#ch: sam fraser | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lesbianlotties · 3 years

Link

Journeys end in lovers meeting - Sam/Deena - Bly Manor AU

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Fear Street Trilogy (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Fraser/Deena Johnson, Sarah Fier/Hannah Miller (Fear Street), Christine "Ziggy" Berman/Nick Goode, Samantha "Sam" Fraser & Deena Johnson Characters: Samantha "Sam" Fraser (Fear Street), Deena Johnson, Kate Schmidt (Fear Street), Simon Kalivoda, Josh Johnson (Fear Street), Constance (Fear Street Part 3: 1666), Christine "Ziggy" Berman, Nick Goode (Fear Street), Alice (Fear Street Part 2: 1978), Sarah Fier (Fear Street), Hannah Miller (Fear Street), Solomon Goode (Fear Street) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, The Haunting of Bly Manor AU, Not Canon Compliant, Haunted Houses, Ghosts, Character Death, Minor Character Death, Canon Lesbian Relationship, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Au Pair Sam, Gardener Deena, Housekeeper Kate, Cook Simon, Josh and Constance as troubled kids, Ziggy and Nick in an unhealthy relationship, minor Cindy/Alice, Martin cameos, special appearances of all the Shadyside killers as ghosts, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, The Rest Is Confetti Summary: The year is 1994. Samantha Fraser recently moved to Shadyside, and she desperately needs a job that will help her leave her troubled past behind. She starts working as au pair at Shadyside Manor, where she is not the only one tortured by ghosts. Grief, regrets, guilt, innocent victims, and an ancient curse. At the center of all of it... love.

Chapter 5:

When Peter Brody died, all of Sunnyvale mourned. As a teenager, he had been the star of the football team and in a town like that, it meant he was a celebrity. He was loved, known, seen by everyone. Sam, on the other hand, had always lived under his shadow, where she had been cold and lonely but also stuck beyond salvation, she thought. Nobody knew her, nobody saw her. They all saw a small blonde-haired woman that men made fun of and women judged and Peter never really loved, did he? Had any of it been love?

During Peter’s funeral, luckily, all eyes were still on him, on the closed coffin that is. The truck that hit him hadn’t exactly been forgiving. Sam didn’t mind. She preferred to go unnoticed most of the time but especially on the day she was dealing with the most conflicting emotions of her life. Peter was dead. Did she kill him? He could have killed her. Was this her fault? Her biggest source of pain was gone forever. Should it be her in that coffin? She could be free now. Why wasn’t she feeling sadness, pain, and grief? Why wasn’t the relief hitting either? She was just numb.

She was numb until the moment they were lowering his coffin to the ground. Everyone around her was crying and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from that awful hole on the ground. That is why she noticed, clear as day, the moment a hand, gray and dirty and stained with blood, reached out from the ground and out toward her. She stifled a small gasp and jumped in place, but nobody paid her any mind. Sam closed her eyes tightly and tried to convince herself it was just her mind playing tricks on her. She’d lived in fear of Peter’s hand for so long, it was reasonable that she couldn’t put it down in a matter of days.

So, Sam excused herself from the crowd, knowing nobody would care about her absence. Her mother was crying more than she cried at her ex-husband’s funeral, and more than she’d be crying if it was Sam in the coffin. At least, that’s what Sam thought. She walked away briskly until she could lean against a big tree in the middle of the Sunnyvale cemetery. She took breaths and tried to control her racing heart. This full-body panic wasn’t rare. She was just used to locking herself in the bathroom of the house she used to share with the deceased man.

This time, however, she was in public. She had to get a hold of herself quickly. That was what she had spent a lifetime learning to do. So she pulled out a small mirror from her clutch, knowing she better check her make-up before returning to her mother’s side. She was expected to cry but keep perfect make-up somehow. But, as soon as she saw her reflection in the mirror, Sam realized she had bigger problems. This time she really screamed. She screamed in terror and dropped the mirror and quickly turned around, but he was gone. The image of Peter, just an impossibly black shadow, lifeless and furious and with a bloodstained hand wrapped around Sam’s throat… he was gone. Quickly, Sam picked up the mirror again and didn’t see him. But she skipped the rest of the funeral, she ran all the way home, and in the living room’s mirror, he was right there, waiting for her. In the Sunnyvale school bathroom mirror, he was there. In the cars’ windows, in the stores’ fronts, everywhere she went, he was right there, haunting her all the way to Shadyside Manor.

Away from the house though, surrounded by nothing but damp grass and green trees and nothing showing her reflection back to her, Sam let her guard down. She was sitting around an impressive bonfire in the company of Deena, Kate, and Simon, along with a few bottles of wine they got from the Berman’s old reserve. “It’s not like they’ll be drinking it,” Simon had said.

The last addition to their small gathering was Tommy Slater. Uninvited. Unnoticed. At least, surrounded by those trees he looked a little more at home, with his red plaid shirt and the axe on his hand. He shifted from one foot to the other, as if considering taking a stroll around the gardens he used to love so much. But that wasn’t the case. He’d been there too long. He didn’t move purposefully anymore, he didn’t make any choices, he didn’t even have many thoughts anymore. He simply stood there in the background, in the shadows, in that property he couldn’t escape from.

Around the bonfire, with lively eyes, blushing cheeks and playful smiles, the employees of the Manor looked much more alive. Kate exchanged a knowing look with Simon and then turned her head toward the other two women sitting close by.

“Deena. Don’t you have some story you'd like to share with us?” Kate asked.

She had startled the gardener, who had been a little lost in thought looking at Sam. “Huh? What?” Deena shook her head, but a second later and aided by an exasperated look from Kate, she understood. “Oh, right. Um, actually, yeah,” Deena cleared her throat and then looked at Sam, regaining her usual confidence. “Hey, Sunnyvale, do you want to hear a ghost story?”

“Sure,” Sam shrugged. She was really cold, and still a little put off by the unpleasant memories that had been roaming her mind the entire day. But she smiled nonetheless. “But I think I told you I’m not scared of ghost stories,” she said. How could she be? Although he was a sincerely upsetting company to carry with her everywhere she went, Peter hadn’t hurt her after he died nearly as much as he had while being alive.

“Ah, but what if you found yourself inside of one of those stories?” Deena asked.

“Okay, humor me.”

“Look up,” Deena nodded her head and the four of them looked up at the big tree next to them with branches that reached above their heads. “This is the hanging tree,” Deena said. “Back in the day, before there was Shadyside and Sunnyvale, and junk food and pretty au pairs, there was the settlement of Union. A pretty crappy place run by religious hysteria. They had the bad habit of accusing women of witchcraft. This is the place where they used to hang their witches. Right here, on this same tree.”

A cold breeze passed by, making the sudden silence even more noticeable. Sam shivered and her teeth clattered. “That’s not supernatural though,” she said. “That’s just cruelty, and ignorance.”

“And that’s without mentioning the ones they burned alive,” Simon added, taking a big swing of his wine bottle.

“Simon!” Kate chastised him, slapping his arm.

“What?! It’s true!” he laughed.

At least it proved they could come and go seamlessly from serious and lighthearted moods.

“Hey, they had their reasons,” Deena said, taking the others by surprise. “They used to say that burning a witch was the only way to guarantee she wouldn’t come back to haunt you afterward.”

A bitter chuckle came from Kate. “I know I got a few names I’d like to burn down,” she said.

“Care to share?” Deen tilted her head, intrigued.

Kate’s face had grown serious very suddenly, and she stood up from her seat.

“For Christine Berman,” She said, and everyone listened intently. “Not that I want to burn her memory, not that I don't wish she’d come back… This is in her honor. A brilliant, courageous, simply incomparable woman… with just one stupid fucking weakness. She deserved better than that man. I won’t even say his name. That disgusting man that consumed her away… Now that’s someone I wish I could burn alive.”

“Cheers!” Simon raised his bottle, and everyone followed suit.

Deena stood up next. “For the Bermans. Those good, stupidly kind people,” she said. “For Cindy, especially. And everything she could have been… For as long as she could she was a really, really great mother. More than that, too. She was the heart of this entire place, and she was there for everyone, not just her family or, well, she made all of us family, really. And… Anyway, I think she would be happy to have Sam Fraser join us. This sweet, Sunnyvale weirdo. Cindy would be happy she’s looking after her daughter.”

After she finished, Deena let herself fall back heavily on her chair. While everyone drank for the dearly missed couple, she managed to regain her composure. When she looked at Sam again, her usual easy smile was back in place.

“What about you, Sunnyvale? Anything you want to burn?”

“Me?” Sam said. Through her mind flashed the small group of people that had affected her most throughout her life. What could she talk about? The dead father she barely remembers and still misses? The living mother angry at her that she’s still avoiding? Or the dead ex-fiance she feels responsible for and she’s still scared of? “No, thank you. I’m okay,” Sam shook her head.

Maybe they didn’t need more of an excuse to drink. Maybe her silence was more than enough. Still, when Deena, Kate, and Simon, despite her silence, raised their wine bottles to their lips to drink. Sam felt the comfort of genuine solidarity and understanding like she had never experienced before.

Before the silence could stretch for too long, Simon stood up. “Are you sure?” Kate whispered, reaching out to hold his hand. He squeezed her hand once, then let go and took a step forward.

“So… my mom. She’s, uh, not someone I’d wish to burn alive, obviously,” Simon said, and added a feeble chuckle, but he went on. “But fuck, she deserved to rest already. She lived a long life, and not an easy one. But she was stronger than this entire town, and sweeter than any drug, funnier than me, if you can believe it, and beautiful as an angel until the very last day.” He stopped briefly, and his smile wavered. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging a little harder than necessary, and after a deep breath, he managed to continue. “Her mind, well, it was stopped working as it should a while ago, you know? I was her son, her brother, her father, and sometimes I was a complete stranger… but she was still my mom, always. So… here’s to everything she was, and everyone I had to be for her.”

After Peter died, Sam considered moving back in with her mother. It sounded like a nightmare, but a reasonable choice to make, she thought. However, her mother never did or said anything to suggest Sam would be even remotely welcome in her home. So, Sam stayed in that picture-perfect Sunnyvale house. A faultless home except for the fact that Peter was dead and Sam would soon follow suit if he didn’t stop showing up behind her reflection in every mirror she glanced at.

Sam felt hopeless, not free as she had wished to be for so long. She felt terrified, not much more than when Peter was alive, but certainly not any less. She had been starting to worry about what the rest of her life was going to look like. She had been hoping for a miracle, an act of kindness from anybody. And that was when Peter’s mother had knocked on her door. For a moment, Sam had let herself dream of a scenario where that woman showed up with worry in her gentle eyes, a dinner invitation, and a much-needed hug. But that wasn’t Peter’s mother.

Mrs. Brody was, if anything, Sam’s biggest nightmare. A particularly cruel mixture of Peter and Sam’s own mother. Her eyes were cold, she probably would have tried to poison Sam, and they had never hugged for longer than a second. That woman had spent roughly twenty years accusing Sam of taking her son away from her. When Peter’s mother showed up at Sam’s door, it wasn’t to offer any kindness, it was to request Sam start packing her stuff and looking for a place to live, because Peter was dead, they never got married, and that house was no longer hers.

A week later, Sam was living in a Shadyside hostel.

A few months later, Sam was in the middle of the dark and beautiful gardens of Shadyside Manor, walking away from a bonfire and two of her coworkers, her friends .

Most importantly, Sam was walking away with Deena by her side. “Are they going to be okay?” Sam asked the gardener.

