Archives for the Date January 20th, 2019

Fanfiction – Cordis

kalendraashtar:

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Previously – Part I, II

Cordis

Part III – Want, Want

The atelier was the heart of CordisTech,
a large room with several work stations where visions became realities – discovering if they were sturdy enough
to bear the weight of flesh, bone, blood,
neurons and hopes
. Most of my team left early on Fridays with my blessing, unless
a dangerous deadline was looming on the horizon, so the space was already empty
when we entered.

I walked to my usual work station, the very last in the row and the
one closer to the sweeping window; I enjoyed the natural light and the proximity
with the outdoors, the different shapes of clouds helping me whenever I was
stuck in progressing with a task. A white box with my company logo, a red-rimmed
stylized heart, was placed on top of the counter.

“Ian’s prosthetic is in here.” I barked to Jamie, who was looking
around with awe in his cobalt eyes. Allowing him to be in this personal space was
uncomfortable, as if I was delivering
him all my clothes only to stand stark naked for his contemplation. “It’s not
one of the most advanced prototypes – because a robotic model would cost you a
fortune – but it’s a very light carbon-fiber one. Ian will need to come in so I
can check the socket adjustment, though. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

His finger solemnly – respectfully
– traced the outline of the imprinted heart and he gazed at me with an
intensity that disassembled me, as if all the winter fires had been lit in the
clearing behind that blue. “Thank ye for doing this, Claire.”

“It’s my job.” I answered,
somewhat awkwardly. I wanted to highlight that I wasn’t doing it for him – bloody, bloody bastard -, but because of the invisible tie that strung me
to the lost pieces of oneself. And I wanted very much for him to look away, not to see me, not to push me to
becoming undone. I fixed a vacant point in his jaw, avoiding his piercing
stare, and he licked his lips, slowly. The
memory of the bite of his teeth in my mouth, that perfect indent that I could
trace with the tip of my tongue, almost made me hiss
.

“What’s this?” Jamie asked in a hoarse voice, pointing to a delicate
structure forming a helmet with several twinkling lights, which rested close to
my workstation computer. I struggled to pull myself out of my reverie, back
into forceful indifference.

“It’s one of my ongoing projects.” I grabbed the device, lovingly caressing
the black material with my thumbs. “It’s meant for people with severe
neurological diseases, who struggle to communicate with others. These sensors
might read the areas of their brains which are activated at a certain moment and
transmit an idea of what they need or want to say. It’s still fairly rudimental.”

“Can ye show me?” He asked, looking deeply interested. Jamie was wearing
casual clothing, a black sweater and a brown jacket with a plaid scarf, much more
in line with what I imagined he truly liked than those stern imprisoning suits
and impeccably ironed button downs. “A wee demonstration, perhaps?”

I shouldn’t indulge him – his presence was far more unnerving than I
had anticipated, like a persistent heartburn that could suddenly turn into a
deadly heart attack. But I couldn’t resist the chance to share something I was
so incredibly proud of, so I caved in and placed the helmet on my own head,
activating the small controller. A series of bleeps echoed and then a robotic
voice “Reading failed”.

I waited for another beat, as the system tried to create a discernible
pattern from the furious stream of my brain – I could barely grasp how I truly felt myself. It wasn’t a real surprise
when the voice sounded again “Reading
failed
”.

“Here, allow me to try it.” Before I could protest, Jamie’s portentous
hands delicately reached for the frame, the tip of each of his index fingers
above the tender skin of my ears. His
gentleness had taken my breath away in the past, that promise of strength
delivered only by urgent request.
He was standing close enough for me to
sense the air that came steadily from his lungs, to smell the scent of his skin
that was richer right above his left clavicle. “Maybe ye’re feeling too much, too fast, Claire.”

Jamie placed the helmet on top of his red waves, his gaze fixed on
me and within moments the program croaked “Want. Want.”

I swallowed hard and tilted my chin away. “Like I said, it’s still
in very early stages. The algorithm probably isn’t functioning properly.”

“Why would ye believe what Laoghaire said, Claire?” He asked
haltingly, as if it pained him to do so. “Why wouldna ye let me explain? The
lass wants naught but to cause a rift between us.”

“So, she lied to me, is that it?” I almost spat in his direction,
closing my fists in anger. “You didn’t sleep with her during your campaign,
while you were still married, and tried to bribe her to remain silent?”

