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cursedcola · 2 years ago

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Synopsis: Years have passed since your homecoming to Earth. Your 'time' concluded and farewell inevitable at the hands of fate. After concluding their years at NRC, Wonderland's finest take it upon themselves to transcend dimensions and find the person who left without so much as a farewell. The catch is, they have no idea where you are, what this universe is like, and have to make a life for themselves in the meantime. How would they adapt to life on earth? Characters: Everyone. Mix of Sentient AU! and Modern AU! Warnings: None lol. This is for my own enjoyment! Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, and Diasmonia You are here!: Scarabia! Disclaimer: I did a bit of research on brazilin culture, geography, etc. for this! I have not been to Brazil, and did my best to read up in order to develop a basic level of understanding for my writing. If anything is wrong or inaccurate, please let me know! I will likely be doing research for the rest of these posts as well.

Nothing could have prepared the students of NRC for what lied beyond the mirror. A world unlike any of them ever known with magic being virtually non-existent ( or so it appears to the general public). With nothing but the clothes on their backs, falsified basic identification, personal items, and the small bits of knowledge gathered from you; these young adults have one mission - find the dimension hopping prefect, and try to stay out of prison. It was time to split up, cover as much ground as possible, and make a life in this unfamiliar reality.

Let us see how these fresh minds conform to 'Life on Earth' !

Scarabia Residence: Brazil

Kalim Al-Asim

Location: Brasilia, Brasil.

Kalim is living in the lap of luxury. He owns a four-bedroom condo in the heart of Brazil's capital and it is nothing to turn a blind eye towards. Each room is decorated to the nines with each statement piece picked out by Kalim himself on whim. Some are specially imported (he has a tiny online shopping addiction) and others are items he instantly took to when shopping the street markets.

The place is decorated like an everlasting sunset. Jewel-encrusted tapestries hang from every wall, and the windows are stained-glass which carry a beautiful glow into the open-layout of the condo. It is most definetly a pent-house so the view is spectacular. He has anything one could ever want, from a velvet couch, marble fireplace, all the way to a refrigerator with more functions than you can think of. Not to mention the golden chandelier hanging in the dining area, yeesh

Now one has to wonder, where does Kalim get the money for all of this?

Occupation: Stock Trade and Entrepreneur

Kalim has succeeded in what every freshmen studying buisness has dreamed of at least once. The man has money, and he makes it in his sleep. Literally.

When Kalim arrived on earth he did so with a large sum of money in his bag. Enough to sustain himself and Jamil for three lifetimes. He wanted enough money to travel everywhere, and spoil you rotten. He was going to buy anything you could ever want, and then buy more. All to bring it back home so you will not have any reason to come back. (and if you had family? Friends? He was going to show them that you were in good care, and leave them with enough money that you won't worry about their well-being after leaving. Everything was going to be taken care of.)

But then he got word of the stock market. If there is one thing Kalim knows it is money and he easily climbed that corporate chain. At first it was for fun, but as time went on he somehow became one of the most respected people in the world. Since he started off with so much, it only grew and he began putting the assets into funding charities, research, and other causes that he believed in. Not only was he respected, but his goodhearted nature earned him many friends. Especially since he has a knack Jamil to tell if someone has good intentions or not.

Kalim took to brazilin culture very quickly. He himself is a very lively and passionate person so it was not difficult to adjust to that type of life. He often goes "under-cover," in horribly obvious disguises when there are festivals or celebrations that he wants to attend.

This sunshine can dance, let me tell ya. He can shake it 'till the crack of dawn and still keep going. Like a kid, he'll stop quickly to shovel some food down his throat (that Jamil packed for him because Kalim is Kalim) and then he'll be right back at it.

Obviously, everyone knows that it's him. A few glasses of wine and he's stripping off his disguise to have more freedom. Honestly? It gives Jamil a headache because someone out there could kidnap him and then Kalim would be screwed. Even in this life Jamil has to act as his babysitter.

Though...is it too optimistic to say that this would never happen? At least in the homely local areas that Kalim frequents? I am dead serious when I say that he'll go to the market and buy out a few stalls of their supplies that day. Or at least half of it. Just so he can contribute to the community's economy. If he doesn't need what he bought (say he purchased a ton of food) then he donates it to the homeless, etc.

He is safer in those areas than his own home and knows it. Which is probably why he's so willing to let loose.

Moving on, Kalim dresses just as extravagantly as he lives. Silk is his best friend, and he loves jewelry. Loves, loves, loves it. If it glitters, it is Kalim's.

He owns a bedazzle gun. Enough said.

He loves the sports on earth as well. Especially (soccer/football). He loves how passionate people can get over their teams, and gets absolutely hyped when throwing a viewing party. He'll invite anyone willing to come watch the game with him (and gets Jamil's seal of approval to be in their home)

The people would expect a man of this caliber to be taken, yet the media can't catch wind of a single partner. Not even a one-night stand. He never has arm-candy when attending events, and every attempt at flirting with him is a surefire failure

Why is this? Because he is looking for someone very special. He says this to the press every. single. time. and they have no choice but to believe him because there is no hidden agenda to be found

All he has is a name, and a description of emotions and memories that are too vague to put to a face. Any normal person would think him delusional-

Except for anyone that catches him off the camera. Those days when he's danced his feet into the ground, drank enough to fog his brain, and is pouring his heart out to whatever band is unfortunate enough to have been playing that night. Eventually Jamil will drag him home, and he'll go to bed crying over the mysterious person no one seems to know

Jamil Viper

Location: Brasilia, Brazil

And they were roommates

Jamil lives in Kalim's extravagant condo. Why would he go waste money renting somewhere else when he has babysitting duty 24/7? If he didn't live with Kalim, then who knows what state the place would be in. Jamil cooks, cleans, and essentially does everything for the house. He's the one stuck answering the buzzer for all of Kalim's late-night spending spree deliveries. Not only that, but he is on bouncer duty and performing background checks on everyone going in and out.

Kalim sweetie please cut this man some slack. He needs a bReAk

In all honesty, he dislikes the way Kalim has decorated the place. It is all very pretty but extremely unnecessary. He does not trust hiring a maid simply from how fragile everything is. Kalim tries often to buy Jamil decorations for his bedroom, and Jamil declines every time.

His bedroom is spacious enough to double as a living area. He also has his own personal washroom. The space is full of cool tones. Black, grey, golden yellow, and touches of burgundy. A complete contrast to the rest of the condo. He has multiple bookshelves aligning the walls, a corner dedicated to exercise equipment, a queen-sized bed with many quilts and decorative pillows, and a loveseat. There is always incense burning in his room and he has a large, "No Kalim Allowed," sign hanging outside of his door

Why? Because Jamil has taken to collecting weapons :)

He has many defense weapons hidden throughout his room. From needles, to daggers, to poisons, etc. His room is the storehouse for all of the condo's defense mechanisms. Jamil has also placed extra security cameras in the public living spaces and outside the door. Just to be safe.

Occupation: Administrative Assistant

Jamil is Kalim's assistant. He handles most of the paperwork, scheduling, etc. when it comes to their little buisness. He has no reason to find work elsewhere, right?

No. Jamil actually runs a traveling food stall. Depending on where the duo is, he'll manage to obtain permission to open up a stall in the local area for the duration of their visit. He'll serve renditions of food from his homeland, as well as spins on the local cuisine. One thing Jamil loves about earth is the new flavors and spices that he gets to work with when cooking!

The stall gives him the opportunity to talk with locals, and keep an eye on Kalim while doing so. How else is he supposed to make sure Kalim makes it home while still staying productive?

He also gets to ask questions. Like a random survey, as people wait for their food to cook he'll make idle chatter about recent gossip. He'll always slip in questions that may lead to your whereabouts, asking if there are any (Y/N)'s in the area etc.

In truth, he hopes one day you'll miraculously turn up. Either recognizing him or being drawn in by the scent of his cooking.

Another thing Jamil loves is the music. If Kalim can shake his fanny, then Jamil can pick up routines as easy as breathing! He likes to get a feel for the culture, and lives a small 'double life' where he gets to have fun.

Man can Samba. His hips do not lie. Shakira, Shakira

Something screams at this man when it comes to fashion. Like Kalim, he likes to go a bit extra. He simply goes in the opposite direction of Kalim and takes to street-fashion. He picks up pieces as he sees them, and files through local businesses like it's no one's buisness.

He is also one of those people who collects sneakers. He has some for fashion, but mainly likes to have many pairs for dancing and travel. He likes to hike, and the hot weather does not bother him one bit.

When traveling, Jamil picks up two mementos from each place he visits. One is for his sister, and the other is for you. This is another reason why Kalim is not allowed in his room. He has them tucked away somewhere safe, but since he constantly lectures his friend on being more frugal it would not be good if he saw the growing stash. It started off with small trinkets here and there, but now the pile is massive.

Jamil is excited to show it to you. He wants to demonstrate just how far his search has taken him, and how much of a pain in the ass it was to find you.

Yet, his chest grows cold every time he tosses a new item in with the collection. It's a reminder of his failure, and how another day has passed without you by his side.

#twst scenarios #twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst scarabia #kalim al asim #twst kalim x reader #twisted wonderland kalim x reader #twisted wonderland kalim #jamil viper #twst jamil x reader #twisted wonderland jamil x reader #series #fanfiction

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westerhos · 4 years ago

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Our Story: Chapter 7

Hi friends! Sorry for the delay here. I’ve been on vacation, so my priorities have been boozin’ and cruisin’. Thanks for your continued support of this story—I love hearing your feedback. This one’s a whopper of a chapter!

______

We often lose track of time in this great, big world of ours, in much the same way we lose a pair of keys, a couple of pens. “I swear I saw them two seconds ago!” we groan, groping to purse-bottoms, finding only lint and chump-change. So many things—these small facets of our lives—sucked into the void of bygones, taken before we can ever think to tie them down.

“I swear I was twenty-two just yesterday.”

This is how it is for Jamie and Claire, their years like old playbills confiscated by the wind and an invisible clock. Certain acts reappear from time to time, when the arm of a broom sweeps them into the light, when the frosting of dust disturbs, then floats. And for a brief moment, as the particles of time and forget resettle themselves, Jamie and Claire can hear their lives’ most glorious crescendos. The lowest notes tip-toe from the long-kept silence, rising and sinking slowly, steadily. All plucked strings, still vibrating, until the echoes die, cradling the past.

You can write an entire story with these bits and pieces of their lives, cut the acts together to form one winding opera. It plays and stops until, eventually, the grand finale. The overlap: a perfect harmony which carries them from their separate wings, to center stage and to each other.

And it is there, finally, that they meet again, lips and lives melding. They stand together in the orb of the spotlight. A single sun, glowing.

THE SPIRIT IN THE HORSE, 2000

Starring James Fraser, Jenny Fraser, Brian Fraser, The Doctor, Ellen Fraser, Fitzy (and a More-Than-Flash of Someone Else)

Though a bestselling author, JAMES FRASER did not grow up with dreams of books, but of horses.

He was born on an unusually hot day, spring 1968. Everything melting at its very seams, the birthing room’s thermometer feverish with mercury blood. His father and sister had fashioned fans from intake forms, moving heat-murk and birth-stink with the accordioned papers. They looked on with damp foreheads, lips white and tight, so that Ellen could have the breaths they saved.

At half-past noon, the doctor had caught Jamie’s auburn crown, dripping more heavily than his own laboring mother. All of this—the heat, the sweat, the waving forms—was taken as the stamp of Jamie’s fate. Surely, they had all agreed, he would set the world on fire, would be a brand forever puckering its skin.

The hibernators had emerged early that year, scurrying from their earthen wombs just as Jamie had slipped from his mother’s. Heat-drunk and dizzied, they had eaten everything in sight. Corn stalks, cabbage leaves, whole fields of barley—gone. Even Ellen’s strawberries, barely ripened—devoured by mid-April. The red fruits had shrunk to halves, then thirds, as the creatures munched and munched. Fleshy hearts eaten to bleeding, the pulp left to the sleepy stragglers.

And so on the day Jamie entered the world, the Frasers had returned to a dark and stifling house. Rot wafted from the windows, and the electrical wires were chewed cleanly through. One rabbit, the chosen martyr, had laid cooked in the grass, fur spiked.

Brian had thrust Jamie into his daughter’s arms, ran inside to rescue what unspoiled food he could (three eggs, a loaf of bread). Waiting in the yard, Jenny had imagined the wilting lettuce inside the fridge and Ellen, equally wilted under the blue hospital sheet. She had watched a squirrel leap across the berry guts, a rope of black wire between his paws.

How—if at all, she had wondered—would they survive without her mother?

Too exhausted for a trip to the store, Brian had fried the eggs on the driveway. The yolk was thick in his mouth and the sorrow thicker in his chest, before he realized Jamie’s cries had quieted. He started when he heard the horse’s whinny, the snorty exhale through its nostrils. Beside him, Jenny had scuttled away, feet scraping at the egg crusts.