“Oh yeah,” Deena nodded confidently. “Getting wasted and reminiscing about the past is part of their daily routine actually.”

Sam smiled, but then Deena met her eyes and matched her smile and Sam had to remind herself to breathe. So she turned away briskly and continued to walk. Deena was kind enough not to laugh at her.

A couple of minutes later the two women had arrived at the greenhouse. It was clearly the place Deena felt most at home in. There were plants on every surface, plants of all kinds and in many different states of health. There wasn’t a lack of personal touches though. There was more than one stray jacket left behind, occasional snack wrappers, books, cups, and more. It looked like Deena spent more time there than at the house in her own room. Then there was the bench where she invited Sam to sit. The closest thing to a couch that could stand the conditions of the greenhouse. It had comfortable cushions on top, a blanket, and Sam caught sight of a sweater that Deena quickly tried to tuck away. The image of Deena taking naps in there to avoid life at the manor was enough to make Sam smile.

“This is nice,” Sam said. “It feels like you have a little bit of everything here.”

Deena shrugged. “I’d add … a drum kit, if I could,” she confessed.

“Really?” Sam wondered, getting a little more comfortable in her seat. “You play drums?”

“For a while, when I was a teen,” Deena replied. She was thoughtful for a moment but, looking at Sam’s face, she seemed to make an important decision. “One of the foster homes where I lived in had a drumkit. It was a good outlet for when life was shit but… I haven’t played since then. I was never able to afford one myself and, anyway, it doesn’t bring up the best memories.”

“Oh,” Sam mumbled, staring at her lap. Suddenly she missed the bottle of wine she had been carrying with her. She couldn’t even remember where she left it. She only wanted to find something good to say, but Deena beat her to it.

“Now’s your turn.”

“What?” Sam finally looked at her.

“Tell me something real, if you want,” Deena smiled at her. “I’d recommend starting with what’s bothering you so much that you finished a wine bottle but you’re still pale as if you’d just come back from the dead.”

Sam laughed, closed her eyes, and leaned against the back of the seat. Of course she had finished that bottle. Of course those memories did nothing but hurt her. Of course Deena would notice, and of course Deena could find a way to ask an impossible question and still make Sam want to speak up her impossible answer.

“The windows,” Sam finally replied and opened her eyes.

“What?” Deena frowned. She was as drunk as Sam, but that answer didn’t explain anything at all.

“All kinds of mirrors really,” Sam continued. “I, uh, sometimes I… I see things… that aren’t there. But they feel, um, they are real, to me. I think. I mean, I know they are. Even if it sounds crazy.”

“What kind of things do you see?” Deena asked her.

Sam blinked. She wasn’t expecting Deena to go along with it, and she wasn’t prepared or sober enough to come up with a lie. “My dead ex-boyfriend,” she said, and didn’t give Deena much time to process that information. “He wasn’t a good guy, he… He wasn’t good… at all. But we, I mean, I tried or, I guess I did, I… I broke up… with him. It was, um, right before he… died.”

“Jesus, Sam, the same day?” Deena wondered.

“Yeah,” the blonde nodded sadly. “But I guess he hasn’t let me go yet.”

Deena bit her lip and tried her hardest to find the right thing to say. There was a lot she wanted to ask, but there were more important things at the moment. “That sounds typical,” Deena said.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, sounding genuinely tired, but more and more relieved with each passing second.

“I mean… only a Sunnyvale jerk wouldn’t get what a breakup is,” Deena said. She had been holding her breath, but when she saw Sam smile a little, she relaxed. “Like, get over it dude! She’s Shadyside property now,” Deena added, looking around the greenhouse with her best menacing tone.

Sam couldn’t contain her chuckle, but she was back to looking down at her lap. “You’re not making fun of me, are you?” She inquired.

“Sam,” Deena called her name, and waited until Sam was staring into her eyes to continue. “I’ve lived with that hanging tree over my head for years. Ghosts are… complicated, I guess, but nothing to joke about, are they?” She was worried she wasn’t making much sense, but she was genuinely trying her best. Sam shook her head softly, agreeing with her, but her eyes weren’t all that focused on ghosts, and loss, and the past anymore. “I think it’s a matter of understanding-”

All at once, Sam was kissing Deena. She had just leaned in, connected their lips, interrupted Deena with a kiss they had been dying for. At first, Deena’s shock didn’t allow her to do much, but when she caught up, when she made sense of the sweet taste of Sam, the warm press of her lips, the reality of a dream coming true right before her, she reacted. Her hands moved carefully to Sam’s face, as if afraid to break her, but she slowly pushed back. She saw the moment Sam’s blue eyes fluttered open again, and that sight alone was more than enough to steal Deena’s heart.

“Are you sure?” Deena asked her.

Sam couldn’t fight the need to glance around them, just to make sure there weren’t unwanted shadows staring at her from a corner, but there was nothing. They were alone. This moment was completely hers. “Yes,” she replied with a smile, and whatever Deena had tried to say aftward, Sam interrupted her with a kiss, but Deena didn’t seem to mind at all.

They kissed with perfect excitement, their lips were eager, and they tasted of wine, and the first touch of Deena’s tongue on her bottom lip stole a whimper from Sam. They moved closer together, and their restless hands gained confidence. Everything was happening at once, they were in a hurry, they were taking their time, they had only a second, they had all the time in the world. Sam's hand was on Deena’s shoulder, grabbing a fistful of her green jacket, pulling her closer. Deena’s hand was getting lost in Sam’s blonde ponytail, holding her in place, driving her crazy. Every second their kisses renewed and grew in passion, with Deena’s tongue pulling shivers out of Sam, and Sam’s teeth biting down on Deena’s bottom lip, overjoyed to take the other woman by surprise.

It was an accident, though. Sam didn’t really mean to open her eyes when she did. But by the time she realized what had happened, it was too late and the damage was done. She opened her eyes and right there behind Deena, with his monstrous head almost on her shoulder, was Peter. Peter the shadow, the ghost, the darkness, the demon, the ruin of Sam’s entire life.

She gasped and jumped back and away from Deena as if she’d received some kind of lethal shock.

“Fuck,” the two of them said. They were breathless, confused, and hurt. There was a sudden and unbreachable distance between. They were completely alone in the greenhouse.

Less than an hour later, and wearing her pajamas, Sam was storming out of her bedroom, down the stairs, and out of the manor. Her thoughts were messier than ever, and only half of it was because of the wine. There was a lot going on in her mind, a lot she couldn’t erase, understand, or even acknowledge. There was a lifetime of expectations and lies that she had endured for too long. There was a kiss from a captivating gardener that wasn’t supposed to be so sweet. There was Deena standing up, apologizing, apologizing as if anything would have possibly been her fault, and walking away from Sam without once looking back. There was a pair of teenagers that jumped out of their beds at that ungodly hour just to make her waste five minutes in the hallway, listening to them explain some genuinely unsettling dreams until they agreed to let her go. Underneath it all, there was one thought standing out from the rest though. Unfair. That’s what Sam thought of it all. It wasn’t fair that she had to deal with that much, since she was a little girl. It wasn’t fair that even after dying Peter still controlled her. It wasn’t fair that she’d found the most incredible person and potentially ruined it all because of her fear.

But, at last, Sam had made it back to the hanging tree, back to the dying embers of the bonfire, which she hoped were strong enough to burn one last memory. She wasn’t alone, of course. Behind her, Ryan Torrest had observed her walk past him. He could barely change his expression anymore, but he looked as concerned as he was capable of. He raised his right hand in front of him to study the knife he still carried. He almost wished he could pass it to the clearly distressed woman, but there was no use. He couldn’t do anything, his knife wasn’t really capable of causing harm to ghosts, no matter how many times he had tested it before on himself. Besides, that woman had to face her ghosts by herself, and this one was a different kind of ghost than the manor's habitants.

A few feet in front of Sam, Peter’s ghost stood. He was just his shadow, just pure darkness resembling his shape, with just enough details for Sam to be able to see the hatred in his eyes. “ I can’t marry you, Peter, ” she had said. “ I don’t love you, I can’t, not you, not any man ,” she had added in an impulsive attempt to appease his already explosive anger. “ I’m sorry! I didn’t ask for this, Peter! Don’t hurt me, please, ” was the last she said to him. Before he raised his arm, before he took a step backward, before the truck hit him.

“What the hell, Peter?” Sam said, facing the silent ghost under the hanging tree.

There was no answer.

“What the fuck do you want from me, huh?” Sam insisted.

The ghost didn’t speak, didn’t move, didn’t react.

“You don’t scare me anymore, Peter,” Sam said, not yelling anymore.

The dark, human-shaped mass only stood there, ominous but immobile.

“You can’t take anything else from me, you know?” Sam sighed.

The woman was just so tired, and the ghost couldn’t do anything, could he?

“If you think you can still hurt me then go for it. Do it, Peter, I don’t care anymore. Kill me, if that’s what you want, but get it over with. Because I’m done! Did you hear me? I’m done… I’m done… I’m not scared anymore. I’m not scared of you anymore.”

The embers left from the bonfire suddenly sparked back to life, burning away what had been left behind.

#hellooo important update please read comment share be my best friends #fear street #sameena #sam x deena #deena x sam #sam fraser #deena johnson #fs #fear street fanfiction #fear street movies #my fic

13 notes · View notes

writethelifeyouwant · 3 years

Text

2021 Any Fandom Goes Bingo Masterlist

Car Sex: The Levee Broke (Destiel, 2k, 18+)

Fangirl/boy Moment: Bareback (Jared x Violet, 4k, 18+)

Lingerie: Come on (Cordell x Reader, 3.2k, 18+)

Meet the Parents: Meet the Parents (Cordell x Stella x Trevor, 4.7k, 18+)

Hickies: Rodeo Ride (’Duke’ Walker x Reader, 1k, 18+)

Jealousy: Make Him Look - Ch1 / Ch2 (Walker x Reader, 7k, 18+)

Locked In: Paint it Black (Sam x Dean, 3.8k, 16+)

A/B/O: Alpha and Omega - Ch1 / Ch2 (Sam x Dean, 7.3k, 18+)

Free Space: Just Once More (Sam x Reader, 2.7k, 18+)

Dirty Talk: Nothing On But the Radio (Jared x Jensen, 2.7k, 18+)

Blindfolds: Femme Fatale - Ch 2 (Alex Calvert x Reader, 3k, 18+)

Mistaken for a Couple: Hands Off (Sam x Reader, 2.8k, 18+)

Hair Pulling: Aversion Therapy (Sam x Reader, 18+)

Sex Hotline AU: Red (Danneel x Reader, 18+)

Fuck Buddies: Get Down (Sam x Jody, 500, 18+)

Lovers to Enemies: Lost (Destiel, 1.1k, 18+)

Hate Sex: Kinktober 2021 | Breath play (Jamie Fraser x Reader, 500, 18+)

Hurt/Comfort: Hush Little Baby (Cordell x Stella, 3.4k, 18+)

Scratching: Caught In A Trap (A!Dean x O!Reader,18+)

Roommate’s Brother: Dirty Little Secret (Past Dean x Reader / Present Sam x Reader, 3k, 18+)

Nude Photography: Team Free Love (Sam x Dean x Cas x Gabriel, 1.1k, 18+)

Secret Admirer: XOXO (Art - JDM Inspired)

Phone Sex: Lose It (Art - Walker Inspired)

Wedding Night: Prima Nocta (Sam x Jack / Dean x Jack, 3.5k, 18+)

Sharing an Ex: Serious - Part 2 (Sub!Jensen x Dom!Jeff, 3k, 18+)

#anyfandomgoesbingo #afg bingo #afgbingo #2021 #mads masterlist #walker fic #walker smut #spn fic #destiel #cordell x reader #j2 #jared x jensen #sam x dean #wincest #cordell x stella #cordell x trevor x stella #spn smut #rpf #spn rpf

47 notes · View notes

bee-kathony · 5 years

Photo

Kneading Love | Ch. 1 “Rose Street”

a/n: hello! it’s been awhile. I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to write again, but then I saw Sam dressed in a tweed suit and cap and well... here we are. This will be a short fic, and full of fluff and bread so please enjoy! Let’s get this bread y’all! thank you to @julesbeauchamp for the lovely moodboard!