****

When Jamie came to me before the silent auction, I was sitting on
the doorsteps in front of the building – not particularly concerned with the
state of my dress – savouring a cigarette. The night was cold and I was
shivering, everything coiling until it expanded suddenly with his nearness.

I didn’t particularly like to smoke and did so less and less. It was
a residual habit from a time when I wasn’t really eager to live a very long
life and tobacco seemed like a good enough promise that I wouldn’t. There was a
disquiet that nicotine helped quell in me, a blissful quarter of hour where the
tides stilled, and I was able to sit by the shore of my own thoughts.

I would smoke my last
cigarette after he kissed me for the first time.

I had a pack of cheap cigarettes at the bottom of my backpack when I
was moved to Mrs. Fitz’ foster house.
Behind me, long in the midday sun of my fifteen years, were the long
shadows of a handful of placements, where I had been relentlessly acquainted
with various degrees of cruelty, neglect and indifference. Those strangers who
had embraced the task of keeping me a stranger, too.

Mrs. Fitz’ house opened its doors late for this scrawny girl, but the
Scottish woman managed to gather enough fragments of me to turn me into a kind
of Golem of her own. She brought me to
life
, kindness both her reviving magic and clay. Glenna FitzGibbons (the
complete mouthful, although by the time I left her house I simply called her Fitzzie) used to say that I had wings
built for turbulence, a “wee lass
made for great devotions, always passionate and wholehearted, both for the
things I loved and the things I despised. It was a second life, after the first one had been destroyed by a
combination of accident and fate (maybe they were one and the same, after all).

Laoghaire – her granddaughter, two years my youngest -, became to me
the promise of a sister and until I left to go to university, we were thick as thieves.
Even as physical distance imposed itself between us, we confided in each other
and I trusted her implicitly. She had been the one to convince me to move to Aberdeen,
not only to expand my business but in order to be closer to her again.

I looked away, pretending not to have noticed him – challenging him
to dare and come closer. He hawked to
make himself known and I gently puffed out the last cloud of smoke from my
lungs.

“Ye smoke, Miss Beauchamp?” His tone was a living question mark,
beckoning me to build on his redundancy. I detected curiosity, but also a
subtle reprimand.

“On occasion.” I smashed my cigarette on the posh ashtray I had
loaned from the inside of the party. The intricate object probably had cost
more than my first car, a cunning lime green beetle that wheezed after five
minutes on the road, who had gone to junkyard heaven after leaving me stranded
repeatedly. “You can spare me the lecture that I sense it’s coming.” I shrugged
and brushed a stray curl from the neat fishtail braid I was wearing. “You’re
not campaigning here Councillor Fraser, and I only have the one vote to give,
anyway.”

“I wasna going to lecture ye.” He walked down a few steps, which
forced me to stretch my neck up in order to look at this face; the alternative
was to look ahead, to the disconcertingly narrow and firm frame of his hips.

I would kneel in front of
him. He would kneel in front of me. Neither of us would do it for redemption,
humiliation or submission; but out of reverence for the gift bestowed and
wholeheartedly taken. Seeing him wild was something that I liked, that I anticipated
belly-deep, and he was never as wild as under the pleasurable torture of my
mouth. The taste of him would fill my mouth until it drowned all the words I
could ever say and only he remained.

“I was just making polite conversation.” James Fraser finished lamely,
crouching down to sit beside me on the steps. “Ye’re a hard one to please, Miss
Beauchamp.”

“Oh, so now you’re trying
to please me?” I raised a brow, pursing
my lipstick covered lips and glaring at him straightforwardly. “You were perfectly
fine pretending I didn’t exist back inside, not even ten minutes ago. Why the
sudden change of heart?”

I sensed a rapid flicker inside his eyes, but he was quick to
command his face back to impenetrable stillness. “I didn’t notice ye were
there.”

He was lying to me. I knew it with the clarity given by years of
deception and heartbreak, learning how to read faces and bodies to predict the
next source of disappointment. He had
noticed me
and had chosen to ignore me until I was alone.

“Okay.” I breathed deeply to calm myself, gripping the soft fabric
of my dress. I raised from the steps and balanced on my insufferably high heels,
holding on to a dignified appearance. “I’m choosing not to notice you are here now, so I’m going back
inside. Have a lovely evening, Mister Fraser.”

My pride was hurt, even if any defrauded expectations were of my own
creation. My stupid heart, filled
with senseless fantasies, crumpled.

And that’s how I ended in a silent battle with the Lord Provost over
a two-hundred-year Fraser heirloom.