Incensed by the heat and the crowd, Fitzy the horse had stormed her stable doors to freedom. She had brayed, desolate to find her owner gone, until she spotted the flame in Brian’s arms. Copper, auburn, cinnabar—all Ellen’s colors—poking from a swaddle of blue. And so Fitzy had bowed her head, brought Jamie into her awed silence. One shining moment, the first since Ellen’s passing—calm and peaceful.

Even now, 32 years later, Jamie loves to tell this story. How Brian had pressed his baby fist to the mane, his mother still a stickiness on his baby thumb. And how, as a young boy, Jamie had thought Ellen lived somewhere inside auld Fitzy. Something in the black bead of the mare’s eye: a flash, a peculiar spark. It was an acknowledgement that, until one night in 1989, Jamie had never felt before.

After his book tour in ’99, Jamie Fraser decided to take the leap—carpe diem—and purchase his own horse and his own land (fields way out in the Highlands; a farmhouse converted to splendor by his millions). The horse, like Fitzy, wears a chestnut coat. She is stubborn but loving, recognizes Jamie’s voice when he calls and his face when it floats above her stable door. He sees a flash of Fitzy—and of his mother, he thinks—when she surrenders her anger to Jamie’s flags of truce: a fresh Granny Smith, a carrot stick plucked from the ground. He sees a More-Than-Flash of Someone Else when she nudges his shoulder, apologetic. The only source of happiness, this beautiful beast, outside of his writing.

“Ye see?” Jamie had said after their first standoff, “Ye canna stay mad at me forever.” And when the horse had chomped the apple from his hand, he’d sworn that she was smiling.

“Mo nighean donn,” he’d whispered, and decided, then and there, to name her Sorcha.

______

CARROLL’S THEORY OF TRUTH, 2003

Starring Claire Randall, Frank Randall, Joe Abernathy, duncandonuts, wetwillie, mark_me_1745, parsleymarsley, l.mackenzie (and The Author)

When CLAIRE RANDALL is not working at the hospital, her nose is pressed to a blue-white screen.

For years, she had resisted those monstrous, blocky machines—Macintosh, Dell, Gateway—all brand names accompanied by her husband’s greedy and jabbing elbows.

But there was value in tradition, Claire had argued. A kind of sanctity in the ping of an Underwood or the swish of pen; privacy and authentic connection. Frank had merely rolled his eyes, always lusting after the new and shiny—whether it was a computer or a student’s gloss-plumped lips—knowing it was not “tradition” itself that his wife was holding onto.

“So like you, Claire,” he’d said bitterly one day, “wanting to stay stuck in the past.” And, of course, he’d been right. Just to spite him, she’d finally surrendered and gave him one for Christmas.

Gradually, Claire came to love the whirring engine, the wail of the dial-up, the period of isolation where she was unreachable by phone. Like time travel, almost, the way it took her places past and present, opening every door like some futuristic gentleman.

But mostly, Claire loved the computer for the freedom it gave her. Boot up the system, click the mouse, log on, be someone else. Online, Claire could play a different role than the surgeon or the amateur gardener, pretend she was not the wife who turned her cheek as often as she made her husband’s dinner. On the Internet, her identity was a thirty-word bio, her face a grey silhouette displayed comfortably—anonymously—inside a neat, square frame. A million different bodies growing inside her, once her fingers flew across keyboard:

Claire Randall, the British spy.

Claire Randall, the avid hiker, climbing the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Claire Randall, the mother, who loved the melt of ice cream down her daughter’s chin. Her tiny mouth, sweet and sugared, when it met hers for a kiss.

One website, her favorite, was this: a forum, populated by other faceless humans who, like Claire, could recite page 451 (or any others) of A Blade of Grass. In this corner of the online universe, they had spoken of The Author on a first-name basis, trading facts like prized baseball cards. But it was only Claire who could share the most private knowledge, attribute it all to her keen nose and thus earn the respect of 16 anonymous users.

Even so, Claire had been surprised by what they knew solely through their reading. The Author’s childhood, his relationships, his favorite color. She was able to ask her own prodding questions and receive correct answers, such as:

whiteraven: A long shot, but does anyone know how to contact him by telephone?

And five of the grey-faced few had responded.

duncandonuts: easier to send him send him a letter (might get lost among the rest of his fan mail though).

wetwillie: have you tried his agent, john grey, in london?

mark_me_1745: if u meet him, tell him 2 come 2 brasil!!!!!!! we <3 him!!!!!!!

parsleymarsali: Publishers Weekly mentioned he’s now with Geordie Gibbons at the Claude F. Agency, not Grey, @wetwillie. Think it had something to do with creative differences and missed deadlines.

l.mackenzie: pass that info onto _me_ if you find it, girl! <g>

By a stroke of luck, someone had known someone who’d known someone who’d known someone. And just like that, she was given a phone number the following Wednesday. A day like any other, if it weren’t for a single string of digits sitting in her inbox, a silent but ticking grenade.

She spent three months with the numbers inside her head, stored in a folder marked with The Author’s name. She did manage to call though—once—when her hand finally lowered from its hover. She’d waited out the sonorous ring-ring-ring, the robotic chime, “You have reached the voice mailbox of..." She had listened to the beep that followed and then the silence, stretching, until she remembered her mouth. It opened, exhaled, then shut abruptly with the click of her teeth. There was the clatter of keys and the thwop of a briefcase—Frank home from work.

She had almost whispered, but did not.

It was too much to have both men in the same room: one gently pecking her lips, the other pressing an electric current into her cheek, crackling. Too much, too much. Claire had slammed the phone down and cursed, “Bloody teleprompter. Always calling before dinner,” which had made her husband laugh. She’d made him spaghetti that night, the spices forming twelve digits in the saucepan no matter how many times she swirled the spoon.

It’s been four months since that first and only call, though Claire still remembers The Author’s number. She thinks of if—when—she will have the courage to call again, to finally speak and fill the space of eleven empty years. While Frank snores beside her, she plays the scene from start to finish, like a draft of the real, inevitable thing.

Again: the sonorous ring, the tinny greeting, the beep, and the silence that waits for her. But this time: her mouth opens—one, two three times—and five words repeated, again and again.

In some versions, she says them aloud. In others, merely pushes them, soundless, into the air. Still, they are there, held aloft by satellite arms high up in the sky. Somewhere between her and The Author, existing: I was born for you, I was born for you, I was born for you.

And what is said three times—even unfinished, even without words—is always, always true.

______

THREE TIMES THE WORLD ENDED , 2004

Starring Jamie Fraser, Jenny Fraser, and Laoghaire Mackenzie (and The Girl)

JAMES FRASER, age 34, can pinpoint three moments where his world fell apart.

He was eighteen during the first, a brazen thing, but still as green as the pot freshly stinking his Levi’s. After reading the call notice pasted to his door, he’d floated to the common room on a cloud of White Widow weed. He dialed, laughing, until Jenny’s voice had sobbed down the line, breaking the peace of his druggy fug.

Their father, she’d cried, had died the previous evening.

With the news, the had drugs turned. Floors slanted, limbs jellied. Jamie watched as a hole ripped open the wall behind him, its enormous black void revealing the space Brian Fraser had left behind. It had swallowed Jamie up, refused to spit him back again until The Girl reached inside and found his heart two years later. Returned it to him, like a love note, passed on the inside of her smile.

Jamie describes the second collapse in his two famous novels, A Blade of Grass and Two Centuries in Purgatory. This time, the world had split completely, Jamie and The Girl like two tectonic plates shifting in the night. It was his writing that had bound Jamie’s world together again, though the spine remained cracked, a few of the pages missing.

The third time occurred just last week though Jamie was not entirely surprised. It’s what happens, he supposes, when you build something on uneven ground. Physical presence—someone’s here-ness—does not equate to love.

Nine years after the second earthquake, a new person had come into Jamie’s life. She would stand in the doorway at 6:30PM, jump to her tip-toes to welcome him home. There would be steam from the stove, and utensils would gleam in perfect, shining order. Napkins would wait with their patient folds, each prepared to catch the food that she, his ever-present Laoghaire, had prepared during the day. And for those three years, Laoghaire’s toothbrush had sat next to Jamie’s, her silks hanging beside his cottons. Evidence, he had thought, that he maybe-almost loved her.

But then Laoghaire had grown curious—“Why’ve no made progress on yer novel? What are ye writing all day if it isna yer third book?”—and stuck her piglet nose into places it did not belong. She, in a rare moment of ingenuity, had unlocked the safe and found his letters.

And so this time, Jamie’s world had not ripped or split—but exploded with a thousand sticks of paper dynamite. Laoghaire had burned through the house, burned through the letters. She’d called the magazines and the bloggers, vowing to tarnish his reputation with lies: cheater, drunk, lunatic, fraud. Finally, she’d left, taking the napkins, the cutlery, and the toothbrush—but leaving the embers in her wake, smoldering. A few scraps had avoided the fire, and Jamie read them as the night rose.

My da once told me I’d know straight away, that I’d have no doubt. And I didn’t.

For so many years, for so long, I have been so many different men.

The love of you was my soul.

and

Yours, Jamie

Forever, Jamie

Come home, my heart. I am not as brave as I was before, Jamie

On and on and on they went. Singed pieces of his letters. Every one meant for The Girl who’d confronted his darkness, had rescued his heart at a Christmas Eve party.

4,380. One letter for every day he had missed her.

______

THE KILLING GIRL, 2006

Starring Claire Randall*, Henry Beauchamp, Julia Beauchamp, Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, Frank Randall (and The One Person)

CLAIRE RANDALL* , resident at Boston GH, was five years old when she thought she was murderer. For years, she could hardly sleep, fearing not the monster beneath her bed, but the one beneath her covers.

Instead of counting sheep, she’d recounted facts as they’d been reported in the paper: Henry and Julia Beauchamp, parents of one Claire Beauchamp. Their mangled car, and a rocky deathbed set one hundred feet below. Both husband and wife, father and mother—dead upon impact.

Rarely, did this guide Claire towards sleep, and so she began to picture the accident as she’d recorded it in her diary. The same story, but more accurate—one that played behind her eyelids as if she had watched it all, a spectator on the road’s shoulder.

There was her parents’ blue Ford ribboning the cliffside. The low hum of conversation and the static of the radio. There was Claire’s goodbye before they left—“You always go without me! IhateyouIhateyou!”— which followed her parents and pushed them off the edge. She was sure it was her words that had broken her mother’s neck, had snapped it like a flower’s stem. One Claire Beauchamp, the little killing girl.

Five years passed before Lamb had found her in the courtyard, weeping her guilt into a mat of grey feathers. She had confessed to her five-year old anger then; how she’d pried open the rocky mouth and dropped her parents in.

“Death doesn’t move according to reason, my dear,” Lamb had said, “but only chance. And by no fault of yours.” He had patted her on the head like a priest grants forgiveness, and they buried the bird in the Nyungwe Forest. Wings and Claire’s blame laid to rest beneath the trees.

Still, Claire likes how accountability sets her world—so wracked by coincidence—back on its axis. Responsibility, however false, is easier to accept than the fickleness of husbands, of dead parents, of love and life. She assumes the role of the guilty to feel a sense of control, like she herself is in charge of the scale’s tip. And so:

It was Claire’s fault that the frost returned in May, all her marigold suns snuffed out.

It was Claire’s fault that the infection took the wound, gnawed the patient’s flesh so that a saw had to chop the bone.

It was Claire’s fault that midnight voices chirped down the receiver. The girls’ lovesick pleas—I need you. I love you. Leave her.—placed in Frank’s pockets by Claire’s own hands.

And of course, it was Claire’s fault that things had ended as they did. The final fight, every bit of hate, hers to claim:

“I am not an idiot, Frank! And I’m tired of being made into one.”

“Darling, you aren’t an idiot. I never said you were an idiot.”

“Don’t bloody ‘darling’ me, you bloody cad.”

“I’m sorry.”

“How novel.”

“Truly, I am.”

“So that’s it, then? Just ‘I’m sorry.’ No excuses? No begging-on-bended-knee?” (Claire had scoffed. Her laughter, like the paring knife that guts the beast.) “No, of course not. Begging would be too embarrassing for you. Too much effort. All your energy is spent chasing skirts and quick fucks. You selfish, disgusting man.”

“So I’m the only selfish one here, is that it? Just me?”

“You’re saying that I’m selfish?”

“I am.”

“Me.”

“Yes, you, Claire! You, who is always working and never here. You, who sleeps with his books under our mattress, still wears the man’s goddamn ring on a chain. Like a fucking noose around our marriage, from the start.” (Claire had winced; Frank’s knuckles had cracked the wall.) “No, I’m not selfish, Claire. I’ve shared you with another man for thirteen years.”

“So I see you’ve lost all sense, but still have some fucking nerve."

“Cursing doesn’t improve your argument.”

“Wanker.”

“Now Claire…”

“Just go.”

“Claire, please—”

“Go.”

And thus, it was Claire’s fault that Frank had whispered, “You’ve never looked at me. Not once, not really.” And it was her fault that he had grabbed his keys, slipped into the blizzard and into his car.

