the crash reel

8

death count: two walls, a chair, wally’s sanity

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A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Three)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?
  • Links to past installments:  (One) (Two)

(Three)

Jenny

I’d run upstairs the instant Claire was gone through the door—first to the bedchamber overlooking the road, then up still further to the upper floors, so I could see her for just a moment longer. For, damn me, but I couldna take my eyes off her…just kept—watchin’ her— until the last.

And even when the shape of her had long vanished over the horizon, I was still watchin’, staring into the spot where she’d been, the last place she’d inhabited before she’d gone away….just as she’d promised. 

The letter—God, Claire’s letter—was clutched tight in my hand and heavy on my heart. But it was also heavy in my hand, I realized. There was more than paper, therein, I’d swear to it; firm, whatever it was, but not rigid, exactly, for I could still bend it easily.  

I had the nail of my finger under the edge of the wax before somethin’….somethin’ stopped me—or could it be someone?—and I shivered. 


“Jenny?” 

Claire was in the doorway of the kitchen, cloak on, the letter clutched to her breast. 

I stood, awkwardly. “You’ve finished?” 

She nodded, and her eyes closed, of a sudden, and she looked so very young, like one of the bairns in a thunderstorm, all scared and—small—So sad, and—

—and I wavered. 

But before I could say anythin’, Claire was there right before my face, pressin’ the envelope hard into my hands. She didna let go, just kept—holdin’ on to me, eyes boring into mine so I couldna even blink. 

 “Whatever hurt there is between you and me, Jenny—” Those whisky-colored eyes were shining wi’ feeling, ready to spill over wi’ it. “—I beg you to see that Jamie gets this.” She added her other hand and squeezed me so hard that own hands were shakin’ along wi’ hers. “Please don’t wait too long to give it to him.” 

My voice cracked, and I couldna look away. “Why’s that?” 

“There are things in here, that—” the paper crinkled, loud and violent, that bitty sound, “—that will give him peace….I hope.” A small, broken breath. 

Peace…Peace for Jamie…

“Please, Jenny—PLEASE—promise me that you’ll give it to him.” Those wildcat eyes begged, and I could do nothing but nod. She heaved an enormous sigh and closed them, nodding, herself. “Thank you.” 

She released me, then and made for the door, pulling her cloak tight about her. Her eyes were on the handle as she said, “Goodbye.” 

And then before I could blink, she’d come back again and thrown both her arms ‘round me. Unnaturally tall as she was, my arms were trapped down at my sides, so I couldna have hugged her back, even had I wished to. 

Her voice was a ragged sob of a whisper. “I do love you, Jenny.” She kissed my cheek.

And then she was out the door, gone. Forever.  

And it was only as she was far, far gone, a vanished speck through a frozen windowpane, that I realized….

I *had* wished to. 


“Mam?” 

I nearly leapt out of my skin as I whirled like a guilty bairn to the door behind, where Maggie stood wi’ her own babe on her hip. 

Ye’ve been up here for an age and a half, Mam. Did…” She gave me a significant look, “….something give ye a turn?” 

“I’m fine, mo chridhe,” I promised, flustered-like, bustling past her down the stairs to resume my work and hide my face. “Perfectly fine, nothin’ to—”

“But who was she, Mam?” Maggie’s voice, her footsteps, chased me down the stairs. “The dark-haired Englishwoman? Why was she here?” 

“She was a traveler. No one ye need be worrit about.” 

“Mam, I’m no’ a wee bairn. We all heard the great skelloch the two of ye were makin’. Clearly she was someone ye kent well, and it sounded as though she had come were wi’ a purpose, and  “ 

“Maggie, do not— ” 

“But what was it she wanted of ye, Mam? She stayed hardly an hour, and we  “

I dinna wish to DISCUSS it, Margaret.” 