Inverness, Scotland March 1st, 1946

Jamie Fraser owned a small bakery on Cromwell Road. It was his father’s before him and his grandfather’s before him and now it was Jamie’s turn. Each morning before the sun would rise, Jamie delivered his freshly baked goods around the village on his bicycle. What he loved the most was seeing the village quiet before the hustle and bustle of the day began.

By sheer luck, Jamie had managed to keep the bakery open during the war. Due to a previous injury, Jamie had been released from ever serving. He often felt ashamed that he couldn’t fight for his country, but he had seen what the men looked like when they came home from the front and he was secretly glad to have never seen the horrors they did.

Sadly over the past years, Jamie had to cut back on his selection of baked goods due to rationing. This meant hardly any sweets, so he perfected his most basic loaves and ended up giving more bread away than actually selling anything. Everyone fell on hard times, which meant that everyone in the village had done what they could to help others.

It was a close knit community, which meant that when something new — or rather, in this case, someone new — came to the village, everyone found out.

Jamie had just finished packaging his deliveries for the day as he walked outside his shop. The sun hadn’t risen yet, and the air was crisp. He took a deep breath, smiling to himself as he set out on his bike.

As he rounded Duff Street, he slowed down to drop off Mrs. Baird’s delivery. Next, it was on to Glenburn Drive where Dr. Bennett ordered a fresh loaf of sourdough each day. Jamie road quietly through the village, dropping off parcel after parcel before heading down Rose Street to deliver a parcel for the local farmer.

Something in a small shop that he thought had been abandoned caught his eye, however. Jamie thought he saw a woman standing in the window, her hair flying all around her. He blinked several times to check again. But he didn’t have a chance to look again. As he rode past, his wheel hit a large rock and Jamie flew off the bike, leaving his packages on the ground.

“Christ!” Jamie muttered to himself, rolling over onto his back.

Just as he managed to sit up to assess the damage, he heard a sound come from behind him. Light footsteps approached him and he turned to look up at the face of a beautiful woman.

“Are you alright, sir?” The woman asked in an English accent as she bent down to his level.

Jamie could only nod, and then the woman placed her hand on his head, brushing off dirt from his cheek.

“You took quite a spill,” the woman smiled. Jamie was drowning in the amber color of her eyes, the sweet smile on her lips and the soothing sound of her voice.

“I think I’ll make it, but I’m no’ so sure about my bike,” Jamie said. They both looked over to see that his bike had a flat tire and was laying haphazardly on its side. “I dinna ken how I’ll be able to finish my deliveries now.”

“What is it that you deliver?” The woman asked and stood up, holding out her hand for him to take.

“Bread,” Jamie answered and began to dust off his trousers. “Sweets and things.”

“Delicious,” the woman licked her lips. She reached up and straightened his cap for him and Jamie’s heart sped up at her touch.

“I can bring ye some if ye like, or ye can come visit my shop down on the main square,” Jamie smiled.

“I’d like to try some!” She smiled. “I just moved here, so I’m learning the lay of the land.”

Jamie looked behind her to the shop she had come out of. So he hadn’t imagined it after all.

“Och, where are my manners? I’m Jamie Fraser,” he held out his hand.

“Claire Beauchamp,” she shook his hand warmly. “That’s my garden house now,” she pointed behind her. “At least it will be once I get everything sorted.”

“A garden house eh? I havena seen anyone in this shop since well before the war. I reckon ye’ll bring life back to this street,” he said. “Ah! And tis called Rose Street, how apt!”

“Indeed,” Claire laughed. “When I came here looking for a vacant building, I never imagined I would find one on a street with the perfect name for a garden house.”

“Twas meant to be, Sassenach,” Jamie said.

“Sassenach?” Claire questioned.

“English person,” Jamie said quietly to her, leaning in as if there were people all around them.

“Ah, I see,” Claire smirked. “I suppose I am the odd one out up here.”

“Ye are indeed,” Jamie smiled. “But yer no’ so odd.”

The sun was rising now and fast. It peeked over the houses and was now shining on both their faces. Since Jamie’s fall, he had completely forgotten the state of his bike.

“Ah Dhia! I still have deliveries to get to, but my bike has got a flat,” he said and went over to pick up his remaining packages.

“Oh, that’s terrible!” Claire said as she bent down and picked up a small square parcel. “I have my bike around back, you must take it. You can bring it back tomorrow or whenever you like.”

Jamie stood there, his arms full of packages of bread, feeling eternally grateful for this near stranger. “Really? It wouldn’t be a bother to ye? I wouldn’t want to take yer bike if ye needed it.”

“I won’t need it! I’ll be in my shop all day taking inventory,” Claire smiled. “You have to get those people their bread!”

“Mrs. Jamison is always cross wi’ me when I’m late,” Jamie chuckled. “Thank ye, Claire. Truly, whatever I can do to repay ye for yer kindness just let me know.”

He followed her around the back of the shop to where her bike was propped against the wall. It had a small basket and Jamie placed his remaining bread into it.

“You can let me try your most popular baked good and we’ll call it even,” Claire smiled and held out her hand. He took it, once again cherishing the warmth of her skin against his.

“Ye’ve got yerself a deal, Claire Beauchamp.” Jamie hopped up on the bike and put his feet on the pedals. He waved goodbye to the curly haired woman and tried not to fall again in her presence. The last thing he needed was to get distracted and cause her bike to have a flat.

Claire Beauchamp and her garden house would be the talk of the town come lunch time.

++++++

There was nothing Claire loved more than waking up early before the sun rose. Before the war, she had preferred to spend her mornings sleeping, with her head buried under the pillow. But she had spent the past several years as a field nurse and had acclimated to the early mornings.

The decision to leave London and move to a small village in Scotland hadn’t been an easy one. She knew no one in Scotland, and she had just enough money to open a small shop and pay rent until she earned more income.

Claire had tried to move on after the war had ended, but everywhere she looked, she only saw loss and pain. She had been stationed primarily in France, but even after returning to London, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

America had been an option — the big vast, wild continent that Claire had dreamed of one day visiting. But as a young girl, she had roamed the Highlands with her late parents and recalled the beauty and magic of the place.

So that’s how Claire found herself packing up her few belongings and handing in her notice to the hospital in London. What she needed was a fresh start, and that didn’t include being around soldiers and scalpels.

Her first love was the earth. More specifically, flowers and herbs and anything green she could get her hands on. Claire sat on the train to Inverness with a suitcase full of clothes, seeds and a book about gardening. With no idea what was in store for her, she vowed to put all her effort into making Inverness her new home.

She had arrived late into Inverness where she had picked up her keys to the shop that also had a small apartment above it and fell quickly to sleep. It was only hours later that she woke early and crept downstairs to observe the state of her shop. It hadn’t been occupied in some time — the thick layer of dust that coated everything was proof of that.

There was a lot that needed to be done before it was ready to open, and she knew it would take hard work. There was no time like the present, so Claire pushed back her sleeves and began to move furniture around and map out what she wanted to do with the space.

The potting area would be near the back, close to the back door where a small greenhouse would be. Then the front would be where her displays of bouquets would draw people in. A fresh coat of paint would have to be applied to both the interior and exterior of the building, but all in all, it wasn’t looking too bad.

As Claire moved around the shelves near the front of the shop, she heard a loud crash and looked up to see a large man laying on the dirt road. She rushed out to see if he was okay, and was struck by how handsome he looked — his mop of red curls bouncing as he sat up and the blue of his eyes as he took her proffered hand.

The last thing she had been expecting that morning was to meet Jamie, and to lend him her bike. As he road away, she wondered how odd it would be for her to go into his shop later that day. She told herself it was just for the bread, but in her heart she knew it was much more than that.

Unable to take his bike with him as he made the rest of his deliveries, Claire drug his bike back behind her shop. Thankfully it wasn’t damaged save the flat tire and Claire had just the tools to fix it. Earlier while she was cleaning, she had come across a box of tools and in it was a bike pump, electrical tape and anything else she might ever need. Jamie would want to get a new tire, but she would at least try and mend it best she could.

An hour later, the bike was fixed. Claire stood back admiring her handy work and then heard her stomach growl. There was only one way to test if the bike was rideable or not and so Claire grabbed her satchel and took off down the road and into the village.

Her eyes took in her surroundings, trying to memorize where everything was and what she might need later on. There was a bookstore, a bed and breakfast and a small grocers. Claire thought she had missed it, but upon second glance, she saw it. Fraser Bakery.

With her heart beating in her ears, Claire propped the bike against the wall and walked in. It smelled divine and there was a cloud of what must have been flour, all around the room. The smell alone was enough to remind Claire she hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.

There was no sight of the tall scot and she wondered if he had come back yet from his deliveries. A short, dark haired woman was behind the counter as she approached and she smiled as Claire met her eye.

“Hello there, miss,” the woman said with a thick Scottish accent. “What can I get ye?”

“Um,” Claire looked at the case before her, seeing the plethora of goods. “I’ll take whatever you recommend.”

“Then I’d recommend our fresh croissants and maybe a loaf to take home,” the woman said. “My brother baked it all fresh only hours ago.”

“Your brother?” Claire’s eyebrows shot up. So that meant this woman before her was obviously Jamie’s sister. It was a relief to Claire to find the man she had met this morning wasn’t married — or at least she hoped he wasn’t.

“Aye, Jamie.” The woman said. “I’m Jenny. Ye’ll be new around here then if ye didna ken that.”

“Yes,” Claire smiled. “I just moved here from London. I own what will be a small garden shop down on Rose Street.”

“Och, tis a bonny street for a garden shop,” Jenny grinned. “Well, ye can take this on the house then lass. It’ll be a welcoming present.”

Claire took the buttery croissant and fresh loaf into her arms. “Thank you so much, Jenny.” She turned to leave the shop, but hesitated in the doorway. Looking back, she saw that Jenny was still watching her. “Your brother, Jamie… he’s not here is he?”

“No,” Jenny shook her head. “He got a flat tire on his bike this morning and so he borrowed someone’s and is now picking up a new tire. Should be back this afternoon. Did ye need him for somethin’?”

His sister eyed her suspiciously, no doubt wondering how she knew Jamie or why she would be asking for him if she was new in town. For some reason, Claire didn’t want to tell her that the bike Jamie had borrowed had been hers or that Jamie’s bike was now outside at this very moment.

“Oh no,” Claire smiled. “I just wanted to thank him for the bread as well. I’m sure I’ll be back to try something else. Thank you, Jenny!”

“Yer welcome…”

“Claire! Claire Beauchamp,” Claire grinned and then waved goodbye and set off for her shop.