And it was Claire—Claire, Claire, Claire—who became the ice that hissed against tires. Who launched Frank’s body through the glass, turned his skin purple-blue and the snow dark red. Her fault that the last thing she’d said was “go”, and Frank had taken her at her very word.

All of this, she has put upon her shoulders, for its burden is lesser than the truth: that she has no control, never did and never would. Claire is forever held at the mercy of a capricious gravity—she and everyone else, a little bit helpless. Always.

But there was One Person, she often remembers, who had given her a kind of foothold. On their wedding night, she had whispered about her mother’s flower neck, about the grey bird whose wings she’d given to the Nyungwe. And he had understood, promised forgiveness for whatever wrongs she had and would commit. “Real or imagined, Sassenach” he’d said into hair, “Already forgiven.” They had spiraled through life, the pair of them, both a little bit helpless—but everything shared.

But of all of her false faults, this is one Claire fears is true: that she is the reason The One Person is not here, but some 3,000 miles away. She was, after all, the one who had packed the suitcase and caused the gavel to fall, Divorce.

All her fault: Claire Randall. The guilty one, the killing girl, the widow. Spinning and spinning into empty space, grasping at stars, alone.

*[Note from director: Ms. Claire Randall has requested we change her name to Claire Beauchamp. Please reprint with this correction ASAP. Thank you.]

______

POINT OF CONVERGENCE, 2007

Starring Jamie Fraser (The Author, The One Person), Claire Beauchamp (A More-Than-Flash Of Someone-Else, The Girl), Geordie Gibbons

JAMES FRASER does not like to disappoint. It is his greatest fear, seeing someone’s face pull, twist, and finally droop into an expression of discontent. Even worse: when the expression is given a name, “I’m so disappointed in you, Jamie.” And worst of all: when the name is given by his agent, Geordie Gibbons.

One of the most important days of Jamie’s life began in anticipation of such disappointment. He had twiddled his thumbs beneath a table, dreading the moment Geordie’s fedora ducked beneath the restaurant’s eaves. The wait staff had milled around him: A waiter dashed towards snapping fingers, the hostess offered towels for rain-soaked heads. He’d felt jealous, watching them, of their readiness—how they could be so effortlessly on time. Jamie couldn’t even manage to meet his deadlines, the desk calendar at home flipped far beyond the designated X.

Jamie and Geordie were to have “lunch” and “catch up”. This would, inadvertently, devolve into an interrogation about Jamie’s third novel, which was nothing more than a series of working titles. It was a pattern, this lateness and lunching, never changing despite the demands and promises made by both parties. Geordie would remove his hat, exposing the frown previously shadowed beneath its brim. Their food would be served—Jamie, something yeasty; Geordie, a taxidermist’s culinary experiment—and Jamie would choke down a side of his agent’s disappointment. Eventually, they would part ways, and Jamie would return home, knock out a few pages. Turn in a shitty draft the next morning for the sake of postponing a second “lunch.”

But on this day, the universe had shifted; the pattern broke. Jamie had continued to sit there, all sweat and nerves, but Geordie’s fedora, the interrogation, and the food never came.

Because while Jamie had waited in the restaurant, CLAIRE BEAUCHAMP was arguing in her bedroom mirror: Claire vs. Claire, Head vs. Heart. She was thousands of miles away in a Boston apartment, but still—the tremor traveled, pushing a storm across the Atlantic, down the Royal Mile, to Jamie. The trajectory of his day and his life had changed as Claire gesticulated wildly at her own reflection.

So at 12:14, Jamie had been alone, Geordie unusually late for a man so fond of punctuality. He read the menu three times, settled on a whisky. Thought better of it; ordered two.

At 12:30, Claire’s battle had still raged, no victor in sight. The thunder had shaken the house, shaken the mirror on the wall.

At 12:46, Jamie had condemned Geordie, then deadlines. Art, he’d fumed, was beyond time, existed outside of it. He had ordered a third whisky when a wine spill was wiped up, gone before it had the chance to leave its mark.

At 12:48, Claire had moved to the kitchen. Both armies were advancing quickly, charging into the living room, to the yard, back to the living room, over and over. She and herself, it seemed, had reached a stalemate. Head and Heart had squatted, dripping rain, and awaited the other's surrender.

At 12:50, Claire had paused and looked through the window. She caught a glimpse of her garden, reborn and thriving despite the storm, and the sight of the marigold blooms did not reveal an emptiness inside her. She felt, for once, happy. Her Heart had stormed her Head’s walls, then, the gates of decision giving way.

At 12:51, Claire had opened her scrapbook, a secret once kept from Frank. It was filled with bits and bobs: a piece of bubble wrap, a bell from her holiday sweater. Both of them glued beside old polaroids. Again, she did not feel her Heart stutter, but expand; lift straight out of her chest. A full siege after that. Her Head’s weakest men fell beneath the lash of artery whips.

At 12:52, the end was near, and Claire’s Heart marched to her computer, hunted through years of mail. Its trophy had laid buried in a folder—one message with twelve digits—and the battle, at last, was won.

At 12:53, both Jamie and his phone had buzzed. The door opened, letting in the air. It had smelled of wet soil, earthy and ripe. Familiar, like a ghost’s kiss on the back of his neck. He put the phone to his ear, and…

At 12:53:05, he said, “Jesus, man! Where are ye? I’ve been waiting nigh on 50 minutes!” There was no response.

At 12:53:08: “Did ye get caught in the storm? Are ye calling from a pay phone?” More silence.

At 12:53:13: “Hello? Anyone there?”

At 12:53:20: “Geordie, man, is that you?”

At 12:53:25: A deep, shaking breath. An audible gulp. Claire’s Heart whispering its victory song.

12:53:26: “It’s isn’t Geordie.”

12:53:27: “It’s me.”

And at 12:53:28, everywhere, suddenly—the brightest sun.

Phew! This chapter is one of the longest, but it’s also one of my favorites. The structure is lifted straight from Fates and Furies—there’s a chapter that is just a series of the protagonist’s plays—and I was looking to try something new (it also weirdly fits in with the tone of the chapter introductions). In my opinion, the best thing about writing fanfiction is that you have so much room to experiment.

This structure also allowed me to do what I’d been wanting to do from the beginning: move away from the One Day conceit and explore Jamie and Claire’s pasts. It was very easy to just run with any image or idea that came to mind—we know so little about their childhoods; there are so many possibilities!

And speaking of why fanfiction is so awesome—and I mentioned this in another post—but it’s a blast figuring out how to incorporate canon into an AU setting. Using canon dialogue can boost the emotional punch of a line in a way that is just *chef’s kiss*. “I was born for you.” “I am not as brave as I was before.” Ugh, kill me.

I have to whistle past some of the melodrama and Frank’s computer craze (wouldn’t he also be a typewriter sort of person???). And modern!Bonnie Prince Charlie’s Brazil comment still tickles me. This is not meant as an offense to Brazilians—y’all are just always on *clap* it *clap*, and I love your enthusiasm.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed :)

#myfic #outlander #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #reunited and it feels so gooooood

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mhdiaries · 4 years ago

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Haunted – Student Spirits Kiyomi Haunterly Diary

30/04

I had one of those dreams last night where I was running like I was a solid. It was so liberating to feel the grass on my toes and the hard surface of the ground with each step I took. The clouds were so far above me that I could not touch them, and I had to go around obstacles instead of over or through them. Then the dream changed, and I was standing in a big room with many other solids, and there was music and dancing and beautiful party dresses, and I woke up. I must have been dream flying, because I was hovering above our house. I floated back down to my bedroom and tried to go back to sleep in hopes of rejoining the party in my dream, but I could not. I just floated there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember every detail. I liked the feeling of being in the middle of the party instead of quietly watching from the sidelines. I suppose I must have been trying harder than I realized to reconnect to the dream world, because something unexpected and remarkable happened. A tiny hole opened above me – not in the roof – but in the air. Light from another world poured into my room like reality had sprung a leak. Had I just opened a portal into the dream world? I gasped, lost concentration, and it was gone. I do not know what happened or how, but I must find out.

01/05

Today as I was passing through the halls and trying to avoid breaking one of Principal Revenant’s many rules, I heard a voice above me say, “Hey Kiyomi, why so blue?” I looked up to see Porter floating on his back, balancing a spray can of ghost paint on one finger. I can never tell if Porter is teasing or being serious, but I glanced down at my hands, and they were indeed the color of a blue funk; although they were quickly taking on a purplish tinge as scarlet embarrassment washed over me. Porter floated down and passed down the hall next to me. “You’ve really been stuck on cerulean lately – what’s up with that?” How could I tell him that I was sad because of a dream? So instead I told him that I was surprised he even noticed me at all. He laughed and said, “I’m an artist and you have colorful personalities – why wouldn’t I notice you?” I am afraid I blushed again, but Porter pretended not to notice as he turned and painted a mustache on a poster of Principal Revenant. I asked if he was afraid of getting in trouble. “Nah, it’ll disappear before she sees it, although boo knows – she might like it.” I cannot tell why I felt at that moment that I could trust him – but I did – so I asked if he ever wanted to be something other than what he was. I thought he might laugh at me, but he got a serious look on his face instead. “Sometimes I think unlife would be easier if I was just a regular ghost, if there really is such a thing. But if I was just a regular ghost I wouldn’t be able to do this.” Then Porter rose to the ceiling, and using a can of paint in each hand, wrote:

A quiet presence

Kiyomi Haunterly ghost

In colors beauty speaks

It was the nicest thing any ghost has ever done for me, and I stood there looking up at it until the ghost paint faded away. I could hear Porter laughing as he disappeared through a wall. “That’s a lovely shade of blush you have on.” Well, at least there wasn’t enough blue left to turn it purple.

03/05

Tonight I successfully opened another portal. This time I was able to hold it open a little longer, but instead of light shining through I heard the sound of laughter. It was not the mocking laughter of someone who is happy at your misfortune, but the genuine laughter of friends. I wanted to look through to see who was making such a joyful noise. Unfortunately, my kaiju woke up and roared like he needed to go out, so I lost concentration and the portal closed again. I must learn more about this ability, though I dare not tell or risk asking any ghost. I shall go tomorrow to the library and find out what there is to know, if there is something to know.

04/05

Oh my ghost. I copied this page on portals from a reference book in the library:

There are only three known ways to travel between the ghost world and the world of solids. The first – and it all practicality, only way – available to the majority of ghosts is to secure passage on one of the reaper vessels that navigate the currents of light, which in certain places link the two worlds. This is by far the most reliable method, although final reservations must be made at least a day in advance, as float-up passengers are always turned away.

The second way is also via reaper, as their scythes have the power to slice through the unseen barrier that separates the two worlds. Reapers do not, however, make outward-bound trips with passengers.

The third and final way is a power seemingly unique to the infamous “Red Lady.” Although she never elaborated how her powers work, it is theorized that she had the ability to open a portal to any place in the solid world by simply willing it. This theory remains unproven mainly because, when asked how she did it, the Red Lady’s reply was, “Wouldn’t boo like to know?”

I haven’t been opening portals to the dream world – I’ve been opening them to the solid world. What do I do now? Will I become the next Red Lady?

06/05

It has not taken long for curiosity to sweep aside any haunting worries of becoming the next Red Lady. I am not her, I am me. So now, after many hours of practice, I can open a portal large enough to see through, and can keep it open even if I become distracted. I have been watching a group of monster ghouls who seem to be very close, and for whom friendship plays a large role in their unlives. I am most fascinated by a vampire ghoul called Draculaura. I think her fashion sense is… totes adorbs… and her vocabulary, while strange to my ears, is simply put… fun. I have even started using little bits of it in my everyday speech, and I have made several of my school mates genuinely laugh out loud. This is strange to me, and I believe to them as well, as they have remarked, “Kiyomi, we had no idea you were so funny – where do you come up with this stuff?” I simply tell them that I have a good teacher, and then leave them wondering who that might be.

08/05

I opened a portal today and what – or rather who – I saw caused me to break out in ghost bumps. It happened like this: Draculaura was showing off a new pair of shoes. I was fascinated by their design, so much so that I did not pay attention to anyone or anything else around me. That is when I heard Draculaura say, “Spectra! Check out my new purchase. Aren’t they just to un-die for?” Spectra Vondergeist! She and I had been beast friends before she left the ghost world for the solid. I quickly closed the portal hoping she had not seen me. Perhaps I am being selfish, but I do not wish any ghost or solid to know about my newfound ability. It is my secret alone, at least for now.