From the look on her face, I’d shouted it, violently. She went all meek-like and left me standing alone on the stairs landing without another word. I started to go after her, but—I let my hands fall back to my side, clenching into shaking fists.  

What was it the Englishwoman had wanted of me, Maggie, love? The woman who saw ye delivered into this world? Only to come make peace and to mend your Uncle Jamie’s heart…and I… 

*I*….

Hands of guilt seemed to shove me toward the door, toward the stables. 

Janet Murray, go after Claire. Go after her right this moment. There’s still time to catch her up! 

“Aye, and WHY should I?” I muttered under my breath, stormin’ to the pantry and busyin’ my hands, furiously flyin’ from task to task. 

WHY? Because it was doomed from the start! 

Dinna lay the troubles of their marriage at my feet. It was GOOD for Jamie to be marrit. He NEEDED a woman.

You saw her fetch at the wedding. Jesus God, woman, THAT was your warning. THIS is the test. 

I wasna going to see my brother die alone, and I couldna have dreamed that she’d saunter in one day after—

No one could have supposed Claire was alive; but now that you know, you MUST make this right. 

Go and stop her…GO!

She had no right —No RIGHT to just vanish as she did. God, the —the arrogance of it — I threw an old jar against the wall, the crash of the pottery against the stone some kind of satisfaction amid the storms of rage and of shame within me.  not to even CHECK !—And ‘complicated,’ she says…COMPLICATED! 

She said she’d be able to explain. 

All can be made right, Janet Murray. Go after her, beg her to  

I'll no’ beg that Sassenach witch for anythin’. The rage was boiling up within me, and suddenly even the promise of delivering her letter seemed like the vilest of insults. ‘Will bring him peace,’ she says…How could she POSSIBLY ken what can bring him peace, having been gone from him for twenty

YOU would know, just fine, if it were Ian. Separation couldn’t change your knowing of him, could it? 

I ignored that pleading, reasonable voice and stormed back up the stairs. The only sensible thing was to pretend as though the letter had never existed. 

Jamie need never know. If he wasna precisely at *peace,* now, he’d at least settled into a living, and found a certain

He hasn’t. 

NO sense at all in opening up old

And since when were love or mercy about *sense*?  

What he doesna know canna pain him, and that’s all there is to it.

I stormed upstairs and threw the letter resolutely into the back of the drawer, coverin’ it over wi’ old underthings and rags where Ian wouldna find it. 

But all the rest of the day, that stern voice haunted me, warred with me. 

Go after her. 

Leave me be. 

What’s done is done. 

No, it isn’t. 

GO AFTER HER.

Claire let him suffer. 

She stayed away for TWENTY—

She doesna DESERVE  

That was Jamie’s judgment to make, woman. Not yours. 

I told her only the bare facts. 

No. You lied to her. 

He DOES have a wife!

He DOES have two daughters that called him Da!

You told her all the difficult truths and made them as painful to her as you could. 

And you told one lie.

 That Jamie is happy.

Is he?  

No…

The guilt shuddered through me, a fist wrapped around my throat. 

He’s broken…

He’s still hurting…still raw….

From want of Her. 

And you sent her away. 

The look on her face as she begged me to give him that letter—

But the THINGS she did to  —

What you’ve just done is worse, still For you did it from spite, Janet Murray; of your own pride and

Across the house a door CRASHED open and I reeled back from the spice cupboard as though shot, my blood poundin’ in my ears as footsteps came thunderin’ in from the front door. “What in GOD’s holy name—???” 

“I dinna need to WASH to see Mam,” a grumpy voice protested from the foyer. 

“Oh Mary, Michael, and Bride—IAN!!” I’d forgotten—completely FORGOTTEN to be sick with worry for my wee scoundrel who’d run away. Lord forgive me, what sort of mother FORGETS

I flew across the house, my guilt over Claire momentarily replaced by outrage at myself and fury at my son and RELIEF. “Ian!!” I sobbed as I threw my arms around his thin frame. “Ian you –YOU–oh—!” I swore violently, a great string of things, but all grateful, all emphatic with love as I squeezed him tight, wetting his shirtfront “—I’m so glad you’re safe, a chuisle.