++++++

Jamie had been so preoccupied with getting a new tire for his bike and all the new orders for the next day that he hadn’t a spare moment to think about Claire Beauchamp. That was, until later that evening as he began the walk home with his older sister Jenny.

“I met a young lass today who was askin’ for ye,” Jenny said.

“Aye? And what did she want?”

“I dinna ken,” Jenny shrugged. “She only asked if ye were in the shop and I told her ye werena.”

“Did ye catch a name perhaps?”

“Claire,” Jenny said and Jamie stopped walking. “What? Do ye ken her?”

“I met her this morning,” Jamie admitted and began walking again. “This is her bike actually,” he said as he pushed the bike along with them. “I crashed in front of her shop and she was kind enough to lend it to me.”

“Ah, I see,” Jenny grinned. “Well, I gave her a few things on the house. She said she only wanted to thank ye, but now I ken why she wanted to see ye again.”

“And why’s that?” Jamie chuckled, looking down at his sister.

“I’ll let ye figure that one out on yer own bráthair,” Jenny laughed.

Claire was all Jamie thought about that night and still into the morning as he baked the bread for the day. He couldn’t stop smiling to himself as he made deliveries that morning. He hoped that Claire would be awake again and he would have a chance to talk to her, but there wasn’t a light on that he could see as he came to her shop.

What he did see was his bike leaning against the door. As he approached it, he realized that the tire had been mended.

“Clever, Sassenach,” Jamie grinned. He touched the handlebars and his fingers felt something soft. It was a bright yellow daisy tied with string. Leaning down, he sniffed the flower and sighed.

As quietly as he could, he switched his packages back over to his own bike and left Claire’s against the shop wall.

Later that morning when Jamie came back from his deliveries, he was surprised to see Claire’s bike out in front of his bakery. It seemed he wasn’t the only one unable to get the other out of his head. Or perhaps, Claire just really enjoyed fresh baked goods. Whatever the reason, Jamie straightened his cap and walked into the bakery in search of the curly headed garden lady.

#kneading love #outlander fanfic #bread #get it #outlander #jamie x claire #rose street #chapter one #bread puns

370 notes · View notes

thefuckgallagher · 7 years

Photo

musicals lyrics meme: for good from wicked

↳“you are my home.” “and you are mine.”

318 notes · View notes

uneminuteparseconde · 5 years

Text

Des concerts à Paris et alentour

Janvier 10. Mariachi – Bar à bulles (gratuit) 10. Pierre Bastien, Dominique Grimaud, Françoise Crublé, Gilbert Artman, Jacky & Gilles Dupéty – Souffle continu (gratuit) 10. Jemek Jemowit + Infecticide + Manu Louis – L'International 10. Les Lullies + Cheap Riot + Slow Sliders – Olympic café 11. The Choolers Division – La Station 11. Holiday Inn + Il Nux Il Mord + Bracco – Olympic café 11. Illnurse + Toscan Haas + Parallx – Glazart 12. Art & Technique + A_R_C_C + Bleno Die Wurstbrücke – Le Cirque électrique 12. Seppuku + Cosamentale + LV2 – Le Zorba 12. Serge Teyssot-Gay + Christian Vialard : concert littéraire sur les textes d'Eric Arlix – Maison de la poésie 15. Anne-James Chaton – Jeu de Paume (gratuit) 16. Harald Fetveit – Le Chair de poule (gratuit) 18. Francis Dhomont (fest. Akousma) – MPAA Saint-Germain (gratuit sur résa) 18. Dollkraut Band + Die Wilde Jagd + Abschaum – La Maroquinerie 18. Warm Drag + Laurapalmer + Le Réveil de tropiques + Viot + Uzhur + 205SKatokosmos (fest. OFFF d'hiver) – Point FMR 18. Vril + VII Circle + Sam x Sam + Anechoic – Glazart 19. Armando Balice + Ingrid Drese + Jérôme Noetinger + Loïse Bulot + Robert Hampson (fest. Akousma) – MPAA Saint-Germain (gratuit sur résa) 19. Throw Down Bones + Terdjman + Frontal + Techno Thriller + Huile + Frank Sabbath (fest. OFFF d'hiver) – Point FMR 19. Krikor (dj)+ Godzilla Overkill + Losless + Grand 8 & Pabloïd – Petit Bain 19. Peter Hook & The Light – La Clef (Saint-Germain-en-Laye) 19/20. Robert Hood + Manu le Malin + Ancient Methods + Ron Morelli + Rabih Beaini + François X + dj Marcelle + December + Myako + Beurette sentimentale + Marion Guillet + Neue Grafik + dj Prophet + Entek + IG Culture + Mab'ish – Concrete 20. Catherine Bir + Raphaël Mouterde + Francisco Meirino + Roland Cahen + Yoko Higashi & Lionel Marchetti (fest. Akousma) – MPAA Saint-Germain (gratuit sur résa) 22. Emmanuelle Parrenin & Dominique Regref – La Ferme du Buisson (Noisiel) 23. Marc Melià + Tryphème + The Ekpyrotic Scenario (aka Modgeist) (fest. Chorus) – théâtre de Vanves 24. Rouge Gorge – Le Chair de poule 24. Fred Palem & Le sacre du tympan – Gaîté lyrique 24. Le Singe blanc + Secte + Jeanot Lou Paysan – Le Cirque électrique 24. Terrine + Philémon + Bâton XXL + Johan Mazé – Instants chavirés (Montreuil) 25. La Secte du futur + Shiny Darkly – Supersonic 25. Léonie Pernet – Gaîté lyrique 25. Martial Canterel + Poison Point – Petit Bain 25. David Sink + Crave + Panzer – Pop In 25. Moyō + Law & Haktion – Le Klub 25. Aaron Moore & Erik K. Skodvin – Instants chavirés (Montreuil) 25. Easter + Robert Görl + Céline Gillain (fest. Closer Music) – Lafayette Anticipations 26. Tirzah + Stine Janvin (fest. Closer Music) – Lafayette Anticipations 26. Chloé – Elysée-Montmartre 26. Thelia Zadek Band + Mia Vita Vioenta – Olympic café 26. Deux Boules vanille + Craow – La Station 26. Turzi + Zombie Zombie (fest. Chorus) – théâtre de Vanves 26. 999999999 + Boston 168 + Inhalt Der Nacht + JKS vs Mayeul + Parfait + Léa Occhi + Lacchesi – Concrete 27. Pan Deijing + Jessica Slighter (fest. Closer Music) – La fayette Anticipations 29. Dominique a – Salle Pleyel 29. Zézette + Business with the Clouds + Echoplain – Gambetta Club 29. Tiny Tramp + Officine + Pavel V. + Astralopithecus – Les Nautes 31. Deena Abdelwahed – Gaîté lyrique 31. Go!Zilla + Siz + Deaf Parade – Supersonic (gratuit)

Février 01. Le Comte + Christine + Atoem – Palais de le Porte dorée 01. Negative Space + Volition Immanent + N0v3l – La Station 01. Lust For Youth – Supersonic 01. Autrenoir + Linda Olah + Uriel Bartélémi – théâtre de Vanves 01. Cylene (François Bonnet & Stephen O'Malley) + Kreemer (Cameron Jamie & Dennis Tyfus) + Xavier Boussiron – Instants chavirés (Montreuil) 02. Tempers – Supersonic (gratuit) 02. Fraction + Frédéric D. Oberland + Clara De Asis + MTUA + Raphaël Mouterde + Sébastien Roux + Fantasia Nei Dessert & Romain Al'l + Hourvari + Aloyse Lucas (fest. Les Sonifères) – DOC 02. The Residents – Gaîté lyrique 02. Shabazz Palaces + Dälek (fest. Sons d'hiver) – théâtre de la Cité internationale 03. Mesce basse + :such: + Duncan Pinhas + Alexandre del Torchio + Isothesis & Alexandra Radulescu + Opaque + Armand Lesecq + NO3sis (fest. Les Sonifères) – DOC 03. Aidan Baker + The Eye of Time (Sulfure fest.) – Le vent se lève 05. Nadja + Saudaa Group + Lacustre – Instants chavirés (Montreuil) 06. Binidu + Hilgege – Supersonic (gratuit) 06. Brendan Perry – Petit Bain 07. VNV Nation – Le Trabendo 07. Tomaga + Jozef Van Wissem + Noyades + La Jungle – Petit Bain 07. Subtle Turnhips – La Pointe Lafayette 08. Manu le Malin + 3FAZé + DKLé + Nawak – Glazart 08. Headless Horseman + Ø [Phase] + Joton + Electric Rescue – Rex Club 09. Psyche + Sarin + Law & Haktion + Cassie Raptor b2b Mila Dietrich – La Station 09. The Ex : "Ethiopian Night" (fest. Sons d'hiver) – salle Jacques-Brel (Fontenay-sous-Bois) 10. Therapy? – La Maroquinerie 11. Massive Attack feat. Liz Fraser jouent « Mezzanine » – Zénith 13. Pierre Bastien & Philippe Dupuy + Laake – Petit Bain 15. Peter Kernel + Totorro – Petit Bain 15. Codex Empire + Schwefelgelb + Philipp Strobel + Panzer – Petit Bain 16. Anthony Braxton + Dave Douglas & Bill Laswell (fest. Sons d'hiver) – théâtre Jacques-Carat (Cachan) 19. Bruit noir + Red – Point FMR 21. Mlada Fronta + Absolute Valentine + Neoslave – Petit Bain 21. Collection d'Arnell Andrea + Katzkab – Bus Palladium 22. Marquis de Sade – Petit Bain 22/23. Nils Frahm – Le Trianon ||COMPLET|| 24. Nils Frahm – Le Trianon