10/05

I have taken much courage from haunting out with my “friend” Draculaura. I have already begun to use some of her words, and now I think I should like to imitate her style. That is why I journeyed to the phantom island of Hy Brasil today in order to shop at the fashion markets there, which are… totes off the chain. My family is friends with the captain of a ghost yacht, and since he was taking his own family over, I asked if I might go along. The island was already scary busy by the time we arrived, and I was orange with expectation. I promised to meet everyone back at the yacht by sundown and then faded into the crowd. The first thing I did was head straight to where the fashion vendors were selling their wares. There were fabrics in more colors than even I could feel! I felt unalive in a way that I never had before, and for the first time in my unlife, being anonymous didn’t make me shy. It made me bold. I even bargained with some of the sellers to get a better price. Before I would buy anything, though, I would duck into a dressing room and haunt in on Draculaura and the ghouls to try and match the fashions they were wearing. I only saw one other ghost that I knew, and that was River Styxx, but I saw her on the other side of a crowded square, and I was able to vanish from sight before she saw me again. I like River, she has always been very kind to me, but I wanted this to be my day. Maybe that was selfish of me, but it was how I felt at that moment. The day ended too soon, and before I knew it we were casting off and motoring out of the harbor. On the way to Hy Brasil I stayed in my cabin. On the way back I stood on the bow. As the wind blew through my hair, I knew I was going to do something bold with my unlife. I cannot wait to begin.

#monster high #monster high diary #kiyomi haunterly #haunted

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non-binharry · 4 years ago

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hiii Asia!! brasil anon again :)

tysm for having a special place in your blog for me (aka my tag), I'll try my best not to be boring on my asks lol

anyyyyyway, I'm glad you haven't given up! I miss fic fests so much 😖 blouie are having their atm, I tried to read one of them (ik I'm a ex blouie and bad habits are hard to break), but I just couldn't tbh it was hard to take it seriously when H was a macho man as big as a fridge and louis was a tiny butterfly 😶

then I started to read every fic I wouldn't when I was on the dark side, like Ever Since I've Tried You Way and the Strawberry Milk fic

I'm still reading the last one tho, I cried several times and ik not even at the middle lmao

but the first one was just perfect 🥺✋ idk if you have already read it but my favorite part was when H adopted the kittens and said he was ready for motherhood 💞

I'm going to read YOUR fics next :) I rly like historical fics, and I saw you have a 40's fic (correct me if I'm wrong plsss) so I'm starting by that one!

oh how could I forget time passed?? ffs its perfect!! it made to my top three fics when I had barely finished the second chapter. I also love cannon fics, and even tho time passed is a cannon divergent or whatever it's called, I reallyyyyy enjoyed it!

I see you (and anons) saying that blouies dont read fanfics that give a hbottom or feminine harry vibe but I was never a hardcore blouie so I didn't care about the ✨vibe✨ but time passed was my first hbottom fic ever 🙃

I'm not going to say I'm a ex blouie anymore cuz I feel like it ruins my reputation lol but it is what it is

you reblogged a video of H singing Wild Thoughts, I had to use Google to understand the cookie's baking thing lmao and the way he said "ik you wanna see me naked..." that's right I do 😌 I mean, not really, just show me your brasil! tattoo again that's all I ask 😔

you also said you're busy with work lately, I'm sending you good energy to go through this time and also a virtual hug 🤗

about the "in tags" thing, I'll definitely let you know if I dont want to be answered directly :)

anyways, ily bye 💐

ahsksdj "big as a fridge" 💀💀 that's really how they be writing/drawing him huh?

ever since i tried your way is gorgeous!!! i still have yet to read the strawberry milk fic (if a plague has not read one of the most classic b!h fics are they actually a plague? 🤔), but it's finally made it's way from my bookmarks to an open tab! exciting stuff! now TIME PASSED!!!! wee woo wee woo wee woo!! that fic will stick with me forever. i literally reread certain scenes from that fic (like louis discovering harry's youtube search history 🥺 or harry reintroducing that word during sex) at least once a week just to feel something.

i'm excited for you to read my fics! my historical one is actually set in the 70s! short and sweet, inspired by harry's beautiful italian mustache. and it definitely came straight from my heart.

harry knew exactly what he was doing when he chose to cover his song. his cookie is baking AND he's for the taking? harold please 🥵 if he ever decides to drop trou again, i will look respectfully

i appreciate you thinking of me! i'm fortunately working a short day and off tomorrow and christmas so after the next 6 hours, i will be freee until monday 🥳

hope you have a wonderful day! 💖

#brasil anon #mensaje mensaje

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springdeity · 4 years ago

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i think a lot. i know that that doesn't make me any different than other people nor is a personality trait, but for this little thing i'm writing it may work as a starting point.

i think a lot, more than anyone i've ever met. i'll remember every little thing you ever said and think about it at midnight when i can't sleep, or at chemistry class or while shopping for groceries. and today, such an ordinary thing got me thinking of some things, some people that made me think to a point where i had to write this as an outlet.

a facebook friendship reminder. apparently, it's the 4 year friendship anniversary of me and this girl that i used to go to school with. her name was xia. she didn't talk much. the only things we knew about her was that she was chinese and didn't talk much. a friend of mine included her in her group of friends because somehow, she found out she likes kpop too. and that's three things i knew about her. i got partnered with her a few times in a few classes and i always tried to talk to her in some way, but never succeeded. she was very shy. i moved on with my life. i knew she was there. i saw her everyday. she was, in a way, a part of my life. i changed schools and hadn't thought of her in a while, then the universe throws this little reminder at me and i decided to go through her profile. she has an older sister. she is from guanzhou. she likes love 020. just these little things made me think so much about how every person has a life,secrets, stories to tell, people that they love, has a completely different narrative and story and we will never know someone completely. never. i'll probably never see her again, and that makes me sad even though we never had any type of friendship or emotional connection.

this made me think of how people come into your life and add a whole new chapter to it, change you, stay within you and go. just like that. and it's okay. i always found utter and complete bullshit the ideia that if a friendship didn't last forever it was never a friendship. friends come in and out of your life, people come, change you and go. and just because it didn't last forever, it doesn't mean it wasn't true and real. there is a verse from a poem i love very dearly that reads "que não seja imortal, posto que é chama. mas que seja infinito enquanto dure." which roughly translates to "may not be immortal, since it's a flame. but may it be infinite while it lasts." this got me thinking of this other friend i had.

her name was eli. she was in my life last year. she was new to our school and i got closer to her because she was very nice. she had a bright smile and was very talented at drawing. she was funny without being annoying and was just a very refreshing person to be around. i really liked talking to her and my other friends. it was such a fun time... it is one of the most underrated feelings ever when you're just talking and laughing about something random to a small group of friends while the math teacher screams something in the background trying to get the class' attention. in our graduation trip, there was a night where after all us girls came back to the rooms after the party we just sat in my bed in our pajamas and she told me some things about her family. she, her parents and her older sister left cuba when she was four and moved to my brasil, but she had a little sister living in miami since then for financial reasons and that she missed her very much. she told me how this sister of hers was actually an aunt's child but she couldn't take care of her so her parents took her in as legal guardians. she also told me that her parents were planning to move her to miami to live with her aunts and uncles for some reason i don't remember. these scenes at the trip play like a movie in my head. sometimes we romanticize movies and tv series so much that we forget that those try to be representations of reality. this was reality, a girl was letting me into a little snippet of her story and this little thing is like a miracle. the last time i saw her was in the 20th of december last year. she moved to miami alone in january. i texted her, asking how were things at that time and she replied, but it was very vague. i never texted her again. i'll probably never see her again. ever. someday we shared our personal life stories in pajamas sitting on the bed at 3 in the morning, now we're worlds apart.

your life is like being the conductor of a bus. at every stop, new people come in. some of them pass you unnoticed and leave at the next point. some of them leave a piece of them in you, even if something tiny, stay for a couple stops than go. some come in every day, give you good morning, chat with you and take your bus for years, but some come in just once, change you, leave a piece of them inside you, something you'll hold onto forever, go and never come back. that's the beauty of all of this. nothing is eternal or infinite, but it leaves scars and bruises that sometimes long after your thought the scars had faded and the bruises had healed, you'll see yourself bleeding. for all my scars and bruises, it was worth bleeding for you.

#1 am feels #1 am thoughts #my text #texts #people #feelings #so yeah #spilled thoughts #thoughts

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just-a-catcher-in-the-rye · 5 years ago

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Primeiro dias em Brasil

A lot has happened so I’m just going to tell you about the highlights. I left home on 18 July and when to Chicago to see my family of the United States and take a plane to Sao Paulo. Everything was fine except that my flight kept getting delayed until I finally had to rebook a flight from Sao Paulo to Chapeco. The thing that was nerve wrecking was that I had to get my boarding pass printed in Sao Paulo. I thought this would be no big deal because I was told that airport workers in Brazil would speak English. I think I found a total of four people who spoke English, and I talked to a lot of people. I was not prepared for the small differences in the Brazilian airport, so I walked around confused for a bit, but I figured it out with some basic Portuguese and strategic pointing.

I got to Chapeco and my family was waiting for me with a sign with my face on it. We went home (was a two-and-a-half-hour drive), and I was shown my room. They had a mat with my face printed out on it, a towel with my name in between an American and Brazilian flag. They had also gotten me a bunch of Brazilian sanitary stuff (toothpaste, lotion, deodorant, etc.). I took a shower and used my personalized towel. When I got out dinner was ready. My mamai had cooked an Italian dish (my family is Italian, so we eat more Italian food than Brazilian food) called sopa de leite. After that we watched tv and I went to bed.

The next day I woke up and organized my room. Then my papai picked us up and took my sister and I to his restaurant/café. I made my first two friends there (they are really my cousins, but I count it). I ate so many new foods for lunch! I tried Brazilian coffee and it was good but very strong. Their coffee is so strong that they drink it in tiny cups (picture to come) and it has as much kick in that little cup as a grande frappe at Starbucks. One of my cousins invited me to a birthday/housewarming party for her friend. Me, my sister, and cousins went shopping for a gift, and then went to the party. I met so many new friends at the party and the birthday girls house had a great view of the city skyline. Everyone was super interested in talking to me at the party. It was weird to be the center of attention, and I didn’t even mind it. I thought that I would be super nervous in Brazil, but I’m actually calmer here than was in the US. I ate so much good food at the party. I can’t remember the names of the food but I ate something shaped like a teardrop with chicken inside, a strawberry covered in some cream and chocolate, a soft fudge ball thing that’s traditional to Brazil, a sweet milk ball that I think was called dolce de leite (sweet milk), and an amazing “soda” made out of a fruit found only in the Amazon. I also learned a Brazilian tradition. When there is a party thrown for someone and they receive presents they have to guess what’s inside the packages, and if they get it wrong the sender of the present gets to paint on the receiver’s face (picture with birthday girl to come). They birthday girl told me to come by anytime and we could hang out and exchange language knowledge. After the party my sister and I went home and then went to a church dinner thing. The food was great!

The next day (Sunday), my family and I went on a six kilometer (about 3.7 miles) walk in the morning, and they showed me the two cities that I will live in. Then we walked to the supermarket and went shopping while papai got the car. We even got abacaxi (pineapple). Then we went to Grandma’s house where she, my uncle, and two cousins live. I tried a drink with herbs and hot water while I waited. The drink is special to southern Brazil and is always drank in a special cup. When the food was done cooking we all sat down and ate. They drink straight lemon juice in Brazil! We had that to drink with lunch, and they put packets of sugar by my drink, but I wanted to be like everyone else, so I didn’t use the sugar. There was so much food and I tried everything and liked it, but everybody kept offering me more food! Later we went to a farm where the friends of my mamai and papai live and ate snacks. When we got home my mamai cooked more food. After dinner I helped my mamai with English and she helped me with Portuguese.

Monday morning my mamai, sister, and I went to the gym of the lady who lives on the farm. In this gym each person had their own personal trainer. Luckily, my sister and I were able to stay together. Our trainer went on his own exchange in high school to the US. Everyone at the gym wanted to talk to me, and I was just trying to breath haha. Another weird thing about that gym was that you don’t stretch on your own. Your personal trainer stretches you. Super weird! Of course, they are Brazilian, so the same boundaries don’t apply (i.e. inner thighs, hips, butt, etc.). I was pretty calm about the whole thing. Then he has me get off the ground and sit on a cube chair and massages my back, neck, arms, and shoulders. This is the point in the conversation where he chooses to ask me if I’m comfortable with the whole Brazilian touchy thing. At this point I’m just relieved that I’m not having my legs stretched apart by a total stranger while he asks me about Illinois is what I was thinking. That’s not what I said though. I just said that I’m getting used to it. After the gym we go home, and I eat breakfast and shower and then our papai picks my sister and I up to go to his restaurant/café. We wait there for Amanda’s friends to show up and then we all go get acai. I tried to order my own, but I was too confused, so my sister ordered one for me. After we finished, we went to the park and walked around for a while, and then we parted ways. When we got home my mamai cooked seeds from a tree that she said was extinct. Her English isn’t good, so I don’t know if that is what she actually meant, but my sister speaks really good English and didn’t correct her. In the evening I went to the supermarket with my mamai, sister, and grandma. I like my grandma, but I don’t understand anything she says, so I just smile and nod.