“I’m fine, mam,” he said with a sigh, though he returned the hug. 

I pulled back and slapped his shoulder, hard. “Well ye WILLNA be by the time I’m done wi’ ye! What were ye THINKING, Ian Murray, runnin’ away like that wi’ no word???”

“I DID leave word, Mam!” 

“Oh, ye think a wee note is enough? Not in this house, Ian. God, I’m so fashed and so happy in one single moment—” True enough; I was panting with the rush of the relief and the fright of the last two weeks. I hugged him again, then pushed him toward the stairs. “Off wi’ ye—we’ll deal wi’ your punishment later.” 

I turned from one Ian (well, the back of one, as he sulked off) to sigh in relief at sight of the other. “There’s my sweet lass,” he said, grinnin’ that bright, warm smile that I loved so well and holding out his arms to me.

All but fell into them, I did. “Mo ghraidh, ye found him.” I pressed my head against his chest, so happy to have him close; so happy for the relief of havin’ him hold me. There, against his heart, all could be well; all the voices and the shame and the rage could be silent. 

He kissed me, touched my cheek, then turned for the study. “I didna do much.“ He thudded into an armchair and pulled me into his lap. “In fact, I didna even get to Edinburgh.” 

“No?” I grinned, kissin’ his dear face. “Was he making such puir time? Chasin’ after lost pups and rabbits, again, aye?” 

“Nay, he’d already been to Edinburgh. When I came upon him, it was head on, already on their way back to us.”

I jolted back. “Their?” 

“Aye, Ian and Jamie.” 

JAMIE?”

Go after her 

“Aye, who else?” Ian kissed me, blithe as ye please. “Said he didna trust Wee Ian to come back unescorted, and rightly so.”

Go after her

“Well, and — it’s good ye were able to meet Jamie on the way.” I brushed my hands nervously down my skirt, tryin’ not to give in to the feelings risin’ up in my gullet. “He’ll have needed to be back in his shop as soon as possible.”

“Oh, nay, he left Fergus in charge. Said he was past due for a visit. No sense in him making the journey twice, now, is there?” 

“Jamie’s — He’s — ?” I felt as though I were going to faint. 

Go NOW

What if he finds out? 

You MUST tell him. 

I canna — I CANNA —

I screamed it at my conscience, but it wasna like the rage of before: a scream of panic. The weight of what I’d done—it was fallin’ down all around me and over me, smashin’ apart my anger and my stubbornness and my pride only to reveal beneath all my darkest shame and regret and 

“Jamie’s gone to Balriggan, then?” 

“NO, a nighean,” came a grinnin’ voice that paralyzed me as surely as the bolt of a crossbow in my spine, “he’s behind ye.”

Lord, help me, 

I canna


youtube

Kevin Pearce, Snowboarder - Finding Purpose in Adversity

Well worth a watch.

Also Sal Masekela called his shirt a “super cool hippy shirt”. I’ll take that compliment!

Watch on nemophilistmom.tumblr.com

He’s such an inspiration. He was such an amazing snowboarder but what he’s doing by giving people hope is what its really about. Making your mark in this world is what people spend their whole lives trying to accomplish. He’s making his mark and taking something negative by turning into a positive.  Good job, KP!

The Crash Reel

In general, I’m not a huge fan of documentaries. Yeah, I’ll watch a rock doc now and then but they aren’t exactly the go to choices when it comes to pure entertainment. However, the recent release of The Crash Reel has changed my opinion about documentaries, mostly because I can relate to it. I also believe that it’s very important for anyone who participates in any extreme sport, or for any team sport for that matter. 

