t help but smile at the hushed way he says it, his familiar role within this familiar story.
to those following along at home (reading my personal posts on tumblr dot com) u know this chapter almost killed me lol. huge shoutout to @honourablepranksinatra for helping me iron out the plot details for this chapter when i couldnt bring myself to endure The Horrors again for literary integrity. ur a real one bestie.
Chapter 5: turn bleak december
Chapter summary: "Hello, Claire," Black Jack Randall says.
The Temple healing hall is quiet around them. Claire has finished folding her twelfth linen, and is anxious to find Master Ray. Once she is done with the day’s training, she can sneak into Geillis’s room, and they can practice making shadows dance along the wall with levitated objects.
She is also unsure whether she wants to return to the healing hall tomorrow. Garr Benta was old, and peaceful in death, but Master Hildegard had predicted that he was to live another week.
“You have much on your mind,” says Master Hildegard’s voice. It’s less a question than one of the blunt observations so typical of the elderly healer, but Claire still takes it as one, frowning and trying to formulate a response. “Tell me, Claire. Did our friend Benta’s death upset you?”
Claire blinks, unprepared. In matter of fact, she has been trying to avoid the issue in her head. She knows that Jedi should not be attached.
She begins, more hesitant than she means: “N-no. No. I only –” She casts around for the source of her troubles. “I thought I did everything you told me to correctly,” she finally lands on.
“And so you did.” The deep lines furrowing down the old woman’s face shift with her surprise. “My dear – there was no mistake on your part.”
“Then why …” Claire chews her lip. They are sitting on their knees with their legs tucked beneath them in the empty ivory chamber, which is dim save for the quiet afternoon sunlight filtering quietly through the slats in the room’s translucent walls. Claire’s curls, recently cut short to celebrate her eleventh birthday, tickle around her cheeks; the space and Force around them is quiet. The Temple should be a peaceful place, Claire knows. “How can I be a healer when there is no way to know the outcome?”
☆ day twenty-four: murtagh fitzgibbons ☆
— outlander murtagh fitzgibbons fraser x gn!reader with the following prompt: You would never see it, for when you looked his way, he always turned his gaze. But in the moments before, when you were distracted, he believed that you hung the very stars in the sky—he believed you were the reason the birds sung in the morning, that the tide found its way to the shore.
w/c: 883 words
a/n: i lowkey wrote this prompt out of thin air and pinned it to murtagh immediately. i love him, your honor. p.s., mentions god if that makes you uncomfortable
click here for the original event post.
MASTERLIST
Murtagh was a rich man—not with money or good fortune, but because he was graced with your presence. Many a time, his past snuck up to haunt him, a reminder that he once held the world in the palm of his hand and lost it all in an instant. He did not talk about it, either. But now, as he lived his life regardless of what happened in his younger years, he had you. That alone was enough for him to believe that his fate was in the hands of some otherworldly being. Perhaps the fae saw his efforts and decided to reward him. Maybe God finally chose to listen to his half-hearted prayers and whispered promises.
You did not know this. You knew little of Murtagh's past, only knowing him for his present and the way in which he cared for his nephew and those he considered close—you, of course, being included in that mess. Other than that? You did not know how he felt. You did not know what he truly felt. You would never see it, for when you looked his way, he always turned his gaze. But in the moments before, when you were distracted, he believed that you hung the very stars in the sky—he believed you were the reason the birds sung in the morning, that the tide found its way to the shore.
No. It was not belief alone. He knew it to be true. Your delicate hands strung the lights in which he knew so well, your soul ignited the fire that kept him warm on nights so dangerously cold.
You were the reason he lived, the reason he breathed when he was not keeping a long-held promise to his nephew.
Perhaps that's why now, he stood in front of you, eyes locked with yours as they never had. You saw every mark on his face—every wrinkle, every sun-kissed spot, every crease of a man who had lived a life of daring. He saw you just the same, though his recollection of your features had long since burned itself into the back of his mind.
He had fallen completely and utterly in love with you like an absolute fool, and yet, he did not regret a moment of it.
His tongue darted out to wet his tongue, words soon flowing in an uncharacteristic way—he really was trying. "I've to confess to ye," he said, hands balled into fists by his side. "It's somethin' I've held on for months now, an' I cannae hold it any longer."
Your eyes widened at his words, but you made no move to interrupt. You may not have known—the intrigue, however, was enough to keep you enraptured with the rugged man before you. Ultimately, whatever he confessed to you now, you would accept it in stride. You were certain that there were parts of him that were like your own in that you cared for him. Deeply.