Mars 02. Boy Harsher + Kontravoid – Badaboum 02. Lydia Lunch & Marc Hurtado jouent Alan Vega et Suicide – Silencio 02. Shlømo + UVB + Charles Fenckler + Darzack + Delta Funktionen + Keepsakes – Studio du Lendit (Saint-Denis) 03. Camera – Olympic café 07. Scratch Massive – Gaîté lyrique 07. Gum Takes Tooth + Usé + Society of Silence – Badaboum 08. FTR + Deadpan – Olympic café 09. Deeat Palace – La Station 09. Paulie Jan + Witnesses Without Hands + Mod303 & The SHADERS + Alexandre Navarro (dj) (Sulfure fest.) – Le vent se lève 10. James Chance & Die Contortions – Supersonic 12. Yann Tiersen – Salle Pleyel 12. Dominique A – Espace 1789 (Saint-Ouen) 13. Helluvah + IDK IDA + Cebe Barnes (dj)(Sulfure fest.) – Le vent se lève 14. Parade Ground + BadBad + The Wheal + Versolo – Supersonic (gratuit) 14. Stefan Rusconi & Tobias Preisig + Étienne Jaumet (fest. Paris Music) – Église Saint-Eustache 14. La Colonie de vacances – Cabaret sauvage 15. Rubin Steiner (fest. Paris Music) – Crypte archéologique du parvis de Notre-Dame 15. Bertrand Burgalat (fest. Paris Music) – Musée des Arts et Métiers 15. Zombie Zombie (fest. Paris Music) – cathédrale américaine 16. Christ. + Alexandre Navarro (Sulfure fest.) – Le vent se lève 17. Giulio Aldinucci + Paskine + Waveland (Sulfure fest.) – Le vent se lève 19. thisquietarmy + Haxo + Ilia Gorovitz (Sulfure fest.) – Le vent se lève 20. Oomph! – La Machine 22. Delia Derbyshire (diff.) + Lettera 22 + Evil Moisture + Caterina Barbieri + Drew McDowall : "Coil's Time Machines" (fest. Présences électronique) – Studio 104|Maison de la Radio 22. The Young Gods – La Maroquinerie 22. Crystal Fighters – Gaîté lyrique 23. Pierre Boeswillwald (diff.) + Max Eilbacher + Andrea Belfi + Sarah Davachi + William Basinski & Lawrence English (fest. Présences électronique) – Studio 104|Maison de la Radio 23. Snapped Ankles + Wild Classical Music Ensemble + Man from Uranus – La Maroquinerie 23. Les Harry's & Stefan Neville (fest. Sonic Protest) – Châpiteaux turbulents 24. Warren Burt (diff.) + Mats Erlandsson + Okkyung Lee + Low Jack + BJ Nielsen (fest. Présences électronique) – Studio 104|Maison de la Radio 24. Chantal Acda + Miles Oliver + Julien Ledru (Sulfure fest.) – Le vent se lève 25. Laibach – Trabendo 26. Jon Porras (Barn Owl) + Mathias Delplanque (Sulfure fest.) – Le vent se lève 27. Strangelove + Background (dj) (Sulfure fest.) – Le vent se lève 28. Scanner + Openendedgroup & Natasha Barrett + Raphaël Imbert & Benjamin Lévy – Centre Pompidou 28. Euromilliard + Humbros + Peür + Pumice (fest. Sonic Protest) – La Station 29. Perturbator – Le Trianon 29. Jandek + Confusional Quartet + Société étrange (fest. Sonic Protest) – théâtre de l'Échangeur (Bagnolet) 30. Marc Almond – Le Trianon 30. Seabuckthorn + Rach Three + CollAGE D (Sulfure fest.) – Le vent se lève 30. Lahcen Akil & les Chaâbi Brothers + Suzanne Ciani + The Coolies + Lemones + Les Statonells (fest. Sonic Protest) – théâtre de l'Échangeur (Bagnolet) 31. Fuji Kureta + Mei (Sulfure fest.) – Le vent se lève

Avril 02. Schtum + Shit & Shine (fest. Sonic Protest) – Mona Bismarck American Center 03. Han Bennink + Jean-François Pauvros + Anne-Laure Pigache & Anne-Julie Rollet + Parlophonie (fest. Sonic Protest) – théâtre de Vanves 04. Dust Breeders & Mattin + Lydia Lunch & Marc Hurtado jouent Suicide et Alan Vega + Anna Zaradny (fest. Sonic Protest) – église Saint-Merry 05. Bégayer + France + Frédéric Blondy joue "Occam XXV" d'Éliane Radigue (fest. Sonic Protest) – église Saint-Merry 05. Beirut – Le Grand Rex 05. Rendez-Vous + Qual – Gaîté lyrique 05/06. Nadia Lauro & Zeena Parkins : Stichomythia – Centre Pompidou 06. Molecule – Gaîté lyrique 06. Dylan Carlson + Julien Clauss + Hermine + Lee Patterson + Ut + Blenno Die Wurstbrücke (fest. Sonic Protest) – Cirque électrique 08. The Specials – La Cigale 10. Daughters – Point FMR 14. Arnaud Rebotini joue la BO de "120 Battements par minute" – Cité de la musique|Philharmonie 17. Teenage Fan Club – Trabendo 17. Soap&Skin – Le Trianon 17. Apparat – Gaîté lyrique 20. The Horrorist – Rex Club 21. The Parrots + Johnny Mafia + Halo Maud + Grand Blanc + Marietta + Robbing Millions + Oktober Lieber (fest. MOFO) – Mains d'oeuvre (Saint-Ouen) 22. Fontaines D.C. – Point FMR 22. Faire + Buvette + Oko Ebombo + Black Devil Disco Club + Fujiya & Miyagi + Rendez-Vous (fest. MOFO) – Mains d'oeuvre (Saint-Ouen) 23. The Luyas + Barbagallo + Human Teorema + Arnaud Rebotini + Aquaserge + Il est vilaine + Onze Onze (fest. MOFO) – Mains d'oeuvre (Saint-Ouen) 27. She Past Away – La Machine 27. Chloé : Lumières noires – Le 104 27. Bérengère Maximin, Fred Firth & Heike Liss – Instants chavirés (Montreuil)

Mai 07. dEUS – La Cigale 10/11. Dead Can Dance – Grand Rex ||COMPLET|| 11. Christina Vantzou + Eiko Ishibashi + Jan Jelinek + NPVR (Nik Void & Peter Rehberg) – Le 104 12. Massimo Toniutti + François Bayle – Le 104 17. Philip Glass : Études pour piano – Salle Pierre-Boulez|Philharmonie 18. Bruce Brubaker & Max Cooper : Glasstronica – Cité de la musique|Philharmonie 18. Eliane Radigue : musique (diff.) pour "Continuum" de Félicie d'Estienne d'Orves – Centre Pompidou 24. Beak> – Gaîté lyrique 24. Shonen Knife – Petit Bain 28. Alice in Chains + Black Rebel Motorcycle Club – Olympia 31. François Bonnet + Knud Viktor + Jim O'Rourke + Florian Hecker (fest. Akousma) – Studio 104|Maison de la Radio

Juin 01. Eryck Abecassis & Reinhold Friedl + Hilde Marie Holsen + Anthony Pateras + Lucy Railton (fest. Akousma) – Studio 104|Maison de la Radio 02. Bernard Parmegiani + Jean Schwarz (fest. Akousma) – Studio 104|Maison de la Radio 19. Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks – La Gaîté lyrique 26. Magma – Salle Pierre-Boulez|Philharmonie

Juillet 11. Masada + Sylvie Courvoisier & Mark Feldman + Mary Halvorson quartet + Craig Taborn + Trigger + Erik Friedlander & Mike Nicolas + John Medeski trio + Nova quartet + Gyan Riley & Julian Lage + Brian Marsella trio + Ikue Mori + Kris Davis + Peter Evans + Asmodeus : John Zorn's Marathon Bagatelles – Salle Pleyel 11>13. Kraftwerk – Philharmonie

Août 23>25. The Cure (fest. Rock en scène) – parc de Saint-Cloud

Septembre 13. Rammstein – La Défense Arena (Nanterre) ||COMPLET||

en gras : les derniers ajouts / in bold: the last news

#agenda concerts #concerts à Paris #gigs in paris #paris gigs

4 notes · View notes

thegirlwiththecoffintattoo · 7 years

Photo

DROUGHTLANDER2017COUNTDOWN

DAY TWELVE :: September 2nd

Favorite Jamie and Claire moment from Outlander that didn’t make it in to the show: I am pretty sure I am not alone in saying I would have loved to have seen Sam and Caitriona in the hot springs scene at the very end of Outlander. I included the whole chaper below, because it’s worthy of re-reading over and over again ;)

OUTLANDER CH. 41: FROM THE WOMB OF THE EARTH

Over the next two weeks, Jamie continued to heal, and I continued to wonder. Some days I would feel that we must go to Rome, where the Pretender’s court held sway, and do…what? Other times, I wanted with all my heart only to find a safe and isolated spot, to live our lives in peace.

It was a warm, bright day, and the icicles hanging from the gargoyles’ noses dripped incessantly, leaving deep ragged pits in the snow beneath the eaves. The door of Jamie’s room had been left ajar and the window uncovered, to clear out some of the lingering vapors of smoke and illness.

I poked my head cautiously around the jamb, not wishing to wake him if he was asleep, but the narrow cot was empty. He was seated by the open window, turned half away from the door so that his face was mostly hidden.

He was desperately thin still, but the shoulders were broad and straight beneath the rough fabric of the novice’s habit, and the grace of his strength was returning; he sat solidly without a tremor, back straight and legs curled back beneath the stool, the lines of his body firm and harmonious. He was holding his right wrist with his sound left hand, slowly turning the right hand in the sunlight.

There was a small pile of cloth strips on the table. He had removed the bandages from the injured hand and was examining it closely. I stood in the doorway, not moving. From here, I could see the hand clearly as he turned it back and forth, probing gingerly.

The stigma of the nail wound in the palm of the hand was quite small, and well healed, I was glad to see; no more than a small pink knot of scar tissue that would gradually fade. On the back of the hand, the situation was not so favorable. Eroded by infection, the wound there covered an area the size of sixpence, still patched with scabs and the rawness of a new scar.

The middle finger, too, showed a jagged ridge of pink scar tissue, running from just below the first joint almost to the knuckle. Released from their splints, the thumb and index finger were straight, but the little finger was badly twisted; that one had had three separate fractures, I remembered, and apparently I had not been able to set them all properly. The ring finger was set oddly, so that it protruded slightly upward when he laid the hand flat on the table, as he did now.

Turning the hand palm upward, he began to manipulate the fingers gently. None would bend more than an inch or two; the ring finger not at all. As I had feared, the second joint was likely permanently frozen.

He turned the hand to and fro, holding it before his face, watching the stiff, twisted fingers and the ugly scars, mercilessly vivid in the sunlight. Then he suddenly bent his head, clutching the injured hand to his chest, covering it protectively with the sound one. He made no sound, but the wide shoulders trembled briefly.

“Jamie.” I crossed the room swiftly and knelt beside him, putting my hand softly on his knee.

“Jamie, I’m sorry,” I said. “I did the best I could.”

He looked down at me in astonishment. The thick auburn lashes sparkled with tears in the sunlight, and he dashed them hastily away with the back of his hand.

“What?” he said, gulping, clearly taken aback by my sudden appearance. “Sorry? For what, Sassenach?”

“Your hand.” I reached out and took it, lightly tracing the crooked lines of the fingers, touching the sunken scar on the back.

“It will get better,” I assured him anxiously. “Really it will. I know it seems stiff and useless right now, but that’s only because it’s been splinted so long, and the bones haven’t fully knitted yet. I can show you how to exercise, and massage. You’ll get back a good deal of the use of it, honestly—”

He stopped me by laying his good hand along my cheek.

“Did you mean…?” He started, then stopped, shaking his head in disbelief. “You thought…?” He stopped once more and started over.

“Sassenach,” he said, “ye didna think that I was grieving for a stiff finger and a few more scars?” He smiled, a little crookedly. “I’m a vain man, maybe, but it doesna go that deep, I hope.”

“But you—” I began. He took both my hands in both of his and stood up, drawing me to my feet. I reached up and smoothed away the single tear that had rolled down his cheek. The tiny smear of moisture was warm on my thumb.

“I was crying for joy, my Sassenach,” he said softly. He reached out slowly and took my face between his hands. “And thanking God that I have two hands. That I have two hands to hold you with. To serve you with, to love you with. Thanking God that I am a whole man still, because of you.”

I put my own hands up, cupping his.

“But why wouldn’t you be?” I asked. And then I remembered the butcherous assortment of saws and knives I seen among Beaton’s implements at Leoch, and I knew. Knew what I had forgotten when I had been faced with the emergency. That in the days before antibiotics, the usual—the only—cure for an infected extremity was amputation of the limb.

“Oh, Jamie,” I said. I was weak-kneed at the thought, and sat down on the stool rather abruptly.

“I never thought of it,” I said, still stunned. “I honestly never thought of it.” I looked up at him. “Jamie. If I’d thought of it, I probably would have done it. To save your life.”

“It’s not how…they don’t do it that way, then, in…your time?”