*Side notes*

· My family is Italian, so they are stricter about being on time than other people in Brazil

· We eat mostly Italian food

· My district is super strict about not going to parties (bummer)

· School starts on the 29th

· It is considered unclean to not wear shoes in the house

· I’m going to my first Rotary meeting today

· I only have to go to that weird gym one more time and then we’re switching gyms (don’t know why)

· I don’t know what is happening or where I’m going 98% of the time. I just follow my sister

· I feel like I get looked at/leered at a lot more here

· I’ve learned some more Portuguese

· Since I came to Brazil super early I get to meet my second host sister who will be in Belgium when I live at her house

· My mamai is a dentist and I want her to like me, so I’ve started flossing

· A guy that goes to the church of my family and the weird gym tried to talk to me Monday at the gym but he speaks absolutely no English, and I speak barely any Portuguese so we had no idea what the other was saying so we gave up, but for today he learned how to say “hi”, “you look beautiful today”, and “good job” in English haha

· Fruit is super big here

· Lastly, I am never eating another avocado without honey! Seriously guys, try it!

toothpaste my mamai got for me. It’s yellow and tastes like tuttie-fruttie gum

Sao Paulo

Joacaba (view from apartment roof)

Seeds from a possibly extinct tree

The sign they were holding at the airport

A mat they had printed out in my room

Chicken hearts. I’ve eaten them every day for lunch. I just found out what they are today

At the farm

Those are mountains in the back!

Herb drink in southern Brazil

My family and I at Chapeco

Me trying to explain to another outbound to Brazil what it’s like to be here. She leaves 4 August!

#foreign exchange #student exchange #youth exchange #foreign exchange student #foreinexchangestudentblog #brazil #brasil #student #study abroad #Wanderlust #student blog #portuguese #português #travel #travel the world #studyAbroad #blog abroad #beautiful

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londonspirit · 5 years ago

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My Zac Con aka CCXP Cologne

[Warning: really long post, full of swooning and rambled ramblings cause words are hard when it comes to that man! Consider yourself warned]

When they announced CCXP Germany, I was skeptic. Even more so when they announced Zachary Levi as first guest!

My Zac, finally coming to a con nearby? That couldn't be true. But of course I went and got me a ticket for all four days! Couldn’t let that ONE chance slip through my fingers. Even better, a dear friend wanted to join into the fun.

And so we were headed towards Cologne on Thursday, even though Zac would only be there from Friday on. But we wanted to get a feel for the venue, the people and everything else. It was lovely: not as huge as the one in Brasil, but fine for their first time. Wonderfully organized, clean, enough food and drinks on location, and even an app to keep one up to date! After that we had a wander around Cologne - had to show my friend the city (she's from England) and yes, we had the hopes to run into the man himself. Sadly that didn't happen, cause he did the same wander two hour LATER! *hmpf* Still not over that.

Anyhow: Friday was the first photo day. And I was nervous. I knew it would be fine, my English is sufficient enough to say Hi and tell him how incredibly awesome he is but yeah... still nervous. Luckily he was scheduled for autographs before we had our photos, and those autos were out in the open. Naturally we went there first thing after arrival. And there he was, only a few metres away from me, breathing the same air as us! And I might have made all sorts of weird noises. (Yet, my friend held my hand and tried to calm me down!) We stuck around for a bit - just making sure he was REALLY there!! *grins* But finally it was time for our photos. We queued up; and I could hear him laugh which did NOT help the butterflies in my stomach.

Coming around the corner and seeing him in all his tall as fuck glory, I might have had to take a very deep breath! He grinned and actually introduced himself!! I mean: WHAT? I know who you are, I am HERE just for YOU!! But yeah, that's Zac, he does shit like that! *sighs happily* And yes, I did actually mutter 'You're really real' when I approached him. I cannot for the life of me remember what he replied (I THINK it was 'yes, I am' but don't hold me to that!) Those eyes are VERY distracting, I tell ya. I asked for a hug photo, and he said: “Yeah, you can hug me.” (HNGNGH!) Which I did. He smells of nothing (thanks Sal for confirming that); he's also very warm and VERRRRY firm!! Like DAMN firm! *grins* I thanked him and basically floated back out. I cannot for the live of me remember the rest of the day! There were panels we attended but honestly, I cannot remember any of them! *hehe*

The next day we had our autographs (still sooo fucking thankful to my Sally for getting that for me - I owe you BIG TIME for that. And as an FYI: if you're like me and (used to) think photos are better than autos: NO! Autographs are soo much better, especially when it's with such a lovely human being!) Again: queuing up (which wasn’t really a queue, just a collection of a handful of people, which was a shame really - everybody should want to meet that man!!); Sally went first and I kept grinning like a loon; she likes him almost as much as I do, but she’s got herself much better in control.

The steward tried to distract me; still not sure whether i appreciated that or not. Anyhow, he was done with Sally, and looked up and at me, and I might have squeaked a bit. The steward who had written down my name was down the line, and I panicked. He waved me up, might have said 'come up' and stupidly I pointed down the line but she was there, hurrying to give him my name. I didn't really feel my legs when I walked up to him, because he was looking at me. (You know when celebrities look at you and don't really see you? NOT HIM! He does see you, and good lord, that's a really heady feeling.) I had my photo to get signed; and he said: "Welcome back" or something along the lines of remembering me from the day before. Oh, and to avoid con crud, he fistbumped everyone (although he high-fived many people which totally defeated the purpose! My beautiful silly dork!) Anyhow, he signed, and I started babbling: thanking him for coming to Germany, and telling him how much I missed NerdHQ. At that point he looked up, that huge, beautiful smile on his face. "You've watched it?" - "Every year," I told him, "Used to plan that weekend around his panels." His face was the most beautiful thing I’vve ever seen, so happy; he was basically beaming. Told me he was still trying to get that off the ground again, in a different format. The passion and love he has for that? It's incredible. I then asked him if he enjoyed the walk down into Cologne, and that we walked the same ways only hours before which made him grin. He enjoyed it, he said, didn't get sunburned (We did, and I told him that. *snorts* told ya, I was basically vomiting words all over him). He REALLY takes his time, tries to keep a conversation going. He listens, and I can’t stress that enough, he SEES you when he looks at you.

It was over way too soon, and I said 'bye, see you later' and stumbled down the steps, a smile basically plastered to my face; people were looking a tiny bit strange as I walked down towards my friend, but the stewards were just grinning back. It’s weird what you remember in moments like that. I hugged my friend and might've cried a few happy tears. I LOVE her so much for just letting me be cause I needed at least half an hour to come back to myself. Since I was basically useless for the rest of the day, we just hung around, waiting for him to do the interview in the fish bowl. He came out, waving and vanished inside, did the interview, and after 15 minutes he came back out, and high-fived everyone standing there before hurrying away again.

That was our day over cause there wasn't much else that day.

Sunday morning: double picture with my Sal and Zac. We both went full on fangirl: she wore a Shazam shirt and I had made a special one for him. His face lit up when we walked in. "I LOVE the shirt!" I swear, that grin will be the death of me one day. He pulled us both in (TIGHT); it was over way too soon again. We thanked him again, and left very giddily.

They had added a combination ticket late on Saturday: auto and selfie with Zac! I did pretend to think about that for a bit but deep down inside I KNEW I had to do it. Who knows when he'll be back... so yeah, that was basically a given. So the first thing in the morning was going to get that ticket, and then pick a time. I chose the one after his panel so I could properly say goodbye. (Also hoped it wouldn't be too full and that he would take even more time). We then spent ALL day with sitting in panels we weren't really interested in, which was okay apart from that utterly dreadful and terrible Batman panel. *shudders* Still wondering why they even did this: the artists clearly didn't want to be there AT ALL. The cosplay panel on the other hand was quite interesting. We moved seats after the GOT panel, which meant we had front row seats!

And then it was finally time. And since it's Zac nobody was surprised that it was not a moderated one but the usual Q&A! I've seen so many online, and yet being actually there was something else entirely. Especially being that close. *exhales deeply*

That man's ... everything is unparalleled, his personality, his look on life, his optimism; his down-to-earth-ness! He’s so passionate about the things he loves, and yet still fully rooted in reality. He’s famous, very aware of it, and uses that for the bestest of reasons. It's just mindblowing. I'm soo glad I had the chance to witness it live. (And yes, I might have recorded it cause I KNEW I'd forget so much with time. I still hope that at some point some video shows up, but until then I'm happily listening to him ramble on). That man's come such a long way, and still so much to give and to do, and I cannot wait for him to do all the things he loves and wants to do. I even managed to ask a question (yes, I did make a list with Q's the second I knew I would be going)!! I'm still in shock about that. (It helped that we were front row, so I couldn't see the people all around!) I very happily sat down again after asking, cause my knees were a bit wobbly during that answer cause he tries to direct that towards you. And having that gaze on you for who knows how long? It's the most dizzying thing in the world. I’m still amazed that he managed to stay seated the entire time; usually he’s up on his feet very quickly and then you can’t take photos cause he’s basically all blur and unstoppable.

That hour was over way too quickly, and before I knew it, I was in a queue again, waiting for my second autograph. When it was my turn I had to wait a bit longer cause he had to sign some stuff for who knows who. I wasn't unhappy, just standing there, watching him? There's worse thing to do :-D And once again, he smiled at me when I came up to him. "I know you," he grinned when I gave him our double pic to sign. I might have had a gift for him which was music related, so naturally I asked him if there's anything to expect in that direction. He nodded, and very passionately said there would be at some point, still working on the how and all that. So yeah, here's more hope than usual. Cause the world NEEDS that beautiful voice in it! I also asked when he would be leaving, and wished him save travels. Oh, and I thanked him again for coming, and he said he'd be back next year! (I really hope that's really happening, I'd be sooo there again!). And as I was leaving he said to say hi to my English friend (apparently she was the only English person at the whole con), and I pointed at her, and he waved at her! What a sweetheart!

I was mentally exhausted after that, so I just sat down in front of the autograph booths to watch him a bit longer. (It was far enough away to still be inconspicuous but close enough to see him clearly) My Sally -bless her huge heart- just left me there and went to get us coffee, cause she knew I needed the time to calm down (and the caffeine)! I love her so much, and I'm so glad we did this together. She's my hero!!! There were only a handful more people there; and no other celebrity to sign anything. His time slot was until 6:30 pm, and it was just after 6 when he was basically done. And yet he stuck around until the VERY end. There were only staff left, and he climbed over the tables to take pics with them, signed things for them, giggled and just had fun. He could've left, there was nobody there anymore, and yet he stuck around until his time was up and then he packed all his things, waved at the staff people and wandered off, still with a skip in his step. I was done by that time - there was the B. Wong panel but I didn't want to end the con on anything else than Zac so we agreed to leave and go home.

Now, one week later, I am still so full of happiness and joy and gratitude for having been given the chance to meet the man. I'm grateful for Sally who took it all in her stride, dealt with me the only way that works on me. Thank you, darling, I love you so very much. Those are some memories I will treasure for the rest of time. I've met a few people I like and adore, but NOBODY will get even close to meeting and talking to the one and only Zachary Levi. I wish him only the best and all the success he deserves. And that he fulfills all those dreams he has about a better world. And yes, I hope he’ll be back next year! I’ll happily do it all over again in a heartbeat!!! I have to go back to work tomorrow (I do not want to) but I will fed off of his heart and his love and energy for a very long time!!!

Here’s to seeing him again next year - let’s just make this an annual thing, yeah?!

#personal #long post #like really looooooooooong #zachary levi #zac levi #ccxp cologne

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yourworldmyworldourworld-blog1 · 6 years ago

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Argentina - land of wine, of meat and of tango.

ARGENTINA - Land of wine, of meat, of tango

Day 1. (15/11). It took us half a day to cross the border between Chile and Argentina. Crossed the border and it was pretty fast. I then got into the bus terminal at Calafate, which I will warn you is a bit of a walk away from the city centre (about a 30 min walk). What you have to do to cross the terminal to the taxi side, cross the car park and stay on the road on your left all the way. You will cross a crossroads twice and eventually go downhill and arrive at a T junction. There you turn right and follow the road, cross a canal bridge and you will pretty much be on the Main Street. I would say the walk is safe during the day and fairy easy as its all downhill towars town. The hostal I stayed at was three parallel roads from the Main Street. Try and stay around there. At the hostal book a bus to Perito Moreno (800arg bus ride only; the entrance ticket price is not included) with Caltur. Try to book the day before as in that case the company picks you up at the hostal unlike if you book on the day where you will have to show up at the bus terminal. I then headed out to the market which is on the main road but further out and headed to a butchery before the market on the same road called El Turco.The meat there is of great quality and cheaper than in the market. I advise you get the Bife de Chorizo cut.

Perito Moreno route options, you can do the whole thing in couple of hours

Day 2. (16.11). We were picked up around 8am ish and it took us 1.5hrs to get to Perito Moreno. You are dropped off at the car park but before you stop to pay the entrance to the park which you can pay by card or cash. Cash is faster. Once you get there you walk around in these platforms. There area few routes: black, blue, yellow and green. We did the blue, yellow then red. The green is through the forest so you can't see the glacier so we skipped it. The bus picks you up at 15:45. We took food into the walk so you can eat and enjoy the scenery on the benches dotted around. We were back for 5pm. Then I bought tickets for a day in Chalten (1,600 and 3hr drive). If I had more time I would have stayed around 3 days to a week in Chalten.