For those of you who aren’t familiar with the doc, it follows 2010 Olympic hopeful Kevin Pearce on his journey to Vancouver. What makes his story stand out, is that he never made it to the Olympics because of a training accident which occurred at the Park City superpipe which resulted in a Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI). Yes, in fact, the documentary actually does show the accident on film. Having seen the exact superpipe in person, Pearce is one lucky individual.

What makes the documentary great is that it doesn’t just follow Pearce’s recover, but places a focus on the recover process of Kevin’s family and friends as well. There were many heartfelt scenes that were captured, including one of the most heartwrenching was when Kevin announced he was ready to make a comeback to snowboarding. The emotion which was expressed in the film, especially by his brother David, was extremely raw and something in which you couldn’t help but to feel the pain the family was experiencing at the time. A similar moment took place later in the doc when both Kevin and David were both confronted about accepting their disabilities.

What I found most interesting about the impact of Pearce’s TBI is just how much it impacts his daily routine. Pearce has minimal short term memory, not to mention the problems with his eyesight and balance. Perhaps some of the scariest information which was relayed by the doctors, was that because of the severity of Pearce’s injury, he’s essentially a ticking time bomb. If he hits his head one more time, he could die from impact, that’s how severe the injury. Pearce is also unable to live on his own because of his memory issues, and was something he was very open about. At the time of the doc, his roommate Hannah (I believe) would help him to sort out his medications and any other routine/menial task which he may not be able to complete.

One of my best friends is involved in these extreme sports and is highly competitive. Having watched this documentary it raises a lot of concern as a friend, as he’s had numerous concussions, and this last one was particularly bad. I understand people consider these extreme sports as a way of life, however, there has to be a point where your health has to take precedence. This subject was also addressed in the doc, where Kevin’s defining moment was sitting in conversation with his mom, and another freestyle snowboarder who has experienced two TBI’s. When the other victim’s mom, asked him to point to his elbow, he pointed to his arm, and then to his leg, showing how much of an impact TBI’s have on simple functions. At that point, after having a discussion with the victim about his behavior towards his mom, Kevin walked out feeling that his calling was now to address the younger generations about the importance of brain injury prevention.

I highly recommend anyone who participates in any sport, especially those who are involved in extreme sports, or those in sports with high concussion rates (soccer/football). It is very eye opening, and one of those documentaries that will not leave you for quite some time. Remember, be conscious of your activity and love your brain.

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This movie premiered at Sundance in January and I finally saw it at another screening tonight in Park City and it is so good and so scary and so everything. The entire Pearce family is amazing. I’m not sure when/if it’s getting a theatrical release date, but everyone should see it whenever possible (whether or not you care about snowboarding).

Dry Your Tears / Sam Winchester

Request:  I wonder if u could do for me too a DeanXReaderXSam,its going to be a little sad idk but its going through my mind and i don’t know how to write so im gonna ask you,so the reader is complaining to Dean about her problems,with her friends,life events,girl problems and so on,and Dean is ignoring her and say its not his problem and she needs to stop being a cry baby,so the reader find a “home” in Sam,because he listen to her,give her advice,attention and love,and the reader and Sam kiss and idk

A/N: I personally think that Dean would never do that cause he’s my lil badass squish but here you go… like, this hurt my heart as i was writing it… enjoy

Warnings: angst, fluff and language

Originally posted by lauraboline

“Dean are you listening to me?”

You and Dean had had an on and off relationship for about a year. Whenever you were having a bad day and needed someone to rant to, Dean always brushed you off and said that it wasn’t his problem. It hurt a lot, but you kept going back to him for some reason.

“Yeah, yeah sure.”

Tears threatened to spill.

“DEAN!”

“What!”

He spun around to face you and rolled his eyes when he saw your tears.

“Stop being such a cry baby.”

“I will when you stop being such an asshole!”

“You know what? All you do is bitch and complain and I’m tired of it!”

“How would you know what I talk about? You barely listen to anything I have to say!”

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