I shook my head. “No. There are drugs to stop infections. So I didn’t even think of it,” I marveled. I looked up suddenly. “Did you?”

He nodded. “I was expecting it. It’s why I asked you to let me die, that once. I was thinking of it, in between the bouts of muzzy-headedness, and—just for that one moment—I didna think I could bear to live like that. It’s what happened to Ian, ye know.”

“No, really?” I was shocked. “He told me he’d lost it by grape shot, but I didn’t think to ask about the details.”

“Aye, a grape-shot wound in the leg went bad. The surgeons took it off to keep it from poisoning his blood.” He paused.

“Ian does verra well, all things considered. But”—he hesitated, pulling on the stiff ring finger—“I knew him before. He’s as good as he is only because of Jenny. She…keeps him whole.” He smiled sheepishly at me. “As ye did for me. I canna think why women bother.”

“Well,” I said softly, “women like to do that.”

He laughed quietly and drew me close. “Aye. God knows why.”

We stood entwined for a bit, not moving. My forehead rested on his chest, my arms around his back, and I could feel his heart beating, slow and strong. Finally he stirred and released me.

“I’ve something to show ye,” he said. He turned and opened the small drawer of the table, removing a folded letter which he handed to me.

It was a letter of introduction, from Abbot Alexander, commending his nephew, James Fraser, to the attention of the Chevalier-St. George—otherwise known as His Majesty King James of Scotland—as a most proficient linguist and translator.

“It’s a place,” Jamie said, watching as I folded the letter. “And we’ll need a place to go, soon. But what ye told me on the hill at Craigh na Dun—that was true, no?”

I took a deep breath and nodded. “It’s true.”

He took the letter from me and tapped it thoughtfully on his knee.

“Then this”—he waved the letter—“is not without a bit of danger.”

“It could be.”

He tossed the parchment into the drawer and sat staring after it for a moment. Then he looked up and the dark blue eyes held mine. He laid a hand along my cheek.

“I meant it, Claire,” he said quietly. “My life is yours. And it’s yours to decide what we shall do, where we go next. To France, to Italy, even back to Scotland. My heart has been yours since first I saw ye, and you’ve held my soul and body between your two hands here, and kept them safe. We shall go as ye say.”

There was a light knock at the door, and we sprang apart like guilty lovers. I dabbed hastily at my hair, thinking that a monastery, while an excellent convalescent home, lacked something as a romantic retreat.

A lay brother came in at Jamie’s bidding, and dumped a large leather saddlebag on the table. “From MacRannoch of Eldridge Manor,” he said with a grin. “For my lady Broch Tuarach.” He bowed then and left, leaving a faint breath of seawater and cold air behind.

I unbuckled the leather straps, curious to see what MacRannoch might have sent. Inside were three things: a note, unaddressed and unsigned, a small package addressed to Jamie, and the cured skin of a wolf, smelling strongly of the tanner’s arts.

The note read: “For a virtuous woman is a pearl of great price, and her value is greater than rubies.”

Jamie had opened the other parcel. He held something small and glimmering in one hand and was quizzically regarding the wolf pelt.

“A bit odd, that. Sir Marcus has sent ye a wolf pelt, Sassenach, and me a pearl bracelet. Perhaps he’s got his labels mixed?”

The bracelet was a lovely thing, a single row of large baroque pearls, set between twisted gold chains.

“No,” I said, admiring it. “He’s got it right. The bracelet goes with the necklace you gave me when we wed. He gave that to your mother; did you know?”

“No, I didn’t,” he answered softly, touching the pearls. “Father gave them to me for my wife, whoever she was to be”—and a quick smile tugged at his mouth—“but he didna tell me where they came from.”

I remembered Sir Marcus’s help on the night we had burst so unceremoniously into his house, and the look on his face when we had left him next day. I could see from Jamie’s face that he also was remembering the baronet who might have been his father. He reached out and took my hand, fastening the bracelet about my wrist.

“But it’s not for me!” I protested.

“Aye, it is,” he said firmly. “It isna suitable for a man to send jewelry to a respectable married woman, so he gave it to me. But clearly it’s for you.” He looked at me and grinned. “For one thing, it won’t go round my wrist, even scrawny as I am.”

He turned to the bundled wolfskin and shook it out.

“Whyever did MacRannoch send ye this, though?” He draped the shaggy wolfhide about his shoulders and I recoiled with a sharp cry. The head had been carefully skinned and cured as well, and equipped with a pair of yellow glass eyes, it was glaring nastily at me from Jamie’s left shoulder.

“Ugh!” I said. “It looks just like it did when it was alive!”

Jamie, following the direction of my glance, turned his head and found himself suddenly face-to-face with the snarling countenance. With a startled exclamation, he jerked the skin off and flung it across the room.

“Jesus God,” he said, and crossed himself. The skin lay on the floor, glowering balefully in the candlelight.

“What d’ye mean, ‘when it was alive,’ Sassenach? A personal friend, was it?” Jamie asked, eyeing it narrowly.

I told him then the things I had had no chance to tell him; about the wolf, and the other wolves, and Hector, and the snow, and the cottage with the bear, and the argument with Sir Marcus, and the appearance of Murtagh, and the cattle, and the long wait on the hillside in the pink mist of the snow-swept night, waiting to see whether he was dead or alive.

Thin or not, his chest was broad and his arms warm and strong. He pressed my face into his shoulder and rocked me while I sobbed. I tried for a bit to control myself, but he only hugged me harder, and said small and gentle things into the cloud of my hair, and I finally gave up and cried with the complete abandon of a child, until I was worn to utter limpness and hiccupping exhaustion.

“Come to think of it, I’ve a wee giftie for ye, myself, Sassenach,” he said, smoothing my hair. I sniffed and wiped my nose on my skirt, having nothing else handy.

“I’m sorry I haven’t got anything to give you,” I said, watching as he stood up and began to dig through the tumbled bedclothes. Probably looking for a handkerchief, I thought, sniffing some more.

“Aside from such minor gifts as my life, my manhood, and my right hand?” he asked dryly. “They’ll do nicely, mo duinne.” He straightened up with a novice’s robe in one hand. “Undress.”

My mouth fell open. “What?”

“Undress, Sassenach, and put this on.” He handed me the robe, grinning. “Or do ye want me to turn my back first?”

Clutching the rough homespun around me, I followed Jamie down yet another flight of dark stairs. This was the third, and the narrowest yet; the lantern he held lit the stone blocks of walls no more than eighteen inches apart. It felt rather like being swallowed up into the earth, as we went further and further down the narrow black shaft.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” I asked. My voice echoed in the stairwell, but with a curiously muffled sound, as though I were speaking underwater.

“Well, there’s no much chance of taking the wrong turning, now is there?”

We had reached another landing, but true enough, the way ahead lay in only one direction—down.

At the bottom of this flight of steps, though, we came to a door. There was a small landing, carved out of the solid side of a mountain, from the looks of it, and a wide, low door made of oak planks and brass hinging. The planks were grey with age, but still solid, and the landing swept clean. Plainly this part of the monastery was still in use, then. The wine cellar perhaps?

There was a sconce near the door that held a torch, half-burnt from previous use. Jamie paused to light it with a paper spill from the pile that lay ready nearby, then pushed open the unlocked door and ducked beneath the lintel, leaving me to follow.

At first, I could see nothing at all inside but the glow of Jamie’s lantern. Everything was black. The lantern bobbed along, moving away from me. I stood still, following the blob of light with my eyes. Every few feet he would stop, then continue, and a slow flame would rise up in his wake to burn in a small red glow. As my eyes slowly accustomed themselves, the flames became a row of lanterns, situated on rock pillars, shining into the black like beacons.

It was a cave. At first I thought it was a cave of crystals, because of the odd black shimmer beyond the lanterns. But I stepped forward to the first pillar and looked beyond, and then I saw it.

A clear black lake. Transparent water, shimmering like glass over fine black volcanic sand, giving off red reflections in the lantern light. The air was damp and warm, humid with the steam that condensed on the cool cavern walls, running down the ribbed columns of rock.

A hot spring. The faint scent of sulfur bit at my nostrils. A hot mineral spring, then. I remembered Anselm’s mentioning the springs that bubbled up from the ground near the abbey, renowned for their healing powers.

Jamie stood behind me, looking out over the gently steaming expanse of jet and rubies.

“A hot bath,” he said proudly. “Do ye like it?”

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” I said.

“Oh, ye do,” he said, grinning at the success of his surprise. “Come in, then.”

He dropped his own robe and stood glowing dimly in the darkness, patched with red in the glimmering reflections off the water. The arched ceiling of the cave seemed to swallow the light of the lanterns, so that the glow reached only a few feet before being engulfed.

A little hesitantly, I let the novice’s robe drop from my arms.

“How hot is it?” I asked.

“Hot enough,” he answered. “Dinna worry, it won’t burn ye. But stay over an hour or so, and it might cook the flesh off your bones like soupmeat.”

“What an appealing idea,” I said, discarding the robe.

Following his straight, slender figure, I stepped cautiously into the water. There were steps cut in the stone, leading down underwater, with a knotted rope fastened along the wall to provide handholds.

The water flowed up over my hips, and the flesh of my belly shivered in delight as the heat swirled through me. At the bottom of the steps, I stood on clean black sand, the water just below the level of my shoulders, my br**sts floating like glass fisher-floats. My skin was flushed with the heat, and small prickles of perspiration were starting on the back of my neck, under the heavy hair. It was pure bliss.

The surface of the spring was smooth and waveless, but the water wasn’t still; I could feel small stirrings, currents running through the body of the pool like nerve impulses. It was that, I suppose, added to the incredible soothing heat, that gave me the momentary illusion that the spring was alive—a warm, welcoming entity that reached out to soothe and embrace. Anselm had said that the springs had healing powers, and I wasn’t disposed to doubt it.

Jamie came up behind me, tiny wavelets marking his passage through the water. He reached around me to cup my br**sts, softly smoothing the hot water over the upper slopes.

“Do ye like it, mo duinne?” He bent forward and planted a kiss on my shoulder.

I let my feet float out from under me, resting against him.

“It’s wonderful! It’s the first time I’ve been warm all the way through since August.” He began to tow me, backing slowly through the water; my legs streamed out in the wake of our passage, the amazing warmth passing down my limbs like caressing hands.

He stopped, swung me around, and lowered me gently onto hard wood. Half-visible in the shadowy underwater light, I could see planks set into a rocky niche. He sat down on the bench beside me, stretching his arms out on the rocky ledge behind us.

“Brother Ambrose brought me down here the other day to soak,” he said. “To soften the scars a bit. It does feel good, doesn’t it?”

“More than good.” The water was so buoyant that I felt I might float away if I loosed my hold on the bench. I looked upward into the black shadows of the roof.

“Does anything live in this cave? Bats, I mean? Or fish?”

He shook his head. “Nothing but the spirit of the spring, Sassenach. The water bubbles up from the earth through a narrow crack back there”—he nodded toward the Stygian blackness at the back of the cave—“and trickles out through a dozen tiny openings in the rock. But there’s no real opening to the outside, save the door into the monastery.”

“Spirit of the spring?” I said, amused. “Sounds rather pagan, to be hiding under a monastery.”

He stretched luxuriously, long legs wavering under the glassy surface like the stems of water plants.

“Well, whatever ye wish to call it, it’s been here a good deal longer than the monastery.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

The walls of the cave were of smooth, dark volcanic rock, almost like black glass, slick with the moisture of the spring. The whole chamber looked like a gigantic bubble, half-filled with that curiously alive but sterile water. I felt as though we were cradled in the womblike center of the earth, and that if I pressed my ear to the rock, I would hear the infinitely slow beat of a great heart nearby.