Perito Moreno

Day 3. (17/11). The bus to Chalten got there at 11am and got to the start of the Fitz Roy trek for 11:30am. Be warned that with only one day there (arriving at 11am and leaving at 6pm you can either do the loop that I did and see a bit of each trek or commit to a full trek). From 11:30am-1:10pm I managed to do the first third of the trek where I stopped to look at Fitz Roy for 10 minutes. At the cross section at the top for the second third of the tweak where I went left down towards Laguna Madre y Hija, I arrived at the bottom at 2:20pm. The way was mainly downhill. By 3:30pm I was on the end of the walk/sendero and got to Chalten town in another 10 minutes and before 4pm I was back at the bus station. This meant that I had to wait around 1.5hrs for the bus. This trek was estimated at 6hrs but I did it in 4hrs at a fast pace. As it was mainly downhill allowed for a quicker pace. I estimated 1.5 hours for each third of the trek. I would advise you did the same to give yourself enough time. Below is a picture of the route map...

The actual walk is super beautiful...

Fitz Roy, Chalten

Day 4. (18.11). On this day I woke up and took a transfer to the airport which I booked at the hostal. I paid the driver after the ride. Bag drop off in 19 mins so no need to arrive too early. The flight took 2.5hrs. As I landed I connected to the airport Wi-fi and ordered an Uber. Be warned that the Ubers cannot come into the pick up area of the airport so keep an eye out on the street for your Uber. As I arrived at the end of the afternoon at Benita Hostal I bought some food at the nearby shops, a nice bottle of wine and had a chilled evening. When booking your hostal look to stay in Palermo area. It’s safe and close to a lot of stuff.

Floralis at the United Nations Plaza

Day 5. (19.11) I headed out early to see the street art in Calle Serrano. Then in the pm I headed to Buenos Aires' Recoleta area. First I saw the the Floralis at the United Nations Plaza that works with solar energy and it opens and closes depending on the time of the day. It’s a very slow movement so you won't really see it happening. Followed by the Facultad de Derecho and the Centro Cultural and an exhibition on film and Freud. We saw also some music open air on the green near the bellas artes museum and cultural centre and walked around the market stalls. Then back and to Rapa Nui for ice cream. Yum.

Centro Cultural, Recoletta, Buenos Aires

Day 6. (20.11). Visiting Buenos Aires city center highlights. La Liberia El Atendo Grand Splendid formerly a theatre; Palacio de Aguas Corrientes; the National Congress of Argentina; Casa Rosada former presidential house built in 1873; Puente de La Mujer designed to look like tango dancers; Plaza Dorrego in Monserrat and the San Telmo market up to the Kavanagh building being the tallest in Argentina in its time and lastly the Colon theatre and the Obelisk. From where I was based made sense. A bit of a zigzag but it worked. About 7 hours walk.

The Kavanagh building

Day 7. (21.11). Woke up went to get a subte card which costs 65 arg plus 35 arg charge. You can either get one by an underground station or, as in my case, right in front of the hostal there was a shop that sold it; just ask at reception. I then headed back to the corner of my hostel and got the 29 bus towards Boca (make sure it says Boca at the front as there are two 29s). Around 45 mins later I was getting off at Caminitos. Just keep an eye on mapsme or your offline Google to know when to get off or ask the driver. Caminitos is a small street and the Boca stadium in only a 2 min walk north. Maybe consider a tour which will last you around 3 hours I reckon. Just walk around and enjoy some free tango, lots of souvenir shops and awesome picture spots. From there we walked north to San Telmo for a photo with Matilda on her bench at Chile with Defensa street. From there to the CCK (a cultural centre by the Casa Rosada) then back home on the green tube line for an easy night.

BOCA stadium

Day 8. (22.11). Woke up and the weather wasn't too great but headed north past Bulnes to do a park route. Past the Las Heras Park then to the Botanical Park. Then north past eco Park and then across to the Paseo El Rosedal - this stunning rose park! Then back towards the planetarium, past the Japanese garden and then the floralis cultural centre and back. Short pit stop at the Buffala Heladeria - yum! Spent most afternoon chilling and packing as wel as buying last minute things.

Day 9. (23.11). Wake up at 6:30am and left the hostal at 8am and made it to the airport for 8:30am. I checked in and dropped bags off. The duty free section of the AEP airport is tiny and no Havana inside so buy outside or better yet in the city as it's cheaper. Flight on time, 2.5 hours I was in Brasil.

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ARGENTINA CRIBSHEET

Hostals:

Calafate: Hostel Cambalache (its clean and the guys there super attentive, not the biggest but I liked it. You also get a discount on the restaurant next door).

Buenos Aires: Benita Hostal (or anywhere in Palermo really)

Restaurants:

Ice cream: Rapa Nui; Buffala Heladeria

Cafeterias: Cafe Tortoni; Florida Garden Cafe.

Things to do:

Calafate: Perito Moreno

Chalten: various walks

Buenos Aires: Recolletta area; Palermo; Liberia El Atendo Grand Splendid formerly a theatre; Palacio de Aguas Corrientes; the National Congress of Argentina; Casa Rosada former presidential house built in 1873; Puente de La Mujer designed to look like tango dancers; Plaza Dorrego in Monserrat and the San Telmo market (and Matilda bench); Kavanagh building; Caminitos/ BOCA stadium.

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#argentina #calafate #chalten #buenosaires #travel #travelling #thingstodo #thingstosee #food #journey #visionworld #yourworld #myworld #ourworld

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nhyphk · 2 years ago

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#WhenIDream - Part 1 How long until the future becomes the past and all there's left is a tiny faded memory of what was once a beautiful wide view? What if the oceans would anger themselves and take all land from us? Would we be able to swim forever? These dreams, when they come, they feel like home to me, as if I'm meant to stick around in them and never wake up again. But these dreams, they, too, fade into a distant glimpse as soon as I open my eyes. What are these dreams? Are they memories? I hadn't seen this beach before, but I knew exactly how to walk on it. I knew the turns that I should take and the stops that I should make. And all along, it seemed to me that it knew me just as much. Do you see? Do you see what I mean? Mmm, neither do I. Because there are so many things that I can't explain and so many things that I would like to try. But all this time, it feels like I'm stuck, or worse, it feels like I'm destroying myself just so I don't lose my mind Does it make any sense to you? But still I dream. In this dream, I fade into space, onto the universes and galaxies, so many beautiful living things. Isn't this the dream? To see more? To know more? To feel more? To be sure there's more after this? I think I'm wasting myself in an ocean of regrets and repeats, deceiving myself with the sips of surrender, fooling myself with the dreams of others, forgetting to live. #poem #poetry #life #thoughts #pensamentos #poesia #poema #byme #nhyphk #sunset #pordosol #vida (at Morro de São Paulo Bahia Brasil) https://www.instagram.com/p/Chpq9SsO2vK/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#whenidream #poem #poetry #life #thoughts #pensamentos #poesia #poema #byme #nhyphk #sunset #pordosol #vida

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trista-my · 7 years ago

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Carry on in two different idioms

I've already read this book, like, 7 times

5 times in Portuguese BR (so br mermo) and 2 times in inglish

And, the thing is, not much changes

But there's one thing that I've always through when I read in Portuguese is " What music Baz sang to the Dragon ? "

You know, in Portuguese the (wonderful) translators use a music REALLY OLD called " Sabiá lá na gaiola" (which was a very good translation ) - And for me, was a music that my grandmother's mother taught to her and so she pass along to the family

(So I really freaked out when I saw that in the book )

The translation from the song is like:

Sabiá* from the birdcage made a tiny hole, he flew flew flew flew

And the girl whom liked the pet/little animal (its actually a cute word in brasil I swear) so much, cried cried cried cried

Sabiá fled away to the terreiro (Afro-brasilian religious place), went to sing in the Abacateiro*

And the girl lives to sing "come here Sabiá, come here"

* That's a Sabiá and a Abacateiro, respectively:

---

Sincerely, this music is beautiful but is a bit... Sad? Dark ? Don't know, but isn't happy, (Like almost all the Brasilians lullabies) so I always wondered "What is the original song in the book ? "

And when I finally get the english book in my hands I was like ; MUA HAHAHAHAHA

So I immediately open in the part of the dragon and discover the music

And the music is ... omg ... so SAD! DARK!

Is like ... a house burning and the mother went away with the children BUT! OMG! ONE IS MISSING AND THEY ARE STILL IN THE HOUSE WHO IS BURNING DOWN , AND THEY ARE HIDING UNDER A PORRIDGE PAN OR LAYING UNDER THE GRINDLE STONE

But I think it's AMAZING how both songs have "birds" in the lyrics and are talking about distress of a female figure, while talking about loss.

But I think is amazing how "Ladybird" is telling the dragon to fly away

But " Sabiá na gaiola" is telling about how there's people waiting for the them (the dragon)

#carry on #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #lullaby #snowbaz #brasilian book translation #I remenbered this 5 years later

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mhdiaries · 4 years ago

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Diary of Kiyomi Haunterly

Reading my diary without permission would not be honorable.

30/04

01/05

A quiet presence

Kiyomi Haunterly ghost

In colors beauty speaks

03/05

04/05

Oh my ghost. I copied this page on portals from a reference book in the library:

I haven’t been opening portals to the dream world – I’ve been opening them to the solid world. What do I do now? Will I become the next Red Lady?

06/05

08/05

10/05

#monster high #monster high diary #kiyomi haunterly #haunted #text post

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hetmusic · 7 years ago

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Dot to Dot: Stand Together | HumanHuman

This week the music industry has been rocked to its core. The attack on innocent audience members during Ariana Grande’s concert at the Manchester Arena was a senseless tragedy and the city of Manchester are still very much feeling the effects. Many bands and artists across the UK and beyond have postponed shows out of respect for the victims and many more have come together, united by music, hope and love, to carry out gigs as planned and even spontaneously announcing fundraising events in support of the victims and their families.

One such event that will proceed is Dot to Dot Festival, who gave the following statement:

“We are shocked and saddened by the terrible tragedy in Manchester. Our thoughts go out to all those affected. From ongoing discussions with venues and relevant authorities, and in solidarity with the resilience of the amazing people of Manchester and the power of live music, Dot to Dot Festival will be going ahead this Friday. Dot to Dot is a festival about bringing people together and enjoying a day out watching live music. We have taken stock and thought deeply about whether it’s appropriate for us to go ahead in the light of what’s happened – and we have decided we will hold the event. We can’t forget what’s happened, but we don’t want to let fear and hate stop us.”— Dot to Dot

This Friday, this highly regarded new music festival will commence. More than a platform for the best who’s who on the emerging industry radar, Dot to Dot has become a show of solidarity, a way to say that we are not a defeated and we will not forget either.

Whether you’ll be heading to Manchester on May 26th, Bristol on May 27th or Nottingham on May 28th, we would like to recommend a few of our favourite acts.

Bad Sea

Night And Day, Manchester on May 26th, 5:45pm

Thekla Top Deck, Bristol on May 27th, 2:30pm

Red Room, Nottingham on May 28th, 7:45pm

Who are they? Dublin-based duo Ciara Thompson and Alan Farrel met through a popular dating app and although they abandoned any chance of romance, they did pursue a creative partnership.

Why should you see them? Bad Sea’s refreshingly classic approach can be heard in their precious trio of singles, “Solid Air”, “Tell Me What (I Mean)” and “Over My Head”. Each one is breath-taking and the pair must also be commended for their bare-faced sound on latest single “Over My Head”, but as we hear on “Tell Me What (I Mean)” Farrel and Thompson are also partial to those fuller, Americana rock sounds.

Cosmo Pyke

Band On The Wall, Manchester on May 26th, 6:15pm

02 Academy 2, Bristol on May 27th, 3:15pm

The Bodega, Nottingham on May 28th, 6:00pm

Who are they? Hailing from Peckham, this 18-year-old is a songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, skater and model.

Why should you see them? While Cosmo Pyke was raise on an enviable diet of blues, jazz, hip-hop and neo-soul, his own fuzzy, relaxed songs are less about following genre lines and more about going with the natural flow. Tracks like “Great Dane” paint with “spacey, beautiful, and lazy” strokes that produces a realist image of everyday life in East London.

Honeyblood

The Albert Hall, Manchester on May 26th, 5:00pm

02 Academy, Bristol on May 27th, 5:45pm

Rock City, Nottingham on May 28th, 5:00pm

Who are they? Noisy garage rock duo from Glasgow with a pinch of shoegaze.

Why should you see them? Over the years, the band’s line-up has taken a few different forms, but these days it’s all about the wild guitar playing of Stina Marie Claire Tweeddale and the ferocious drumming of Cat Myers, plus that wonderful middle ground where the pair’s vocals meet. Honeyblood have also been on an extensive tour across Scotland, Ireland and England over the past two months, so you can be sure on one tight set this weekend.