"I love ye," he said, voice quiet yet powerful in its own way. "I love ye, and there's no part of me that's ready to live without you." His hands relaxed by his side. For a man who stood proud before so many powerful man, he was a lost cause in front of you. "I cannae go another day without yet knowin', but I understand if there's no way you feel the same."
"What?" you balked, almost immediately speaking as soon as he finished. "What do you mean? Why would I not feel the same?"
"I never seem to catch your eye," he said, eyes twinkling with mirth. He always looked away on purpose, or pretended to be looking at something beyond you.
"Oh, Christ, Murtagh," you said, frowning deeply. "You never catch my eye because you're a stubborn man who refuses to be caught."
A small smile tugged at his lips. He tilted his head curiously as he watched, unable to stop himself from such a childish, mundane act. "For what it's worth, I cannae say I've ever spent a day without thinkin' of ye."
That familiar burn of embarrassment—or, well, your nerves—began to bubble in the pit of your chest, a tell-tale sign that he was getting to you with merely his words. You cleared your throat, glancing around. No one was watching, but it would not last that way forever.
"Should we... should we go some other place?" you asked softly. "You know. Speak of this without any prying ears."
"Pryin' ears? You care so much, hm?"
"No," you quickly said. "No, no, I don't. I just... assumed you would rather talk in private instead of letting everyone know your business."
His smile did not disappear. He continued to look at you, assessing the situation, before he nodded and motioned with a hand for you to lead the way.
"After ye, then," he said. "Take me where this conversation will best be had."
You hung the stars—that much was true. What you'd soon learn was that Murtagh now knew you to paint the very sky itself, your soul a canvas marked by all you were and all you would ever be—now with the help of the rugged Scotsman, as long as you let him.
A/N: welp...this is it. The last chapter of fanfiction I will ever write. After 25 years of writing fic in one form or another, I am finally ready to retire. I am forever grateful to this fandom for giving me the freedom to create and write amazing stories and for the love y'all continue to give me. Thank you and enjoy!
Beta: @islayandlochs (you gorgeous babe you 😘)
“Sae young,” Jamie whispered into Claire’s hair. “How ye could deal wi’ sae much loss at such a young age…”
“You learn to pick up the pieces and move along, I suppose,” Claire replied, muffled as her face was pressed into his chest.
-----
Their bare limbs were intertwined between the bed sheets and each other, deliberately exploring, touching and kissing, caressing and stroking, as if time had stopped just for them. Jamie was unconsciously running his fingers through Claire’s slightly frizzled curls, his other hand languidly moving up and down her back. Claire had taken particular interest in the hairs on his chest, a finger coasting through its coarse ruddiness gently.
They had made love cautiously at first, tender and aware that the other might have potential sensitivities, but it didn’t take long for them to realize that they needn’t be gentle, or subtle.
What they needed was each other.
“Do it now! And don’t be gentle!”
It was all Claire had to say before Jamie lost himself completely in his desire for her body and soul. And Claire didn’t hesitate to give him the same fervor. Hearts racing, sweat gleaming, and breathless, they rode the ride of each other’s pleasure til it’s conclusion, where they laid back down, exhausted yet irresistibly happy.
Both of them had been sexually oppressed in one form or another for far too long, that was clear. And while Jamie believed it wasn’t his business to guess what kept Claire chaste, his own sensitivities brought back memories embedded not only in his mind and heart, but in his flesh.
“It’s been a while for you, hasn’t it?” Claire had asked him.
“Since I’ve taken a woman to my bed? Perhaps. Since I’ve made proper love to a woman I desire? Well…ye might want to call me a virgin in that regard, Sassenach.”
“Oh? Is that a story you’re willing to share?”
Jamie took a deep breath, feeling the resistance of Claire’s head pillowed on top of his chest, and commended his soul to God.
“Aye. I think it’s time ye ken my true tale, Sassenach.”
Chapters: 12/?
Fandom: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Characters: Claire Beauchamp, Jamie Fraser (Outlander), Ian Murray, Jenny Fraser, Other Outlander characters, Original Characters, very minimal Frank Randall - Character
Additional Tags: Snowed In, falling in love fast, Self-Indulgent, Tropes
Summary:
Snow can be a lot of things: Pretty. Dangerous. Magical. All of it at once at times as well.