We were very quiet for a long time then, half-floating, half-dreaming, brushing now and then against each other as we drifted in the unseen currents of the cave.

When I spoke at last, my voice seemed slow and drugged.

“I’ve decided.”

“Ah. Will it be Rome, then?” Jamie’s voice seemed to come from a long way away.

“Yes. I don’t know, once there—”

“It doesna matter. We shall do what we can.” His hand reached for me, moving so slowly I thought it would never touch me.

He drew me close, until the sensitive tips of my br**sts rubbed across his chest. The water was not only warm but heavy, almost oily to the touch, and his hands floated down my back to cup my buttocks and lift me.

The intrusion was startling. Hot and slippery as our skins were, we drifted over each other with barely a sensation of touching or pressure, but his presence within me was solid and intimate, a fixed point in a watery world, like an umbilical cord in the random driftings of the womb. I made a brief sound of surprise at the small inrush of hot water that accompanied his entrance, then settled firmly onto my fixed point of reference with a little sigh of pleasure.

“Oh, I like that one,” he said appreciatively.

“Like what?” I asked.

“That sound that ye made. The little squeak.”

It wasn’t possible to blush; my skin was already as flushed as it could get. I let my hair swing forward to cover my face, the curls relaxing as they dragged the surface of the water.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be noisy.”

He laughed, the deep sound echoing softly in the columns of the roof.

“I said I like it. And I do. It’s one of the things I like the best about bedding ye, Sassenach, the small noises that ye make.”

He pulled me closer, so my forehead rested against his neck. Moisture sprang up at once between us, slick as the sulfur-laden water. He made a slight movement with his hips, and I drew in my breath in a half-stifled gasp.

“Yes, like that,” he said softly. “Or…like that?”

“Urk,” I said. He laughed again, but kept doing it.

“That’s what I thought most about,” he said, drawing his hands slowly up and down my back, cupping, curving, tracing the swell of my hips. “In prison at night, chained in a room with a dozen other men, listening to the snoring and farting and groaning. I thought of those small tender sounds that ye make when I love you, and I could feel ye there next to me in the dark, breathing soft and then faster, and the little grunt that ye give when I first take you, as though ye were settling yourself to your job.”

My breathing was definitely coming faster. Supported by the dense, mineral-saturated water, I was buoyant as an oiled feather, kept from floating away only by my grip on the curved muscles of his shoulders, and the snug, firm clasp I kept of him lower down.

“Even better,” his voice was a hot murmur in my ear, “when I come to ye fierce and wanting, and ye whimper under me, and struggle as though you wanted to get away, and I know it’s only that you’re struggling to come closer, and I’m fighting the same fight.”

His hands were exploring, gently, slowly as tickling a trout, sliding deep into the rift of my buttocks, gliding lower, groping, caressing the stretched and yearning point of our joining. I quivered and the breath went from me in an unwilled gasp.

“Or when I come to you needing, and ye take me into you with a sigh and that quiet hum like a hive of bees in the sun, and ye carry me wi’ you into peace with a little moaning sound.”

“Jamie,” I said hoarsely, my voice echoing off the water. “Jamie, please.”

“Not yet, mo duinne.” His hands came hard around my waist, settling and slowing me, pressing me down until I did groan.

“Not yet. We’ve time. And I mean to hear ye groan like that again. And to moan and sob, even though you dinna wish to, for ye canna help it. I mean to make you sigh as though your heart would break, and scream with the wanting, and at last to cry out in my arms, and I shall know that I’ve served ye well.”

The rush began between my thighs, shooting like a dart into the depths of my belly, loosening my joints so that my hands slipped limp and helpless off his shoulders. My back arched and the slippery firm roundness of my br**sts pressed flat against his chest. I shuddered in hot darkness, Jamie’s steadying hands all that kept me from drowning.

Resting against him, I felt boneless as a jellyfish. I didn’t know—or care—what sort of sounds I had been making, but I felt incapable of coherent speech. Until he began to move again, strong as a shark under the dark water.

“No,” I said. “Jamie, no. I can’t bear it like that again.” The blood was still pounding in my fingertips and his movement within me was an exquisite torture.

“You can, for I love ye.” His voice was half-muffled in my soaking hair. “And you will, for I want ye. But this time, I go wi’ you.”

He held my h*ps firm against him, carrying me beyond myself with the force of an undertow. I crashed formless against him, like breakers on a rock, and he met me with the brutal force of granite, my anchor in the pounding chaos.

Boneless and liquid as the water around us, contained only by the frame of his hands, I cried out, the soft, bubbling half-choked cry of a sailor sucked beneath the waves. And heard his own cry, helpless in return, and knew I had served him well.

We struggled upward, out of the womb of the world, damp and steaming, rubber-limbed with wine and heat. I fell to my knees at the first landing, and Jamie, trying to help me, fell down next to me in an untidy heap of robes and bare legs. Giggling helplessly, drunk more with love than with wine, we made our way side by side, on hands and knees up the second flight of steps, hindering each other more than helping, jostling and caroming softly off each other in the narrow space, until we collapsed at last in each other’s arms on the second landing.

Here an ancient oriel window opened glassless to the sky, and the light of the hunter’s moon washed us in silver. We lay clasped together, damp skins cooling in the winter air, waiting for our racing hearts to slow and breath to return to our heaving bodies.

The moon above was a Christmas moon, so large as almost to fill the empty window. It seemed no wonder that the tides of sea and woman should be subject to the pull of that stately orb, so close and so commanding.

But my own tides moved no longer to that chaste and sterile summons, and the knowledge of my freedom raced like danger through my blood.

“I have a gift for you too,” I said suddenly to Jamie. He turned toward me and his hand slid, large and sure, over the plane of my still-flat stomach.

“Have you, now?” he said.

And the world was all around us, new with possibility.

#outlander #droughtlander2017countdown #book quotes #diana gabaldon #from the womb of the earth #jamie fraser #claire fraser #jamie and claire #sam heughan #caitriona balfe #nighean__donn

125 notes · View notes

junker-town · 7 years

Text

WGC-Mexico 2017: Tee times, TV schedule for Sunday's round

The first WGC Mexico Championship has been one of the best events on the PGA Tour in years.

The third round of the WGC Mexico Championship was one of the most thrilling Saturdays on the PGA Tour in years. Sure, there have been major championship Saturdays with more entertainment, but this was as good as one could have hoped for at a new venue that’s been fantastic viewing in its first year.

The WGCs will always draw loaded fields. It’s easy guaranteed money and free world rankings points. Only the top of the world rankings qualifies and you’d be stupid not to go. So the big names always show up to these things, but the way this leaderboard has coalesced over the last two days has been perfect. We’ve had Rory McIlroy dialed in, holing out from the fairway, hitting 360-yard bombs, and taking the 36-hole lead in his first event of year after suffering a rib fracture in January. We’ve had Phil Mickelson hanging on for dear life on a course that’s extremely tight with tree trouble everywhere. His entire Saturday round overwhelmed the broadcast, with miraculous recoveries, chip-ins, and out-of-the-box/insane strategy that only Phil could conceive.

This guy is 4-under today. http://pic.twitter.com/6Z2W5xWito

— Adam Sarson (@Adam_Sarson) March 4, 2017

Aside from the Phil show and occasional Rory interludes in that final grouping, there was also a Justin Thomas ace on a 232-yard hole. Some Dustin Johnson missile launches. And a Jordan Spieth round of 63 that was the low number of the day and shot him some 30 spots up the leaderboard.

The Saturday round had it all and Sunday could be just as good given what we’re left with on the leaderboard. Thomas is now in front, a shot clear of DJ, and trying to win for the fourth time this season. Phil’s round of missing almost every fairway and constantly playing from the trees still resulted in a flabbergasting 68, which leaves him right there within striking distance. And Rory, while not on the lead anymore, is still in the final group of the day.

It’s going to be fantastic and must-watch. The best players are all making noise and this super tight course with raucous Mexican crowds has been a total revelation in its first year hosting one of the more prestigious events on the PGA Tour.

Here’s the full tee sheet for the final round in Mexico:

Off No. 1 tee:

10:58 a.m.: Martin Kaymer, Justin Rose, Francesco Molinari

11:09 a.m.: Rafa Cabrera-Bello, Jason Dufner, Paul Casey

11:20 a.m.: Rickie Fowler, Roberto Castro, Chris Wood

11:31 a.m.: William McGirt, Matthew Fitzpatrick, Jhonattan Vegas

11:42 a.m.: Branden Grace, Hideki Matsuyama, Ben An

11:53 a.m.: Charl Schwartzel, Joost Luiten, Fabrizio Zanotti

12:04 p.m.: Jimmy Walker, Hideto Tanihara, Ryan Moore

12:15 p.m.: Kevin Kisner, Andy Sullivan, Brandt Snedeker

12:26 p.m.: Daniel Berger, Sergio Garcia, Ross Fisher

12:37 p.m.: Jordan Spieth, Matt Kuchar, J.B. Holmes

12:48 p.m.: Tommy Fleetwood, Tyrrell Hatton, Thomas Pieters

12:59 p.m.: Phil Mickelson, Lee Westwood, Jon Rahm

1:10 p.m.: Justin Thomas, Dustin Johnson, Rory McIlroy

Off No. 10 tee:

10:58 a.m.: Sam Brazel, Mackenzie Hughes, Pat Perez

11:09 a.m.: Brooks Koepka, Bubba Watson, Bernd Wiesberger

11:20 a.m.: Gary Woodland, Marcus Fraser, Zach Johnson

11:31 a.m.: Bill Haas, Kevin Na, Brendan Steele

11:42 a.m.: Russell Knox, Sean O’Hair, Scott Piercy

11:53 a.m.: Soren Kjeldsen, Adam Scott, Louis Oosthuizen

12:04 p.m.: Mike Hendry, Roberto Diaz, Jim Furyk

12:15 p.m.: Emiliano Grillo, Thorbjorn Olesen, Alexander Noren

12:26 p.m.: Patrick Reed, Kevin Chappell, Scott Hend

12:37 p.m.: Danny Willett, David Lipsky, Pablo Larrazabal

12:48 p.m.: Yuta Ikeda, Si Woo Kim, Brandon Stone

12:59 p.m.: Jeunghun Wang, Richard Sterne

1:10 p.m.: K.T. Kim, Matthew Griffin

And here’s your media schedule for the final round:

Sunday's final-round coverage

Television:

Noon to 2 p.m. -- Golf Channel

2 to 6 p.m. -- NBC

Online streams:

Noon to 6 p.m. -- Golf Channel/NBC Sports LiveExtra simulcast stream

Radio:

1 to 6 p.m. -- PGA Tour Radio on Sirius-XM (Ch. 92/208 and streamed here)

0 notes

bee-kathony · 6 years

Text

Curlsgetdemgurls Masterlist

In honor of reaching a personal follower milestone on this blog, I’ve decided to finally post a masterlist of all of my fanfiction! Thank you for following me and reading my silly stories! AO3 link

Jamie & Claire - Outlander

The Oath - Reeling from a bad breakup, Claire finds comfort with a stranger, Jamie Fraser — owner of Fraser & Co. the newest Whisky company in Edinburgh. They share their pain, loss and dreams, after all… it was just supposed to be one night together.