Kudu Blue

The Peer Hat, Manchester on May 26th, 8pm

HY Brasil Music-Club, Bristol on May 27th, 8:45pm

Stealth Live Room, Nottingham on May 28th, 3:45pm

Who are they? Eclectic sounding band from Brighton with four members Clementine Douglas, Owen Crouch, Tom Peterson and Creeda Kirkman.

Why should you see them? Over the past two years, Kudu Blue have had regular spots at hometown festival The Great Escape and this year their heading out to Dot to Dot to deliver their unique combination of electronics, alternative-pop, R&B and dance to new audiences. If you after an energy boost this weekend, get down to Kudu Blue’s show for dynamic tracks like “NGFM” and “Sugar Lemz”.

Liv Dawson

Band On The Wall, Manchester on May 26th, 7:15pm

Thekla, Bristol on May 27th, 3:00pm

Rock City, Nottingham on May 28th, 3:00pm

Who are they? At just 18-years-old, Liv Dawson is one of the most promising, emerging R&B talents on the circuit right now.

Why should you see them? Don’t be fooled by this singer-songwriter’s young years, as this artist has displayed a sophisticated self-awareness through her increasingly noted R&B-pop singles and live sessions. Dawson’s super power has to be that voice, it’s every bit Destiny’s Child in its youthful tone and wise aura. She’s also fresh from a performance at The Great Escape’s Vevo dscvr stage, which always seems to be on point with picking up the year’s rising acts.

Matt Maltese

Band On The Wall, Manchester on May 26th, 8:15pm

The Louisiana, Bristol on May 27th, 4:30pm

The Bodega, Nottingham on May 28th, 7:00pm

Who are they? London-based musician Matt Maltese with a notable gift for writing timeless, piano-led, blues ballads.

Why should you see them? As one of three artists selected for HumanHuman’s Showcase last year in Antwerp, we can guarantee that Maltese is truly a talented performer. His voice beckons from an era of golden age jazz fingers, while his songs themselves are sparsely lit and question meaning in everything and anything. Do not miss.

Miya Folick

SWX Room 2, Bristol on May 27th, 5:15pm

Rescue Rooms, Nottingham on May 28th, 3:15pm

Who are they? The Oakland-based artist whose music spans riot grrl, punk and indie-rock.

Why should you see them? “Trouble Adjusting” is a real gift from Miya Folick, as it was written and recorded to capture the magic of her live shows. Safe to say we wouldn’t be disappointed if any gig contains as much energy, fantastically fun melodies and full-blooded drums and guitars as this single does.

Nilüfer Yanya

Soup Kitchen, Manchester on May 26th, 5:45pm

Thekla, Bristol on May 27th, 2:00pm

The Bodega, Nottingham on May 28th, 3:00pm

Who are they? London singer-songwriter in her own groove of indie acoustica, jazzy blues and new wave shimmer.

Why should you see them? This twice featured artist has managed to rise from a handful of demo songs to the blogosphere’s indie music sweetheart with recent releases like “Golden Cage” and “The Florist” being highly praised across the Internet. In the live realm, Yanya performs with the same intimate sense of delicacy that comes across on the recording, just check out this out take of this 21-year-old musician playing her cover of Pixies’ “Hey” for NTS Radio.

Parcels

Soup Kitchen, Manchester on May 26th, 9:45pm

Thekla, Bristol on May 27th, 9:00pm

Rescue Rooms, Nottingham on May 28th, 12:30am

Who are they? Purveyors of disco for the modern age.

Why should you see them? This Berlin-based Australian band are a pretty rare find. Not only do they look like they took a Delorean from the height of ‘70s glam-rock, but their sound also takes many cues from a past where disco grooves were essential to any good night out. While, watching their set, it will be absolutely impossible not to dance (or bop or foot tap or ever so subtly nod your head) to “the slick musicianship, the rapturously rhythmic, Nile Rodgers-worshipping guitar,” as The Guardian put it.

Pinegrove

Old Granada Studios, Manchester on May 26th, 8:15pm

SWX, Bristol on May 27th, 7:45pm

Nottingham Trent University, Nottingham on May 28th, 8:15pm

Who are they? With a various combination of musicians, this New Jersey band creates uncomparable and emotional left-field Americana.

Why should you see them? This isn’t the first time we’ve recommended Pinegrove as a must-see act. Last year, the Brooklyn-via-New Jersey outfit built around two central figures Evan Stephens Hall and Zack Levine was on our list for the new music extravaganza SXSW and now the American alt-rock band are hopping the water to give UK fans a taste of their singularly brilliant live renditions. There’s an abundance of live sessions out there (such as NPR’s Tiny Desk Concert) to wet your appetite over the next few days.

Pixx

Gullivers, Manchester on May 26th, 6:30pm

The Louisiana, Bristol on May 27th, 6:30pm

Stealth Live Room, Nottingham on May 28th, 10:45pm

Who are they? Pixx is the moniker of Surrey musician Hannah Rodgers.

Why should you see them? Pixx first popped up on our radar around the time of her debut EP, Fall In, which was accompanied by a string of eerie, elemental music videos perfectly suited to her modern New Romantics style. Since then, the artist has become bolder in her style, songwriting and seemingly her live shows too. One thing to listen out for would be her cover of Joe Jackson’s 1979 single “It’s Different For Girls”.

Tender

Ruby Lounge, Manchester on May 26th, 6:15pm

Thekla, Bristol on May 27th, 8:00pm

Rescue Rooms, Nottingham on May 28th, 4:15pm

Who are they? Self-described as “dark grooves with room to breathe,” pair Dan and James create everything at home in their North London basement.

Why should you see them? Two years after Tender’s first appearance on HumanHuman and the initially anonymous project are beginning to drop the veil further as they approach the release of their debut album, coming this summer. On first LP single “Erode”, the self-sufficient deliver that R&B vibe, minimalist guitar work and luscious electronics that we’ve loved all along. Hopefully more album tracks to be heard at their festival sets.

Tom Grennan

Ruby Lounge, Manchester on May 26th, 9:15pm

02 Academy, Bristol on May 27th, 4:45pm

Rocky City, Nottingham on May 28th, 6:00pm

Who are they? Solo artist Tom Grennan strikes the balance between acoustic songwriting, bluesy lyricism and indie-rock frontmanship.

Why should you see them? The charismatic songwriter possesses a mighty blues vocal and knack for lyrics that permeate your soul and stay there. It’s something that translates wonderfully into his live versions of “Sweet Hallelujah” and “Something In The Water” and if the word of The Independent is anything to go by, the backing of a full band adds “more weight to his music but [doesn’t] distract from his great charisma or that astonishing voice.”

Vagabon

Gullivers, Manchester on May 26th, 5:30pm

Thekla, Bristol on May 27th, 4:00pm

The Bodega, Nottingham on May 28th, 4:00pm

Who are they? Finding her feet in New York’s underground rock scene, Lætitia Tamko, continues to wow with her anthems for weird girls.

Why should you see them? You only need to listen to Vagabon’s “The Embers” to be convinced that this indie-rock heroine is well worth going to see this weekend. Her songs vibrate with indignation and ferocity. Throughout all of them, Tamko unleashes biting lyrics with that sweet, unassuming vocal which contrasts against the punk-rock instrumentation.

Yellow Days

Soup Kitchen, Manchester on May 26th, 6:45pm

Thekla, Bristol on May 27th, 6:00pm

Rescue Rooms, Nottingham on May 28th, 6:15pm

Who are they? George van den Broek is the young songwriter-producer featured in our 20 Under 20 list for his incredible debut EP, Harmless Melodies.

Why should you see them? Reminiscent of King Krule and Only Real, Yellow Days is a relative newcomer and yet since the release of debut “You Are Nothing That I Can’t Get Over”, this 17-year-old has punctuated the new music consciousness. The turning point came with “Your Hand Holding Mine” when listeners woke up to van den Broek’s wonky, lo-fi strings and synths with a gravelled, left-field soulful vocal rich in mature emotion. Surely not one to miss out on.

https://humanhuman.com/articles/dot-to-dot-2017

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elisdays · 6 years ago

Text

Brasil!

1 - Nice cities by the ocean, especially a tiny one called Barra Grande, northeast of Brasil.

2 - in my country, but only because travelling abroad is so absurdly expensive. But also, there's so much here I haven't still seen!

3 - oh yeah. Lots of it.

4 - white rice and beans as the base is an everyday meal, usually with some kind of meat and salad. But having rice and beans is practically mandatory.

5 - oh, ok, that's a hard one. There are many music styles here so I probably could give one son of each, but I guess I'm gonna say a country song called "Evidências" by the duet Chitãozinho e Xororó. I meant it's country and cheesey, but even the biggest rock n roll fan will sing it heartfeltly.

6 - also difficult. Can't name one.

7 - Saudade has no translation to English. It the verb of missing someone. Mãe means mother and doesn't rime with any other word in portuguese. Cafuné is also untranslatable, it's the action of tenderly stoking someone's head/hair.

8 - Portuguese from Portugal because of the name of the language, and Argentinians for geography.

9 - Peru! I want to see Machu Picchu.

10 - CARALHO!!!

11 - Elisa Lucinda.

12 - Haven't read any.

13 - Well, Brasil is a country of many many religions, beliefs and origins, so it's very rich in traditions.

14 - Honestly? No. I think movi s still lack in technical quality, soap operas are too cheesey. I like American/British much more. But see, I'm the only one who can say this. I don't want anyone not from Brazil saying that 😂

15 -

16 - I hate that people think Brazil is constantly sunny with people around the beach with golden Bodies, dancing to samba and playing soccer. I could agree a bit with stereotypes that talk about the violence and lazyness.

17 - yes. It explains a lot why we are like this today, a mess.

18 - no, I don't speak any dialect. There are not many of them, but we do have a great amount of different accents, and that I have.

19 - Yes. I think them both beautiful.

20 - Soccer, obviously.

21 - The entire Congress would be enough.

22 - I am ashamed of what we call "jeitinho brasileiro", which means, "the Brazilian way". It's basically finding a way of getting away with things or making thinks work no matter what, regardless it it's not cool or against the law or if it harms someone else. I hate it!

I am proud of this people being so hurt, so robbed, and still be working their asses off and similing and getting on with life with happiness.

23 - Very very cold beer and caipirinha.

24 - Portuguese people are considered dumb as hell for no good reason. And there is an antagonism against Argentina that comes from soccer rivalry.

25 - Yes.

26 - Barely. We are considered Latin but not really portrayed. When we aren't is for looks, beautiful men of women, and that's all. I'm not satisfied by it.

27 - Mine? Fernanda Montenegro, Renato Russo, Cazuza, Ayrton Senna... Brazil's? The soccer players, Anita, Ayrton Senna, Xuxa...

28 - Yes, lots. Lots lots. Around the region the city I was born is in, there are two huge mountain ranges that are just absolutely beautiful.

29 - Argentina, but not a serious one. I don't think anybody rivals Brasil, people would have to take us seriously even to do that.

30 - In-laws, yes. British guy, German guy....

“hi, I’m not from the US” ask set

given how Americanized this site is, it’s important to celebrate all our countries and nationalities - with all their quirks and vices and ridiculousness, and all that might seem strange to outsiders.

1. favourite place in your country?

2. do you prefer spending your holidays in your country or travel abroad?

3. does your country have access to sea?

4. favourite dish specific for your country?

5. favourite song in your native language?

6. most hated song in your native language?

7. three words from your native language that you like the most?

8. do you get confused with other nationalities? if so, which ones and by whom?

9. which of your neighbouring countries would you like to visit most/know best?

10. most enjoyable swear word in your native language?

11. favourite native writer/poet?

12. what do you think about English translations of your favourite native prose/poem?

13. does your country (or family) have any specific superstitions or traditions that might seem strange to outsiders?

14. do you enjoy your country’s cinema and/or TV?

15. a saying, joke, or hermetic meme that only people from your country will get?

16. which stereotype about your country you hate the most and which one you somewhat agree with?

17. are you interested in your country’s history?

18. do you speak with a dialect of your native language?

19. do you like your country’s flag and/or emblem? what about the national anthem?

20. which sport is The Sport in your country?

21. if you could send two things from your country into space, what would they be?

22. what makes you proud about your country? what makes you ashamed?

23. which alcoholic beverage is the favoured one in your country?

24. what other nation is joked about most often in your country?

25. would you like to come from another place, be born in another country?

26. does your nationality get portrayed in Hollywood/American media? what do you think about the portrayal?

27. favourite national celebrity?

28. does your country have a lot of lakes, mountains, rivers? do you have favourites?

29. does your region/city have a beef with another place in your country?

30. do you have people of different nationalities in your family?

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imagineclaireandjamie · 8 years ago

Text

Read Chapters One through Six here.

Our Story

You can write an entire story with these bits and pieces of their lives, cut the acts together to form one winding opera. It plays and stops—the sound booth unmanned—until, eventually, the grand finale. The overlap: a perfect harmony which carries them from their separate wings, to center stage and to each other.

And it is there, finally, that they meet again, lips and lives melding. They stand together in the orb of the spotlight. A single sun, glowing.