Thoughts on S04E12 – “Providence”

kalendraashtar:

I caught myself thinking about wildlife twice during this episode, which is not something that should happen unless you’re watching a documentary on National Geographic. 

– This right here was the moment I knew this episode was doomed.

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Karen Campbell needs to be removed from the premises and have a restraining order in place, just in case she gets any ideas about writing an Outlander episode ever again. Although this might actually be the less mediocre of all her episodes, it’s still a hellhole of bad pacing and bad choices, solely based on pointless plot points.

– Not even the natives think Roger is worth their salt (and by then I was thinking about the mating rituals of King Penguins), so he ends on the summer colony for idiots The Prison Hut that will become The Idiot Hut. Here takes place a side story that would be borderline okay if the show had 16 episodes and lots of time to spare. I cannot forgive that we missed SO MANY moments between Jamie and Claire/ Jamie and Brianna/ Jamie and Claire and Brianna/ Claire and Brianna, so this could be included. Yeah, I see where they are trying to go with this in Roger’s arc (him being a merciful idiot does not absolve him from all his shortcomings, but nice try show) and in showing that idiocy when it comes to feelings/love is a hard cycle to break, but the cost of getting this on our screens is too damn high.

– Super interesting digging montage in Idiot Cabana. At this point I was thinking about why pandas only eat bamboo to the point they are endangered (because bamboo forests are disappearing), why wouldn’t they adapt and change their diet? Maybe I’ve come full circle and pandas are idiots too, therefore part of the brotherhood, and this makes some kind of sense.

– The letter was a beautiful moment, but I’m still firmly on the train that it would have been much better if placed in the last episode. It lost plenty of impact to me.

– I liked Bree and LJG’s scenes, as I almost always do. I think Sophie did well in the scenes with Bonnet, although I don’t think the dialogue between them was very on point. Can we keep David around and give him a house on the Ridge?? Also #FindJohnAGoodMan2019.

– Marsali is a BAMF worthy of being part of the Fraser fam. I STAN HER. Side characters can be loved if they are well played, show.

– OMG THEY ARE CARRYING WEE GERMAIN IN THE  BASKET ON THE BACK OF THE WAGON AND I’M NOT OKAY WITH THIS ACCIDENT HAZARD.

– I honestly don’t see how they can make things not feel rushed on the last episode with everything that’s left to solve. Then on to Droughtlander and maybe this fandom can begin to heal and hope again. 

argumate: babyanimalgifs: Me thinking about a joke I told last…

argumate:

babyanimalgifs:

Me thinking about a joke I told last week

what the fuck, that’s way funnier than the screengrabs

“giving Sam and Cait more control” But do you really think it would make a difference? Cait did say so many writers who don’t actually get the characters can be frustrating, but she is also the one who portrayed Claire like this because she couldn’t connect with her (she literally said that) and the one who asked for changes we absolutely don’t agree with (not just intimacy, siding with Brianna was a BAD call). Also she said they were happy having less screen time because it means more time off.

You’re writing through a filter of not liking Cait, that’s pretty obvious.

She didn’t ask for less intimacy, she asked for less explicit sex scenes.  She did have trouble connecting with Claire, part of that could be her issues and part of that could be the way they wrote Claire. In other interviews, she said she liked exploring that side of Claire.  But people like you will only quote the one that suits your filter.

Claire sided with Bree in the books too, in fact it was worse, if I recall.

More control in the writer’s room will help them from taking Jamie and Claire too far astray, which is what I saw in an episode or two this year.

As to having less screen time, in the interview she’s not going to say that they thought that was a bad idea so she said essentially, Yay!, we didn’t have six-day week of 14 hour days.  I saw it as just a lighthearted comment to an interviewer.   I know when I had to go six months without a day off last year, I was fried.

outlanderamerica: jamesandclairefraser: “I took Caitriona aside…

outlanderamerica:

jamesandclairefraser:

“I took Caitriona aside and said “okay so next time we do that take just tell him ‘get over here and lets fuck’ so sure enough she says this and you have that split second of a reaction in his eyes which is just fantastic and that’s what’s in the cut now.” – Anna Foerster

Celebrating the fourth TV anniversary of “The Wedding” is bringing back some great memories.  Happy fourth TV anniversary, Jamie and Claire!

sincerelyfraser: jamie & claire moments – outlander

sincerelyfraser:

jamie & claire moments – outlander

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