Four Years - this follows Claire and Jamie over a period of four years, Modern au

Kneading Love - Months after WWII, Jamie Fraser meets new resident, Claire Beauchamp. He owns a bakery, she owns a garden shop. They both share their passions with each other and find something worth kneading along the way.

Allied | co-author @julesbeauchamp - Its WWII, France is under German occupation. Claire Beauchamp, french by marriage, must house a soldier named James Fraser, Scottish by birth, who finds himself fighting with the enemies.

Your Nose is Blue - “Your nose is blue,” I remarked conversationally. I glanced downward. “And so are your feet.” He grinned and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “So are my balls. Want to warm them for me?”

Mrs. Beauchamp | co-author @julesbeauchamp - Claire is twenty years older than Jamie and a professor at his university. His feelings for her develop over time as he interviews her for a school project.

Just Friends | co-author @julesbeauchamp - They live together.They sleep together...but they're just friends. modern au.

Stay With Me - What if Claire stayed after Culloden? A glimpse into the Fraser's lives as Jamie struggles to hide in the Dunbonnet's Cave, provide for his family and see Claire with their unborn child...

Tales From Fraser’s Ridge - missing moments about life on Fraser’s Ridge

Formerly Fraser | co-author @julesbeauchamp - Claire and Jamie have been divorced for 10 years... will they find their way back to each other?

Midnight Kiss - Jamie and Claire meet on NYE

On Your Knees - Jamie and Claire take advantage of the empty gym late at night (NSFW)

It’s been a long long time - Inspired by my own grandparents love story and how they met (one shot)

Glimmer in the Shadow | co-author @julesbeauchamp - Claire returns to the 18th century after twelve years to find Jamie married to Geneva Dunsany

McTavish & Beauchamp - a retelling of ‘Outlander’

Oxford Tales | co-author @julesbeauchamp - James Fraser has been in love with Claire Beauchamp since they both were seven years old but she’s been quite clueless about it. It’s the story of their lives intertwined, over the years, in the little town of Oxford. Modern au

Sèididh Ùine - Veil Of Time | co-author @julesbeauchamp - Set in 1946, Claire Beauchamp buys an estate in Scotland who’s previous owner comes looking for his family

I’ll Never Love Again - | co-author @julesbeauchamp - Love. The good, the bad, the unforgettable. A tale exploring a relationship at four crucial points in time.

Fraser Memorial - Claire helps a patient with dislocated shoulder, only to discover that his father is the owner of the hospital.

Heartbeat - There were three times in Claire’s life after she left Jamie to his destiny on Culloden Moor that she thought her heart might one day beat again. Three times that she felt like she had something to give and something to take if only to remind herself to live.

One Hundred - wee drabble to celebrate Claire Fraser’s 100th birthday

Casualties of War - Claire has a relationship during WWII with a female nurse, Emily Hampton (NSFW)

Teaching Mary a Lesson - with the help of Louise, Claire teaches Mary Hawkins a thing or two about matters in the bedroom (NSFW)

An Evening Joined by Annalise de Marillac - Claire invites Annalise to join her and Jamie in bed (NSFW)

It Was You All Along - John Grey is welcomed into Claire and Jamie’s bed (NSFW)

Glass of Whisky - Claire & Roger one shot. (NSFW)

Surrender - John Grey & Jamie Fraser one shot at Ardsmuir (NSFW)

Movie AUs

The Holiday - follows the lives of Jenny Fraser and Claire Beauchamp over the holiday season

Once Upon a Time | Cinderella

Call My By Your Name - John x Jamie (based on the movie by the same name)

Sam & Caitriona

Pancakes - Valentine’s Day 2018

That’s a Wrap - Season 4 wrap party

After Hours - After the season 4 wrap party

Glencoe - Sam & Cait take a weekend trip to Glencoe

The One for Me - part 2 of ‘Glencoe’

Ride of Our Lives - Sam gets his motorcycle

Stars Aligned - Sam & Caitriona parent au one shot

Like Before - Sam comes to Claire’s flat one night after the engagement

The Whole Lot - inspired by Sam’s birthday tweet ‘Had the whole lot done… love you!’

Away From Home: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch.3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Love Like This: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4

Meet Me In New York - Reunion in NYC... it takes place on Cait’s birthday 2018

Pink Socks - It’s canon that Sam and Cait always get dressed together for events and at the SAVFF, Sam was wearing pink socks that matched a certain pink dress

What Are You Doing New Years Eve? - Sam and Caitriona spend time together on NYE.

Hawaii Fics: Oahu & Mahalo

Getaway Car - Sam and Cait take a drive...

Lift Me Up - Sam and Cait get stuck in an elevator.

The Reckoning - What really happened while filming 1x09

904 notes · View notes

junker-town · 7 years

Text

WGC-Mexico 2017: Tee times, TV schedule for Friday's round

Rory shakes off rust as DJ falters and Lefty shares the lead after 18 holes in Mexico.

The future of professional golf may be in the capable hands of Rory McIlroy, Dustin Johnson, and a plethora of other young guns, but a couple of 40-somethings — Phil Mickelson and Lee Westwood — share the lead after 18 holes of the WGC-Mexico Championship.

The short-game wizardry of Mickelson was on full display Thursday at Club de Golf Chapultepec in Mexico City, as the 46-year-old saved pars and birdies from trees, sand, here, there, and everywhere.

“Of course [he was in trouble on the 12th], but it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Mickelson told Golf Channel about his escape with a par after an errant tee shot.

Indeed, the ageless wonder finished off his round in style by drilling a 16-foot putt for birdie on his 18th hole to get to 4-under 67 and a share of the six-way tie at the top.

Phil Mickelson: 21st round of 67 or better in WGC stroke play career, 2nd-most all-time. 1st: Tiger.... with 44

— Justin Ray (@JustinRayGC) March 2, 2017

Westwood, now a member of the European and not the PGA Tour, was making his 56th start in a WGC event — an all-time record. Though he finished bogey-bogey, the 43-year-old Englishman will still begin Friday’s second round tied for the lead.

As for the members of the marquee threesome, McIlroy (68) outplayed Johnson (70) and Hideki Matsuyama (72). Though he earned bragging rights for a day, the four-time major champion got off to a meh start, carding one birdie and eight pars on his front nine.

But an eagle on the par-5 sixth hole (his 15th of the day) launched the former world No. 1 up the leaderboard and squarely into contention in his first competitive start since a fractured rib sidelined him in mid-January.

McIlroy showed little rust with the big dog. He drained a 28-foot one-putt on the 615-yard sixth after absolutely hammering his drive 368 yards and reaching the green in two.

Rory’s drive on the sixth, by the way, was the longest to that point of the day, with big hitters J.B. Holmes (340 yards) and Bubba Watson (335) lagging seriously behind.

Rory's 1st 4 drives today: 342 330 367 353 Chapultepec GC is more than 7,600 feet above sea level. @WGCMexico

— Justin Ray (@JustinRayGC) March 2, 2017

While his rib was “fine, great actually,” McIlroy was a bit under the weather, suffering with symptoms reportedly similar to the sour stomach that forced Henrik Stenson to withdraw midway through his first round.

Henrik Stenson, making his first U.S. start of 2017, was +3 thru 11 when he withdrew with a stomach virus. #WGCMexico

— Bob Harig (@BobHarig) March 2, 2017

Playing alongside McIlroy, DJ sizzled at the outset, with two quick birdies. The recently installed world No. 1, however, could get nothing going with his putter.

Kicking off his tenure atop the world golf rankings on the par-4 10th hole, Johnson was errant off the tee, but that was nothing that couldn’t be cured by a punch shot from the trees 176 yards out to within 10 feet of the pin.

Another birdie at the par-5 11th and Johnson was on a major roll — until he dropped both shots with back-to-back bogeys on his fourth and fifth holes. He made four more birdies, but an OB and subsequent double-bogey on the par-4 first, along with seven missed putts from within 10 feet, derailed what could have been a stellar round.

“I missed so many putts, short ones. Six of those seven were inside five feet, so I hit pretty good putts; I just lipped out a bunch today,” Johnson said after the round. “But that's the difference between being 1-under and shooting 6- or 7-under.”

McIlroy, Johnson, and Matsuyama will go at it again on Friday starting at 12:53 p.m. local time off the first tee.

Here’s the full tee sheet for Friday’s second round (all times ET):

Off No. 1 tee:

12:03 p.m.: Scott Hend, Johnattan Vegas, Si Woo Kim

12:14 p.m.: Roberto Castro, Joost Luiten, Andy Sullivan

12:25 p.m.: Lee Westwood, Kevin Na, Marcus Fraser

12:36 p.m.: Hideto Tanihara, Richard Sterne, Scott Piercy

12:47 p.m.: Zach Johnson, Bernd Wiesberger, Byeong Hun An

12:58 p.m.: Yuta Ikeda, Ryan Moore, Fabrizio Zanotti

1:09 p.m.: Will McGirt, David Lipsky, Sean O’Hair

1:20 p.m.: Emiliano Grillo, Brandon Stone, Bill Haas

1:31 p.m.: Matt Kuchar, Jimmy Walker, Brookes Koepka

1:42 p.m.: Danny Willett, Bubba Watson, Paul Casey

1:53 p.m.: Dustin Johnson, Rory McIlroy, Hideki Matsuyama

2:04 p.m.: Justin Thomas, Rickie Fowler, Sergio Garcia

2:15 p.m.: Jon Rahm, Martin Kaymer, Gary Woodland

Off No. 10 tee:

12:03 p.m.: Kevin Kisner, Matthew Fitzpatrick, Rafa Cabrera Bello

12:14 p.m.: Charl Schwartzel, Roberto Diaz, J.B. Holmes

12:25 p.m.: Phil Mickelson, Brandt Snedeker, Louis Oosthuizen

12:36 p.m.: Tyrell Hatton, Branden Grace, Russell Knox

12:47 p.m.: Henrik Stenson, Jordan Spieth, Adam Scott

12:58 p.m.: Alex Noren, Patrick Reed, Justin Rose

1:09 p.m.: Francesco Molinari, Jim Furyk, Thomas Pieters

1:20 p.m.: Mackenzie Hughes, Brendan Steele

1:31 p.m.: Ross Fisher, K.T. Kim, Matthew Griffin

1:42 p.m.: Thorbjorn Olesen, Daniel Berger, Sam Brazel

1:53 p.m.: Jason Dufner, Soren Kjeldsen, Jeunghun Wang

2:04 p.m.: Tommy Fleetwood, Pat Perez, Mike Hendry

2:15 p.m.: Pablo Larrazabal, Chris Wood, Kevin Chappell

And here’s your full media schedule for the second round in Mexico City (all times ET):

Friday’s second-round coverage

Television:

2 to 7 p.m. ET — Golf Channel

8 p.m. to Midnight — Golf Channel replay

Online streams:

11:30 a.m. -- PGA Tour Live starts with coverage from range and opening holes

11:30 a.m. to ~1:15 p.m. ET — Free PGA Tour live stream on Twitter

Featured Groups (PGA Tour Live subscription required)

12:47 p.m. -- Henrik Stenson / Jordan Spieth / Adam Scott

12:58 p.m. -- Alexander Noren / Patrick Reed / Justin Rose

2 to 7 p.m. -- PGA Tour Live featured holes coverage (No subscription required)

2 to 7 p.m. -- Golf Channel simulcast stream

Radio:

1 to 7 p.m. — PGA Tour Radio on Sirius-XM (Ch. 92/208 and streamed here)

0 notes