The Spirit in the Horse, 2000

Starring James Fraser, Jenny Fraser, Brian Fraser, The Doctor, Ellen Fraser, Fitzy (and a More-Than-Flash of Someone Else)

Though a bestselling author, JAMES FRASER did not grow up with dreams of books, but of horses.

He was born on an unusually hot day, spring 1968. Everything melting at their very seams, the birthing room’s thermometer feverish with mercury blood. His father and sister had fashioned fans from intake forms, moving heat-murk and birth-stink with the accordioned papers. They looked on with damp foreheads, lips white and tight, so that Ellen could have the breaths they saved.

The hibernators had emerged early that year, scurrying from their earthen wombs just as Jamie had slipped from his mother’s. Heat-drunk and dizzied, they had eaten everything in sight: corn stalks, cabbage leaves, whole fields of barley—gone. Even Ellen’s strawberries, barely ripened—devoured by mid-April. The red fruits had shrunk to halves, then thirds, as the creatures munched and munched. Fleshy hearts eaten to bleeding, the pulp left to the sleepy stragglers.

And so on the day Jamie entered the world, the Frasers had returned to a dark and stifling house. Rot wafting from the windows, electrical wires chewed cleanly through. One rabbit, the chosen martyr, had laid cooked in the grass, fur spiked.

How—if at all, she had wondered—would they survive without her mother?

After his book tour in ’99, Jamie Fraser decided to take the leap—carpe diem—and purchase his own horse, his own land (fields way out in the Highlands; a farmhouse converted to splendor by his millions). The horse, like Fitzy, wears a chestnut coat. She is stubborn but loving, recognizes Jamie’s voice when he calls and his face when it floats above her stable door. He sees a flash of Fitzy—and of his mother, he thinks—when she surrenders her anger to Jamie’s flags of truce: a fresh Granny Smith, a carrot stick plucked from the ground. He sees a More-Than-Flash of Someone Else when she nudges his shoulder, apologetic. The only source of happiness, this beautiful beast, outside of his writing.

“Ye see?” Jamie had said after their first standoff, “Ye canna stay mad at me forever.” And when the horse had chomped the apple from his hand, he’d sworn that she was smiling.

“Mo nighean donn,” he’d whispered, and decided, then and there, to name her Sorcha.

Carroll’s Theory of Truth, 2003

Starring Claire Randall, Frank Randall, Joe Abernathy, duncandonuts, wetwillie, mark_me_1745, parsleymarsley, l.mackenzie (and The Author)

When CLAIRE RANDALL is not working at the hospital, her nose is pressed to a blue-white screen.

For years, she had resisted those monstrous, blocky machines: Macintosh, Dell, Gateway. All brand names accompanied by her husband’s reverent whisper, longing glances at window displays, or jabbing elbows. “We should get one, Claire.”

But there was value in tradition, Claire had argued, a kind of sanctity in the ping of an Underwood or the swish of pen; privacy and authentic connection. Frank had merely rolled his eyes, always lusting after the new and shiny—whether a computer or a student’s gloss-plumped lips—knowing it was not “tradition” itself that his wife was holding onto.

“So like you, Claire,” he’d said bitterly one day, “wanting to stay stuck in the past.” And, of course, he’d been right. And so to spite him, she’d finally surrendered, gave him one for Christmas.

Claire Randall, the British spy.

Claire Randall, the avid hiker, climbing the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Claire Randall, the mother, who loved the melt of ice cream down her daughter’s chin. Her tiny mouth, sweet and sugared, when it met hers for a kiss.

One website, her favorite, was this: a forum, populated by other faceless humans who, like Claire, could recite pages 32, 208, 451 (or any others) of A Blade of Grass. In this corner of the online universe, they had spoken of The Author on a first-name basis, trading facts like prized baseball cards. But it was only Claire who could share the most private knowledge, attribute it all to her keen nose and thus earn the respect of 16 anonymous users.

whiteraven: A long shot, but does anyone know how to contact him by telephone?

And five of the grey-faced few had responded.

duncandonuts: easier to send him send him a letter (might get lost among the rest of his fan mail though).

wetwillie: have you tried his agent, john grey, in london?

mark_me_1745: if u meet him, tell him 2 come 2 brasil!!!!!!! we <3 him!!!!!!!

parsleymarsali: Publishers Weekly mentioned he’s now with Geordie Gibbons at the Claude F. Agency, not Grey, @wetwillie. Think it had something to do with creative differences and missed deadlines.

l.mackenzie: pass that info onto _me_ if you find it, girl! <g>

She spent three months with the numbers inside her head, stored in a folder marked with The Author’s name. She did manage to call though—once—when her hand finally lowered from its hover. She’d waited out the sonorous ring-ring-ring, the robotic chime, “You have reached the voice mailbox of +44 3456 2222.” She had listened to the beep that followed and then the silence, stretching, until she remembered her mouth. It opened, exhaled, shut abruptly with the click of her teeth. There was the clatter of keys and the thwop of a briefcase—Frank home from work; she almost whispered, but did not.

Again: the sonorous ring-ring-ring, the tinny greeting, the beep, and the silence that waits for her. But this time: her mouth opening—one, two three times—and five words repeated, again and again. In some versions, she says them aloud. In others, merely pushes them, soundless, into the air. Still, they are there, held aloft by satellite arms high up in the sky. Somewhere between her and The Author, existing: I was born for you, I was born for you, I was born for you.

And what is said three times—even unfinished, even without words—is always, always true.

Three Times the World Ended, 2004

Starring Jamie Fraser, Jenny Fraser, and Laoghaire Mackenzie (and The Girl)

JAMES FRASER, age 34, can pinpoint three moments where his world fell apart.

He was eighteen during the first, a brazen thing but still as green as the pot freshly stinking his Levi’s. After reading the note pasted to his door—Your sister called. Said it was urgent—he’d floated to the common room on a cloud of White Widow weed. He dialed, laughing, until Jenny’s voice had sobbed down the line, breaking his druggy fug.

Their father, she’d cried, had died the previous evening.

With the news, the drugs turned. Floors slanted, limbs jellied. Jamie watched as a hole ripped open the wall behind him, its enormous black void revealing the space Brian Fraser had left behind. It had swallowed Jamie up, refused to spit him back again until The Girl reached inside and found his heart. Returned it to him, like a love note, passed on the inside of her smile.

Nine years after the second earthquake, a new person had come into Jamie’s life. She would stand in the doorway at 6:30PM, jump to her tip-toes to welcome him home. There would be steam from the stove behind her and the gleam of utensils from the table, forks and knives arranged in perfect, shining order. Napkins would wait with their patient folds, each prepared to catch the food which she, his ever-present Laoghaire, had prepared during the day. And for those three years, Laoghaire’s toothbrush had sat next to Jamie’s, her silks hanging beside his cottons. Evidence, he had thought, that he maybe-almost loved her.

My da once told me I’d know straight away, that I’d have no doubt. And I didn’t.

For so many years, for so long, I have been so many different men.

The love of you was my soul.

and

Yours, Jamie

Forever, Jamie

Come home, my heart. I am not as brave as I was before, Jamie

On and on and on they went. Singed pieces of his letters. Every one meant for The Girl who’d confronted his darkness, had rescued his heart at a Christmas Eve party.

All 4,380 of them. One letter for every day he had missed her.

The Killing Girl, 2006

Starring Claire Randall*, Henry Beauchamp, Julia Beauchamp, Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, Frank Randall (and The One Person)

CLAIRE RANDALL* , Chief of Staff at Boston GH, was five years old when she thought she was murderer. For years, she could hardly sleep, fearing not the monster beneath her bed, but the one beneath her covers.

Instead of counting sheep, she’d recounted facts as they’d been reported in the paper: Henry and Julia Beauchamp, parents of one Claire Beauchamp. Their mangled car, a rocky deathbed set one hundred feet below. Both husband and wife, father and mother—dead upon impact.

Rarely, did this guide Claire towards sleep, and so she began to picture the accident as she’d recorded it in her diary. The same story but more accurate, one that played behind her eyelids as if she had watched it all, a spectator on the road’s shoulder.

There was her parents’ blue Ford ribboning the cliffside. The low hum of conversation and the static of the radio. There was Claire’s goodbye before they left—“You always go without me! IhateyouIhateyou!”— following her parents, pushing them off the edge, feeding them into the river’s stone jaws. She was sure it was her words that had broken her mother’s neck, had snapped it like a flower’s stem. One Claire Beauchamp, the little killing girl.

Five years passed before Lamb had found her in the courtyard, weeping guilt into a mat of grey feathers. She had confessed to her five-year anger then, how she’d pried open the rocky mouth and dropped her parents in. “Death doesn’t move according to reason, my dear,” Lamb had said, “but only chance. And by no fault of yours, either.” He had patted her on the head like a priest grants forgiveness, and they buried the bird in the Nyungwe Forest. Wings and Claire’s blame laid to rest beneath the trees.

It was Claire’s fault that the frost returned in May, all her marigold suns snuffed out.

It was Claire’s fault that the infection took the wound, gnawed the patient’s flesh so that a saw had to chop the bone.

It was Claire’s fault that midnight voices chirped down the receiver. The girls’ lovesick notes—I need you. I love you. Leave her.—placed in Frank’s pockets by Claire’s own hands.

And of course, it was Claire’s fault that things had ended as they did. The final fight, every bit of hate, hers to claim:

“I am not an idiot, Frank! And I’m tired of being made into one.”

“Darling, you aren’t an idiot. I never said you were an idiot.”

“Don’t bloody ‘darling’ me, you bloody cad.”

“I’m sorry.”

“How novel.”

“Truly, I am.”

“So I’m the only selfish one here, is that it? Just me?”

“You’re saying that I’m selfish?”

“I am.”

“Me.”

“So I see you’ve lost all sense, but still have some fucking nerve. You—you…I can’t even look at you right now.”

“Cursing doesn’t improve your argument.”

“Wanker.”

“Now Claire…”

“Just go.”

“Claire, please—”

“Go.”

All of this, she has put upon her shoulders, for its burden is lesser than the truth: that she has no control, never did and never would. Claire, forever spinning and spinning at the mercy of a capricious gravity—she and everyone else, a little bit helpless. Always.

They had spiraled through life, the pair of them, both a little bit helpless—but everything, everything shared. A cot, a child, bodies, sins, blame.

All her fault: Claire Randall, Chief of Staff. The guilty one, the killing girl, the widow. Spinning and spinning into empty space, grasping at stars, alone.

[Note from director: Ms. Claire Randall has requested we change her name to Claire Beauchamp. Please reprint with this correction ASAP. Thank you.]

Point of Convergence, 2007

Starring Jamie Fraser (The Author, The One Person), Claire Beauchamp (A More-Than-Flash Of Someone-Else, The Girl), Geordie Gibbons

One of the most important days of Jamie’s life began in anticipation of such disappointment. He had twiddled his thumbs beneath a table, dreading the moment Geordie’s fedora ducked beneath the restaurant’s eaves. The wait staff had milled around him: a waiter dashing towards snapping fingers, the hostess offering towels for rain-soaked heads. He’d felt jealous, watching them—of their readiness, how they could be so effortlessly on time. Jamie couldn’t even manage to meet his deadlines, the desk calendar at home flipped far beyond the designated X.

But on this day, the universe had shifted; the pattern broke. Jamie had continued to sit there, all sweat and nerves, but Geordie’s fedora, the interrogation, and the food never came.

Because while Jamie had waited in the restaurant, CLAIRE BEAUCHAMP was arguing in her bedroom mirror: Claire vs. Claire, Head vs. Heart. Thousands of miles away in a Boston apartment, but still—the tremor traveled, pushing a storm across the Atlantic, down the Royal Mile, to Jamie. The trajectory of his day and his life had changed as Claire gesticulated wildly at her own reflection.

So at 12:14, Jamie had been alone, Geordie unusually late for a man so fond of punctuality. He read the menu three times, settled on a whisky. Thought better of it; ordered two.

At 12:30, Claire’s battle had still raged, no victor in sight. The thunder had shaken the house, knocked the mirror off the wall.

At 12:51, Claire had opened her scrapbook, a secret once kept from Frank. It was filled with bits and bobs: a piece of bubble wrap, a bell from her holiday sweater. Both of them glued beside old polaroids. Again, she did not feel her Heart stutter, but expand, lift straight out of her chest. A full siege after that. Her Head’s weakest men fell beneath the lash of artery whips.

At 12:53:05, he said, “Jesus, man! Where are ye? I’ve been waiting nigh on 50 minutes!” There was no response.

At 12:53:08: “Did ye get caught in the storm? Are ye calling from a pay phone?” More silence.

At 12:53:13: “Hello? Anyone there?”

At 12:53:20: “Geordie, man, is that you?”

At 12:53:25: A deep, shaking breath. An audible gulp. Claire’s Heart whispering its victory song.

12:53:26: “It’s isn’t Geordie.”

12:53:27: “It’s me.”

And at 12:53:28, everywhere, suddenly—the brightest sun.

#god this chapter was a proper bitch #let's pretend playbills are like this #our story AU #;mod liv #featuring: frank #featuring: laoghaire

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